“I will see you soon at Netherfield, Darcy.”
“Yes. And give my regards to the Bennet family.”
Bingley winked. “I certainly will.”
Darcy walked his friend to the door, where his butler was ready with Bingley’s hat and gloves. After Bingley left, he returned to the study with a renewed determination to settle things in London so he could secure his own happiness. He penned a quick note to his cousin and rang for Mr. Carroll to have it sent around to Matlock House straight away. Then he poured himself a cup of tea from the sideboard before concentrating on matters at his desk while awaiting the colonel’s arrival.
* * *
Darcy handed his cousin a glass of port and poured himself one as well. Darcy had been frustrated that his cousin had not come until the dinner hour. He had kept himself occupied for the most part with correspondence and other business while he waited throughout the afternoon; still he had hoped Richard would come sooner than he did.
He waited patiently through dinner, and again after the entertainment on the pianoforte by Georgiana. When his sister finally retired for the evening, the gentlemen could speak freely.
“What has Georgiana in a snit, Darcy?” asked the colonel.
Darcy grumbled and waved his hand at his cousin as he took the seat next to his. He took a sip of his drink before he answered. It was the same reason that had him agitated too. “She is upset that I have delayed our trip to Hertfordshire — business, don’t you know.” Darcy raised a brow at his cousin to indicate the very business that he came to discuss.
To his surprise, his cousin laughed. “So she is upset with you over that. I warrant this delay is the same reason you are in such high dudgeon as well!”
“I am not in a mood.”
“Of course you are not, Darcy. You are always a pleasant bloke to have around.” Darcy did not appreciate the sarcasm.
“If it will put an end to your entertainment at my expense, I will admit it. I am not happy to be in London. There is another place with entirely different company that I would much prefer.”
Richard clapped his hands. “I take it your visit to Pemberley, or more to the point, Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s visit to Pemberley, went well.”
Darcy glowered at his cousin. “And how did you know she was at Pemberley?”
“Georgiana told me she would be traveling there before you left town.”
“She said nothing to me,” Darcy grumbled.
“I do not suppose you minded the surprise though, Cousin.”
Darcy eyed his cousin. “The results were to my satisfaction, but I do not like Georgiana keeping secrets. But that is not the topic we need to be discussing now, Richard.”
“Hold now, Cousin. Do not be upset with Georgiana. She asked me about whether to tell you, and although I admit it was her idea to surprise you, I encouraged her to stay with her plan. You are sometimes too . . . bumbleheaded to manage your own love life. Somebody has to help.”
“I am not bumbleheaded!” Darcy was very much affronted. “And I do not even think that is a word, Richard.”
Richard merely laughed, enjoying his cousin’s aggravation; Darcy’s patience for this conversation was at an end. “You are correct; it is not. I made it up just now. Apt description, though, I dare say. No, of course, Fitzwilliam Darcy is a regular Romeo. What do you call your behavior at Hunsford, then? Is sitting mutely, staring like a buffoon and nearly drooling on your cravat what you call wooing a lady?”
Darcy grimaced. He had been a bumblehead — then. Remembering the many smiles he drew from Elizabeth now, not to mention the kiss they shared, he smiled. He was getting on just fine now. “I will have you know, Richard, that while at Pemberley I managed my own affairs quite well, indeed.” Darcy tried to hide his smile behind another drink.
“Oh ho, Darcy! Did you now?”
“Yes, and that is all I will say.”
Richard scratched his chin and contemplated his cousin for a moment. He seemed quite content despite his dark mood that evening. “I suppose I am keeping you then from your beautiful maiden.”
Darcy turned his head but not before his cousin saw him roll his eyes. “I have already said I wished to be elsewhere. What news have you of Wickham then?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged his shoulders, consenting to change the topic for the present. He leaned forward, placed his glass on the table with one hand and loosened his neck cloth with the other.
“I think we have discovered a major lead in our search for Wickham.”
“Go on,” Darcy said, thankful finally to be getting to the point. He wanted to be done with Wickham, and the sooner he knew the dastard was not involved with Lydia’s death, the sooner he could put that nasty business behind him — and the sooner he could focus on ‘managing his love life’ as his cousin had put it.
“We have discovered one of his cronies, a sly and seedy lout who goes by the name of Perkins — sort of a go-between, a lackey for him.”
“Of all the double-crossing . . . If I get my hands on that charlatan . . . ” Darcy was pacing and pulling his hands through his hair with evident anger.
“We have to find the man first. But when we do, Darcy, believe me, I will be your second.”
“You do not know where he is?”
“If I knew where he was, I would have told you. Now sit down, Darcy; you are making me dizzy with all that pacing.”
“I gave that fabler over one hundred pounds in the course of our despicable acquaintance!” Darcy huffed, angrier with himself for being deceived by his former informant.
“You gave him a whole lot more than that unless you do not count the remuneration for the bequest from your father’s will.”
Darcy looked at him in confusion. “I am talking about Perkins, not Wickham.”
Richard sat up. “You know Perkins?”
Darcy poured himself another glass before answering. He nodded as he held the port to his mouth. “He was my informant — or rather Mr. Burns’s informant.”
Richard scooted to the edge of his seat. “That is fantastic, Darcy! We have him!” He was rubbing his hands together, already planning a strategy when his cousin interrupted him.
“How is this good, Richard? I paid the man to find Wickham for me, and all he did was lead me on a two-week, goose hunt, all the while pocketing my money.”
His cousin was already shaking his head. “No, I know his kind, this Perkins. He is motivated by coin. My sources say that Wickham has been on an unusually long winning streak and has become a bit high in the instep with the funds. Furthermore, we know Perkins has only recently become one of Wickham’s men. I would wager my quarterly allowance that your Perkins simply jumped ship to what he thought would be more profitable employment.”
“More profitable then working for Fitzwilliam Darcy?” he said disbelievingly. They both knew that he was one of the richest men in the realm, a fact that was often discussed in nearly every parlor in London much to Darcy’s chagrin. His only satisfaction in being the topic of such boorish discussions was that their rumors of his wealth were only accurate by half.
“Ah, but you are forgetting. The dimwit Perkins only knew you as Mr. Burns, not the prominent Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. He saw Burns’s pockets then saw Wickham’s increasingly deeper pockets and switched sides.”
“I can understand now why he may have double-crossed me, inaccurate though his estimations may have been. But that does not explain why you think my prior relationship with Perkins is the key to catching Wickham, especially if, as you say, his allegiances no longer run with Mr. Burns.”
“Refill my glass, and I will explain it to you.” Richard continued when his glass was returned to him. “A cove like Perkins we know is motivated by money. All we have to do is make him believe you still wish to find Wickham.”
“Which we do.”
“Right, so we get him to agree to ‘continue his search.’ And then while he thinks he has landed in the gravy boat, being paid by Mr. Burns and Wic
kham —”
“Leading me on another goose hunt,” Darcy interrupted.
Richard smiled widely. “Yes, and all the while still working for Wickham, we track the fellow and find our real quarry. He will eventually lead us directly to Wickham; I am sure of it.”
“If it is that easy, why did you not find Wickham as soon as you learned of Perkins.”
Richard shook his head. “Because, Darcy, as I indicated earlier, we do not know where to find Perkins — nor what he looks like for that matter.”
Darcy was beginning to feel the weight lift from his shoulders. He could find Wickham, learn the truth about Lydia’s death and put it behind him. Part of him wished to end the search before it began; it was that same part of his heart that warned finding Wickham and learning the truth might just cost him more than a few hundred pounds. But his status as a gentleman, his sense of honor — of justice — could not keep him from the truth. Suddenly he felt very tired.
Darcy rubbed his eyes. “What do you need me to do then?”
Richard smirked, a maniacal grin of triumph. He was forever the soldier and forever would be excited by outsmarting the enemy. “You just need to contact Perkins again — as Burns, of course. Hire him again to try to find Wickham. That is all.”
Darcy was quiet. He felt like he was on the edge of a sword. If he found Wickham and the man was guilty, Elizabeth would never want him — not when it meant that her sister’s death could have been prevented had he only made Wickham’s character known in Hertfordshire. Blast it! Did I do anything right last autumn?
When he first set out to find Wickham, employing Perkins, he was driven to find answers. He thought he could help the Bennet family heal — at least Mr. Bennet, to assuage his suspicions. He was now glad he had helped ease the man’s concerns because, even if he found out now that Wickham was responsible, he could not tell Mr. Bennet. His purpose in finding out the truth now was mostly for his own conscience since he had not warned the neighborhood in the autumn to stay away from Wickham. Elizabeth was doing so well now; she said her family was coping better, too. Hell and damnation! The eldest Miss Bennets, hopefully both, were getting married soon. At least that was his wish. News of this sort would hurt them. If he was being honest with himself, he had hoped never to find Wickham. After a few weeks on Perkins’s goose hunt, he had come to believe he never would. Now they had a real chance at finding him. And finding him might ruin all of Darcy’s chances at happiness! With reluctance, Darcy nodded his agreement.
“Fantastic! Now, you do still know how to make contact with Perkins, right?”
“Yes. We had a place we met; I just need to leave a note with the pub owner requesting a meeting. Perkins should show up at the appointed time,” Darcy said dispassionately.
“Then write the note. I will have a few of my men at the pub then and begin tracking Perkins.”
Darcy nodded.
“I should think you would be more satisfied that we have found a sure way to find Wickham, Darcy. Why are you so downcast?”
Darcy raised his eyes to his cousin and drew in a slow breath before answering. “Have you not considered what finding Wickham might mean? What finding out if he had a hand in Miss Lydia’s death might mean for me?”
His cousin remained silent, an altogether rare happenstance.
“She will not have me then,” Darcy whispered
“You cannot know that,” Richard offered halfheartedly.
Darcy looked up from his glass. “Would you marry someone who could have prevented your sister’s death?”
“I am not going to argue your faulty logic. I know how you work, Darcy, and how you take on the responsibility and blame where others would call you blameless. You know, I for one just want to be able to keep better tabs on Wickham. If, once we find him, you do not want to take measures to learn how Wickham fits into this whole dreadful affair, so be it.”
“No, I feel honor bound to discover the truth.”
“Even if it ruins your chances? No, do not answer that. I do not believe it would anyway.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam could see that their business was concluded for the evening. He made to stand and take his leave. “Then you will try to make contact with Perkins tomorrow?”
“I will request a meeting for a few days hence. That will give your men time to become regular visitors to that pillar of high society.” Darcy laughed sarcastically, feeling some of his resolve return. The wastrel had cost him too much already. “That way no one can tip Perkins to any new faces.”
“Send word when you have secured a meeting.”
Darcy nodded, saw his cousin to the study door and shook his hand at his departure. He wished briefly he were not such a gentleman, bound by honor and duty. With a groan, he finished his port and brought one of the candles to his desk to write his note to Perkins.
* * *
Elizabeth was in her father’s study when she dared to ask him about her mother. “Papa, what have you done with Mama?”
Mr. Bennet looked up from his book, his eyebrows rising above his spectacles in amused surprise. He took off his glasses and smiled at her with affection.
“I am sure she is where I last left her, Lizzy. She was off to speak to Hill about the menu for the wedding breakfast, I believe.”
Elizabeth gave her father an arch look, so like his own. “Thank you, Father, that answers my inquiry perfectly.” Bemused, she tried again, her tone lower as she thought about the calm, almost elegant way her mother now comported herself. “I do not recognize her.”
“Ah, but I do.” There was undisguised tenderness in his voice.
Elizabeth tilted her head to the side as she thought about his words. “She seems happier,” Lizzy whispered.
“We both are.”
Elizabeth had wished to say more, but at that moment, a knock at the study door produced Mrs. Hill with a letter for her from Georgiana. Smiling, she took the letter and thanked the housekeeper. She looked over to her father with her smile still clearly on her face.
“Who is it from, Lizzy? A secret correspondence with a gentleman?”
Elizabeth laughed at the absurd thought but blushed when she thought about receiving any kind of letter from Mr. Darcy. Unfortunately, her father observed her blush, so she was quick to show him the sender.
“Miss Darcy, I see. You and she have become quite intimate. I can only assume, if you approve of her so much, that she must be of the same good character stock as her brother then.”
Lizzy looked up at her father, surprised. “You like Mr. Darcy?”
Mr. Bennet’s face slowly drew up into a half smile as he looked into the eager eyes of his daughter. “I do.”
“I did not realize you . . . That is, most people think that he . . . that Wickham . . . ” Elizabeth twisted her hands in her lap. She was so caught off guard by her father’s frankness that she was fumbling to dissemble.
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “I never believed that man, and it seems he was not a good man after all. His debts around town are confirmed, and I, for one, could not be happier he is gone from the neighborhood.” Mr. Bennet briefly allowed himself to wonder again whether Lydia’s death could have been . . . No, he would not think of it. He would trust Mr. Darcy.
“I like him, Papa.”
“Mr. Wickham? Oh, child, please say that is not so!” Mr. Bennet was already reaching for her hand.
Elizabeth wrinkled her brows and laughed as he took her hand. “No, Papa. I guess I should have been clearer.” Sobering, she continued, “I like Mr. Darcy.”
“I know, Lizzy.”
“You know? But you just thought —”
Mr. Bennet chuckled; he was doing a lot of that lately. “I wanted to hear you say it. But perhaps your feelings run deeper than you have indicated.”
Elizabeth puckered her lips, attempting to hide a smile as she blushed and turned her head away. “I think you might be able to say that.”
“He is a good man, Lizzy, and will make you happy. Of that, I
am sure.”
“I believe you are right, Papa,” said she, adding to herself, very happy, indeed.
“Well you had better see what his sister writes then, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth smiled and nodded. She was already breaking the seal and unfolding the paper. Her smile faded as she read through the missive. Her friend was not going to be arriving until the week before the wedding. Her friend stated the reason for their delay being her brother’s business in town. Elizabeth was disappointed that she could not see her friend before then. She had looked forward to seeing him so much. Him? Of course, she meant her.
* * *
Willing himself not to breathe the putrid air too deeply in that part of London, Darcy grabbed his walking stick. It served both as protection and as Mr. Burns’s prop. Groaning, he stepped out of the hired hackney and walked the block to the pub where he was to meet Perkins. It did not get any easier, knowing what to expect inside.
Thankful for his gloves, he pulled at the door to the drinking establishment and walked in. As he looked around for Perkins, expecting not to see him there yet, he noticed a few of his cousin’s hired runners lounging around the tables. They blended in perfectly with the rest of the sordid inhabitants. Darcy looked down at his own black coat and trousers, satisfied to see that they put him above the rest but not so far above as to draw too much speculation. It matched the image Mr. Burns had kept before with Perkins.
Darcy scouted out a table in the back corner of the room. He removed his hat and placed it and his walking stick on the table. When he sat, he drew his hands together in front of him, realizing that his glove had already acquired some kind of sticky substance from the table’s surface. Lovely, he thought as he scanned the place again for Perkins.
A buxom barmaid sauntered over to take his order and give him an armful of her wares as she bumped into his side. Darcy did his best to hide his disgust, even offering up a small smile as he pushed a coin to her and ordered a strong drink. With a wink and another carefully maneuvered stumble, she left to fill a glass for him, dropping the coin down the front of her dress.
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