“No, miss. The only letter is for Miss Jane from Mr. Nesbitt. He writes so often that he left me money to pay the postman.”
Lizzy delivered the letter to Jane, who sat reading it on the edge of the bed with a puzzled expression. When she finished, she threw herself backward and let out a cry and then began to rock back and forth with her arms across her chest. Lizzy immediately sought to comfort her sister over what was obviously very bad news, only to find that she was not crying, but laughing hysterically.
When Jane could finally speak, she sat up and said, “Apparently, word of Lydia’s elopement has reached Watford, and Mr. Nesbitt writes his practice is not so well established that he can afford to be associated with scandal. As a result, he must withdraw his attentions. Oh, Lizzy, we are in dire straits indeed if I cannot even secure Mr. Nesbitt,” and she began to laugh until tears rolled down her face.
“Then you are relieved by this news?” Lizzy asked hopefully.
“Oh, yes,” she said, taking her sister’s offered handkerchief. “He is a very nice man, but he can be quite odd,” and she pulled a box out from underneath their bed and showed Lizzy the gifts he had given her.
“He sent you a lock of his mother’s hair? I have never heard of such a thing.” Lizzy wasn’t sure if she found it to be funny or repulsive.
“I think it was his attempt to let me know his mother approved of me.”
“There are other ways less tangible. For example, ‘Jane, my mother likes you very much.’”
“I know. That’s what I thought, but then he sent a bee trapped in tree resin. Mary believes the B was meant to represent Bennet.”
“Or Beloved.”
“Oh, I would never have guessed that. It would have been much too cryptic for me.” And the two sisters started to laugh again, something they had not done in the long days since Lizzy’s return. “There is another reason why I am glad it is over. Mary is in love with Mr. Nesbitt. Whenever he called, it was Mary who stayed with us and Mary who walked him to the gate, and, honestly, they do have a lot in common. It was she who identified the amber specimen. She would have been perfect for him, but now it doesn’t matter. Neither of us is to have him.”
“Well, Jane, I would not have thought it possible, but something good has come out of Lydia’s elopement. You will not have to marry Mr. Nesbitt.”
They again erupted into laughter, and it was a sound that drifted into their father’s library and gave him hope that his lack of foresight had not destroyed the soul of his family.
Chapter 46
The day after Darcy’s arrival in London, he immediately went to see George Bingley, who was feeling confident that Lydia would quickly be found.
“It is merely a process of elimination. Since I received your letter, my associates have narrowed our area of search considerably. We have also spoken to his fellow officers, and in interviewing these men, we have learned something I am sure will distress you. Wickham has been spreading the lie that he is the natural son of Mr. David Darcy of Pemberley. I took the liberty of contacting your solicitor, Mr. Stone, who will be here within the hour with the file regarding the financial and personal information concerning Wickham’s adoption by your estate manager.”
George had anticipated Darcy’s reaction, and he had a glass of wine at the ready. But no amount of wine could settle a man who had just heard the most malicious lie made against his beloved father.
“Once we have Wickham, we will put an end to this slander. Wickham will not wish to spend any time in prison but, if he repeats this lie, he will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”
By the time Mr. Stone arrived, Darcy could still feel the heat in his face generated by his hatred of Wickham, but he kept his mind clear. Since all the major players were now dead, his solicitor was free to reveal the full contents of the file.
“George Wickham was born to Martha Ferris, the personal maid of actress Elaine Trench and actor Adam Spendel. Your uncle, George Ashton, was an acquaintance of Miss Trench, and she knew that he had fathered a number of children, whom he had placed with families in the country. Because Miss Trench was fond of her maid, she asked Mr. Ashton to assist her in this regard.”
Darcy looked puzzled. His parents were generous to a fault, but they were disgusted by George Ashton’s affairs. Taking someone’s illegitimate child might give the impression to the elder Darcy’s brother-in-law that they condoned such actions.
“I have been the family solicitor for nearly thirty-five years, Mr. Darcy, and I can understand your confusion. However, your parents were very fond of the elder Mr. Wickham and his wife. They were childless, and with your parents’ consent, they offered to raise the young George Wickham. As you know, your father was also fond of the boy, and he agreed to provide the funds necessary for his education and for a living in the church, the law, or the army. This was an act of generosity, and in no way obligates you or your heirs to provide any additional monetary assistance to Wickham. All of these facts are supported by the proper documentation. I might add that both of Wickham’s natural parents are dead. That is all there is to it, sir.”
That was all there was to it, except that it wasn’t, and Lydia Bennet was proof of that.
That meeting had taken place three days earlier, and in that time, nothing new had come to light. Darcy’s frustration was only equaled by his sense of guilt. Knowing Wickham’s history of unpaid debts, gambling, and seduction, he had chosen to remain silent when he had seen Wickham in Meryton. It would have taken so little effort on his part to warn others about him. Mercer could have gone into the village and discreetly mentioned to one or two merchants that he knew Wickham left unpaid debts wherever he went. A private word with the vicar might have been sufficient to alert the young ladies of the village that Wickham was a man bent on relieving them of their maidenhood with no consequences to him. But he didn’t do either of those things, as he was a Darcy and Darcys didn’t involve themselves in such unsavory situations.
And what had his pride cost Elizabeth? He could hardly bear to think of her with tears streaming down her face and his inability to comfort her. To his mind the only way he could make amends was to recover her sister, and all of his hopes in that regard rested with George Bingley.
Mercer could see how heavily the business with Lydia and Wickham weighed on his master, and he encouraged him to go to his club or ride in the park—something—anything to keep his mind from dwelling on the missing couple. He took Mercer’s advice and felt better for it, but today he intended to remain at the house and answer business letters, which is what he was doing when Mercer announced that Mrs. Aumont had presented her card and was waiting in a hackney for his reply.
“I do not know Mrs. Aumont.”
“The lady said you would remember her as Christina Caxton.”
Darcy was out of his chair like a bullet and immediately went to the window. Of course, he knew he would be unable to see her as she was in the cab, but he needed to be convinced she was actually there. And then the absurdity of his situation brought a smile to his face and then all-out laughter because if he did not laugh he might very well cry. Earlier in the day, he had been pining for Elizabeth with her luminous eyes and curly hair that refused to stay in place, and he had begged the Fates for some sort of diversion. Well, his plea had been answered.
“Sir, will you receive the lady?”
“Yes, Mercer. She is an old friend.”
When Christina walked into the drawing room, six years of time melted away. Was it possible for someone not to age? Her blond hair and green eyes and flawless complexion—everything the same, including the most delicious lips he had ever tasted.