Page 108 of A Debt Inherited

He took one step nearer and extended the message. “You will wish to read it.”

Bennet did not move.

“Read it aloud.”

Wickham’s brows lifted. “Aloud?”

“Yes.”

“It is private.”

“Then you have already erred in bringing it.”

A faint colour rose under Wickham’s skin. “Mr Bennet, I come at some personal hazard to myself.”

“Do you? Then speak clearly, that Hill may appreciate the extent of your courage.”

Hill made no sound. Bennet felt rather than saw the man’s attention sharpen.

Wickham looked from master to servant and back again. The concern in his face altered by the smallest degree, thinned at the edges.

“I was instructed to place it in your hand.”

“And I decline to take it.”

“Sir—”

“If you place that paper upon my desk and leave, you will afterwards claim ignorance of its contents. You will say you carried a sealed message as one gentleman may carry any other. You will protest yourself deceived, imposed upon, innocent in all but kindness.” Bennet’s fingers tightened on the cane. “No. You shall read it aloud, and Hill shall hear you read it. Then, if harm comes to my daughter, you may explain at law why a man entrusted with such a message thought silence his safest duty.”

Wickham’s colour changed. “At law?”

“Before a magistrate first. Before a judge, if God is just.”

“You would risk Miss Elizabeth’s life for a point of form?”

“No. I risk yours.”

Wickham’s mouth opened, then closed.

“You cannot mean—surely, sir, you cannot be so careless of your own daughter’s safety.”

Bennet rose. The pain in his leg came with him; he gave it no place in his face.

“Do not dress your cowardice in my daughter’s name.”

Wickham stared at him. The charm had not gone; it had only lost its footing.

“You mistake me,” he said. “I came to assist.”

“No. You came to perform innocence before witnesses could be chosen.”

“If you refuse the terms—”

“I have heard no terms.”

“Then take the message.” Wickham’s certainty faltered upon the last word.

“Read it.”