Page 40 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

Day 71/43: Tuesday, November 19, 1811

Darcy slowed Sisyphus and dismounted, his palms going sweaty as he lurked among the trees on the path from Longbourn. He had decided to tell Elizabeth what Mrs. Engel had shown him about Wickham—and to say nothing about his revelation regarding Wickham and Georgiana, at least not until Elizabeth seemed favourably disposed to his suit. Who knew what would happen should he simply blurt out the whole? What if Elizabeth rejected him at once?

Was that why Mrs. Engel had waited so long to tell him the truth? Had she told him earlier, he certainly would not have believed her; in fact, he rather suspected that he would have responded by enumerating all the reasons why he could not marry Elizabeth and then avoiding her like the plague.

Now, though, he had learned that all those impediments were as nothing compared to the misery that would be living without her.

The rustle of leaves filled the air, and a yellow dress that he well recognised came into view. He stepped out from among the trees.

“Oh!” Elizabeth said, one hand coming to her chest. “I did not see you there.”

Darcy bowed deeply. “I apologise, Miss Elizabeth; I did not intend to frighten you.”

“I ought not to have been so startled,” she said with a little laugh. “After all, I knew you were likely to be somewhere along this road.” She patted Sisyphus’s nose in greeting and then gestured to the path. “Shall we?”

“Indeed,” Darcy said, holding out an arm. His heart began to race at the touch of her gloved fingers on his arm. If he were as daring as Bingley, he might reach out to cover her hand with his own, but he could not make himself do so. “I am glad you were able to get away.”

“I am always able to escape in the morning—my mother, though she does not like my rambles, is resigned to them.”

“What of your father?”

Elizabeth merely shrugged. “He does not share my need for movement and the outdoors, choosing instead to find solitude in his library, but he has always supported my preference for a morning ramble.”

“Though I am very fond of books, I do not believe that I would be content to spend my days solely in a library.” He glanced back at Sisyphus. “I am a bit of a bear if I do not have time for a morning ride.”

“Nor I—sometimes I am not sure how he does it.” She sighed. “I suppose he simply has not found anything worth leaving his library for.”

Darcy’s eyebrows shot up, but he remained silent. Was not the man’s family sufficient reason for leaving his library? “Tell me about your sisters,” he requested, the fate that awaited one of them looming over him.

Elizabeth blinked at him. “My sisters?”

“I have spoken to Miss Bennet occasionally, and from what you and Bingley have said, I feel I know her somewhat—but you rarely speak about your other sisters.”

Elizabeth’s fingers tensed, and he was about to rescind his request when she finally drew in a deep breath. “I am not close with any of them but Jane,” she said, her gaze fixed on the path ahead of them.

Darcy had noticed that, but he remained silent, hoping it would prod her to share more.

Elizabeth gave a little shrug. “Mary is very concerned with her accomplishments; I fear my progress on the pianoforte will be a great disappointment.”

“Miss Mary is the one who played the pianoforte at the Lucases’ dinner party?”

Elizabeth nodded. “She is very—determined. And she views everything through the lens of wrong and right. I believe she could turn anything into a moralisation. I am afraid that, in some ways, she is nearly as prosy as Mr. Collins. At least she does not practise her words ahead of time, though.”

Darcy chuckled. “I doubt anyone practises their words as much as Mr. Collins.”

“You are probably correct.” Elizabeth sighed. “Kitty is my next sister. She follows Lydia around.”

“Is she not older than Miss Lydia?” Darcy asked with some confusion.

“She is,” Elizabeth said. “However, she has always tried to mould herself after Lydia. Lydia is—well, she is the youngest and Mama’s other favourite―”

Darcy made an enquiring noise.

“In addition to Jane.”

He hesitated. He did not wish to offend Elizabeth, but.... “I wonder if it is your mother’s enthusiasm towards Miss Lydia that has caused Miss Kitty to emulate her.”

“Perhaps.” For a long moment, only the rustle of birds and squirrels filled the air. Elizabeth turned a determined smile on him. “What about your sister? What is she like?”

“Before last summer, she was a kind, tenderhearted young girl who worked hard at her lessons, particularly her music. Now... she is so quiet.” He slowed, recalling the day of his departure. “She will hardly even look me in the eye. And I do not know how to help her. When I spoke to her about Wickham while I was in London, I thought it made a difference, but it is so difficult to tell with these blasted repetitions.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Indeed. One is forced to guess at the long-term results of any number of courses.” She glanced over at Mr. Darcy. He still appeared pensive, and she could not tell if he was merely ruminating on his sister or if something else was amiss. Perhaps it was time to ask him precisely why he had suggested their outing today. She tapped his arm.

Mr. Darcy glanced down at her in inquiry.

“Was there something you wished to talk about, other than our sisters, or did you simply desire to share the morning air?”

Mr. Darcy stiffened. “Mrs. Engel spoke to me.”

Elizabeth stumbled. “What? When? What did she say?”

“Yesterday morning.” Mr. Darcy’s attention returned to the path ahead of them. “She said that I have made a home in my heart for Wickham.”

Yesterday morning? And he had not even hinted at it yesterday? “Made a home in your heart for Wickham?” Elizabeth asked.

Mr. Darcy nodded.

“And have you deciphered her meaning?”

Mr. Darcy hesitated. “I cannot explain it, but she showed me a number of, for lack of a better word, ropes of light that stretched from my chest off in the direction of Meryton.”

Elizabeth studied the man as he continued the tale of his encounter with Mrs. Engel; he seemed off-balance and more awkward than he had been in some weeks. And, unfortunately, Mrs. Engel had not provided further information about whom they ought to be speaking to, instead pushing Mr. Darcy towards addressing the cords first. Given her historically vague answers, she ought not to be surprised; even so, she had hoped for something a bit more concrete to work with.

“I am sorry,” she said when he finished with the woman’s characteristic disappearance. “We have been hoping for more concrete information, and she did not provide it.”

Mr. Darcy merely nodded abstractedly.

Was she supposed to help him with these cords as well as with saving Miss Darcy? If someone had treated Jane the way Mr. Wickham had treated Miss Darcy.... Mr. Darcy’s hatred was eminently reasonable. And yet....

Aunt Gardiner had once introduced her to a woman in the Gardiners’ circle of acquaintances who had been entirely eaten up with bitterness. The woman’s features had been as shrivelled as her spirit, and Aunt Gardiner had warned Elizabeth of the ills of carrying hatred around and how it poisoned one from the inside out.

Would Mr. Darcy remain a kind soul if he continued to dwell on the wrongs Mr. Wickham had committed? A vision of him, hand still fisted as he seethed at a bleeding Mr. Wickham, flitted through her mind, and she suppressed a shudder. The look on his face had actually scared her, and she had thought that here was a man capable of murder.

“Have you considered how to cut those cords?” Elizabeth asked.

Mr. Darcy huffed, his lips twisting into a bitter half smile. “Simply cut them. Allow Wickham to go free.”

“From what you have said, it seems more likely that Mrs. Engel is trying to free you , rather than Mr. Wickham—after all, he is not the one who is repeating this Tuesday.”

The muscles in Mr. Darcy’s jaw rippled. “It is so easy to say that, to argue that I ought to simply let Wickham go, to ignore everything he has done to me and to countless others, but the thought of that wretch going free―” He growled. “It is not to be borne!”

Elizabeth opened her mouth and then closed it, gathering her thoughts. The path sloped upward steeply. When they reached the top of Oakham Mount, she released Mr. Darcy’s arm and he moved to tie Sisyphus to a nearby tree.

“Why do you believe he will be going free?” she finally asked, sitting down on a fallen tree.

“Mrs. Engel said that I ought to set him free; is that not indication enough?” Mr. Darcy said, pacing back and forth in front of her.

Elizabeth bit her lip. “You seem to believe that setting him free from the cords will mean that he will no longer suffer the consequences of his actions―”

“Because no one else is aware of his true nature,” he burst out.

“No one else in all the world knows he is a cad?” Elizabeth asked, one eyebrow raised. Mr. Darcy had admitted how responsible he felt for Mr. Wickham, but she had not realised how truly he had meant it. “What of his other victims? What of your cousin or aunt and uncle?”

Mr. Darcy faltered under her look. “Well, yes. They are aware. But....”

“But?” she prompted.

“It is not enough; it does not prevent him from perpetrating further deception upon others,” he said, his hands clenched into fists.

“Does your knowledge of his character prevent him from adding to the number of his victims?”

Mr. Darcy came to a halt and his eyes slid closed. “No. I have never succeeded in hobbling him, no matter how many times I have censured him.”

Probably because he also ensured that Mr. Wickham never felt the pain of his actions. She did not dare say that right now however, lest it push Mr. Darcy back towards continuing to take responsibility for the fool.

“Do you have any control over Mr. Wickham’s behaviour?” she pressed.

“Well, no, but―”

“Tell me, Mr. Darcy, do you blame me for my sisters’ poor behaviour?”

His eyes flew open. “Of course not!”

Elizabeth moved to stand near him. “Then how are you to blame for Mr. Wickham’s poor behaviour?”

Mr. Darcy stared at the ground between them. “I have done nothing to stop him, despite knowing the danger he posed. In fact, by hiding the truth so thoroughly for my father’s sake, I have made it possible for Wickham to pass himself off with some degree of credit.”

“No one can control our circumstances, but we can all choose what we do with those circumstances. Mr. Wickham did not have to choose to continue his poor behaviour. You are responsible only for your own actions—not for Mr. Wickham’s.”

Mr. Darcy studied her for a long moment before shaking his head. “You do not understand. I have come to realise that my motives for shielding Wickham were entirely selfish: my father never recovered from my mother’s death, and I was afraid that further grief might—might be more than he could bear. I did not wish to lose my father, and so I protected Wickham.”

Elizabeth hesitated and then put a hand on his arm. “You were young when you lost your mother; it is entirely understandable that you would go to great lengths to protect your father.”

Mr. Darcy shut his eyes tightly as though shutting out the truths that fell from his lips. “I was selfish, and countless others paid the price for my selfishness.”

“You were doing the best you could.”

“I should have done better then,” he said, his words dripping with self-loathing.

Elizabeth straightened. “You made a mistake,” she said sternly. “You cannot let that mistake define your entire life. If you are, as Mrs. Engel put it, tied to Mr. Wickham, do you really want to remain so until you are an old man?”

Mr. Darcy’s eyes went wide, and he shook his head wordlessly.

“Then how can you make a different choice today?”

Mr. Darcy studied the ground in front of him for some time before one side of his mouth quirked up. “You mean, what can I do today ? I imagine I could do a great many things this Tuesday.”

Elizabeth glared at him.

He sobered. “I could have him arrested and sent to debtor’s prison.”

Darcy nearly shuddered at the thought of actually following through on that statement. A part of him longed to make Wickham’s life miserable, but if Wickham were to bring Georgiana’s reputation into question....

Elizabeth raised one eyebrow. “I was referring more generally to the decision to take responsibility for your actions and to allow Mr. Wickham to bear responsibility for his actions. I suppose, however, that sending him to debtor’s prison might suffice, depending on whether you have begun to cut those cords first or not.” She shifted. “I—I suspect that if you do not do so, you may find yourself even more securely tied should you send him to debtor’s prison. According to my aunt, the act of retribution itself shackles us to others.”

“How so?”

She gave a small shrug. “If those ties are representations of your time and attention, you are only increasing their strength if you continue to give him more time and attention—and you would feel guilty and struggle to forgive yourself were you to send him to debtor’s prison in a fit of pique. You are too good a man to be comfortable using your position that way.”

Darcy stared at her. She believed that he was good? Even after hearing how wretchedly he had managed things with Wickham for years on end? “You may be correct. I would think about him every day should I lash out in such a fashion.” He shifted his attention to the nearly bare trees spread out below them. “Punching him did not help matters. I had hoped that I would feel more free—but I did not. The most free I have felt around him has been when I am with you and I am not even thinking about Wickham.”

Elizabeth tapped her lips. “Perhaps that is part of the solution to Mrs. Engel’s cords—if you simply focus on other things in your life, you shall starve them of time and attention.” She frowned. “Have you deciphered to whom the other cords belong?”

Darcy grimaced. “I must confess that I have been more preoccupied with the mechanics of cutting those cords than with the identity of the others.” And with wooing Elizabeth. And with the fact that he had no desire to free Wickham at all.

“Well, is there anyone who immediately comes to mind? Or perhaps anyone who comes to mind whenever you think of Mr. Wickham?”

“No one in particular.”

Elizabeth took a step back and crossed her arms. “Personally, I would be more upset with the people who believed Mr. Wickham than you seem to be.” Her arms fell to her sides. “You forgave me at once for listening to him on the grounds that I could not have known, but—I wonder if some part of you was disappointed that I had been so foolish. A part of me did know how incongruous his story and manners were, and yet, I still listened to him.”

She held up a hand as Darcy began to protest. “You may absolve me, but I cannot absolve myself. Truly, I ought to have known better—his lies were flimsy enough to see through them once I began to examine them more closely. I wonder if—do you think you might be wounded by those who took his side instead of yours for all those years?”

Darcy sighed and began pacing once more, needing to do something even if it was just moving in place. “Of course I am frustrated with them! But no one is to blame for believing such a snake in the grass as Wickham.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but it almost seems as though you have put Mr. Wickham on a pedestal—that he is so practised a liar that no one can ever be blamed for swallowing his lies. It is almost as though you believe him to be so powerful that everyone must bow to his whims.”

Darcy stared at Elizabeth for several moments, only tearing his eyes from hers when he stumbled over a rock and barely caught himself. All these years, he had believed that no one was to blame for not seeing through Wickham’s lies, despite the fact that they had seemed so clearly false to him.

“Either that, or you believe that the world is composed entirely of fools,” she said with a chuckle.

He shot her a look. “Well . . . .”

“I jest, but there is a kernel of truth there. Either Mr. Wickham is too powerful to be seen through, or everyone he has duped is too stupid to recognise the truth.”

“I suppose―” Darcy cleared his throat, wishing that she were not quite so perspicacious. He had related that portion of his conversation with Mrs. Engel, thinking only of the need to conceal the rest, rather than of what might result. He took a deep breath. Free Wickham—that was what Mrs. Engel had demanded. And in doing so, he would supposedly free himself, but... why did the process have to be so hard? “I suppose it was a bit of both,” he said. “Some people have seemed to be merely foolish―” Various professors and university fellows sprang to mind as well as maids and local families in Derbyshire. “—and others were not on their guard for deceit.”

“Such as your sister?”

Darcy nodded curtly.

Elizabeth stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. “I know you wish to absolve her of blame, and you are certainly right that Mr. Wickham bears the largest part, considering his concerted efforts to lead her astray. However, if you do not allow her to take responsibility for her part in the matter, how will she ever learn and then behave differently? You would condemn Miss Darcy to repeating the same mistakes, feeling powerless to prevent further pain.”

She took a deep breath. “Yes, she had no reason to suspect Mr. Wickham—especially as he had gained her companion’s connivance—but has she never been taught the importance of protecting her reputation? Can you truly tell me that none of her governesses or tutors or companions or family members have ever spoken to her about the dangers of eloping?” Elizabeth pressed.

Darcy’s eyes slid closed. That was a truth he had wholly brushed aside. “Of course she has been educated about those dangers.”

“If it had been any man but Mr. Wickham, would you consider your sister innocent?” Elizabeth continued relentlessly.

Certainly, the gentleman would be primarily to blame, but Georgiana had been taught not to take such a drastic step. Truly, it was shocking that she had even agreed to an elopement. And even though he wished to argue that it was Wickham’s persuasiveness that had swayed her.... “I would censure her for not holding fast to what she knew to be right,” he said quietly.

“And so you should. Understanding brings compassion, not absolution.”

Darcy’s shoulders sagged as grief and anger suddenly pooled in his heart. Georgiana, his dearest sister, had thrown away everything that he had taught her. Had nearly thrown away their family. Simply for the romance of the situation. The pain that slashed through him now was one he had felt for only the barest moment back in Ramsgate before it had been submerged, hidden away under layers of rage at Wickham and worry for Georgiana. She was truly duped, and, in many ways, it was not at all her fault. For the first time though, he could admit that she had not been blameless and that her actions had stabbed him through the heart.

After several moments of silence, Elizabeth squeezed his arm and then suggested they return to Longbourn. Darcy nodded, untied, Sisyphus, and offered her his arm. Wordlessly, they resumed their walk. Darcy was immeasurably grateful for the time to simply think and to feel. Now that he was aware of the pain, it jabbed at him as though it were entirely new all over again.

Untying the cords would be far more difficult than he had ever expected.

Release Wickham. Trust that consequences would eventually catch up with him. Recognise the mistakes he had made. Realise that Wickham was not the only person culpable.

It was enough to leave him wishing for his bed. Yet if he could be free of Wickham, could stop thinking about the man, stop worrying about what damage he might, even now, be inflicting upon innocents, stop holding imaginary conversations, stop going over and over past events as though, if only he devised a different choice, he could change reality.... For the first time, he imagined what such a future would look like. Freedom.

Darcy squared his shoulders against the pain and weariness and determined that such an endeavour was worth the agony.