The day after Darcy’s arrival in London, he immediately went to see George Bingley, who was feeling confident that Lydia would quickly be found.
“It is merely a process of elimination. Since I received your letter, my associates have narrowed our area of search considerably. We have also spoken to his fellow officers, and in interviewing these men, we have learned something I am sure will distress you. Wickham has been spreading the lie that he is the natural son of Mr. David Darcy of Pemberley. I took the liberty of contacting your solicitor, Mr. Stone, who will be here within the hour with the file regarding the financial and personal information concerning Wickham’s adoption by your estate manager.”
George had anticipated Darcy’s reaction, and he had a glass of wine at the ready. But no amount of wine could settle a man who had just heard the most malicious lie made against his beloved father.
“Once we have Wickham, we will put an end to this slander. Wickham will not wish to spend any time in prison but, if he repeats this lie, he will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”
By the time Mr. Stone arrived, Darcy could still feel the heat in his face generated by his hatred of Wickham, but he kept his mind clear. Since all the major players were now dead, his solicitor was free to reveal the full contents of the file.
“George Wickham was born to Martha Ferris, the personal maid of actress Elaine Trench and actor Adam Spendel. Your uncle, George Ashton, was an acquaintance of Miss Trench, and she knew that he had fathered a number of children, whom he had placed with families in the country. Because Miss Trench was fond of her maid, she asked Mr. Ashton to assist her in this regard.”
Darcy looked puzzled. His parents were generous to a fault, but they were disgusted by George Ashton’s affairs. Taking someone’s illegitimate child might give the impression to the elder Darcy’s brother-in-law that they condoned such actions.
“I have been the family solicitor for nearly thirty-five years, Mr. Darcy, and I can understand your confusion. However, your parents were very fond of the elder Mr. Wickham and his wife. They were childless, and with your parents’ consent, they offered to raise the young George Wickham. As you know, your father was also fond of the boy, and he agreed to provide the funds necessary for his education and for a living in the church, the law, or the army. This was an act of generosity, and in no way obligates you or your heirs to provide any additional monetary assistance to Wickham. All of these facts are supported by the proper documentation. I might add that both of Wickham’s natural parents are dead. That is all there is to it, sir.”
That was all there was to it, except that it wasn’t, and Lydia Bennet was proof of that.
That meeting had taken place three days earlier, and in that time, nothing new had come to light. Darcy’s frustration was only equaled by his sense of guilt. Knowing Wickham’s history of unpaid debts, gambling, and seduction, he had chosen to remain silent when he had seen Wickham in Meryton. It would have taken so little effort on his part to warn others about him. Mercer could have gone into the village and discreetly mentioned to one or two merchants that he knew Wickham left unpaid debts wherever he went. A private word with the vicar might have been sufficient to alert the young ladies of the village that Wickham was a man bent on relieving them of their maidenhood with no consequences to him. But he didn’t do either of those things, as he was a Darcy and Darcys didn’t involve themselves in such unsavory situations.
And what had his pride cost Elizabeth? He could hardly bear to think of her with tears streaming down her face and his inability to comfort her. To his mind the only way he could make amends was to recover her sister, and all of his hopes in that regard rested with George Bingley.
Mercer could see how heavily the business with Lydia and Wickham weighed on his master, and he encouraged him to go to his club or ride in the park—something—anything to keep his mind from dwelling on the missing couple. He took Mercer’s advice and felt better for it, but today he intended to remain at the house and answer business letters, which is what he was doing when Mercer announced that Mrs. Aumont had presented her card and was waiting in a hackney for his reply.
“I do not know Mrs. Aumont.”
“The lady said you would remember her as Christina Caxton.”
Darcy was out of his chair like a bullet and immediately went to the window. Of course, he knew he would be unable to see her as she was in the cab, but he needed to be convinced she was actually there. And then the absurdity of his situation brought a smile to his face and then all-out laughter because if he did not laugh he might very well cry. Earlier in the day, he had been pining for Elizabeth with her luminous eyes and curly hair that refused to stay in place, and he had begged the Fates for some sort of diversion. Well, his plea had been answered.
“Sir, will you receive the lady?”
“Yes, Mercer. She is an old friend.”
When Christina walked into the drawing room, six years of time melted away. Was it possible for someone not to age? Her blond hair and green eyes and flawless complexion—everything the same, including the most delicious lips he had ever tasted.
“Mrs. Aumont, welcome back to England.”
“Mr. Darcy, it is very good to see you again,” she said with a slight curtsey.
“Mercer, please arrange for some tea.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Darcy. I am feeling guilty enough about coming here unannounced, so I shall keep my visit brief.” Mrs. Aumont removed her pelisse to reveal a décolletage that stirred very pleasant memories.
Darcy instructed Mercer to pour two glasses of wine. “Have you returned to London permanently, Mrs. Aumont?”
“I shall answer your question only if you call me Christina.” After Darcy nodded, she continued, “My husband died last year after a lengthy illness. Up until that time, my being English had never been a problem, but with Wellington fighting Joseph Bonaparte in Spain, I was feeling less welcome. Without my husband’s protection, I felt quite vulnerable. Mr. Aumont had secured a pass for me to leave France, and I thought it best to use it while I was still sure that I could.”
Christina accepted the wine and took a tiny sip, which is something he remembered her doing. She explained that a woman could gain weight very quickly if she overindulged in food and drink, and she didn’t want to lose her figure. She had obviously succeeded.
“Where are you staying?”
“With Mrs. Conway. She lives in…”
As soon as he heard Mrs. Conway’s name, Darcy started coughing, nearly spitting out the wine. “Mrs. Conway of Bedford Square—the Whig hostess?” he croaked.
“Yes. She mentioned that you were acquaintances and of similar views politically, which I found quite gratifying because Mr. Caxton was a champion of Whig causes. I was surprised as I would have guessed that the Darcys would be Tories.”
“I do lean more towards the Whig point of view. These wars will end eventually, and grain prices will go down rapidly. In addition to my own interests, we must be in a position to protect the small farmer and our tenants, who will suffer greatly if something is not done.”
“That is all very admirable and interesting, William. But after six years, do you really want to talk about grain prices?”
“Sorry. I never was good at small talk.”
“No, you weren’t, but we didn’t talk all that much, did we?”
“Not about politics. I am sure of that,” Darcy said, feeling his neckcloth tighten.
“Do you remember our last time together?”
“It was Bordeaux, I believe. The home of the Comte de somebody. The name eludes me at the moment.”
“I wasn’t asking for a geographical reference. I meant where we stayed together.”
How could he not remember? When you made love on and off all night, it tended to stay with you.
“Were you allowed to bring your personal possessions with you when you left France?” he said, changing the subject as delicately as a coach and six making a U-turn in the road.
“I was told my chests were to follow, but I am beginning to wonder if it will ever happen.”
“You are short of funds then?”
“William, I do not wish it to appear that I have come with hat in hand.”
“I will gladly provide you with assistance.”
“That is very generous of you, but I must tell you there is an excellent chance I shall be unable to repay you.”
“Please do not think of it as a loan but as an arrangement between friends. Shall I send the cheque around to Mrs. Conway’s residence?”
“If you don’t mind, may I come by tomorrow for a visit? We have not spoken at all about what you have been doing all these years, and Mrs. Conway tells me you remain a bachelor and a much sought after one.”
Darcy assisted Mrs. Aumont with her pelisse, and she turned around and ran her fingers along his chin and tapped his lips lightly with her finger. “Until tomorrow. Shall we say 3:00?”
After Christina left, he collapsed into a chair. “Mercer, the gods are toying with me. I have always prided myself on keeping my life as uncomplicated as possible. So why, at this moment when it is in such turmoil, does my former lover appear at my door?” As he looked out the window, he watched as her hackney made its way through London’s crowded streets. “Do you know that old adage, Mercer, ‘Be careful what you wish for because you might get it?’ Just this morning, I was in need of a diversion, and I got it—in spades.”
“Perhaps, we will have good news shortly of Miss Lydia, and you will then be able to turn your full attention to Miss Elizabeth.”
“That is my greatest hope, but in the meantime, please arrange for tea with Mrs. Aumont for tomorrow. And, Mercer, you may have all my breeches. In the future, I shall wear only trousers. Life is entirely too unpredictable.”