Chapter 4

Darcy found a smile at last. “Fortunately, I had befriended Charles Bingley before I left Eton. His father guided me in the business side of things. Mr Joseph Bingley helped me gain a footing in the world of trade.”

Old Mr Bingley had fronted that first loan—never asking why his son’s supposedly wealthy young friend should need it. He must have suspected Darcy of renewing, then cultivating the friendship with his young son to gain access to him, his fortune, and his superior knowledge of the business world. Yet rather than ridicule or reject Darcy, he had invested in him.

Georgiana looked up at him, and he saw so much sorrow, so much grief in her large eyes. “You have been an excellent friend to all his family.”

He shrugged. “It is not difficult. Bingley is a fine man, and has long been a true comrade. I always hoped that maybe…someday…you and he might…” he trailed off.

She visibly shuddered. “I could never think of him that way. He is like a brother to me.”

Darcy nodded. He had hoped, but easily seen that neither of them was much interested in the other. Still, they were both very young.

Perhaps, he thought with some relief, they might be done now with revelations. Perhaps she knew enough to put this behind them forever. But more questions occurred to her.

“Did not George…I mean, Mr Wickham, ever increase his blackmail? Once he saw you had ceased to suffer from it.”

“Wickham knew nothing of how I obtained any other income, and he really could not push for more money—after all, it was not my own sin he held over my head. In retrospect, I am certain he truly never wished for his mother’s ignominy to be discovered. That meant he had to be comfortable with the sum agreed to, and it annoyed him beyond measure that I did not seem to suffer much over it, at least after the first couple years.”

“His mother?” Her voice rose in distress, and he grimaced as she sat up and stared at him. There was nothing for it but to reveal the rest.

“Yes. It was, regrettably. Wickham showed me our father’s note of apology to her—it was quite obvious his reasons for regret over what he had done. At first, I told myself that it was Wickham’s own anger at my father, at the disrespect it showed for his father, at the heart of the extortion. I could understand that, and felt furious myself, even despite the dishonour of demanding money for silence. But it is many years since his more vicious propensities were revealed. He and his mother laughed about it. He taunted that our father was her fool, her victim, and I was his. I would not be surprised if she importuned Father for money in exchange for her silence—she was always an extravagant woman. Thankfully, she did not live but a year or so after, and Wickham could not pursue further extortion in her place without ruining his innocent image in our father’s eyes. It would have crushed Father, had old Mr Wickham ever discovered it, or had he known that I did.”

Georgiana sat hunched again, her arms folded protectively across her chest. It broke his heart that she must suffer this way, that he had been unable to prevent her becoming another one of Wickham’s conquests. His punch to the blackguard’s jaw might have knocked loose a tooth or two; it was the only meagre comfort he had.

“I am sorry,” she whispered. “This more than explains why you would not give Geo—Mr Wickham the living.”

“The living? But he—” Darcy began, surprised, before abruptly shutting his mouth.

She shook her head, her face a study in distress. “What?” she asked hoarsely. “What else?”

He hesitated, for surely she had learnt enough.

“Tell me.”

“I kept paying even after Father’s death, but once old Mr Wickham died six months afterwards, I made an end to everything. There was no one alive, I felt, to be hurt by the one-time mistake any longer. I had already paid out his thousand-pound legacy from Father’s will, but there was also his wish that Wickham be considered for Pemberley’s living. It was not a formal bequest, and he was the last man on earth who should take orders, but I could not risk any further talk on the subject, especially as Wickham claimed he meant to study law,” Darcy explained. “I certainly did not wish him to be able to accuse me of cheating him of his inheritance. I should have known he would accuse me anyway. He happily took the three thousand I offered for the living, a generous valuation, and signed away any future claim to it. I have the papers, if you would like to see. Or you could talk to Richard about it—at the time, he was still… He knew and likely recalls all the details concerning the benefice. Not of anything else, of course,” he added quickly.

She shook her head, folding herself into a tight ball, her tears beginning to fall in earnest. He pulled her into his arms, embracing her tightly, rocking her back and forth as if she was still the child whose mother was too ill to comfort her.

“All will be well. I know it is painful now, but it will not always be so.”

“I wish I had not,” she sobbed. “I wish I never had!”

Never had what?he wondered. He despised questioning her, but it must be done. There was no room for secrets here.

“Did you…is there any chance…you might be with child?” he asked, hoping she understood what he meant.

“No!” she cried, pulling out of his arms, embarrassment adding blotchiness to her pale complexion and wet cheeks. “Nor did I ever write him so much as a recipe for apple tart! We were very careful that no one should see us together. He has no proof of anything!”

A vast wave of relief swept through him. He would have paid for silence, but he was beyond thankful he would not have to, and need never again have anything to do with the man.

“That is very reassuring,” he said. “I apologise for asking, and for keeping these secrets. You ought to have been told something of the matter before. He maintained his friendship with Father to the very end. It would not have been in your power or memories to know his true nature.”

She shook her head violently. “Never apologise. I knew it was wrong to meet him in secret. I justified it to myself, but I know I did wrong.”

“That is the difference between you and him,” he said softly. “You reproach yourself, while he can only look to others to place blame. It means that you can learn and grow far beyond anything that happened here. If I had done as I ought, and married, given you a sister whose mature companionship you could depend upon, I cannot help but believe it never would have happened.”

“No,” she whispered. “No.”

Although she denied it, he knew it was true. Still, he was thankful she was not pushing the matter.

A sudden thought occurred to him, and because he never wanted to reference Wickham again, he knew it must be mentioned now.

“Before we, er, went our separate ways this morning, Wickham made one remark which made little sense to me. He said, ‘Tell Georgiana I will give Pennywithers my regards’. Can you understand it?”

She gasped. “Pennywithers is a gossip scribbler in one of the London papers! A very popular scribbler!” she cried, covering her mouth in obvious dismay.

“I thought the name sounded familiar,” he said, keeping his tone mild. The gossip thus far implied by the rag sheets had been too preposterous to tempt him to act, but that would change. “Do not worry about that threat. I have been somewhat repelled by the number of mentions in town papers obviously referring to my person. I do not believe this Pennywithers fellow is one of them, but I shall ask my solicitors to inform these publications that they are treading very close to the line, and if they step over it, the result will be extremely costly. If Pennywithers joins their ranks, he will be very sorry. Without proof, they risk a libel suit. And you are certain there is no proof of your meetings with Wickham?”

“There is no proof,” she said. Yet, she did not appear reassured.

It would take time for her to move past this, to look forward to the future again, he knew that. Her trust in Wickham had been shattered, her young love crushed, and possibly her trust in her father too. She might resent him as well, for failing to tell her any of it sooner. Still, perhaps something to look forward to would help.

“Pemberley has been quiet these past months. I was thinking that I might invite a very small house party for the grouse,” he said. “The Matlock contingent and the Bingleys, and perhaps a couple of others who have daughters your own age, for two or three weeks? You would know who best to invite, while limiting the guest list for Richard’s sake. I shall require a hostess, of course. Unless you object? We will not do it if you do not feel up to the task.”

Georgiana turned to him then, concern, distress, fear, and yearning all on display. “I have never hosted a party of any sort,” she murmured. “Much less a gathering for weeks.”

“I have every confidence in you,” he replied, doing his best to inject that assurance into his tone.

She straightened her shoulders. “Well then. I suppose I must try.”