“There is also your wife’s dowry —”
“A trifle!” Wickham spat.
“— and what I will settle on her as well.” Darcy offered the inducement without pause. Wickham spun around, his interest rekindled.
“Two thousand pounds!” he demanded, as if the amount were negotiable. Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Fifteen hundred, then, and I’ll ‘turn Methodist,’ if you like, in the bargain.”
“I doubt that it would ‘take,’ George, or that you could sustain it for long.” He shook his head. It was time to bring this to a close. “No, I will not bargain with you. One thousand pounds in addition to her dowry, your debts covered, your profession secured, your character reformed, so to speak, and your wife provided for — that is what I offer to enable you to do what is right by this girl and her family.”
“As long as I ‘behave like a gentleman,’ I believe was the condition?” Wickham mocked. He did not seem to require a response, for he turned back to the window to consider what had been laid before him and did not notice Darcy’s silence.
…had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner. Wickham’s derisive words merely echoed Elizabeth’s charge, but it was close enough. How ironic that Darcy should demand of Wickham what Elizabeth had declared so lacking in himself!
“You have thought of everything, Darcy. I congratulate you.” Wickham’s voice brought him back to the matter at hand. “Try as I might, I can find no flaw to exploit or contingency to hold over you. Remarkable!” He crossed the room and sat down at the table. “You have hemmed me in quite well, you and Lydia, but in truth, the prospect is not so bad. Much to be preferred to debtors’ prison or a court-martial, certainly.” He wiped his hands upon his trousers and laid one, palm up, on the table between them. “I believe I must accept your offer, Darcy. Here’s my hand on it, one ‘gentleman’ to another.”
“On behalf of the young woman’s family,” Darcy amended, extending his hand.
“As you wish.” Wickham shrugged, and it was done.
Darcy did not allow himself the great sigh of relief that pressed against his chest until he was alone and the hired cab’s horse set into motion. His mind cast back to the beginning, to the inn at Lambton and his discovery of Elizabeth in such heartrending distress that it had been all he could do not to hold and comfort her, to dry her tears. He’d had no right, although every feeling in him had urged him toward her in the name of sympathy and love. Her tears had rent him, for he had known instantly where the blame for them lay; but it had been the awful resignation in Elizabeth’s voice to the shame and disgrace that lay ahead which had truly devastated him. He had vowed then that it would not be so, and though great patches, dearly bought, had been sown over the tatters of her family’s name, he had succeeded, ensured that the weave would hold, and the fabric of her family’s honor would once again be whole.
Closing his eyes, he leaned back his head and filled his lungs with air, then let it slowly escape. Elizabeth! Elizabeth was free. No living in the shadow of disgrace — she could be again who she so magnificently was and without apology or blush. Darcy smiled. He had righted a grave wrong caused by his own pride, and it was good. But his vision of Elizabeth restored…that was a treasure he would cherish in his heart all his days!
The cab pulled up before the Gardiner residence on Gracechurch Street. As Darcy waited for the cabbie to descend and open the door, he looked about the street curiously. The houses were not grand, but neither were they mean or pretentious, as had been implied by Caroline Bingley’s sniggering. Rather, neat and trim residences lined the public way in a row of solid respectability and, occasionally, some grace. One of these was the address before him, and seeing it Darcy better understood the conversation and taste that Elizabeth’s relatives had exhibited at Pemberley.
He descended from the cab, mounted the shallow steps beyond the front gate, and knocked. He wondered how he should begin to explain his visit. His paying a call would be considered highly unusual, even eccentric, especially without having sent his card earlier in the day. But when they heard his reason for calling, how would they regard him?
A servant answered. “Yes, sir?” She appeared rather young for her duties and not at all schooled in the proper etiquette of her position. Likely, she was new to service.
“I have come to see Mr. Gardiner.” He handed her his card. “Is he at home to visitors? It is important that I see him.”
“I-I dun know, sir.”
“Whether he is home, or whether he is home to visitors?” Darcy prodded. Definitely new!
“Oh, he be home, but there’s already sum’un wif him. An’ the missus ain’t back from country yet,” she supplied ingenuously. “So, I dun know if he can see two visitors. I was hired for the kitchen; never answered door before. Them’s what does weren’t expectin’ to be called back yet.”
“I see.” Darcy could not help but smile, but he had to see Elizabeth’s uncle as soon as possible. “Perhaps I can help you. If you could tell me who the other visitor is, we can determine whether you should announce me. Do you know who it is?”
“The master’s brother,” she pronounced with conviction, but then doubt crossed her face. “Well, calls him ‘brother,’ but how can he be with the name Bennet? Brother-in-law, maybe.” She appeared satisfied with her reasoning. “He’s been here for days, he has, lookin’ like thunder and rain.” She shook her head at all the trouble in the world. “So, should I let you in?”
“No, I think not.” Gently, he tugged his card from between the maid’s fingers and sent up thanks that he’d escaped the disaster of stumbling unexpected into the presence of both men.
“Oh.” Her face fell, then brightened. “He be leaving tomorrow mornin’, sir. Heard it just now. Goin’ back home, he is.”
“Then I shall call tomorrow, thank you.”
“Yer that welcome, sir,” she replied, and without asking his name, she shut the door.
“Well!” Darcy snorted in surprise at his summary dismissal. “That is that, and probably just as well!” Climbing back into the cab, he directed the driver to take him to a corner near Grosvenor Square. From that address, he walked home by way of the mews so that he would not be seen by his neighbors. Living secretly in his own house had been necessary for his purposes, but he was finding it rather a blessing as well. Leaving him free from the social obligations that would have interfered with what he had to do, it also freed him to associate with whomever he must to bring all to fruition. “Rather like Dy!” The thought sprang up initially to his amusement, but soon the divergent nature of their purposes sobered him. Where was Dy? There had been no word since he had ridden off hell-for-leather in pursuit of those thought involved in the assassination of the Prime Minister. Was he well, or had it ended badly, far away in America? Darcy wished he knew.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Witcher exclaimed, pressing her hand to her heart as he surprised her at the service entrance to the kitchen. “I shall never understand why the master of the house cannot come in through his own front door!”
When Darcy knocked at the Gardiners’ door the next morning, the little scullery maid had been replaced by an older woman who knew what she was about. He was ushered into the hall with polite murmurs and curtsies and left for only moments before the master was at the door to his study observing him with astonishment.
“Mr. Darcy!” He stepped forward. “I am honored, sir!”
“Mr. Gardiner.” Darcy inclined his head at the older man’s bow. “I trust you are well.”