Days passed. Nobody turned us away on our morning calls or ceased calling on us. We continued to receive invitations to dinners, soirees, and garden parties. Indeed, nobody of our acquaintance treated us ill in any way whatsoever, or differently than they had in the past. We began to believe that Mrs. Ashton had abandoned her plan, or that her husband had forbidden it.
Mr. Walsh did not call on us, and whenever my thoughts drifted to him, I busied myself with the children, who were completely entranced with a new litter of spaniel puppies. The twins had to be closely watched when they played with the pups, as they were wont to think of them as toys. I was certain one or more of them would be smuggled into the house before long.
Otherwise, I was occupied with flower arranging and gossiping with my sisters while we worked. Jane was painting a fireplace screen, while Elizabeth applied herself to decorating a tea caddy. I didn’t walk unless in the company of one of them, and I’d curtailed my reading. To protect my heart, I did not engage in anything that would allow me, in an unguarded moment, to imagine a life with Henry Walsh.
I continued to feel a nagging worry about the lack of news from Longbourn.
One evening on my way to join Jane and Elizabeth after dinner, I wheeled around the corner and nearly stumbled right into a tall, disheveled man. He looked up and removed his beaver hat.
“Mr. Wickham!” I said, narrowing my eyes. I was none too happy to see the man whose conduct was the cause of so much pain for my family. “What are you doing here?”
“Why, Mary! You’ve grown up since I last had the pleasure of seeing you.” His eyes roved up and down my body in an exceptionally rude way, and I felt myself coloring. Unfortunately, he had turned into a rather dissolute-looking ne’er-do-well. What had formerly been a handsome countenance had hardened, especially around his eyes and mouth.
When I didn’t reply, he went on. “Would you be so kind as to take me to Bingley? I have a matter of some importance to discuss with him.”
“How did you get in? Why were you not announced?”
“Please, my dear Mary, let’s not quibble. I simply walked in. I am part of the family, am I not?”
As much as the old mare, but we don’t let her in the house. I looked askance at my brother-in-law, turned on my heel, and bade him to follow me. He would be surprised—and put out—to find Mr. Darcy here to greet him as well.
I led him to the dining room, where the men were drinking their port and smoking cheroots. After knocking lightly at the door, I stuck my head in and said, “Charles. Please forgive me for interrupting you, but we . . . you have a visitor.”
“Oh,” Charles said. “Is it Walsh?”
I shook my head and swung the door wide. Wickham stepped through. I backed quickly out of the room, but not before I heard Mr. Darcy utter a curse, and Charles say more directly, “Good God! You!”
Leaving the door slightly ajar, I raced down the hallway toward the sitting room and my sisters. Breathlessly, I stood at the threshold and said, “Jane, Lizzy, come.”
I must have looked frightened, or perhaps frightening, because they both jumped to their feet, Jane with a cry of “What is wrong, Mary?”
“Hurry! Wickham is here. I took him to the dining room. If we make haste, we can hear some of the conversation.”
“Wickham?” Jane said, looking confused. “Lydia’s Wickham?”
“Of course. What other Wickham is there? Now come, or we shall miss the whole business.”
None of us had any compunction about listening in. We were often not privy to discussions among the men. But I believe we all felt this one in particular was as much our business as theirs.
“Are you not even going to ask me to sit?” I heard Wickham say as we stepped gingerly toward the door.
“By God, man, we should by rights have you thrown out of here!” That was Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth gaped at us. I felt sure her husband seldom lost his temper.
“It’s all right, Darcy,” Charles said. “Perhaps it will be enlightening to hear what the man has to say. By all means, Wickham, be seated and pour yourself a glass of port.”
“Do you know I’ve been over half of England looking for you?” Mr. Darcy said.
I heard the clink of glass before Wickham answered. “I-I apologize for that. It could not be helped. You would only have demanded I return to my wife, and I was not willing to do that.”
Charles spoke now. “Have you changed your mind, then? Is that why you’re here?”
A forced laugh from Wickham. “No. I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”
“Do you not even ask after your wife and child?” Mr. Darcy asked.
On cue, Wickham said, “How do they get on?”
“Tolerably well. You have a daughter.”
“So I heard. But the child is not mine, you know.”
“How can you be sure?” Charles asked.
“Because Lydia and I stopped having relations soon after we were married. Oh, she wanted me badly enough before, but after we were wed, she denied me at the least provocation. I was forced to seek my pleasure elsewhere.”
Lizzy’s eyes widened and Jane’s face flushed with mortification. And me? It was difficult not to laugh. I knew they were both thinking how dreadful it was for their unmarried, innocent sister, that she had to hear about Wickham and Lydia’s intimate dealings, as well as his affairs. But it was only what we already knew, or had guessed, and it no longer embarrassed me. Besides, one heard things by the time she had reached two-and-twenty years.
“Even if you and your wife wished to live apart eventually,” Mr. Darcy was saying, “it would be no hardship to remain together for a year or more, to quiet the gossip now circulating. It would be cruel to allow things to stand as they do at present.”
“Announce to the world I am the child’s father,” Wickham said, “it makes no difference to me. But I will never live with Lydia again. Indeed, one of the reasons I came here tonight was to tell you of my plans. I depart for the Continent tomorrow morning.”
A silence ensued, during which my sisters and I gaped at one another in astonishment.
“I have creditors, you see. More than I could ever hope to settle with, and I do not think debtor’s prison would suit me.”
“If you think—”
“Never mind, Darcy, even I would not be so crass as to ask you for more cash. But I did hope I might have a loan from Bingley, just enough to help me settle in France.”
“If we may be rid of you once and for all, I shall gladly loan—give—you the money,” Charles said. “But before you leave here tonight, I would have you sign a document attesting to your paternity of Felicity.”
“Gladly.”
Fearing the men were about to make their way to Charles’s study, Jane, Lizzy, and I began tiptoeing down the hall. But Wickham resumed speaking.
“I regret everything, you know,” he said in a voice so low I had to strain to hear him. “I never meant for things with Lydia to end in such a way. She is not the easiest of women to live with.”
“We heard you were seeking a divorce,” Charles said.
“No longer. Miss Bradford, the lady I left my wife for, has cast me off.” A bitter laugh tore out of him. “Her sister, a shrew of the first order, somehow learned about some of my more blatant sins and revealed all.”
Jane, Lizzy, and I widened our eyes at one another. We were all thinking the same thing: Amanda Ashton.
“Perhaps the fact that you lied about being related to me entered into her decision,” Mr. Darcy said. “One can understand why she would not be so taken with a man who has the wealth of a pauper.”
Wickham made no response.
“As matters stand,” said Charles, “you have hurt the whole Bennet family, our wives included. And this scandal has lessened the chance for Mary to make a decent match.”
Jane tugged on my hand, and in silent agreement, the three of us hurried back to the sitting room before we could be caught eavesdropping. As on another night when we had all been uncommonly vexed, Jane poured a glass of sherry for each of us. We sipped in silence, at last hearing the low rumble of male voices, hurried boot steps, and the door opening and closing. In another minute, the men were with us.
We contrived to appear innocent, but they were not fooled. When Charles had poured each of them a finger of brandy, he and Mr. Darcy stood silently watching us. Lizzy sipped her sherry; I had placed mine on a table and now rested with my hands folded in my lap, eyes cast down. But Jane allowed a small giggle to burst out. She tried to pretend it was a cough, but to no avail.
“You are incorrigible,” Charles said, staring at us. “Did you truly believe we did not hear you lurking about in the hall, and glimpse you through the crack in the door?”
Mr. Darcy shook his head. “Just like their mother.”
He must have known this was the one comment to raise the ire of all three of us. While Jane and I merely glared at him, Elizabeth spoke up. “Husband, you wound us. When Mary told us Wickham was here, we could hardly be expected to sit quietly by! It is our sister the man has treated so ill.”
“Apologies, my dear,” he said, “but some of that conversation was not fit for a lady’s ears. Especially not an unmarried lady.” He directed his gaze toward me.
“Sir, everything Wickham discussed we already knew. The chief of it, anyway. And although I appreciate your concern for my tender sensibilities, I am no schoolgirl,” I said.
Mr. Darcy snorted, a sound I had never heard from him before.
“What about the document?” Jane asked, easing the tension somewhat.
“I wrote it, Wickham signed it, and Darcy witnessed it,” Charles said.
Nobody mentioned the money, or asked how much Charles had given him, although I was sure Jane would pry the information out of him later.
“At least now, if needed, we can quash the doubts about whether or not he is Fee’s father,” Jane said. “And Amanda Ashton, having succeeded in separating her sister from Wickham, will have no cause to spread her stories around.”
“Legally, I believe the document he signed will hold up,” Mr. Darcy said. “Unfortunately, the man has no money and will never be in a position to offer any pecuniary assistance to your sister.”
“One never knows about Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth said. “He may turn up wealthy one day. In the event, Lydia will have her proof of his paternity.”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes sought Elizabeth’s. I noticed she would not return his gaze. I had the feeling he would pay for his remark about our being like Mama, even though in her heart she could not believe he truly meant it.