SIX

The movement of the carriage increased both Darcy's headache and his anxiety. Christmas was only two days away, and it was the last opportunity for visits to those who were not family.

"Darcy, I am so glad you agreed to come with me again! You are truly a good friend," Bingley said.

"Again, you praise me too generously. I hope my presence will not be an intrusion. We both know that you are expected with pleasure in Gracechurch Street, but I am just your companion."

"I disagree. Mr and Mrs Gardiner seemed thrilled each time they saw you. And even Miss Elizabeth did not look displeased. I am relieved your disagreements seem to be over."

"Do you think Miss Elizabeth was displeased to see me before?"

"When we were in Hertfordshire, you were not friends. You disapproved of the entire Bennet family."

"My manners were not appropriate most of the time. Now, I have a personal reason to visit the Gardiners again. I wish to speak to Miss Elizabeth about a delicate matter that I believe needs to be clarified. I hope she will agree to talk to me."

"She probably will, if not out of curiosity, then due to politeness. But I never imagined you would have a delicate matter to discuss with Miss Elizabeth."

"This particular matter has become urgent lately, after thorough reflection. She is in possession of some incorrect information that might lead her to make a wrong impression."

"I see… I honestly cannot imagine what you are talking about, but I doubt you will tell me even if I enquire."

"It is not a secret. The Bennets seem to appreciate George Wickham, who is welcomed by their family. He is a dishonourable man with an inclination towards deception, lies, and nefarious schemes, all for the purpose of gaining money. Even worse, he is not a man to be trusted near young women."

Bingley looked at him, bewildered. "I would never have guessed Wickham would be the subject. I remember Miss Bennet asking me about him when he first came to Meryton, but I only told her that he had treated you with ingratitude. It is all I knew."

"Wickham is not worth the breath used in talking about him. But he is very skilful at insinuating himself among honourable people and causing all sorts of problems."

"The youngest Miss Bennets seemed charmed by the man, and their mother seemed to encourage them."

"Yes, that is precisely my concern."

Darcy had taken the bold — and perhaps improper — decision of talking to Elizabeth and her relatives about Wickham after the dinner at Bingley's. The party had been pleasant, but there had been some small hints that had proved that Elizabeth still held Wickham in esteem. If Wickham caused her family problems, Elizabeth would never forgive him for not warning her.

That realisation had come late in the night, together with another one, much more important and consequential to his present and future. Watching Elizabeth chatting so easily with his sister and his cousin, as she had done with his aunt, made him wonder why he had considered she was not suited to be the future Mrs Darcy. It was not only his admiration and overwhelming passion for her that caused him to question his previous opinion, but the fact that her worthiness was noticed by everyone with reasonable judgment. And her ability to fight anyone willing to attack her, as Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst did.

He had spent hours imagining Elizabeth at his side at Pemberley, bringing laughter and joy to a house that entirely lacked it. The more he thought about it, the more the image became clearer, less impossible. He knew such a decision would not be easily accepted though. Even Lady Matlock would oppose it and would surely consider Elizabeth's family and connections to be of lesser importance than her charm in such circumstances. And to Lady Matlock, Mrs Gardiner, the cousin of the innkeeper in Lambton, would not be as charming a connection of Mrs Darcy's as she was of Miss Elizabeth Bennet's.

And Lady Catherine de Bourgh would certainly cause a scandal if he chose the daughter of a small country gentleman over Anne.

All those points Darcy considered, then dismissed. He only hoped that Georgiana would not be disappointed and that his mother would approve of Elizabeth. He felt — with all his heart — that she was the woman who could complete him, the woman who would make him happy. Just as his mother had made him promise a long time ago. He was also convinced that Elizabeth might help Georgiana grow her confidence and find her own happiness later in life.

As his mind stopped fighting his heart, a strength grew inside him, ready to defeat the weakness of his previous doubts and overcome any obstacles. Any obstacles but one. Elizabeth's feelings for him, he now had his proof, were quite dissimilar to his, and her opinion of him was far from as high as he had assumed in those two months he had spent at Netherfield.

For many weeks, he had fought against his feelings, his desire to have Elizabeth. Now, when he had decided such a fight was unnecessary, he must fight for Elizabeth's feelings. He must fight for what he had assumed he already had but had been utterly mistaken.

The first step was to talk to Elizabeth about Wickham and to trust her judgment in deciding where the truth lay.

***

"Mr Darcy, Mr Bingley, you are most welcome," Mrs Gardiner said. The drawing room was empty, but soon, Elizabeth, Miss Bennet, and Mr Gardiner joined them.

The conversation began easily, as it did among friends. Darcy was anxious, thinking of how to broach the subject, watching the others in agitated silence. He noticed Elizabeth look at him a few times, probably noticing his restlessness. He understood that he could not simply ask for a private discussion with her, or even one with her uncle present. It would simply be impolite.

"Mr Darcy, may I offer you a drink," Mr Gardiner asked.

"Yes, thank you. No…I mean…forgive me, I do not wish to interrupt you. But when it is possible, I would like to talk about a particular matter…a very delicate one."

"Oh?"

Four pairs of eyes turned to look at him, puzzled.

"I would not have mentioned it if it were not absolutely necessary. It involves a common acquaintance. Mr George Wickham."

At that, Elizabeth's countenance changed, and a frown appeared between her eyebrows. Mr and Mrs Gardiner looked at each other with confusion, then at him.

"Strangely, we were talking about the same subject the other day," Mrs Gardiner replied.

"Were you? Are there any questions you have that I might answer? I am well aware that Wickham spread rumours about me in Hertfordshire, and I am quite certain they are based on a core truth surrounded by falsehoods. He has done the same many times in the last five years, everywhere he goes and to anyone willing to listen to him."

"In the five years since your father died, I assume? When he expected to receive a living that was refused him?" Elizabeth enquired in an accusing voice.

He expected her reply, and it did not even vex him.

"Yes, after my father died, Mr Wickham was given one thousand pounds, and on that occasion, he informed me that the church was not his calling after all, and he preferred to study the law. For that, he requested and received another three thousand pounds."

He paused, looking at Elizabeth, whose astonishment seemed complete.

"I assume Wickham did not mention that part," he continued. "When the living became vacant, he came to claim it. I would have perhaps given it to him if he had shown any honour or morality in his actions before that moment. However, he in fact wasted the entire sum in activities I shall not mention, disregarding any sort of study or effort for his future."

He paused again, sipping from his glass. There was much more to add to the story, but it was too painful to be discussed.

"That was not the end of his claims, though, as he continued to apply to me for other financial support. Some pleas were granted, many refused. So he usually employs his time seeking revenge for those refusals through false claims that hurt my reputation."

"Oh dear! This is horrible!" Mrs Gardiner exclaimed.

"Of course, I am well aware that none of you have any reason to trust my words over Wickham's, so I have brought some papers with me, signed by him, which prove some of our past dealings. You may study them."

"That is not necessary, Mr Darcy. We do not doubt your words," Mr Gardiner replied. "I have wondered about a man so willing to relate his misfortunes to strangers. Mr Wickham's story was unconvincing to me, as well as to my brother Bennet. We assumed that the part about the living was true, but also that you had a reason for your actions. After all, it was nothing to you who acquired the living, and it could well be him as not, unless something serious prevented it."

Elizabeth had become pale and silent and averted her eyes from Darcy.

"I shall leave the papers here in case Miss Elizabeth wishes to look at them," he repeated.

"That will not be necessary, sir," she answered. "I was certainly not clever enough to wonder about Mr Wickham's story, as my uncle and my father were. If my uncle does not need proof, neither do I."

Her voice was as altered as her expression. She was uncomfortable, pale, and restless. Eventually, she stood up and said, "Mr Darcy, Mr Bingley, please excuse me, I do not feel well. I might have a fever. Perhaps I have caught my cousins' cold. I beg your forgiveness. I must leave you now."

She left, and Darcy watched her walk away with a tightness in his chest. She seemed disappointed, and hurt, causing him distress and jealousy. Was she upset to learn the truth? Did she have romantic feelings for that scoundrel? Was she angry with Darcy for revealing the truth in front of her family?

"Mr Gardiner, since you mentioned Mr Bennet was reluctant to believe Wickham, I shall take the liberty of kindly suggesting you warn him not to consider that man a friend of the family's, especially of your young nieces'. He is simply not to be trusted. I apologise if my suggestion is presumptuous, but I sadly know the man better than I would like to."

"Your advice is greatly appreciated and will be considered, Mr Darcy, I assure you."

For the rest of the visit, Bingley and Miss Bennet, together with the Gardiners, continued the conversation, but Darcy could not gather himself enough to even feign a good disposition. He barely spoke at all, thinking of Elizabeth, fearing he had done more harm than good.

They finally left, and the entire drive back to Mayfair, Darcy's state only became worse and remained the same the entire evening and through the agitated night that followed.

After much reflection, at dawn, Darcy reached a moment when he ceased the struggle. He had done what he believed to be honest and needed. If Elizabeth felt harmed or offended by his gesture, there was nothing he could do. He could apologise for harming her, but not for speaking the truth.

With his mind and his body still exhausted, Darcy woke up and was preparing for breakfast when a servant entered with a letter.

He looked at it and did not recognise the handwriting, so he opened it, intrigued. When he glanced at the signature, he began to read with his heart pounding.

Mr Darcy,

I am writing this letter with my uncle and aunt's permission. I could not wait any longer before I apologised for my response and sudden departure yesterday.

As you may have guessed, your confession affected me; I was equally astonished, upset, and especially mortified by my own foolishness and credulity.

My common sense should have warned me against someone who speaks openly about his past to a complete stranger. But either I do not have common sense, or something induced me not to use it.

I thank you for taking the trouble of telling us the truth. I appreciate your effort, and I am sorry for my ill judgment and for everything unfair I have said to you on this matter. This includes our discussion at the Netherfield ball, which probably gave you the chance to laugh at my silliness — and deservedly so.

I shall apologise in person, too, as soon as the opportunity arises.

Please know that my uncle wrote to my father last evening, as you advised him.

Best regards

E. Bennet

Darcy read the letter first with curiosity, then with emotion, and in the end with a large smile on his face. A young lady writing to a single man was breaking the rules of decorum, yet she had deliberately done it for him.

Perhaps there was hope, after all.