In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

Chapter Fourteen Tales of a Scoundrel

The Darcys’ second season in London drew to a close with no particular upsets, but two last-minute dramas to deal with.

The invitation hastily given to Georgiana Darcy and Kitty Bennet at the Cole’s Masque was indeed a sincere one. Miss Vera Stolesk and Lady Alicia Nash persisted in their desire to have their new friends join in the summertime revelry at the Nash manor north of Stevenage in Hertfordshire. The girls’ perseverance brought a shy blush to Georgiana’s cheeks while sending Kitty into throes of jubilation. True to Lady Alicia’s prediction, her father was amenable to adding two more girls to the mixture. She did wheedle and hyperbolize her desperation, the adorable pout put to good use, but it was a game between father and daughter. Lord Stevenage was not only completely twisted about his only daughter’s finger but also delighted to fill the vast corridors of Graceholm Hall with youthful laughter. He spoke with Mr. Darcy personally on the subject, assuring that the girls would be well cared for and chaperoned at all times. George Darcy added his promise to accompany and chaperone, a pledge that did not completely alleviate Darcy’s doubts, but between the adult persuasion and the pleading entreaties from Georgiana and Kitty, he could not deny the outing.

Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were consenting to Kitty disappearing to the home of a complete stranger, no persuasion needed at all. Neither Darcy nor Lizzy were surprised. Mrs. Bennet was faint with happiness, quite convinced that Kitty would return betrothed to a rich suitor, while Mr. Bennet merely anticipated the silence that would fall upon Longbourn for two whole months!

Therefore, three days after recuperating from the Darcy Ball, the two elated young ladies embarked upon their adventure with George Darcy playing protector. Sternly spoken admonitions were given, Georgiana undoubtedly the only one who would hearken to any of them, but the embraces and kisses of good-bye were as intensely bestowed as the instructions.

“Be well, my Georgie,” Darcy whispered into her ear, disregarding propriety by pulling her into his arms while standing on the street walkway. “Return to me soon. I love you.”

“Quit being a mothering hen, William,” George interjected with a boisterous laugh and sunny smile. “She will be far too busy to think about a stodgy older brother. And besides, I have promised to watch over them.” He winked at Lizzy, who resisted laughing, and boldly met Darcy’s scowl and grunt with a cheeky grin.

The adieus were over after that, the carriage disappearing around the corner before Darcy sighed and turned to his wife.

The second drama was far more serious and extremely enlightening, as it concerned George Wickham.

The discussion that took place the day after Georgiana’s departure, three days before they were to leave for Pemberley, was the conclusion to a predicament that had initially arisen during the winter. Shortly after their visitors vacated Pemberley after Christmas, Darcy had received a message via the contacts he had in the Newcastle area that Wickham’s gambling and erratic behavior were beginning to spiral uncontrollably. There was nothing Darcy could do about the situation other than to instruct his associates to watch for any harm befalling Mrs. Wickham. However, probably before the dispatch made it to the far northern coastal town, Wickham was dishonorably discharged for insubordination. He barely avoided a court martial for drunkenly assaulting a superior officer, so they were informed.

Lizzy was naturally distressed and wrote to her sister immediately. But that letter, like her last several, was never responded to directly. A brief missive from Lydia sent to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, mere weeks prior to Mary’s wedding, droned on and on about “my poor Wickham’s misfortunes,” but gave no enlightenment as to their future plans. Mary’s wedding was clouded by the scandal, Mrs. Bennet seemingly unable, or unwilling, to relent in her vocal lamentation over “dear Lydia’s tribulations.” Mary handled the drama with her usual aplomb, refusing to allow her mother’s morose attitude to affect her happiness, but it served to alleviate her sadness in leaving the comforts of Longbourn for her new life in London. Lizzy and Darcy were strangely relieved and enthusiastic to quit Hertfordshire for the event of Anne de Bourgh’s wedding in Kent. Even a fortnight with Lady Catherine no longer seemed as gloomy a prospect!

After that one short message from Lydia, no other word was heard. It was as if the Wickhams had fallen off the face of the earth. Darcy’s contacts reported that they moved out of the shabby boarding house they had inhabited after Wickham’s discharge, but no one knew where they were headed.

Obviously Darcy and Lizzy discussed the matter, and she was aware of and appreciative of his attempts to locate her sister. But as always when George Wickham’s name arose, as infrequently as that occurred, Darcy was closemouthed. Lizzy did not push the subject, knowing that his hesitancy was not due to a wish to secret a part of his life, but due to his protective nature and grievous memories regarding his childhood friend.

That respect for his feelings was shattered, however, when on the day after Georgiana left for Stevenage, he announced to a startled Lizzy that he personally intended to travel north to see if he could ascertain any hints as to the whereabouts of Lydia and Wickham.

“No, William, you will not.”

“I beg your pardon?” Darcy glanced up from his desk in shock.

“You will not go traipsing about risking life and limb for my sister. You have already spent far more money than you should in supporting her horrid choice. For this I am eternally grateful for a host of reasons, but enough is enough! I am certain that if there was anyone left who knew their destination upon fleeing Newcastle, he or she would have been uncovered by now. I will not have you frequenting the types of establishments where Wickham entertained and satisfied his aberrant urges. You did that once and it was sufficient for one lifetime.”

“I assure you I can take care of myself,” he countered with asperity.

“I do not doubt your capabilities, dearest.”

Darcy looked away from her humorous smile, gazing out the window in thought as his fingers tapped a rhythm on the polished wooden surface of the desk. Lizzy waited. Finally, he continued, “I have an uncontrollable yearning to wrap my bare hands around that man’s neck and squeeze. I have never felt such hatred for another human being, Elizabeth. Never. And it rather frightens me.”

“Considering all he has done, I judge your sentiments normal. Yet, that is partially why you cannot go north. I fear you may act upon your inclinations, ridding the world of a worthless scoundrel, but harming your kind heart in the process. Despite some evidence to the contrary, vengeance is not normally in your character.”

Darcy released a harsh bark, rising abruptly, and pacing with caged energy before the window. “I am not as certain as you. You know very well, Elizabeth, that I will protect my family at all costs without losing an iota of sleep. It seems, for years now, that Wickham has circled the fringes of my existence. Waiting for another opportunity to strike, to harm those I love, as he has not the courage to attack me directly. I have tried to convince myself that he is merely a pathetic excuse for a man, simply searching for the easy way in life and naturally latching onto the Darcy wealth as the most convenient. But I do not think it is that. Like pieces of a puzzle, it begins to fall into place with the clarity of hindsight.”

“What do you mean?”

He paused, fingers again tapping and flicking as he stared sightless out the window. When he finally spoke it was in a low, contemplative voice, “Small, insignificant episodes from my youth. Wickham sidling up to Father and presenting an innocent face when I knew he was not. Pretending to be pious when he hated attending church. Charming, always charming. Using that gift he possessed to great advantage, knowing that I did not possess it myself. His wittiness and dazzling smile enamored everyone. Except my mother,” he reflected with sudden wonder. “She could not abide him, now that I think upon it. Said he was too noisy. Hmm.”

He shook his head, turning toward Elizabeth. “I will not go so far as to say he consciously plotted to supplant me. I believe it was primarily jealousy. You see, my father and Mr. Wickham had met at Cambridge. Mr. Wickham, the elder, was of modest means, the third son of a country gentleman from Sussex. Their friendship was genuine, but it was Mr. Wickham’s intelligence that won him a position in our household. I am absolutely positive that Mr. Wickham never resented the arrangement, recognizing his good fortune in being steward to a grand estate while also working for a man he respected and held affection for. George Wickham, however, thought otherwise.”

He sighed, running one broad hand over his face. “He is a born manipulator. Quite impressively skilled at it if one looks at it in that light. I was far from stupid as a child, but somewhat naïve, as I have told you before. Sheltered. It was easy to bait me, if one knew how to do it, and Wickham did. He well understood my nature for adventure, the typical wildness of a boy coupled with a healthy dose of pride and arrogance.” He looked at his wife with a crooked grin. “Yes, even then, Elizabeth, I confess.”

Lizzy laughed softly, nodding.

Darcy continued, the smile gone, “Still, I did not go out of my way to inflict injury upon my person. I was cautious for the most part, not one who particularly relished physical pain. Buried deep under the need for excitement and the desire to push myself physically was a sense of restraint. I was sensible and serious, as Mrs. Reynolds would always say. But Wickham knew how to circumvent that. He masterfully, as I now see it, dared and taunted me into recklessness. Such as climbing that ridiculous tree.”

He touched his left rib cage, fingertips absently massaging the palpable bump. “I never gave you all the details, Elizabeth. Do you know it was the massive oak in the private garden, the one that grows over the nymph fountain? I had climbed trees before—what boy doesn’t?—but that tree is enormous. The lowest branch, even now, I can barely touch with my fingers. At twelve years of age, I needed to scale the statue, stand on a nymph’s head, and jump to the branch.”

Lizzy gasped, knowing the scene, and her blood ran cold at the vision of a young Darcy, or Alexander, performing such a feat.

“Indeed,” he agreed with her exclamation. “Utterly foolish. Of course, I was momentarily filled with conceit as I attained my goal, standing on the limb in all the glory of a conqueror. Then Wickham said he did not think I had the nerve to go higher.” Darcy closed his eyes in remembered embarrassment. “Idiot! Headstrong, foolish, imbecilic, cocky. And, as it turned out, incredibly lucky or protected by God, I know not which. I deftly climbed to the next limb and then the one above it before slipping. I hit the lowest branch on my way down, cracking the rib and scraping through my clothes to the skin.” He extended his left arm, one fingertip tracing where the long scar on his inner forearm remained. “It was that impact and the naiad that saved me, I think. Or her hair, more precisely, as my arm caught on the upswept end of her marble tresses, cutting deep, but slowing my descent and flipping me over so that I landed on the mossy ground rather than the fountain edge. I fainted, or was knocked unconscious, I am not sure which, but when I awoke it was to the gardener bending over me. Wickham had fled the scene, leaving me. The gardener found me accidentally.”

Darcy shook his head again, Lizzy spellbound and feeling ill at the story. “He apologized later, saying that he had panicked.” Darcy shrugged. “I was young and forgave him. After all, I was not truly hurt all that badly and in the silliness of adolescence such exploits are deemed exciting, worn as a badge of honor while basking in the glow of womanly soothing. But it was just one of many such incidents that I gazed upon years later with discerning eyes and wondered.”

“What sort of incidents?” Lizzy spoke in a bare whisper, almost afraid to ask.

Darcy, in all his revelations of his youth, a part of his life that was no longer a mystery to Lizzy, never mentioned George Wickham. She knew that they had been childhood friends, although certainly not on par with his friendship to Gerald Vernor, Albert Hughes, or Richard Fitzwilliam. Yet, in relating their daredevil deeds and boyish capers, he ignored Wickham’s existence. She did not press the issue, knowing that memories of Wickham caused him pain and anger. In the end, she had assumed it was not all that important. Now she experienced a shiver of fear, unsure if she was resilient enough to learn the brutal truth about the man her sister was married to.

Darcy obviously wondered the same. He hesitated, studying her closely. Finally, he crossed the thick-carpeted floor, sitting onto the sofa and taking his wife’s hands. “I have no proof for the most part, Elizabeth. As a child it was primarily the aforementioned baiting of me, and his false wooing. Falling from that tree was the worse injury I sustained, but there were other times that I could have been wounded due to bizarre accidents or foolish risks. But he acted my friend convincingly with his innate charisma. I confess that we were all taken in by him, me included. I remember wishing I possessed the easy personality of Wickham, and Richard and Gerald for that matter. I tried to emulate them but could never pull it off.”

He smiled ruefully, Lizzy reaching to stroke his cheek, her eyes tender. He kissed her fingertips gently, understanding the unspoken words behind the gesture: his wife would never wish for him to be other than who he was, reserved and taciturn with a mellow playfulness and wit seen only by those most intimate.

He continued, holding her eyes, “I do not believe that Wickham was born a villain, but came to use his natural gifts for the negative, all due to an unrelenting resentment. As I wrote in my letter to you, Father assisted with Wickham’s education, an education he never would have been capable of under normal circumstances, and Mr. Wickham was grateful. Yet, he continually reminded his son of the disparity in our stations, emphasized their dependence upon and indebtedness to Mr. Darcy. This rankled Wickham, to put it mildly.”

He sat back into the sofa, holding tightly to Lizzy’s hand as he resumed his narrative. “Again, it is hindsight. Comments he would make, expressions on his face, actions that varied depending on who was present. Subtle aspersions against me, impudent interactions with Georgiana, and inappropriate impertinence to the servants. I increasingly felt uneasy in his presence as we aged, but did not begin to see the full truth of his character until we were older, after mother died. Father was distant, often lost to his grief, so Mr. Wickham assumed more responsibility. He did it gladly, but Wickham resented it. Plus, he interpreted the adults’ abstraction as carte blanche. He was bolder, more reckless in conveying his disdain and imperiousness.”

He shook his head, eyes locked with Lizzy, but his thoughts looking inward down the passages of time. “Who can ever say with conviction how events may have unfolded if time turned down a separate path? If Mr. Wickham had not rigidly reminded his son of the gap in our stations. If certain comforts and privileges had not been denied. If our parents had not been consumed with other affairs.” He shrugged, eyes clearing as he smiled grimly. “However, I do not hold with the opinion that a person is exclusively the product of outside influences, to be pitied or excused for their behavior and choices. Wickham was given opportunities far above most men in his place and he abused them all. During those years, there were numerous thefts about the manor. Trinkets, odd pieces of jewelry, silver utensils, and the like. Nothing of great worth, but losses nonetheless. We never were able to discover the culprit, assumed it was a servant although that seemed unlikely, as they have always been largely trustworthy. I have since come to believe it was Wickham.”

“Why?”

“Aside from the fact that it simply fits into his character and that the thefts halted once we left for University is the fact that he always seemed to have money beyond what logic would dictate. Father helped pay for his education at Cambridge, but Wickham should not have been able to… entertain, shall we say, in the manner he did. Even my allowance would not have afforded his extravagant diversions.”

The disgust was plain on his face, Darcy being a man whose principles strongly abhorred such “diversions.” With tight jaw, furrowed brow, and voice steely, he resumed his narrative, “Long before father’s death and the events that unfolded thereafter, I had come to fully understand the character of George Wickham. Those years were an education to me in many ways. A genteel lady such as you, my love, does not require the same education. But trust me, when I said that I knew Wickham was utterly unfit as a clergyman, I know precisely of what I spoke.”

His lips pressed tightly together as a shudder ran through his body. Darcy’s reverence for the Church was profound, his distress over any profanity extreme. Lizzy squeezed his hands tightly, heart aching as she caressed firmly and waited for him to continue.

He sighed, eyes filled with a flinty hardness. “I am no longer naïve or a fool, Elizabeth. I am well aware of the evil nature of people in our world. It sickens me, but cannot be denied. Is George Wickham evil?” He shrugged. “I suppose that depends on one’s definition of the word. But I do know he is not to be trusted and is a scoundrel at the very least. He may not have planned my ruin or death with deliberation, but I am absolutely certain he would have welcomed and reveled in it. And I know his villainy matured because I saw the calculation in how he lied to my father, approached me for his inheritance and for more money, and with Georgiana. And with you.”

“William, please…”

“I know I promised you that I would let the past die, forget Wickham’s affronts against me and those I love. As long as he was gone and silent I have been able to put it aside—”

Lizzy rose, halting his words. He frowned, watching as she walked toward the window with back to him. “Beloved?”

“And now,” she spoke in a tremulous whisper, “because of stupid Lydia you are related to him! How could you bear it? Marrying me knowing he was a part of the bargain? I am so sorry, William!”

He was across the room before the first sentence was finished. Hands grasping her arms and face stern as he whirled her about. “Don’t be ridiculous! I would cross hell and back for you, Elizabeth! You know this. As greatly as I despise Wickham, it is a paltry price to pay for the honor and pleasure of being your husband. Do you not see the truth of it, my love? Perhaps I should have shared all with you long ago so you would fully comprehend.” He drew her into his embrace, sturdy arms firm about her body, unwavering and secure. “Wickham has been a bane in my life since childhood. He would have continued to be so, I am convinced of it. Do you have any concept of how many ‘Lydias’ there were before her? Believe me, George Wickham feasted on such innocence, to my eternal disgust, as I witnessed the behavior more times than I can count.”

He kissed her crown, breathing deeply of her fragrance. Lizzy held tight, comforted by his strength and steadily beating heart. “Lydia had nothing to do with you, my soul. Wickham may have sensed my regard for you as he knew me well, but months separated those weeks in Hertfordshire and the events at Brighton. He had no clue as to the depth of my love for you, and as we were not together at the time, it is impossible for him to have suspected that his dalliance with Lydia would profoundly affect me. He was absolutely shocked when I showed up in London. No, it was entirely coincidence. And entirely my fault as I have stated before.”

Lizzy pulled away from his arms, it now her turn to glare at him sternly. “Now it is you who are being ridiculous!” she snapped. “All you have told me, both today and before, merely clarified Wickham’s propensity toward mischief in general. Surely you are not the only one in all his acquaintance to divine his character?”

“No, but I had intimate knowledge and the means to thwart him.”

She laughed harshly. “Oh really, William. Be sensible. Even if you had spoken the truth, ‘exposed him’ as you stated in Lambton, what possible good would it have done? You are only one man and England is a big country. I do not think even you have that much power. You were wise to not risk damaging Georgiana’s reputation and your father’s good name. Maybe I would have listened and not been so blind, but Lydia would not have. You said yourself that Wickham is a manipulative charmer—”

“Indeed he is!” He brushed his hands angrily through his hair, pivoting on his heels to resume pacing. “I do not trust this disappearance or this past year of quiescence. Elizabeth, he may have been ignorant of my feelings toward you before, but no longer. Furthermore, he knows I have a son.”

He stopped abruptly, face thunderous, but eyes inundated with dread. “I will not be a fool who wears blinders and gullibly believes all is well while the fox is loose in the henhouse! He is a blackguard and nothing that has been reported to me this past year has altered my opinion of him. So, yes, I do wish to know what he is up to, not only for Lydia’s sake!”

“And if your hands accidentally find themselves around his throat, then so be it? Or if harm befalls you in the search or at his hands, what then? Will it have been worth it?”

They both paused, respirations heavy and audible as they stared at each other from opposite sides of Darcy’s large desk.

Lizzy broke the silent tableau first, her voice soft. “I still maintain that vengeance is not a trait near your heart, my dearest. Caution, vigilance, protectiveness, wisdom, and temperance, among a legion of other fine attributes, are the earmark of the man I married. I concur that we should be wary, Wickham not a man to be taken lightly. But I refuse to allow his existence to impinge upon our life and disrupt our happiness. Think how that would please him!”

She smiled, lips lifted in the teasing manner he found utterly delightful.

“And Lydia?” He asked quietly.

Lizzy shook her head, slowly stepping around the desk. “It grieves me, but she is not our primary concern. Besides, all your reports have shown that for all his faults, Wickham seems oddly to care for my sister. And they must be together, or I am sure she would be running back to Longbourn.” She was before him now, palms reaching to encompass his face. “I think we need to make a new vow, beloved. You will relinquish your misplaced guilt, but we will not wholly forget the past affairs with Wickham. Heedful, yes, but not aggressively seeking problems where none exist.”

“Is this more of the superior wisdom of my wife?”

Lizzy laughed. “If you wish to proclaim it so, then yes.”

They were long since returned to Pemberley and enmeshed in the delights of a fine summer before a new communication from Lydia was conveyed to the Bennets. The Wickhams had settled in Exeter of all places, supposedly running an inn. The details were vague, but her tone was cheery and positive. Letters from Lydia to Elizabeth were nonexistent and eventually Lizzy gave up all attempts to communicate directly with her sister. What news she received was via her parents, and that was sporadic as Lydia wrote rarely. Children were never mentioned and this was taken as a merciful development as Darcy shuddered to imagine Wickham as a father. “Perhaps he cannot sire children,” Darcy said once to Lizzy. “It would explain how he managed not to compromise any of his numerous bed partners over the years.”

As time passed, they found less and less reasons to mention the Wickham name. Darcy harkened to the advice of his wife and let the matter go. Gradually, his guilt faded, but he never surrendered his distrust or wariness.