Chapter 3

Three

PEMBERLEY, SUMMER 1782

M r Robert Wickham arrived in George Darcy's study breathless and harried-looking. "Forgive me, sir, but the gentleman who was interested in selling the acreage around the river was in Lambton and?—"

Feeling his head begin to ache with the pain of a sleepless night, Darcy waved off his steward's excuses with a disinterested hand. "Never mind that. I have another matter altogether for which I require your assistance. Please sit." He gestured towards chairs nearest the fire.

Falling silent, Wickham did as he had been asked. Darcy offered brandy and coffee to his steward, and Wickham, as was his custom, took the coffee. Darcy poured the hot brew for them both and took his seat. For a moment, both men did no more than sip their drinks.

Darcy knew not how to begin, and as the minutes ticked away, Wickham began to shift in his seat. At length, Wickham said, "I would like to congratulate you on your betrothal, sir. Pemberley will be most fortunate to have Lady Anne as its mistress."

Darcy inclined his head. "Thank you. Yes, I am quite eager to bring my bride home. Lady Anne is as clever as she is lovely, and I have no doubt she will prove equal to the task."

Wickham had given him a decent lead into the subject which weighed upon him, and Darcy decided he would take it. "You have never married, Wickham."

"No, sir."

"Have you anything against the institution?"

Wickham had reached the age of forty-five at his last birthday, a fact he had mentioned with nonchalance to his employer some weeks past. He looked far younger in Darcy's opinion, but given his experience and talent as a steward, his age was not entirely shocking.

"No, sir, nothing against it. As for why I have never taken a wife, I suppose you might say that I have not had the means or the inclination, or at least, I have never had both at the same time."

Darcy laughed at that, appreciating the jest. He leant forwards then, setting his coffee on the table in front of them.

"I do not think I speak out of turn when I say that I am a man who feels keenly his responsibility to those under his protection. From my manservant to the lowliest scullery maid, it is my fervent wish to see them cared for. I hope you do not disagree with me?"

Wickham nodded.

"Yet, there are times when circumstances arise such that I cannot directly care for a person, or a situation. In those times I must rely on others to take matters into their hands because I am not able to do so."

Wickham looked bemused but nodded again. "Y-yes. That is why you employ me, is it not?"

"Exactly!" Darcy exclaimed, a trifle too loudly. More sedately he said, " Precisely my point. You care for my land—one of the dearest things to me and the Darcy family."

"It is my honour," said Wickham, again shifting in his chair.

"You came to me with the highest recommendations, and none were exaggerated in the least. Pemberley is flourishing under your exemplary care. I could not ask for a steward with greater diligence or more thoroughness of purpose."

"Thank you," Wickham said.

Another silence ensued, while Darcy tried to figure out a way to introduce the difficult subject.

At length, Wickham said, "I daresay I ought to be about the?—"

"You do, of course, know Miss Juliet Gage."

Wickham visibly startled. No doubt he thought Darcy unaware of the fact that he knew Miss Gage. Not only that he was acquainted with her, but that he knew her—in the Biblical sense. Darcy observed him closely while Wickham's countenance flushed red.

"S-sir, I, um?—"

"No matter." Darcy held up a hand and chuckled lightly. "Pray do not be alarmed. I am not a fool, and I did not deceive myself into thinking Juliet did not have other men during her time in my protection. I understand the ways of the world, and I knew you had seen her on several occasions. At this juncture, that can only help me in my request for you."

"You have a request for me?"

Darcy drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair. "I do. Two months ago, as you might already know, Juliet gave birth to a daughter."

"And you suspect it is my child?" Wickham asked. He did not sound offended by the suggestion, which led Darcy to think it was a greater possibility than he had dared hope.

"Yours, mine, someone else's? How can it signify? I cannot marry her, yet neither will I abandon her. It was my intention to provide for the both of them, but I see now that money alone cannot solve the problems they will face. Alas, as someone who is soon to be a respectable married man, I find myself unable to do more for her."

"A dilemma indeed, sir."

"I suppose what I am saying, Wickham, is that I hope to arrange a more permanent situation—a husband for the mother and a father for the daughter." Darcy fixed his gaze steadily on his steward.

It took Wickham a moment to comprehend his meaning. "You want me to marry your mistress?"

With a wry smile, Darcy said, "I believe we have already established that the lady has been mistress to us both. And in any case, she is a beautiful woman, and has a dowry of two thousand pounds."

Wickham's mouth dropped. "She does?"

"She does now." Darcy leant back and crossed his legs. The most difficult bit was out, and Wickham had not got angry, nor had he tendered his notice. In fact, he seemed almost agreeable to the notion. On the strength of that supposition, Darcy moved in for the coup de grace .

"Of course, a married man—and his family—would hardly wish to live in a small bachelor's cottage. I believe the house which overlooks the river, out past the north fields, is vacant and might do nicely for you."

"Your cousin's home?" Wickham's eyebrows shot up on his forehead. "'Tis quite a grand house indeed!"

"My cousin is gone to his new wife's estate in Essex now," Darcy said with a slight smile. "No use having it empty. It is a house meant for a family."

Wickham leant back in his chair. From the expression on his face, it was clear he was quelling his excitement, trying to think things through rationally. Darcy watched him for a moment, then continued speaking.

"You should know that Juliet has not been well since the child was born. It was not an easy birth and it left her very weak. She feels she might not survive this last bout of illness."

"What ails her?"

"I hardly know but she wrote begging me to see to the girl's care. She might be my natural daughter, or yours, or perhaps neither, but she is nevertheless a very sweet baby. It grieves Juliet immeasurably to think she might pass from this world and leave her to the foundling hospital, or Heaven forbid, the workhouse."

Wickham frowned, looking down at his hands.

Darcy paused to allow him time to think before he continued. "So, if you did marry her you should do so knowing that Juliet may not be long for this earth. Should that unhappy event come to pass, the dowry will still belong to you."

"The dowry…and the daughter," Wickham observed with a wry tilt of his head.

"Yes. I believe she has been christened Jessabelle."

Wickham appeared taken aback by that. "Jessabelle? After the wicked wife of Ahab?"

"You are thinking of Jezebel." Darcy waved that away and smiled. "Jessabelle is a name meaning purity or something of that sort. A very beautiful child…and should the unhappy need arise, if you had difficulty in raising her, I daresay your sister might help, would she not?"

Wickham had a sister who was married to a tailor in nearby Bakewell, a Mr Younge. They had not been blessed with children and would likely do all they could to help with the girl. Darcy was absolutely certain of that. He rose from his chair, and Wickham, after a moment, rose along with him.

Darcy extended a hand to his faithful steward. "Good man," he said, knowing that although Wickham had not agreed to anything as yet, he surely would.

He watched Wickham leave, fully satisfied with the morning's events. Darcy was positive that the child was not his own. He was no expert in the matter, but a quick accounting of months and dates assured him that he had not been in London for the weeks around the child's conception. Nevertheless, Darcy's sentiments for her mother made him want to see to her well-being.

And now he had.

Wickham entered the home of Miss Juliet Gage one week after his conversation with Mr Darcy. It had taken him longer to consider the offer than perhaps it should have, but he was a man who liked to consider every angle of a thing before rendering a decision. And the angles of this all pointed to one conclusion: a beautiful wife, a lovely home, and a small fortune were not to be disregarded, even if they came with an ill-begotten child.

At his age, and in his position, he had not expected to marry and certainly not a woman as comely as Juliet. She was but four-and-twenty, and birth and illness had done nothing to mar her considerable beauty.

She wore a diaphanous dressing gown to receive him, though they were in her parlour. She immediately took the child, who had been at her bosom, and handed her to him.

He received the babe clumsily. Wickham could not immediately recollect a time when he had held an infant before, and it was strange and uncomfortable to take this one in his arms. She was a pretty baby, plump and pink with a tiny rosebud of a mouth and the merest wisps of red hair—so very similar to his own. Nevertheless, she instilled terror in him. Surely, all babies were not so small? So delicate? He felt as though he might inadvertently squeeze her to death, or drop her, causing her irreparable damage.

"Well done," he said awkwardly, handing her back to her mother. "Quite, um, pretty. "

Juliet nodded, then sat quietly hearing his proposal. Mr Darcy had already written to her, Wickham knew, and she was agreeable to the idea of marrying him. Nevertheless, certain words needed to be spoken, and if he could not offer her love, he could at least offer security. She was quick to assure him that she would make him a grateful and dutiful wife.

"We shall marry soon," he told her. "Pemberley is delightful in the summer. I am sure it will please you exceedingly well."

She closed her eyes, looking relieved even as the small bundle in her arms began to wail furiously.