Page 54 of A Debt Inherited

“Fitzwilliam connexion. Matlock,” Kerr said. “You did not name the man.”

“Darcy is generally sufficient.”

“Which Darcy?”

“Fitzwilliam Darcy. The present master. Proud, rich, and careful of every advantage.”

“And you say he owes you.”

“He owes me more than money.”

“That is not an answer.”

“No,” Wickham said, setting down the glass. “It is the reason I have not yet been paid.”

Kerr watched him. “I have no interest in your injuries unless they can be collected.”

Wickham laughed softly. “Spoken like Roark’s finest gentleman.”

Kerr took one step nearer. “Do not mistake me for his property.”

The laughter ended.

“No,” Wickham said. “I would not do that.”

Silence stood between them, measured by the small noise of rain at the window.

“The master of Pemberley has one weakness,” Wickham said at last.

Kerr paused. “By all reports, he has none—not cards, wine, or women.”

Wickham shook his head, smiling. He knew something the tavern had not.

“Where might he bleed, then?” Kerr asked.

“He has a sister,” Wickham said. “Miss Darcy is motherless, sheltered, and kept so close that a civil word may seem a kindness. Her brother has made an idol of caution and calls it guardianship.”

“How young is she?”

“Sixteen.”

“A child.”

“An heiress,” Wickham said.

“And she will what? Marry you?”

“She will elope with me.”

Kerr’s gaze moved once to the discarded accounts beneath the paperweight. “Elopement is an uncertain instrument.”

“I am certain of success.”

Kerr remained sceptical. “What makes you so confident?”

“Miss Darcy’s companion is Mrs Younge, an intimate of mine.”

Kerr nodded. Wickham continued.