Matlock knew of Georgiana’s narrow escape, of Wickham’s wild ways during University, his squandering James Darcy’s honest inheritance, and the attempt to swindle Darcy later, but nothing of his youthful mischief or the seduction and subsequent forced-marriage to Lydia Bennet.
Mr. Bennet knew the entire tale of Wickham’s seduction of Lydia and Darcy’s rescuing of her in London, but only vague fragments of Darcy’s past connection to him. Darcy had never shared his information regarding Lydia’s marriage and life in Newcastle with his father-in-law, seeing no profit in worrying him further. Kitty knew some of it, but from Georgiana’s point of view and via whispered conversations between her parents, the bulk of which she had passed on to Randall.
The remainder, no matter what tidbits they may have gleaned over the years, instantly sensed the tension as well as cringing at the abrasive manner of Lydia. Where Mrs. Bennet was tolerated by the more refined members of Darcy’s family, as long as contact was minimal, Lydia’s crass words chafed. Darcy had anticipated this, even if he was not prepared for the contact to occur when the entire wedding party was amassed in his temporary home with him as host. Nonetheless, his impeccable breeding and need to establish firm ground with Wickham overcame his chagrin. “Mrs. Wickham.” He bowed, stepping into the fray urbanely. “Welcome to Netherfield. Indeed you are in time for dinner. Setting for two additional diners is not in any way troublesome. Please, make yourself comfortable as you surely must be wearied from your journey.”
He gestured to the sofa, briefly meeting Lizzy’s eyes in silent communication. His wife nodded, grasping Lydia’s elbow and steering toward the middle of the room, the Bennet clan following.
Richard and Dr. Darcy sidled over as Darcy turned to face George Wickham. Randall remained behind, curiously observing the changing expressions while his own internal alarms yet rang.
“Wickham,” Darcy stated flatly, eyes flinty and piercing his old playmate. “You are welcome to Netherfield as well. Miss Bennet’s happiness is of the utmost concern. For her sake you are accepted, but you will be watched, have no fear of that.”
Wickham inclined his head, cocky smile fixed in place. “No need for threats, Darcy. I come in peace, and only at my wife’s urging, I assure you. Hertfordshire holds no happy memories for me, nor do you frankly. Colonel Fitzwilliam, I understand congratulations are in order?”
Richard nodded curtly, not replying.
Wickham nodded as well, feigned sadness touching his eyes. “I see. And you must be Major General Artois? I will assume you know of my unfortunate history with His Majesty’s Army, so I will not pretend that being surrounded by officers is all that appealing to me.”
“I suppose in that regard we are on equal footing, Mr. Wickham, as I do not find being in the company of insubordinates all that appealing either. But for the sake of my fiancee I will manage to overcome my repulsion.”
Wickham inclined his head politely, smile in place. “Understood. Congratulations to you as well, Major General. Miss Bennet has matured nicely, I daresay, from the girl I last saw. But it is oddly comforting to know not all has changed, such as her preference for military men. I am certain Mrs. Bennet is delighted at her daughter’s… resourcefulness and has welcomed you into the fold with lavish praise.”
His eyes turned from the stiffened Randall to Darcy. “More congratulations are in order, I see. Mrs. Darcy appears every inch a Mistress of Pemberley, to the point of speedily presenting you with not one, but two male children! Amazing development and how
“Is this your idea of coming in peace, Wickham?” Darcy growled.
Wickham shrugged, spreading his hands. “Just getting the insults out of the way, Darcy. Then we can have it done with and move on to the happy event. Should I complete your expectations by remarking on how lovely a woman Georgiana has become?”
Richard took a step closer, his face ruddy with anger. “Be careful, Wickham. You are not among friends here.”
“Oh, how well I know, Colonel. But I do not think either of you want to start a brawl here in the parlor. Mustn’t upset the delicate females. That would be highly improper. Frankly, I am outnumbered, so am counting on the famous Darcy restraint to persevere. If Darcy truly wanted to harm me he has had plenty of opportunities to do so before this one.”
“Fitzwilliam.” Lizzy fortuitously interrupted the escalating scene, touching his sleeve. “Dinner has been announced.”
She sternly held his gaze, finally hearing a deep inhale as his face resumed its typical controlled seriousness. “Of course. Thank you, Elizabeth.” He offered his arm, Lizzy taking it with relief, both turning their backs on Wickham as Darcy’s elegant voice rang out in formal announcement. Richard and Randall left to claim their partners, none noting the smug expression that crossed Wickham’s face before it settled into its usual arrogant lift as he escorted a babbling Lydia into the dining room.
When Lizzy entered their bedchamber that evening, after nursing Michael and putting him to sleep, it was to a familiar sight. Her husband stood before the fireplace staring into the flames with one elbow resting on the mantel and the hand fisted against his mouth. The other arm hung at his side with fingers twitching. Jacket and cravat were discarded, negligently tossed over a chair, and shoes and stockings were piled on the floor. His hair was ruffled, sticking up in places, and his thick brows were furrowed with creases deep in between. She could not see his lips under the fisted hand, but she knew without a doubt that they were harshly pressed together. Even without additional evidence, such as the steady tic in his rigid jawline, she would have known the state of his emotions, as his entire posture was common when he was extremely agitated or angry.
Tonight she was not sure which it was. Agitation? Anger? Both? She entered quietly and curled up into the chair opposite his stiff body. She watched him for a few moments but could not bear it, so assumed her own contemplation of the fire.
Time passed. The only sounds were the crackles of the flames and Darcy’s heavy breathing. The only movements were the occasional shifting logs and his hand that continued to fidget and rifle through his hair.
“I am sorry, William,” she finally murmured into the silence. “Your anger is understandable and I wish I could alleviate it. Having to deal with Wickham… having him as… family is…”
“I refuse to listen to you apologizing for this again, Elizabeth,” he snapped, not moving or looking away from the fire. “This has nothing to do with you, or at least not in the way you persist in seeing it. You are my wife and he is my brother-in-law. That is the fact of it and I would not choose otherwise, so please desist in the self- recriminations! I cannot deal with your misplaced guilt at this juncture.” He inhaled vigorously to calm the anger and jerked away from the mantel, pivoting toward Lizzy. “I would prefer if you put aside your foolish guilt and use your intellect to help me figure out what his motives are!”
“And I would prefer, Mr. Darcy, if you lowered your voice, got control of your emotions, and quit glaring at me. You want me to tell you what I think Wickham’s motives are? It is this! He wants you raging and distressed, and flaring angrily at your wife. He desires discord among the family. You are allowing him to win, William, and you cannot do that!”
He stared at her for a few seconds and then began pacing, the other typical attitude when he was agitated or angry. She was angry as well, but his rudely spat words had done the trick of finally dissolving the residuals of her guilt. She would never again doubt his love for her—never—and knew beyond the tiniest shred that he counted any difficulty worth being her husband. Goodness, he tolerated her mother! What more proof could she possibly require?
Besides, she well knew that this was not a result of wishing, however remotely or unconsciously, that he did not have to deal with Wickham. The sad truth was that Darcy believed that Wickham would always have been a thorn in his flesh, Elizabeth or no Elizabeth. When would he have to again encounter his lifelong adversary and how would the threat arise? His bravery or mastery was not the question, but the stakes were increased due to his love for her and their children. His anger and agitation arose at the unknown possible harm to those he was sworn to protect.
Lizzy had been married to this complex man long enough to know it was best to allow him to expend his passionate irritation. It never lasted too long. Darcy was not a man, in general, who wallowed in his emotions. He was zealous in apportioned allotments and in appropriate situations, such as their bed, but was predominantly a man of superior restraint and vast intelligence. To him it was illogical and foolish to waste time and energy on fits of
