Chapter Nine
Wickham Arrives
Darcy learned George Wickham had joined the militia before he saw him in Meryton.
This time he did not wait.
Colonel Forster received him in his quarters with the polite surprise of a man who had not expected Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley to call on regimental business.
Darcy's deliberate efforts in the neighborhood mattered now.
He had called upon Sir William, dined with the Gouldings, spoken civilly with Mr. Phillips despite disliking the man's jokes, and listened to Mrs. Long describe her nephew's horse for seventeen minutes without once looking toward the door.
It had nearly killed him.
But it meant Colonel Forster knew Darcy as a reserved gentleman, not an arrogant stranger.
"Mr. Darcy," Forster said, offering a chair. "What may I do for you?"
Darcy sat. "This concerns George Wickham."
Forster's expression altered. "Our new man. You know him?"
"Since childhood."
Darcy did not enjoy what followed. He had brought documents: old debts, Wickham's signed renunciation of the Kympton living in exchange for three thousand pounds, copies of letters from tradesmen, and a statement from an innkeeper near Ramsgate concerning unpaid accounts.
Not Georgiana.
Never without her permission.
Forster read in silence. His face hardened as he turned the final page. "Why tell me?"
"Because he will be among young officers and younger ladies."
Forster looked up. "Is there more?"
Darcy was silent.
"Mr. Darcy, I do not ask from curiosity. If a man under my command poses a particular danger, I should know."
Darcy met his gaze. "There is more. It concerns another person, and I do not have leave to tell it."
Forster studied him for a moment, then nodded. "I understand."
Darcy exhaled. "I do not ask that Wickham be condemned for debts alone. Men may recover from debt. But watch him. Especially where gambling or very young women are concerned."
"I will."
"And do not lend him money."
Forster laughed. "That advice I accept freely."
Darcy rose. At the door Forster stopped him. "Mr. Darcy."
Darcy turned.
"I appreciate your speaking plainly."
Darcy bowed.
This was what old Darcy had meant by truth. Enough truth. Not all.
Elizabeth met Wickham two days later.
The old reaction still came, which annoyed her more than she expected. He was handsome, easy, warm, and possessed that effortless charm which made a new acquaintance feel chosen from the moment he smiled.
Lydia was enchanted within minutes.
Elizabeth's stomach tightened.
Wickham bowed over her hand. "Miss Elizabeth."
"Mr. Wickham."
His eyes lingered.
Elizabeth remembered once enjoying that. Now it made her cold.
Then Darcy and Bingley rode into view.
Wickham stiffened.
Darcy did not pale this time. He reined in and inclined his head. "Mr. Wickham."
His tone was civil. Nothing more.
Wickham looked wrong-footed. "Mr. Darcy."
Darcy greeted the ladies. His eyes found Elizabeth.
She read the warning immediately.
Old habit.
His chin lowered perhaps half an inch.
Careful.
Elizabeth almost smiled. She gave the tiny head tilt he had learned to interpret as I know.
Darcy froze.
Wickham saw.
His gaze moved between them.
Interesting.
Elizabeth looked away.
Later, at Aunt Phillips's, Wickham attempted the old story. Darcy's jealousy. The denied living. Old Mr. Darcy's wishes. Elizabeth listened politely and found herself almost ashamed of how eagerly she had believed him once.
At a pause she asked, "Did you receive compensation when you chose not to take orders?"
Wickham stopped only briefly. "Compensation?"
"Money."
His smile returned. "There were arrangements."
"How much?"
Mrs. Phillips stared. Lydia whispered, "Lizzy."
Wickham laughed. "You are direct."
"So I have been told."
"Three thousand pounds."
Lydia gasped. Even Mrs. Phillips looked impressed.
Elizabeth smiled. "That is considerable."
"It was insufficient for a gentleman to establish himself permanently."
"Perhaps. But it makes the story less simple."
Wickham's eyes narrowed. "Has Darcy spoken to you?"
"No."
True. Not in this life.
"He needn't."
Wickham's charm cooled.
Elizabeth saw something behind it she had missed once because she had wanted his story. She had wanted Darcy to be wrong. Her own vanity had welcomed Wickham's version because it confirmed an insult she had already decided revealed Darcy's entire character.
Now she understood.
She returned home thoughtful.
At Longbourn, Darcy had left a book for Mr. Bennet. Elizabeth found a line marked in the margin while helping her father put it away.
One may know a road and still choose where to place one's feet.
Elizabeth stared.
The sentence was not printed. Darcy had written it in his own hand.
Her hands began to shake.
He had said those exact words at sixty-five when their son Henry asked whether foreknowledge would have prevented a disastrous business investment.
No coincidence could reach that far.
Elizabeth closed the book.
Tomorrow.
She would know tomorrow.
After their discovery, they found it almost impossible to part normally. Darcy should have bowed and returned to Netherfield. Elizabeth should have gone back to Longbourn with some plausible explanation for spending nearly two hours walking.
Instead they stood at the edge of the lane like foolish young lovers.
Which, Elizabeth supposed, they were.
"Go," she said.
Darcy did not move.
"William."
"You first."
"This is my neighborhood."
"I am aware."
"Then you are the intruder."
"I have ten thousand a year. I am rarely considered an intruder."
Elizabeth stared, then laughed so loudly a farm boy farther down the lane looked back.
"There," she said. "That is the arrogant man I remember."
Darcy smiled. "Reassuring?"
"Oddly."
He grew serious. "Elizabeth, what if you wake tomorrow and this is gone?"
The fear was so naked that her laughter vanished.
She took his hand. "Then tonight happened."
"That is not enough."
"No."
"I have already lost you once."
Elizabeth lifted his hand to her cheek. "And found me once."
"Twice."
She smiled. "Then perhaps trust your record."
Darcy closed his eyes briefly.
They finally separated.
Elizabeth walked home alone and felt the world appear new in every direction. The same hedges. Same lane. Same church tower. Yet Darcy remembered.
She entered Longbourn smiling.
Lydia looked up from the stairs. "You saw Mr. Darcy."
Elizabeth stopped. "What?"
"You have that face."
"What face?"
Lydia grinned. "The one Jane has after Mr. Bingley leaves."
Elizabeth stared at her youngest sister.
Then laughed all over again.