your housekeeper, but I leave that in your capable hands.”
“Next on my morning’s agenda,” Darcy said dryly. “The matter of Wickham can wait a day or two, can it not? I would like to talk to Elizabeth before contacting her family. Her insight will be invaluable, especially where Lydia is concerned.”
“It is sensible to wait on this matter anyway. Two odd events, one a death and the other a crazed lunatic out for blood, involving you in the same week might raise an eyebrow or two. Best to space out the fodder for gossip.”
Darcy frowned, scandal, even hinted, being something he abhorred.
“Do not worry too much, Cousin. Orman’s madness will be the topic of choice, with vivid descriptions I am sure, not the death of a man no one knew. Wickham will not generate more than a sentence or two. As for Mrs. Wickham, with all due respect to Elizabeth and no wish to offend, I somehow doubt the widow will be grief stricken or lonely for long.”
Darcy shook his head, unable to hold in a smile. “No, I doubt she will. Her mother will welcome her home with tears of joy, Mr. Bennet will probably be relieved, and I will make sure that her husband left a settlement to provide until husband number two is ensnared.”
“That is generous of you, under the circumstances.”
“Trust me, generosity has nothing to do with it, nor do I really care about Lydia, if you must know. I do, however, care deeply for my wife. And speaking of my wife, I need to check on her. Keep me informed.”
“I always do. That is my lot in life, cleaning up your messes as usual, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy waved his cousin’s gibe and grin away. “I think we are tied for rescuing each other, but you better watch your step or I will give erroneous parenting advice on purpose.”
Darcy had refused to think of the housekeeper and her role in the abduction during the night. He did not ask George of her whereabouts until that morning after bathing and dressing, knowing that the incensed rage would interfere with the calm he needed for his family. Thus, it was mid-morning after talking with Richard and then spending time with his peacefully sleeping wife before he felt in control enough to broach the subject with his uncle and then confront the woman. The time allotted gave his mind the opportunity to rationalize the subject, deciding on the best course of action.
George had gleaned little of interest. Mrs. Smyth had been so shaken by her master’s threatening anger that she was a puddle of tears and incoherency. In disgust he had given up on any questioning, banishing her to her quarters and assigning a footman to ensure she stayed put until Mr. Darcy said otherwise.
In truth, Darcy could care less how Wickham had finagled his way into Mrs. Smyth’s good graces and thus into his house. Knowing the skill Wickham wielded at deception and charming women, he was not surprised and wondered why the possibility had not occurred to him. He might have been able to feel some pity for the obviously lonely, mislead woman, but the fact is that she had willingly allowed a stranger into his house and fornicated under his roof, rules that were broken in blatant disregard of his authority. Couple that with her ongoing, albeit suppressed hostility toward his wife and children, and his extensive patience was at an end.
What he was not prepared for, especially after George’s description of how distraught she was the day before, was the blaze of defiance he was greeted with.
She marched into his study, Mr. Travers trailing, her face set into a haughty pose with spine stiff and hands boldly clasping the chatelaine of keys indicative of her office. Darcy sat in his imposing leather chair, composed and coldly authoritative. His momentary startlement at her demeanor did not show outwardly, nor did it cause his disciplined core to waver. Rather, it steeled his resolve.
“Mrs. Smyth, I am no longer interested in the details of your involvement with Mr. Wickham. Your misjudgment which led to your crimes is for you to bear. The proofs of your transgressions against the rules of this household, my rules, are more than sufficient to warrant your immediate dismissal. I order you to pack your belongings and vacate my house by this afternoon. My only concession, my last act of kindness if you will, for years of service will be to offer the availability of a carriage and driver to take you to a destination of your choosing. Under the circumstances I judge that more than fair.”
“And what of my future livelihood? Am I to be given no recommendation for employment?”
Darcy’s brow rose reflexively. “You cannot be serious? Do you honestly anticipate that I would write a letter of recommendation after what has transpired here?”
“Indeed, I would think you might consider the wisdom in securing me another post. But I will accept a letter as just payment.”
Darcy was flabbergasted. But he was also irritated and perversely curious. “Please, do enlighten me as to why I should deem such absurdity ‘wisdom’ on my part.”
She took a step nearer the desk, the whiteness of her knuckles as they gripped the metal and the ridges of her compressed lips the only obvious indications that she was not as assured as her words intended.
“Mr. Darcy, I know you are a gentleman whose reputation for propriety is of the highest importance. Positive regard amongst Society is valued by you. I would never wish to see your excellent name sullied even further than it already has been.”
Darcy’s face was impassive, his hands resting on the polished surface of the desk with body erect in his chair. He stared at her calmly and in silence, finally replying dispassionately, “I shall ignore the inference that my ‘name’ has in some manner been sullied, at least in your opinion. Let us proceed to the insinuation that I can in some way be further besmirched. I am truly curious as to what you refer.”
She twitched, his relaxed query unnerving her. “People love to talk, Mr. Darcy, even if the facts are erroneous. Gossip can lead to scandal.”
His eyes, those piercing eyes of glacial blue, bore unwaveringly into her face. “Indeed, this can be true. However, I still do not see how this pertains to me or any member of my household.”
“Why… it is simple! Mrs. Darcy taken in the night, gone for hours with a man of the criminal element. One can easily imagine what probably transpired during that time!”
“And you have some sort of proof of this allegation?”
“I… I beg your pardon? Proof? But surely there will be inquiries?”
“Let me save your time and mine, Mrs. Smyth. Whatever you think happened yesterday may as well be a figment of your imagination. None shall utter a word of it to anyone. And if
“But, you said he was this Wickham.”
“George Wickham is dead, madam.”
She gasped, staggering backward at that shocking revelation.
Darcy continued in his calm but flatly commanding tone. “Mr. Wickham died several days ago from a fall off his horse while returning to his wife in Devon. Geoffrey Wiseman, however, is a thief who was improperly admitted to the townhouse of a valued, well-regarded gentleman of London Society by his housekeeper. If need be, those will be the facts circulated. Tell me, Mrs. Smyth, who do you think will be believed?”
“Sir, please.”
“I will take the chatelaine now, Mrs. Smyth. You have two hours to gather your possessions. The carriage will be awaiting you in the mews for a destination of your choosing, outside of London. You are dismissed. Mr. Travers, see Mrs. Smyth to her quarters.”
Chapter Twenty
Richard Fitzwilliam and George Darcy were practically clairvoyant in their assessments regarding Lizzy.
Two days passed before she was clear-headed enough to hear the entire tale of brave deeds and daring rescue. The death of Wickham and status of Lord Orman brought only relief and a suppressed glee that she knew was unattractive but could not hide from her husband. Darcy glossed over the more gruesome details, Lizzy not murderous enough to require a precise picture of Wickham’s broken, bloody body or Orman’s breakdown, but his
