The Wedding Breakfast #2
“He does not need anyone in that church, Darcy. He has men of his own, and money enough left to pay them, and a wife he no longer entirely trusts to keep his secrets.”
“You expected him to have men there.”
“I expected the possibility. There is a difference.”
“And?”
“If anyone followed us from Meryton, Fletcher’s man will know it before we reach London. I did not let you walk into that church unwatched, Darcy. I merely failed to prevent you from looking at Miss Elizabeth once you were there.”
“You did a kind thing today,” Richard continued. “I do not fault you for wanting to do it. But kindness and safety are not always the same animal, and you of all people cannot afford to forget which one matters more before August.”
“I know,” Darcy said. “I have always known it. It does not seem to make the wanting any smaller.”
By the time they reached London, the light had thinned and the streets had taken on the damp, sooty colour of late afternoon. The carriage turned into the narrow street off Half Moon Street, where Fletcher opened the door and stepped back with a face too carefully blank.
“Mrs Wickham is within, sir. The trunks are ready.”
Darcy stopped on the step.
“Of course she is,” Richard said.
Georgiana was waiting in the small parlour, already on her feet.
“You went,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And came back.”
“I told you I would.”
Her mouth trembled.
Richard closed the parlour door behind them. “I shall see whether Fletcher has managed to acquire anything resembling coffee.”
“Did you see her?” Georgiana asked.
Darcy removed his gloves slowly. “Yes.”
“And did she look well?”
He thought of Elizabeth in the church, Jane’s gloves in her hands, her eyes catching his for one unguarded instant.
“She looked very much herself,” he said.
Georgiana sat down. “That means she was angry with you.”
A faint colour rose in her face, but she did not take it back. “Miss Bennet is always most herself when she has decided a person deserves to be understood after he has behaved badly.”
Despite himself, Richard laughed from the other side of the door. “I heard that.”
“You were meant to,” Georgiana called, then turned back to Darcy. “Did you give her the book?”
“I gave it to Bingley.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It is as near as I could come.”
“She will understand.”
“That,” Darcy said, “is what I fear.”
“Because understanding gives her a claim?”
“Because Wickham may think it does.”
At the name, Georgiana’s fingers tightened.
“I beg your pardon.”
“Do not. He has made us all careful of saying his name. I am tired of giving him that also.”
“Did Miss Bennet read the note, do you think?”
“By now, perhaps.”
“And will she understand that August means safety?”
“I hope she understands that August means I cannot ask.”
Richard returned to the doorway.
“And before August?” Georgiana asked.
“Before August,” Richard said, “my father moves.”
“The Earl?”
“It cannot be me,” Darcy said. “Not openly. My uncle brings the petition. Edward prepares it.”
“Your brother?” Georgiana asked Richard.
He nodded. “He has been through the accounts, the letters and the first affidavits. My father gives the matter weight. Edward makes certain it does not collapse the moment Wickham’s solicitor breathes on it.”
“To remove George?”
“Not first,” Darcy said.
“If we begin by accusing him of trying to murder Darcy,” Richard said, “we must prove it before anything else happens. If we begin with the accounts, the court may require him to explain himself. Money leaves tracks. Murder, when it has been made to look like rotten wood, a maddened horse and failing tack, is harder.”
Georgiana went pale.
“That is why Edward begins with what can be proved,” Darcy said.
“When?”
“Soon,” Richard said.
“That is not an answer.”
“No,” Darcy said. “It is the only answer we may safely give until Edward has finished with the affidavits.”
“And from me?”
“Not unless there is no other way.”
“That is not your decision alone.”
“No. But it is one I mean to resist until resistance becomes dishonest.”
“Edward does not want you exposed first,” Richard said. “Nor does my father. The first blow must be one Wickham cannot turn into a husband’s grievance or a family quarrel.”
“The accounts.”
“The accounts,” Darcy confirmed. “They are dull enough to be dangerous.”
“Does he still believe you are on the Continent?”
“He suspects I am not.”
“Suspicion matters only if he can put a hand on Darcy,” Richard said. “What he still does not know is where Darcy sleeps tonight or how close my father is to moving.”
“So it is working.”
“For now,” Darcy said.
“And tonight?”
“Tonight Darcy does not sleep here,” Richard said. “The house may be known.”
“Then neither do I.”
“Georgiana. What of Anne and George?”
“They are at Matlock House with Nurse Thomas. I took them there before I came.”
“No.” Georgiana rose, and though her face was pale, there was no uncertainty in it. “I came because I was tired of being told after everything had already been decided. If this house is no longer safe for you, then my husband’s house is no longer safe for me.”
“Nearly seven months,” Georgiana said softly.
“Too long,” Darcy answered.