Chapter Fourteen

Elizabeth

S he was certain that she must look like a startled deer when she rose and joined Mr Darcy's side. Mr Wickham did not look any less shocked upon spotting her. They stood in the rose garden and stared at one another until the butler excused himself. This jolted Mr Wickham out of his shock and he addressed her.

"Miss Bennet. What brings you here?" he said, beside her. Mr Darcy had grown stiff, and the warmth she had felt radiating from him had turned cold once more. He looked at her, head slightly dipped to one side so that the sun illuminated his scars and made them look more prominent.

"You know one another," Mr Darcy stated.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and I are old friends from Meryton," Mr Wickham said, and came forward, bowing theatrically before her as he offered his hand, making it clear he wished to kiss it.

Elizabeth hesitated, but then extended her hand. It would be rude to refuse. "Mr Wickham and I know one another from Meryton where he stayed with a friend and became acquainted." She wasn't certain why Mr Wickham was here, but then a memory rang in the back of her mind. The living. Hadn't he said he had a mind to take it?

"I see," Mr Darcy said. "Mr Wickham's father was the estate's steward during my childhood, and my father is his godfather," he explained.

"Now, Darcy, there is no need to explain all of that to her. She already knows. In fact, I told her a great many things about Pemberley and its occupants," her stomach turned, and she knew if she had eaten anything that morning, it would probably be on its way back up now, so sick did she feel.

"I see," Mr Darcy said, and turned away from her. "Miss Bennet and I are engaged to be married," he said. Elizabeth wasn't sure what the intention behind the statement had been, but if it had been to shock Mr Wickham and wipe away the smirk he had been carrying, he succeeded entirely.

"Engaged? I did not know you were familiar with one another, let alone betrothed." Mr Wickham said. Then, he gasped. "Oh, you are the young lady I have heard about in town."

"Mr Wickham, you should know better than to put any stock into idle gossip," Mr Darcy warned him.

"Well, Darcy, I cannot help it. People come to me and talk. And I am obliged to listen. It is quite literally my profession," he said. "In any case, I believe congratulations are in order."

Elizabeth looked at the ground. They were standing on the grave path and she saw that her white boots had become dirtied during her walk around the gardens.

"How can I help you?" Mr Darcy said, in the sort of tone one used when he was not terribly inclined to help at all.

"Well, I am happy to talk to you in your study if you prefer. It is a little chilly out here," Mr Wickham replied.

"I am perfectly fine out here, and Miss Bennet will soon be taking charge of some of the estate's affairs. I would like her to remain present," Mr Darcy said.

Elizabeth looked up and examined Mr Wickham. How had she ever considered him anything other than a scoundrel? He was handsome, but not so handsome as to make one forget about the various rumours attached to him.

He was dressed in fine attire now, his hair combed back and a top hat on his head. He didn't look like a vicar. A vicar. How ironic was that? The man who had tried to find himself a wealthy wife, to the point of earning himself a rather horrible reputation in Meryton, was a vicar tending to the souls of Kympton.

"Very well," Mr Wickham said. "The church needs repairs. Some of the pews are rotten, there is a hole in the ceiling, and the rectory is in desperate need of new furnishings."

"And you are here talking to me about that why? This is why you collect tidings." Mr Darcy said. "As for the rectory, you receive a yearly sum to tend to such matters. If you require more, I suggest that you speak to the bishops."

"Yes, but since you are the gentleman who owns this estate and most of your tenants are my parishioners, and since the church is part of the estate, I thought…"

"The church is adequately provided for. If your predecessor did not manage funds well, it is not my concern. I suggest you make an appeal to your congregation. Although I hear you already do receive ample donations each Sunday."

The words came out sharp like a whip, and Elizabeth wondered what led to the obvious dislike these two men had for one another.

"It is true that I have received a multitude of generous donations. However, they have been set aside for a project dear to my heart," Mr Wickham said.

"And pray, what project might that be?" Mr Darcy said, pulling his shoulders back and straightening his back.

"I am planning to have a statue made and put into the churchyard. A statue honouring those who perished in the Pemberley fire. I am sure your sister would have rather adored the idea. She was always very fond of the arts. We'd spent hours talking about it …Anyhow, the donations are set aside for it. Of course, if you'd rather fund the statue…"

That was it. Elizabeth could see Mr Darcy's anger boiling over, and he snapped.

"I will not have you speak of my sister, Wickham," he raised his hand and pointed his index finger towards the gate. "Leave my estate right now and do not return," he seethed.

"But Darcy, surely you don't wish your new bride to witness such an unchristian attitude," Mr Wickham said, pouring more fuel on the fire.

"Miss Bennet is well aware as to whom she is marrying. Now, leave or I shall throw you out myself."

Mr Wickham raised both hands and took a step back. "There is no need for threats, Darcy. I shall go. Miss Bennet, it was lovely to see you again. I do hope to see you at church on Sunday. Your husband-to-be has no interest in the church, but perhaps you can persuade him. I think he would benefit from one of my sermons."

Mr Darcy took a step towards him, and Mr Wickham turned to bolt away. She watched as the anger in Mr Darcy's face was replaced by something else, something dark. The shadow fell over him, and he stared at his hands, which were now shaking.

The phrase shaking with anger echoed in Elizabeth's head. She had felt such rage before, although not often. Yet it was clear that Mr Darcy felt exactly that in this moment.

"I apologise for the display," he said stiffly. "Wickham and I have a long history and not a happy one."

"I gathered that, he spoke of Pemberley a little when he was in Meryton."

"I must say I am surprised at your choice of friends, Miss Bennet," he said, with some venom, although she understood this was directed more at Mr Wickham than her.

"I assure you, Mr Wickham and I were never friends and most certainly nothing else."

This seemed sufficient to him. "Well, I am glad to hear it. I regret to have to inform you that once you take a more active role, dealing with him will be part of your duties. At least until I can find a new steward. The last one…" He waved his hand dismissively. "I haven't been able to hire somebody new. Once I do, they can do the deed. But in the meantime—"

"I will manage," she said. "I go to church on Sunday anyhow," she said. The idea of listening to one of Mr Wickham's sermons was not very appealing.

"May I ask a question?" Mr Darcy asked, drawing her from her thoughts. "What exactly did Wickham tell you about me? And my sister?"

Elizabeth hesitated, unsure if she should tell him everything she had been told before deciding that if he was to be her husband, she had no choice.

"He told me you were haughty and unlikable," she started, and Mr Darcy chuckled. It was a strange sound to be hearing from him but she pressed on undeterred. "He also said you were envious of him because your father liked him so much, in fact, preferred him. And that you at first refused to give him his inheritance out of spite and attempted to give him a small financial settlement instead of the living."

Mr Darcy appeared to ponder this for a little while before responding. "I was haughty, that I won't deny. And you know my temper, having experienced it. As for everything else, they are lies. He declined the living, asking instead for funds to read the law. He demanded it again after the fire and I relented, as I hadn't the desire for another fight. As for my father, he was a kind man, but he was fond of Wickham's father, not Wickham and any kindness he showed him was due to his affection for the late Mr Wickham."

Elizabeth took this in and found she believed him. It made more sense that the tale Mr Wickham had spun.

"And my sister?" he pressed.

Elizabeth paused again. She did not think it wrong to tell Mr Darcy what Mr Wickham had said about him, but the unkind words Mr Wickham had shared about Georgiana seemed cruel to repeat.

"He said nothing kind, I take it," Mr Darcy concluded, and she glanced up at him.

"He is not a man to speak kindly about anyone but himself," she stated.

"Well, that is true," he conceded. "I cannot believe he would speak ill of my sister. Georgiana was incredibly fond of him, for reasons I shall never understand. She was the sort of person who would see the best in everybody. Anyone who was unpleasant, she believed to have been harmed in some way in their life, causing them to be that way."

"That sounds like Charles and my sister," she said.

"She was like Bingley, in some ways." He paused and smiled and once more warmth seemed to replace whatever pain held Mr Darcy hostage. Embolden by this change she decided to forge forward in hopes to strengthen their bond.

"Pray, tell me about her. What was she like? What did she enjoy doing? My sisters are all rather silly, aside from Jane," she began. "Lydia is particularly…."

He stopped suddenly and rounded on her. "Tales of living silly sisters do not interest me, Miss Bennet," he said coldly. "In any case, I have been out here too long. There is business I need to tend to."

The sudden almost violent change in his mood alarmed her and she stepped back, unable to do anything but stare at him as he went. What had happened? They'd conversed so peacefully and then—

Tales of living sisters did not interest him. The words echoed in her mind, growing louder as she comprehended the error of her ways. He didn't want to hear about her sisters who had their lives ahead of them, while his own lay buried in her grave, never to be silly again.

Why had she talked about her sisters? Why had she not thought before she'd spoken? She closed her eyes, angry at herself for her mistake as it had ruined whatever progress they had made towards a cordial relationship.