Page 33 of Elizabeth is not a Bennet

Private Parlor

The Silver Chalice Inn

Later

Fireplace and candles alike filled the room with a flickering light that wavered across the scattered papers on the table. It was largely quiet, with only two men left seated to examine the correspondence and records. Mrs. Darcy had retired to bed not long after arriving, the travel and her delicate situation wearying her. Miss Bennet and her father had stayed up much later, both pleased to see the other again and chattering together eagerly – Wickham had never observed Mr. Bennet so verbose before. But when the clock had struck eleven, Mr. Bennet had exclaimed in surprise over the late hour before shooing his daughter off to bed with a reminder of tomorrow’s travels, departing himself but a few minutes later.

Now Darcy and Wickham were poring over the letters between Wickham himself and Mrs. Stowe, as well as all the legal documents pertaining to Mrs. Darcy’s inheritance .

“You really did a marvelous job, Wickham,” Darcy remarked. “And you are quite certain that you copied your letters to Mrs. Stowe word for word?”

“Word for word, yes,” Wickham said stiffly. He was seated in the chair closest the door, which made him feel a trifle more at ease. Darcy was not as impassioned as Colonel Fitzwilliam, but he was still obviously angry about Wickham’s attempt to run away with Georgiana Darcy the previous year.

Nor could he blame Darcy. It had been a cruel, manipulative thing to do, to play upon Georgiana’s youthful affections toward him in an attempt to gain a fifteen-year-old as a wife.

“Darcy?” he asked impulsively.

His old playmate, former enemy, and now reluctant ally, lifted his face to stare at him. “Yes?”

Wickham licked his lips and said, “Do you remember Susan Taylor, the daughter of one of the Pemberley tenants?”

Darcy’s expression immediately tightened, and he nodded grimly. “I do.”

Wickham swallowed hard and said, “Is it true that her child is, well, mine? ”

Darcy leaned towards him and furrows appeared on his forehead.

“Yes, Wickham,” he ground out, “little Richard is, indeed, your son. Susan was not a loose girl; it was your charming ways and smooth speeches that convinced her to take you into her bed. She is married now to a decent tenant farmer, whom I paid to wed her, but she would never be in such a position if you had not taken advantage of her innocence and gullibility.”

Wickham held up a staying hand. “It was a terrible thing to do, Darcy. I acknowledge that.”

This provoked amazement on Darcy’s face, followed by a look of disdain. “You regret it? That seems most unlikely.”

Wickham blew out a breath, stood up, and walked over to where a bottle of brandy was waiting on a well-polished tray, along with several glasses. “Would you like a drink, Darcy?”

“No.”

Wickham nodded, poured himself some brandy, and then wandered over to warm himself by the fire.

“I had an epiphany while in Northumberland some months ago,” he said.

“An epiphany? ”

“Yes. Mrs. Stowe,” Wickham began, sighed, and continued, “She reminds me somewhat of myself, though she is homicidal and I am not. But she has many of the attributes I have, and felt proud of; looks, charm, the ability to turn a good phrase.”

He threw down his drink and turned to gaze into the flames. “She is at least five and thirty, and a very attractive woman. She used her considerable powers to entice me into seeking information about your wife and then tried to convince me to commit murder. I was, of course, using my own skills to deceive her, but I confess the entire situation left a bad taste in my mouth. It was disgusting, really.”

“Did she invite you into her bed, George?”

Wickham turned around, startled. It had been many years since Darcy had addressed him by his first name.

“Not at the time,” Wickham said wryly. “No, but she made it obvious that if I served her well, I would be rewarded by such attentions.”

“And yet you were not tempted?” Darcy asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Well, of course I was,” Wickham returned and began pacing up and down the floor. “She is, as I said, a very handsome woman. But at the same time, I … well, I realized that she was seducing me to further her own ai ms. It was an uncomfortable feeling, which led me to an unsettling realization that I have done exactly the same thing in using my powers to entice young women into bed.”

Darcy was gazing at him intently. “And you did not like that feeling?”

“I did not,” Wickham replied, halting in place and turning to face his old playmate. “It was disgusting to think of Mrs. Stowe wishing to use me in such a way, and disgusting to realize that I have done exactly the same thing. Of course, many a young man in Cambridge has treated women as playthings, but that is not really an excuse.”

“No, it is not,” Darcy agreed coldly.

Wickham sighed again and sat down near the fire once more. “I intend to change my ways, with God’s help. The temptation will be there, but I hope that I can withstand it. Moreover, I would … would you permit me to assist in supporting Susan and her … my son?”

Darcy’s chilly expression gave way to surprise. “You wish to give money to help your son and Susan?”

“I do,” Wickham declared, and then he added humbly, “It is not a great deal, of course, but I have been saving diligently for some months, and I could give ten pounds now. ”

“You have been saving?” Darcy demanded skeptically.

“I have. As I said, I have been thinking profoundly about my life of late. I was horrified when Denny shot your wife and comforted myself that I am no murderer. And yet, I have played fast and loose with the lives of many women, and I realized that while I did not kill any of them, I showed a revolting lack of concern for their well-being.”

“I see,” Darcy replied.

Silence fell for a few minutes, and then Darcy said, “Wickham, I find it hard to trust your apparent change of heart, but I am grateful for your assistance with my wife’s stepmother. Moreover, I agree with everything you just said regarding our duty toward those around us. I hope that you are genuine.”

“You have no reason to trust me,” Wickham acknowledged. “I do not entirely trust myself, if the truth be told. My selfishness runs deep. But I appreciate your words, and ask for your prayers on my behalf as well.”

“You have them,” Darcy promised, feeling some hope for the man who had slipped so far.

/

Elizabeth’s Bedchamber

Twenty Minutes Later

“What time is it, darling?” Elizabeth murmured drowsily as her husband crept into bed.

“Late,” he muttered back. “Very late. Go back to sleep, my love.”

She did so, fatigued by a long day, and Darcy was content to scoot a little closer and wrap one arm around her, his hand resting on her slightly bulging abdomen.

He listened to her breathing, his mind shifting vaguely to Wickham’s remarkable claims. He did not truly trust his old enemy, but what was it that the Scriptures said?

“Charity suffereth long.”

And also, “ Be ye therefore wise as serpents and harmless as doves .”

He could handle Wickham no matter what happened, but his primary concern was his beloved Elizabeth and their baby, nestled even now in his or her mother’s womb.

/

Village of Kelso

Scotland

Four Days Later

Elizabeth watched out the window with pleasure, observing the buildings along either side of the cobbled street. Kelso was a charming little town, and Elizabeth was in the mood to be charmed. The last four days, despite being spent on the road, had not been onerous; her husband had seen to that. Darcy had the wealth and the status to travel in style, and he had paid every attention to his wife’s comfort. They had stayed in only the best inns, with spacious comfortable rooms and clean aired sheets, and dinners quite as good as any at Longbourn or Netherfield or Pemberley. Even when they departed to the road once more, their pace was easy, with plenty of pauses to step out and stretch their legs. They were averaging, she thought, about fifty miles a day, which was not as much as they could have, but she appreciated the leisurely pace.

The companionship in the carriage was equally pleasant. Elizabeth had missed her uncle and delighted in the hours spent in his company, conversing with him and her husband, or sometimes listening with pleasure as the two men spoke. Wickham she glimpsed only at the inns; the man rode ahead with the servants, staying tactfully out of Darcy’s way. For all of Wickham’s claims of reform, she knew that Darcy had no desire to spend hours each day in close quarters with the man who had done Georgiana such an injury. Nor, he had confided to his wife, did he trust Wickham’s repentance. It was possible the man was in earnest, but he had been a reprobate for many years now, and such remorse seemed unlikely.

Elizabeth agreed. Darcy had the advantage of close acquaintance with Wickham over the course of their entire lives, and if he was suspicious of the man’s professed change of heart, he likely knew of what he spoke. She also respected her uncle’s judgment, for he was clear-sighted and often discerning in the characters of his fellow-men. He was more optimistic about Wickham’s sincerity, pointing out that the man had been on his best behavior in Meryton, having made several significant changes to his habits. No debts had been run up, no attempts to seduce the local girls had been made. It was true that Wickham could be merely biding his time, but if that were so, he was being quite persistent in his deception.

The only real cloud on Elizabeth’s horizon was the loss of her cousin’s companionship. She missed Mary, but accepted that her cousin was eager to return home to Mrs. Bennet and the younger girls, her own familiar bed and house. Elizabeth did not blame her in the least; she thought fondly of Longbourn even yet, though Pemberley was her home now.

She was trying not to consider their final destination. She could not help a thread of nervousness worming into her stomach and churning there at the imminent meeting between herself and Moira Stowe, as well as her half-brother Harold. She wondered about him often and grieved that he was apparently not aware of her existence. Elizabeth knew that her husband would protect her, along with her uncle, and possibly even Wickham. Moreover, the servants’ carriage rumbling ahead of them was full, and Darcy had hand-picked several strapping footmen and charged them with his wife’s protection. No, Elizabeth was in no danger, and her husband was competent to manage fraught, difficult situations. She would lean on his support and let him take the lead in the upcoming confrontations.

The carriage swung sharply, and she swayed gently into her husband’s arm as they turned into the courtyard of a neat little inn. She heard the muffled sound of the coachman reining in the horses, and a moment later, they slowed to a stop. After a mere second, the door swung open. The ostler outside tugged his forelock as Darcy stepped down. Elizabeth leaned on her husband’s hand as he assisted her out, while Mr. Bennet exited behind her .

Inside the inn, Elizabeth’s bedroom was delightful, decorated in pale yellow with a vase of daffodils cheering the space. Molly had arrived before her, laying out her washing things and readying the room for her mistress. Elizabeth bent over the basin, washed her hands and face, and contemplated herself in the looking-glass. She was rather pale and nearly as tired-looking as she felt. A quick glance at the clock decided her, and she dismissed her maid before easing gratefully down beneath the soft comforter to take a nap.