Page 10 of The Rogue’s Widow (Sweet Escapes Collection #3)
E lizabeth awoke the next morning far later than was her wont and rubbed sleep-deprived eyes against the sunlight filtering through the drapes. She had made up her mind—she would tell Miss Darcy that she could not remain. And then she would have to address her mother and sisters and tell them they must return to Aunt and Uncle Philips while she sought new work. The only trouble was that she had not the strength even to rise from the bed.
A curious rustling caused her to lift her head, and she discovered one of Pemberley’s maids setting up a tea cart. “What is this?”
The maid started, then bobbed a quick curtsy. “The master said before he left that you were feeling poorly, ma’am. Miss Darcy asked me to bring this up.”
Elizabeth blinked, trying to focus her dry eyes. “The master left?”
“Yes, ma’am. Gone to London, he said. He left instructions for you. Will you take your tea now, or shall I call for Nancy to dress you?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Tea now would be lovely. You may go, Sarah.”
“Ma’am,” the girl answered with another dip of her head.
Elizabeth’s limbs now tingled with urgency, and she moved quickly to the tea cart. Sarah had prepared the first cup for her, and thoughtlessly she caught it up. Her real object was the folded note beside it, and she hurried with both to the window seat. In the author’s typical fashion, the note contained no salutation and immediately embarked upon his purpose.
Be not alarmed, madam, that this note will contain any renewal of the intimacies I presumed upon yesterday. Two offences of the most grievous nature have been laid at my feet, and I must be allowed to answer them by whatever means I may.
The first, that I wilfully intervened in another man’s inheritance to suit my own pleasures, is a crime to which, if true, you ought rightly to have responded as you did. It is a travesty, and no man could be absolved of presuming so.
The second, that of misleading and taking advantage of an honourable lady and attempting to force her into a match against her choosing to suit my own ends, is equally heinous, and yet I cannot so easily find myself innocent. I will address this matter first.
Within the first moments of our meeting, I was struck by your intelligence, your dignity, and the apparent strength with which you had endured your prior circumstances. Your bearing and manner, and also your obvious education, were clearly the product of a genteel upbringing, but to these you added yet another virtue. You knew the meaning of hardship, of deprivation, and above all, gentleness. You may understand why I found these qualities essential to the situation after I have said all.
If I have pressured you to accept circumstances that you now regret, I can only beg your forgiveness. As you found at first, the opportunity to shelter a family, restore lands in need of stewardship, and to provide an exemplary woman to guide and befriend my younger sister were all answered in the same moment. If my motives were impure, I can at least say they were not without fruit.
My desire to aid Bernard Wickham in his quest for a wife was two-fold. The first need you met with your able management of the property, for if you had not been aware before, the tenant lands as well as the house had been allowed to deteriorate. Though you could not provide the means of repair, what you did offer was something more vital. You cared for the tenants out of your bounty. I heard regular reports of you or someone acting upon your direction taking baskets to the sick or helping to order the accounts that had been in disarray. This was my hope and, dare I say it, I am proud to have had a hand in bringing it about.
The second reason, and the only which mattered to Bernard, was as you have guessed. It was insupportable that the estate should pass to George Wickham upon the demise of his elder brother.
Bernard and George Wickham were not blood brothers, as you have been told. It is true that Bernard was taken in by his parents and given a name that was not his by birth, and thus I called him by his Christian name. The preference was his own in life, for he knew well that Franklin Wickham was not his natural father and declined to take the name where he could. He believed himself to be sired by my own father, and while he had his health, never ceased to protest that had he not been born on the wrong side of the blanket, Pemberley would have gone to him. This much is not true, but what is true is that Corbett was designed for him on behalf of his natural parent.
Such had been settled in writing at Bernard’s birth. As Franklin Wickham had been married five years with no issue before he adopted the child, there was no expectation that any other would inherit it. Bernard was to marry and produce his own heir, but failing that, a codicil in the will besought him, at his discretion, to deed the lands to one precisely such as yourself. The reasons for this peculiar request from the original grantor of the estate were personal, and I shall not expand upon them here. I will only state that the intent of all parties was in every way noble.
Three years after Bernard’s birth, Mrs Isabella Wickham quitted the region. None heard from her for considerably more than a year. When she returned, she brought with her a newborn son, ostentatiously christened George in an attempt to win the approval of my father. Mrs Wickham soon left again, and such became her habit, to return after a long absence only to depart once more. This lady you have met, under the guise of Mrs Godfrey. I hope you will be circumspect in your future associations with her.
You may now be asking yourself why I or anyone else would object to the younger son inheriting what the elder left. It is true, Bernard had no heir, and the property would have passed to the crown had no legal transfer occurred and had George Wickham not been in line. As I wrote above, there was an intent in the original bequest that would have been passed over, but even this would have been trifling, had Bernard been satisfied to leave matters as they were. He was not, for reasons of long-standing discord with the prospective heir. Such was his right, and it was my pleasure to concur, for I did not desire the younger brother to be settled so near those under my protection.
I shall now detail something for you which I trust will never reach other ears. The haste I displayed in securing your agreement was only in part due to Bernard's imminent demise. My other cause, even more urgent, was to bring comfort to Georgiana at a vulnerable time. I had taken her from school last summer and sent her to Brighton with another companion by the name of Mrs Younge. While there, Georgiana's letters, which had always overflowed with descriptions of all her doings, became sparse and infrequent. Troubled by this, I took the liberty of calling on her.
I discovered my sister hosting a guest after dinner. When I entered the room, I found her in the midst of a highly provocative waltz, with Mrs Younge accompanying. Her partner was George Wickham, and I discovered that he had been taking her on unescorted outings and staying for long, intimate dinners at home with a dishonest chaperon. I was only just in time to save her virtue, for one of the maids later found a travelling case that he had brought with him upon his arrival.
Georgiana confessed all—she had been persuaded to an elopement, and they intended to take the post-chaise the very next morning to Scotland. At first, she was disinclined to believe what I told her of his character, but when I revealed to her evidence of the many times I had supported his by-blows and found places for the girls he had ruined, she became tearful and despondent. Your arrival just a month after these events was the first thing to cheer her, and she has since continued to improve.
I do not tell you these things to justify all my actions. If I have been wrong in working matters to my design, if it was callous of me to determine my course without consulting the feelings of others, I suffer no misgivings over the outcome. It is with immense pleasure that I have watched your courage rise to each challenge, and I hope that you do not regret coming to Pemberley and to Corbett. Both houses will never again be the same, thanks to you.
I vowed at the opening of this letter to refrain from unsuitable declarations, but if you have read so far, perhaps you will permit me this much. The only thing preventing me from prostrating myself at your feet and beseeching you to grace my side for the rest of my years is a matter of honour. I cannot explain more, and I never shall, but I would move heaven and earth to do away with that one obstacle, if I thought you would ever have me. Perhaps it is well for us both that I know now—you would not.
I intend to remain in London some months, until we can both think on the past without guilt or remorse. We cannot avoid one another’s company forever, but perhaps when we meet again, it will be as indifferent employer and employee, or as common neighbours.
God bless you,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
“E lizabeth? Are you well?”
Miss Darcy’s muffled voice followed the shy rapping of her knuckles on Elizabeth’s door. Quickly, Elizabeth swiped at her eyes and put away Mr Darcy’s letter. She had read it through at least four times already and could nearly recite portions of it. Though at first smitten with indignation at the arrogance still resonating in certain of his lines, by the last perusal, the only feeling remaining to her was regret.
“Enter,” she called to Miss Darcy, just before draining the last of her cold tea and rising. A maudlin appearance would not do, and mooning over a neglected cup while still in her dressing gown would arouse Miss Darcy’s concern more than necessary. She drew back her shoulders and forced a smile as the door opened.
“Oh, I am ever so glad to see you looking bet—” The girl faltered. “What I mean is I had feared you were quite ill indeed. It is surely not so grave as I had imagined, but forgive me for saying it—you look as if something dreadful has happened. What is the matter?”
“Nothing of any concern. A bit of melancholy, that is all.”
Miss Darcy’s expression altered from worried to sympathetic. “I often feel like that when my brother goes away. I nearly became morose when he told me this morning that he was leaving, but then he reminded me you would be here, and I felt so much better. Is it not wonderful how good company can relieve such dreary feelings?”
Elizabeth’s smile became a little warmer, a little less forced. “It is true.”
Georgiana sighed. “He was right—he always is, you know. I am glad you are here to cheer me, Elizabeth, but is there some way I can do the same for you? Perhaps you want to spend the day with your family?”
Elizabeth shook her head and felt the final tremors of her anguish shivering away as she took a last, cleansing breath. “No, I thank you, but I would ask you one question.”
Miss Darcy tilted her chin, those wide, curious eyes blinking innocently. “Of course.”
“Have you ever known your brother to speak anything but the truth?”
The girl sucked in a breath of awe, as if Elizabeth had just profaned some sacrament. “Gracious! Not Fitzwilliam, never. He always speaks the utter truth, even when it pains him. I will confess this to you—pray, do not repeat it to him, for I should not like to remind him of it, but there was a time I doubted him very much. He can seem a little…” Miss Darcy’s brow dimpled as she sought the words.
“High-handed? Arrogant? Impossible to comprehend?” Elizabeth supplied.
“But he is truly none of those things. I think rather that he has no patience for foolishness. He has had to deal with much, far more than I know of, I am certain, and he is used to being the only rational person in the room.”
“That is a rather conceited perspective!” Elizabeth protested. “You do yourself a disservice if you can excuse him for such a sentiment.”
“Oh, I mean when I was a child. He speaks to me differently now, much more like one would expect of an affectionate brother, but it is you he truly respects.”
Elizabeth nearly choked and was some seconds in recovering her speech. “Me? He takes every opportunity to provoke me. I should have thought his manner indicative of a tremendous lack of respect, such as he accords everyone beneath himself.”
“Not so,” Georgiana objected with a vigorous shake of the head. “He treats no one with less than complete regard for their abilities—why, you have seen how he is with Mrs Reynolds and Mr Daniels. But yes, it is different with you. I have never seen him take such delight in bantering with anyone—not since Cousin Richard…” Her face clouded. “Well, perhaps he will set that right one day.”
Elizabeth arched a brow and watched for a moment as the girl looked uncomfortably away. “Miss Darcy, shall we adjourn to the instrument to amuse ourselves?”
The girl smiled broadly and clasped her hands before her. “In truth, I thought I would ask you a very great favour, but only if you feel equal to it today. Would you sit for me to paint your portrait?”
“Of course,” Elizabeth agreed, with some hesitation in her voice. “But why?”
“Oh! I am trying to improve my skills, and Fitzw…” Her mouth puckered around the last syllables of her brother’s name and she faltered, looking apologetically to Elizabeth.
“Do go on,” Elizabeth urged. “I am curious what Mr Darcy had to say of my looks. You think perhaps in oil, my features can at last be improved to meet his standards?”
“Nothing of the kind! He said you were very handsome indeed, but that only the most skilled painter could copy the look in your eyes.” Georgiana tipped her head this way and that, evaluating Elizabeth’s face. “He is right. If I am to have any hope of putting your image down properly, I shall have to pray I can see you the way he does.”