Page 36 of A Quiet Affection

Oh, oh. Elizabeth wished that he had settled his affections on anyone, anyone in the world but her own sister. That pain was too much for her to take.

And damn Jane, damn her for her good fortune, her beauty, her working eyes, and…and…Fitzwilliam would not like her to hate Jane. She must be happy for them all.

Elizabeth cried in the hallway and then wiped her eyes and snotty nose off on the scratchy wool blanket.

She went up to the nursery. Even if Georgiana’s lessons were likely not finished for the day, the nursery would be the first place Fitzwilliam would come to look for her and Georgie whenhe finished speaking to his father. Unless he spoke first with Jane. And then nothing would ever, ever, ever be the same again.

Chapter Nine

When Darcy entered his father’s study, he found that by chance George Wickham was in the room. Papa was saying with some frustration, “If only I had not sent the letter to Fitzwilliam at all. That would have been better. That would have—” Seeing his son he said, “If only you had seen Moscow! I meant for you to see Moscow! But what is done is done. Your mistake cannot be repairednow.”

His father’s tone was querulous in a way that Darcy had never heard before. Always before when Papa had criticized him—which was not infrequent—it was in complete privacy. Poor Papa. Perhaps his famed management of himself was breaking down with his advancing illness.

Wickham grinned at him.

Darcy had failed in a duty. He had let inconvenience and a natural hesitation before engaging in an unpleasant task stop him from speaking to his father about his godson in the summer. And now come autumn, the harvest was here: George Wickham was engaged to poor Jane Bennet.

Darcy took a deep breath to settle himself. He sincerely hoped that the damage could be undone. He put his hands behind his back and stood taller. “I must speak about Wickham, and I believe it best that he is here to defend himself, as is right. Papa, you must not permit him to marry Miss Bennet, and you must not give him any position in the church. I ought to have spoken to you this summer, but it was an unpleasant topic, and I delayed when I should not have. While we lived together in Cambridge, it became clear to me that Wickham’s habits and attitudes are dissolute, imprudent, immoral, shocking, and wholly unworthyof a man of the church, and they make him the opposite of what a man seeking the hand of a respectable woman under your care ought to be.”

Mr. Darcy very much was unhappy that his son, after abandoning his Grand Tour over a matter of pointless sentiment, had now brought this additional difficulty before him.

He was dying.

Why must Fitzwilliam bother him with these concerns? He was tired. The pain was always there with him, even in his dreams. The one joy that Mr. Darcy saw before him was to see these two persons married.

And Fitzwilliam wished to stop that. He was not surprised to hear this said about George. There had been enough in what he had heard of his godson’s behavior to make him suspect that the young boy was not of the most religious disposition, but Mr. Darcy did not particularly care.

George was a good boy. A sweet boy.

Mr. Darcy pressed his hand against his forehead. “We’ve always meant George for the church. And for Jane.”

“He is not worthy. His behavior at university shows that. George frequented bawdy houses. He often played cards, he spent beyond his means and avoided paying his debts to tradesmen and shopkeepers, and he took on substantial debts of honor.”

“Is that all?” Mr. Darcy closed his eyes. He pressed at his side. “Bawdy houses and card games? Son, I applaud you for your concern. But not every man is a Darcy. Not every man can be expected to behave perfectly in all matters.”

Thankfully Fitzwilliam did not say anything.

If only he had not written the letter to Fitzwilliam, telling him about his illness. That had been a moment of unusual weakness. His boy might be in Moscow now, storing up impressions and experiences that would serve to make him more knowledgeable and admired for the rest of his life. Instead, he wished to destroy poor George’s life because he expected others to match his own high standards.

Opening his eyes, Mr. Darcy sighed. “Well, George, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Wickham smiled in that appealing manner of his. He might be a man of twenty, and not a boy of six, but his manner had lost none of its charm for Mr. Darcy. “I confess, I confess, I did some such things. I, well, you did say that I might be wild—but not too wild. I know...but everyone gambles some—I swear that I did not gamble to any excess. Not so much as Fitz is saying. You know. But I did some. But I did nothing that would bring your name or consequence into disrepute.”

“And the women?” Mr. Darcy smiled softly at Wickham. “I hope you know that you must not do anything of that sort once you are married to Miss Bennet.”

“Never!” Wickham looked up appealingly. “My dearest friend, I would never violate my vows toher. She is too beautiful for any man to wish to stray. But I did not know then, not know for sure...we were not engaged yet. I’d made no promises. But now—I know what I oweyou.”

Mr. Darcy smiled warmly.

He hoped for Jane’s sake that Wickham would truly not stray, but if Wickham proved to be the sort of man to keep a mistress—many were—the two could still be perfectly happy. Mr. Darcy was a man who loved his friends, and he would not abandon them for any small fault in their characters.

It was only Fitzwilliam who saw anything in the tales he had told to keep George from marrying. “George, do look at me seriously. Look at me. You shall be a man. A married man. You shall have responsibilities. I am happy that I can let you marry early, but I am sorry that it removes from you the chance to be free for longer. There is a cost to all that is good. You understand that you must not act irresponsibly, no matter how freely your friends behave, when you return to university after I am dead.”

George nodded seriously.

“Now say it, do promise me.”

“I promise.”