Page 26 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

I t was with some trepidation that Elizabeth climbed the last steps to the top of Oakham Mount. Yesterday afternoon, she had taken this exact ramble and seen no one along the path, save for Farmer Davies (who was half-blind and deaf). No one would disturb her and Mr. Darcy, which meant her reputation would be safe and she had no desire to test the limits of Mrs. Engel’s protection nor to discover what Mrs. Engel might consider “unusual behaviour.” However, this also meant that no one would hear her cries for help, should Mr. Darcy take advantage of her. He did not seem dangerous, though. Apart from his treatment of Mr. Wickham, he had behaved in a mainly gentlemanlike manner. Besides, she owed him the opportunity to explain, especially after her behaviour last night.

Mr. Darcy was waiting for her, his horse tied up near a patch of late-autumn grass. He straightened from where he had been slumped against a tree and walked forward and bowed. “Miss Elizabeth.”

“Mr. Darcy,” she replied with a small curtsy. She took a deep breath. “I wish to apologise for my behaviour last night: I demanded that you share personal information without considering that you do not owe me any explanation. I would still like to speak to you about our current predicament, but I will not require you to speak of Mr. Wickham.”

Mr. Darcy’s eyes widened. “It is I who must apologise, Miss Elizabeth. I have spent―” He straightened his coat and then clasped his hands behind his back. “I have spent much of last night and this morning examining my behaviour when we first met, and I cannot think of it without realising that I—appeared to be most ungentlemanly.”

Mr. Darcy was apologising? This went against everything she thought she knew about the man—he himself had said that his temper was resentful.

“I was—I wish to explain to you the nature of my relationship with Mr. Wickham before we proceed,” Mr. Darcy continued. “It will in some measure explain my behaviour here in Hertfordshire and it has bearing on our current predicament. Will you listen?”

“You have my attention,” Elizabeth said.

Mr. Darcy gestured to a large rock. “My narrative is quite lengthy. Would you care to sit?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, seating herself on the rock.

Mr. Darcy began to pace in front of her, his hands still clasped tightly behind his back. “Forgive me, I must begin at the beginning and I am afraid that it is not—not a pleasant tale, nor one that I would normally relate. However, I believe frank honesty may be our only hope of succeeding in this. I promise that it is relevant.

“Mr. Wickham’s father was my father’s late steward, and a more worthy man you would be hard-pressed to find... “

As Mr. Darcy unfolded the account of Mr. Wickham’s youth and early poor behaviour, followed by betrayal after betrayal and culminating with a betrayal so deep that Elizabeth did not know how precisely Mr. Darcy had not simply run away from Hertfordshire at once, her thoughts whirled like autumn leaves whisked around by an unruly breeze. The man’s mien was entirely honest—it was clear that he was speaking heartrending truths that he had tried (unsuccessfully) to accustom himself to.

She had been blind! How could she have even half-believed Mr. Wickham’s tale? His manner was almost rote, leading her from one question to the next, all designed to do the most damage to the Darcy name and to Mr. Darcy himself.

How she had prided herself on her ability to judge characters, but she had failed miserably in the matter of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham.

“I must now bring up the circumstance of my arrival in Hertfordshire,” Mr. Darcy said. “My aunt suggested that I accept Bingley’s request for a visit as my sister is not—she is not well. And I—when she sees me, she is overcome with guilt, and I have not been entirely sanguine in her presence either.” He took a ragged breath. “To come so close to losing her—and through my own mistakes―”

“It was not your mistake that caused Mr. Wickham to prey on the innocent,” Elizabeth said in a rush.

Mr. Darcy came to a halt and turned to her, as though he had forgotten entirely that she was even there. “ I hired Mrs. Younge. I sent Georgiana to Ramsgate alone,” he said, his head bent like a penitent.

Elizabeth shook her head. “You said that Mrs. Younge’s references were false; how would you have known that she was in communication with Mr. Wickham?”

“I should have examined them more closely,” he said firmly. He brushed a hand across his face and straightened. “Regardless, I have not been myself here in Hertfordshire. When Bingley informed me that he had already agreed to attend the assembly ball—I came to Netherfield to escape the pressures of London and to give my sister time to heal with my aunt’s aid. I did not come to be hounded for my wealth or to—well, when we arrived at the ball, I was thoroughly desperate for my own room and my own bed. I had repented entirely of coming. But Miss Bingley would not have allowed me to remain at Netherfield alone, and so I simply did my best to remain aloof so as not to raise any expectations—matrimonial or otherwise.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. “Mr. Darcy, a country assembly is not at all like Almack’s. Dancing with any of the women at the ball would not have raised expectations—nor would being polite, at the ball or anywhere else since you have arrived.”

Mr. Darcy’s lips twisted in a bitter frown. “That may be your experience, Miss Elizabeth. Mine has been somewhat different. Coming into my inheritance at such a young age has left me prey to those who desire to use my fortune, my position, my influence, and my name. I am related to an earl on my mother’s side. Every event is a gauntlet of societal expectations and scavengers of the worst sort who try in one fashion or another to use me.”

Elizabeth hesitated. “I am sorry that your experience has been so difficult,” she settled on. “I still do not believe that politeness would be misplaced here in Hertfordshire. You are quite capable of giving a thorough set-down should such a thing become necessary.” She bunched up her skirts in one hand, trying to decide how honest to be. Mrs. Engel’s words from this morning came back to her. “You have cultivated a forbidding mien and an unwillingness to converse with strangers in order to protect yourself from hangers-on. However, by closing yourself off to the world, you are the poorer. There are worthy people who would not care about your status or wealth, who are content with their own lives and have no desire to steal from you. Your mask is... it is keeping you from being part of the world around you.”

Mr. Darcy remained silent for several moments. “It is not that I am unwilling to speak to strangers,” he finally said. “It is simply that I do not have the talent that some possess of speaking easily to those with whom I am not well-acquainted.”

Elizabeth gave him a wry smile. “As I once told you, I do not have the talent which some women possess of playing the pianoforte with ease, but I have always assumed that is because I do not take the trouble to practise, not because my fingers are incapable.”

Mr. Darcy came to an abrupt halt for nearly a full minute and then resumed his pacing, the chill wind blowing his coat about behind him.

Elizabeth considered breaking the silence, but wished for a moment to think as well. She, too, was entirely at sixes and sevens—Jane was correct that Mr. Darcy had simply been having a bad day. And how galling that he had believed her to be a fortune hunter! Then again, the man had only met her that night; it said far more about his previous experiences than about her. She shifted on the cold rock, her stiffness a testament to how long she had been sitting in one attitude.

After several minutes, Mr. Darcy cleared his throat and turned to her. “I must confess that I have never attempted to develop that skill.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and gave him an impish smile. “Well, you have the perfect opportunity to do so now.”

Mr. Darcy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You have an entire shire full of people whom you have never met and who will most likely not remember meeting you, even if you struggle to make conversation with them at first.”

Mr. Darcy blinked at her. “You refer to the repetitions?”

“Yes. We may as well take advantage of them while they exist. I myself took yesterday afternoon to question some of our tenants whom I rarely have the opportunity to speak to. Though I try to see everyone regularly, some of them require more attention than others.”

Darcy’s mouth nearly dropped open; women of the ton had never seemed to care about their tenants. Or perhaps most young women simply did not care to speak about their tenants? Either way, to a man who had been attempting to shoulder the burdens of running an estate, it was intoxicating. “I—yes. If we were at Pemberley, I might do likewise. It is easy to allow those tenants who complain to receive the majority of one’s attention. I seldom visit my tenants because I lack the time. But we used to hold an open house at Christmas. It has been—it has been some time since we engaged in the tradition.”

She studied him. “How have you been spending your repetitions? You said you have been experiencing this Tuesday for weeks, correct?”

“Today is my thirty-second Tuesday. At first, I did not know why the repetitions were occurring, and so I spent the time avoiding the less pleasant parts of my day. Much of the time, I simply rode Sisyphus around the countryside. One day I tried to go to London in hopes of escaping the phenomenon.”

“I presume it did not make any difference,” Miss Elizabeth said.

Darcy shook his head. “Once I spoke to Mrs. Engel, I learned that she created these repetitions to give me an opportunity to―” He swallowed hard, knowing how mad the whole thing would sound. “—the opportunity to be free from Wickham. Apparently, he will, eventually, marry Georgiana.” Darcy’s voice grew choked. “I do not know how to prevent it. Nothing I have tried has worked.”

Miss Elizabeth stood and put a hand on his arm.

“I—I cannot leave Georgiana to her fate, no matter how many Tuesdays I must endure.”

“I would not wish such a fate on anyone. What can I do?”

Darcy cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump that had appeared at her willingness. “I do not know. Mrs. Engel said only that I could do something to affect the matter today. And when I requested help, she said that she would send someone—presumably that someone is you, since you now remember the repetitions.”

Miss Elizabeth frowned. “But why me?”

“I truly do not know.”

“Perhaps because Mr. Wickham sought me out at my aunt’s dinner?”

Darcy stiffened. “He did what?”

Miss Elizabeth took a step back. “He sat next to me, despite having a room full of people who would have welcomed him.” She reseated herself on the rock. “I still do not know why. But he proceeded to tell me all about how you had ‘cheated him out of his inheritance.’ I am sorry for believing him instead of asking you about the matter.”

Darcy waved her apology aside. “When would you have asked? Besides, you could not have suspected him of being such a practised liar.”

“Something seemed off, though,” Miss Elizabeth admitted. “His actions did not match his words, and I was unsure why. Now it seems he was simply attempting to dupe me. But why?”

“Did he sit by you every night?”

Elizabeth cast her mind through the memories of Tuesdays; they were as clear as any memory once she considered the matter—yet they did not come into focus without that consideration. Now that she thought about it, there were other nights—nights when he sat by someone else. “No.”

“Do you know what might have caused the variance?”

“It must have been something you did, since you were the only one who could change your behaviour.” She considered. “You did not always come to Meryton, correct?”

Mr. Darcy nodded.

“Then that is it. I am nearly sure: on the days when you came to Meryton but not to my aunt’s dinner, Mr. Wickham sat next to me at my aunt’s. I cannot think why that would make any difference to him though,” Elizabeth finished.

Mr. Darcy’s cheeks appeared to grow rosier (though it might have been due to the chill wind). “It is likely because he noticed that I sought you out. He may have suspected that you would have the most accurate information about my stay in Hertfordshire.”

“He did ask about the duration of your visit.... Well, whether or not that is the reason, Mrs. Engel believes that I am the best person to assist you. How else have you attempted to solve the issue with Mr. Wickham—besides attacking him?”

Mr. Darcy fidgeted. “I apologise for subjecting you to such behaviour,” he said stiffly.

“Frankly, you have shown remarkable restraint, considering the many ways Mr. Wickham has worked against you.” If someone had treated Jane the way Mr. Wickham had treated Miss Darcy.... Elizabeth gave him a comforting smile. “What else have you attempted?”

“Then you believe me that we must change things with Mr. Wickham in order to escape Tuesday?”

Elizabeth hesitated. “It is not that I believe you per se—it is simply just as likely an explanation as any other. I attempted to speak to Mrs. Engel this morning, and she was not at all forthcoming. She simply instructed me that helping you would help many other people.”

“Very well,” Mr. Darcy said and listed off the various things he had attempted with Mr. Wickham. He finished with, “and Mrs. Engel said that I am trying to change the wrong people when I asked her how to prevent this future from coming to pass.”

Elizabeth frowned. “The wrong people?”

Mr. Darcy nodded.

“Why does that woman have to be so cryptic?” Elizabeth burst out after a moment’s thought.

“She said something about seeking the answers being just as important as the answers themselves,” Mr. Darcy said with a grimace. “But you may ask her yourself—perhaps she will be more forthright with you.”

Elizabeth returned his grimace. “I doubt it.”

“It would not hurt to try. I do not know what else we may do.”

Elizabeth bit her lower lip. “Well, perhaps we ought to consider who else might be involved. If Mr. Wickham attempted to pursue Miss Darcy, who else would intervene?”

“My aunt and uncle... and I suppose his commanding officer would have something to say about him leaving to elope with a young woman....”

“Have you attempted to affect them?”

Mr. Darcy shook his head.

“Well, then perhaps you ought to write to your aunt and uncle,” Elizabeth said briskly. “I will ask my aunt to send Colonel Forster an invitation to her dinner tomorrow; we may be able to speak to him there. If not, you may have to visit the regiment.”

At dinner, there was little time to speak privately, but they managed to exchange updates on their tasks and Darcy asked Miss Elizabeth how she had spent the rest of her afternoon. With a laugh, she told him that one of the Lucases’ goats had escaped its pen and the whole story had been retold so often that by the time it got to her mother, Mrs. Bennet believed that the entire herd of goats had gone on a wild stampede through the countryside.

It was pleasant to laugh. He had chuckled several times with Miss Elizabeth over the past month, but it was agreeable, more than agreeable, to know that she would remember this moment.