CHAPTER TWELVE A Confidence Given
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Confidence Given
Snow came in earnest in the first week of December.
It softened Longbourn’s lawns and settled on the yew hedges, muffling the world beyond the windows. Darcy’s leg had healed sufficiently that Dr. Morrison no longer feared immediate danger, though he remained forbidden to bear weight upon it.
The confinement wore upon him.
Elizabeth noticed. “You are glaring at the snow.”
Darcy sat near the library window, a ledger open on his lap. “I am not glaring.”
“You have been looking at the same patch of garden for five minutes as if it owes you money.”
“I would prefer to be outside.”
“So would I.”
“You may go.”
She gave him a look. “Thank you for the permission.”
He winced. “That was poorly phrased.”
“It was magnificently phrased. I may preserve it for future use.”
Darcy shut the ledger.
Elizabeth sat opposite him. “You are restless.”
“Yes.”
“You are also worried.”
His eyes lifted. She had become alarmingly adept at reading him.
“Georgiana,” he said.
“Your sister.”
“Yes.”
Elizabeth knew of Georgiana Darcy only through Bingley’s praise, Caroline’s extravagant admiration, and the few references Darcy had made during his illness. She knew the girl was fifteen, shy, accomplished, and dearly loved by her brother.
“She writes every day,” Darcy said.
“I have seen the stack of letters.”
“She wishes to come.”
“To see you?”
“Yes.”
“And you have refused.”
Darcy looked toward the fire.
Elizabeth waited.
“There is a man in Meryton,” he said at last.
“George Wickham?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. Elizabeth recalled Wickham’s easy manners, handsome face, and the story he had told of Darcy’s cruelty. She also recalled Darcy’s discomfort whenever Wickham was named.
“What has he to do with Miss Darcy?”
Darcy was silent so long she thought he might not answer. Then he said, “Everything I am about to tell you concerns my sister’s reputation.”
Elizabeth straightened. “I will not repeat it.”
“I know.”
That trust affected her more than flattery could have. Darcy began with his father’s affection for Wickham. He spoke of the promised living, Wickham’s choice to take money instead, his dissipation, and his later return demanding the church position he had already surrendered.
Elizabeth listened without interruption.
Then Darcy told her of Ramsgate. “Georgiana was fifteen,” he said. “She was under the care of a companion, Mrs. Younge. Wickham followed them there. Mrs. Younge assisted him.”
Elizabeth’s hands tightened.
“He persuaded Georgiana that he loved her. They intended to elope.”
“Oh.”
“I arrived the day before they meant to leave.” Darcy’s voice remained controlled, but the hand resting on the ledger had gone white at the knuckles. “She told me everything. Wickham’s object was revenge upon me and access to her thirty thousand pounds.”
Elizabeth felt ill. She remembered laughing with Wickham. Believing him. Repeating his story to Jane with confidence. “I was wrong,” she whispered.
Darcy looked at her. “He told me you denied him the living your father intended for him.”
“I expected he had.”
“And I believed him.”
A pause.
“Why?” Darcy asked. The question was not accusatory.
That made it worse.
Elizabeth drew a breath. “Because he was agreeable and you were not.”
Darcy flinched, almost imperceptibly.
She continued before courage failed. “Because his story confirmed what I had already decided about you. You insulted me at the assembly. You seemed proud. I found it pleasant to believe the worst of you.”
Darcy looked down. “I am sorry.”
He was silent.
Elizabeth said, “You have every right to be angry.”
“I am not angry with you.”
“You should be.”
“No.” He lifted his eyes. “Wickham is skilled at presenting himself well. You had no reason to know his history. And I gave you little reason to think well of me.”
“That does not excuse my eagerness.”
“No.”
Elizabeth blinked.
Darcy’s mouth moved faintly. “You told me you preferred honesty.”
“I did.”
“I am attempting it.”
She laughed softly. Then her expression sobered. “You do not want Georgiana here because Wickham is nearby.”
“Yes.”
“Would he approach her?”
“If he saw advantage in it.”
Elizabeth looked into the fire. “You cannot keep her away forever.”
“No.”
“And she wishes to see you.”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps the answer is not to hide Miss Darcy, but to make Mr. Wickham less free to move about Meryton.”
Darcy’s brows drew together. “What are you thinking?” Elizabeth’s smile was not pleasant. “I am thinking that charming men who live beyond their pay often depend upon other people being too polite to compare accounts.”
Darcy stared at her.
“What?” she asked.
“I have never loved you more.”
She went pink.
He looked almost pleased with himself.
“Do not become insufferable.”
“Too late.”