Page 8 of The Rogue’s Widow (Sweet Escapes Collection #3)

O ver the next two days, Bingley spoke of little else. Jane Bennet was an angel. Jane Bennet had a heart of gold to take a governess’ position to help her family. Jane Bennet’s honour was unimpeachable, her smile radiant like the sun, and her sweetness unparalleled in all the earth.

Darcy thought rather that the woman was too sweet, in the way of a sugary bun where the salt has been forgotten and there is nothing but the cloying, tooth-ache-inducing stickiness that makes the head spin. And she smiled altogether too much.

“But would not you smile, if you had been gone from your family two years and now suddenly returned under wondrous circumstances?” Bingley protested. “Surely, even you would beam from ear to ear.”

Darcy preferred not to think on it, on the chance that he might have to reconsider. “There is nothing objectionable in the lady,” he conceded. “She would do handsomely for a tradesman or even a modest gentleman, but for you—”

“Why one sister over the other?” Bingley challenged. “They are both of the same lineage, the same circumstances. Both took positions for work.”

“But both are not mistress of their own estate, modest as it is. As you have been wishing to purchase anyway, this satisfies both your desire to secure property and a capable bride. Corbett is too small for your station, but you could always sell it and buy something finer, or perhaps keep it for your second son.”

“Say what you will, Darcy,” Bingley said with a laugh, “but I will declare Jane Bennet a sweet girl and I should like to know her better.”

Darcy hid his chagrin. “You ought to take pains to know Mrs Wickham while you are at it. She is not normally so acerbic as she was yesterday. Rather, she is a lady of a quick wit who objects to being manipulated but can readily be brought to see reason when it is directly before her.”

“Why, Darcy, she sounds absolutely… indeed!” Bingley mused as his eyes lit up. “Truly, I have just had the most capital idea, and I daresay it would suit everyone. Why ever do you not pursue the lady?”

“I! Pursue Mrs Wickham? Impossible.”

“Why not? You told me once yourself that Georgiana is coming out next autumn and would do better with a sister-in-law than a companion. It seems to me you might have found both in the same woman.”

Darcy scowled at the simplistic notion. “Even if I did not find it distasteful to court a woman presently in my employ, there are other reasons.”

“Oh,” Bingley scoffed, “yes, yes, Pemberley’s future mistress must have connections nearly to the Prince himself and a fortune to rival Midas, and—”

“This is true,” Darcy interrupted. “Indeed, I wish it was not, but there it is. However, there is yet a more pressing reason I could never take her as my bride. The very reason I coaxed her to wed Bernard in the first place. No. Society’s expectations I could thwart if I chose to—heaven knows, my father did—but my honour I cannot sacrifice.”

Bingley looked disbelieving. “What honour would you be compromising?”

Darcy shook his head and forced a smile. “Never mind. It is enough to state that even if I desired it—and I do not, to be clear—I could never offer for Mrs Wickham. You, however—”

“Oh, Darcy, let it rest. If I chose Mrs Wickham as you desire, I would still need to wait another seven months before she can wed.”

“Six.”

“Six, rather. Has it been that long already? But in any case, I have plenty of time to know the whole family better. And what of you? You did not go to Rosings this spring with Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

“No.”

Bingley watched him with a bemused smile and lifted a drink to his mouth. “That was a rather short answer,” he observed after a moment.

“A short answer for a clear solution. Lady Catherine threatened to sever ties if I did not take Anne back. As if I would have taken her in the first place! I am sorry for my cousin, but not that sorry.”

“A pity,” Bingley lamented with no hint of sincerity in his voice. “For if you had taken Anne, you would not now be tempted to press Mrs Wickham off on another before you succumbed to her charms yourself.”

Darcy shot his friend a caustic look. “Have you not a horse to ride or a lady to court?”

Bingley rose from his chair with a chortle. “Two ladies, it would seem—one to please myself and the other to please you. Do you know, I might just ignore your advice when the time comes. I daresay that would be a first.” He left his glass on a side table and paused before going.

“Darcy, I know you have never taken my advice—as if I had any words of wisdom to offer you! But consider—a man is bound to his wife for a very long time. Would it not be preferable to choose a lady in whose company you can delight for the rest of your years?” He gave a strange little smile, then left Darcy alone.

A lady in whose company he could delight.

Yes, that would be ideal. Darcy wandered to the window and pressed his forearm against the glass, gazing out. Summer was in full bloom now, with the grass thick and tall over the distant meadow and the heady fragrance from the gardens tempting him each time he stepped out of doors. And the flowers were not the only thing tempting him.

There she was, coming up the garden walk, prompt and faithful after her promised two days away. There was something in her he could not resist. He owned it fully. A sharpness, a high and fine edge he found exhilarating to walk. And yet, if a man slipped from the precipice, he could be assured of a gentle landing place. Darcy sighed and felt a small ache rip into the fabric of his heart.

Six months before she could marry again, and she would be beyond his reach. Six months of her continued presence in his home, her voice filling his ears and her intelligence to hone his.

They would be the longest six months in all his life.

“G ood afternoon, Sister Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth raised her bonnet from the path. Another Sunday afternoon was gone, and she was setting out again for Miss Darcy’s company. Odd, how she dreaded the parting from her family’s embrace, but the moment her hand touched the gate latch, she felt only pleasure in returning to her friend.

This day, she had scarcely started up the lane when George Wickham appeared mounted to her right. He touched his hat at her recognition and swung to the ground with a wrapped parcel in his hand.

“Good afternoon to you, sir,” she greeted him. “We have not seen you in some weeks.”

“Unforgivable and, yet unavoidable,” he replied with a bow. “In penance, I bring you a gift from an old friend. You recall how I recommended Mrs Brown’s cooking to you, I hope? I was just coming from Lambton and happened upon her. When I told her I was riding this way in hopes of giving you my salutations, she pressed me to bring this. I trust it will not be unwelcome.” He presented his parcel and unwrapped it just enough to give Elizabeth a delicious whiff of the spiced rum cake.

“How very kind of her! I wish I had some prior acquaintance with her. You must give her our thanks.”

“I have already done so, for I knew you would wish me to. Shall we take it back to the house?” he asked with a tip of his head.

Elizabeth looked regretfully back. “I wish I could, but if I did, I should be late in returning to Miss Darcy.”

“Oh! Miss Darcy would not mind, particularly if you told her the cause.”

“But I would, for I have given my solemn pledge to be faithful in my duties to her. As I am quite dependent upon others when they give their word, so I shall not break mine. I am afraid it is dreadfully unneighbourly, but I must ask you to speak with Millie, the kitchen maid. She is just there going out to the hens—you can see her now.”

“Well, then! I see I shall have to come much earlier in the day if I wish to call properly on my sister-in-law. But do not think of it, for I quite understand your predicament. Perhaps I shall walk with you as far as the field, then turn back with my gift.”

She nodded her permission, and they started off. “I wonder if you have heard,” she asked, “but I had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Godfrey.”

“I did hear. She is a pleasant soul, is she not? Very kind to me as a lad, and a straight-faced, honest lady if ever I knew one. Some might find her off-putting, but she is not afraid to call out the powerful or lift the heads of the weak. She is the only lady I have found who so merits my whole esteem.”

“That is generous praise indeed, and a thing we ought all to aspire to. She said something rather curious about you making an enemy, and naturally I assumed she referred to Mr Darcy, as it seems you two are not friends.”

He smiled. “Sister Elizabeth, I believe I have found yet a second lady deserving of my regard. I will tell you honestly, but I would caution you to guard your tongue when others are about. Derbyshire is full of Darcy’s people.”

“You make it sound as if we are at war and he is the enemy camp!”

“It is very like that,” he replied soberly. “I suppose Darcy told you that my brother had little fondness for me?”

“He did say… something of the kind,” Elizabeth answered cautiously.

“I should have thought so. It is true—Bernard and I were never friendly as brothers ought to be. The source of our strife was not clear to all, for what brothers do not disagree on occasion? But, you see, Bernard and I were not truly brothers.”

Elizabeth gasped. “You were not!”

“Oh, in the legal sense, of course we were. My father acknowledged us both and none can contest that. Mr Darcy the elder had his own solicitor on the task, so you can be sure it was done proper. But blood? We shared not a drop. Bernard, well, he always hated me for how much better our parents loved me while he had no notice from his natural father.”

“And he did not know who it was?”

Mr Wickham scoffed. “No one ‘knew,’ so the story goes. But when George Darcy bestowed Corbett Lodge on my father for his many years of faithful service, Bernard drew his own conclusions. I am sure you can well imagine. My father vehemently denied to both of us that George Darcy could have been Bernard’s father, and that good and worthy gentleman said much the same on his deathbed. Corbett was not some recompense to the natural son of a wealthy man—it was truly meant to go to my father and his heirs. Unfortunately—” Here, he sighed quietly. “Bernard was the eldest. And so, here we are.”

Elizabeth swallowed the knot in her throat. “And now it is forever lost to you, all because of me!”

“My dear sister,” he soothed, “pray do not take my words for any bitterness of spirit. No, I insist, put away your tears for me! Having you for a relation is blessing enough, for you have done what I could never do at that tumbled down abode. Why, have you heard the praise all the tenants have for the wise ‘Widow Wickham?’ Indeed, it is well that one such as you has been entrusted with its care.”

“But you would have done as well or better,” she protested. “It ought rightfully to have been yours and you know every particular of the neighbours and the property.”

“Here, now! What sort of talk is this from a lady who is now caring for her entire family by her alliance? No, I cannot in any way begrudge you that. Indeed, I would have made the same decision in your place, so the fault is not yours.”

“It was Mr Darcy who insisted upon it,” Elizabeth muttered in some frustration. “It was he who said—”

“My dear sister,” Mr Wickham laughed, “we would be here a very long time if you determined to enumerate all Darcy’s faults for me. I daresay we all have our share, and perhaps a man with so many blessings has even more flaws than most. But I tell you what would cheer my heart better than to hear you abuse a fellow who is decent enough, in his way. Truly, it would be just the sort of gesture that a noble and generous woman would think of—passing on the bounty, you could say.”

She raised her brows. “Yes?”

“Had you ever considered what would become of Corbett if you remarried? I daresay your husband would count it among his possessions and that would be the end of it. He might even sell it, as I suspect would be the case. But what of a permanent home for your mother and sisters?”

Elizabeth frowned down at the path. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing really, it was just a trifling thought. I am sure you would wish to use the estate as your dowry to make a fine match, and for that I could not blame you.”

“I think you mistake me and all my motives if you believe that.”

He smiled. “No. I have not mistaken you. Well, then my advice is to deed the estate to your mother.”

“My mother!”

He shrugged. “Or one of your younger sisters. Yes, that might do better, for they will see to her care longer than she will see to theirs.”

“But how could I?” she objected. “Would it even be legal?”

“Oh, legal, certainly. It is yours in every respect, with no entail to fear. You could ask a solicitor for his advice, though I do not recommend using Darcy’s man. The old boy might disapprove, for I think he intends you and the estate for one of his friends.”

“He does,” she answered with a scowl. “My uncle is an attorney in Meryton. Perhaps I will write to him.”

“An excellent notion. And as we are now nearing Pemberley’s lands, I will bid you a good afternoon and return this rum cake to your family. A pleasant walk, Sister.”

Elizabeth watched him mount and ride away, then turned to face Pemberley. And its master.