Page 62 of Roses from Pemberley
He told her many things that afternoon, beginning with how Wickham had grown up with him at Pemberley. How Wickham had always deceived his father and spent hours amusing George Darcy, while his own son appeared at times too serious and too reserved. He spoke of Wickham’s acts of cruelty towards him, some big and some small. How he’d fallen off his horse one day and was left in the woods by Wickham, while Wickham galloped ahead and never told anyone about it. He spoke of how Wickham took the largesse his father had offered him and squandered everything - both at Eton and at Cambridge. Of how Mr. Darcy bequeathed a living to him and how that gentleman was instead paid four thousand pounds to relinquish it, then spent the next year gambling and seducing both ladies and young girls, and generally leading the most dissipated life imaginable. And how he’d spent the entire amount after a year’s time. Of how Wickham had grown desperate and asked for the living again and was of course denied. How he had then tried to get Darcy’s fifteen year old sister to elope with him from Ramsgate, only to be stopped by Darcy who went there for an unexpected visit. Of how Georgiana Darcy lost confidence in herself after that, and how worried Darcy was for her when he first met Elizabeth in Meryton.
Elizabeth, never having suspected the degree of Wickham’s treachery, found herself crying anew - that she had treated Darcy so poorly when he had already suffered so much at Wickham’s hands.
“I thought you were in love with him,” said Darcy softly, “but I felt powerless to do anything about it. I did not wish to betray my sister, you see. But perhaps I should have anyway…”
“No, I never loved him,” said Elizabeth. “He flattered me with his attention. But I never loved him. Perhaps, deep down, I knew that he was shallow, and had nothing of substance in his character…”
“I am relieved to hear it,” murmured Darcy, “though I did not know it at the time.” He looked into the distance and sighed. “But perhaps it was why I left Netherfield the next day, and convinced Bingley that your sister did not love him. I ran away from Hertfordshire and from you and convinced myself that you were not worth fighting for. It was wrong and I realised it shortly after I returned to London. For I could not stop thinking about you and what I had left behind.”
Elizabeth pressed her palms to her eyes. “I cannot believe you still thought well of me, after that. Especially after I upbraided you at the ball, questioned your judgement, and accused you of infamous behaviour as I did. How could you continue to love me after that?”
“It wasn’t difficult,” he answered, “for it seemed to me that more than one person I loved has been taken in by him at one time or another. He is very charming, as you know.”
“I hate him!” said Elizabeth abruptly, wondering how Darcy could be so sanguine about the matter. “I hate him for how much harm he has done to you and to your family. I know it is unladylike, but…I cannot help it.”
He chuckled. “How thankful I am that I now have your loyalty! Indeed, it is a fearsome thing to behold.”
“And how is your sister now? I hope she has begun to recover?”
“Thank you for asking. I believe she is better, though still painfully shy.”
She frowned, thinking of Georgiana Darcy and all the other girls Wickham had damaged in some form or other. “If I ever see him again…”
Elizabeth stopped, not knowingwhatshe would do if she ever saw Wickham again. She thought it likely as his regiment was still in Meryton.
“You know, my love,” he said interrupting her thoughts, “I would like to inform your father about my history with Wickham. Do you think it a good idea? Perhaps he will take measures to safeguard the neighbourhood against him.”
“Yes, I think it a good idea. Thank you.”
Elizabeth smiled shyly at him and tilted her face upwards. Would she then have to kiss him if he did not cooperate? Thankfully he did.
She felt his warm lips against her own, and the warmth of his arms around her.
“Your aunt once told me that many ladies pursued you for Pemberley,” she said a little later, her head now cradled against his chest.
“Which aunt?”
“Lady Catherine, when she visited me at the parsonage. She said that they did not even bother to know you better, or something like it. And I wish for you to know that…you deserve better than that.”
“Do you seemethen, Elizabeth? And not just Pemberley?”
She put her hand against his cheek and gave him another lingering kiss. “Yes, I do. I seeyou, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and cannot even begin to express how much I admire and love you.”
He stared at her for some time, his expression both tender and disbelieving. He swallowed, then nodded.
They stayed at the folly for another hour, talking of inconsequential things and sometimes kissing. She spoke of her unconventional upbringing, her love of books and closeness to her father. He spoke of his childhood at Pemberley, the children he'd played with at the local village, and how his father hadgradually shown him how to manage the estate. Before long it was time to return.
When they reached the parsonage, Mrs. Bennet was there with Jane, Bingley and Charlotte. Elizabeth’s mother then suddenly went to Darcy and soundly kissed him on the cheek, welcoming him into the family.
“But we are only courting Mamma,” said Elizabeth, embarrassed.
“Well, Mr. Darcy does not seem to mind, do you, Mr. Darcy?”
“No, not at all.”
“I am happy for you, Darcy,” said Bingley. “Perhaps, if everything goes well, we shall become brothers some day.”
“Yes, I think you may be right, Bingley.”
