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By the expression on Mrs. Gardiner’s face, she undoubtedly suspected there was so much more that her niece was not telling her. Elizabeth was glad that her aunt did not press her for details that she did not feel comfortable nor up to the task of imparting.

Elizabeth’s favorite aunt by far, Mrs. Gardiner said, “I hope you do not mind my saying so, Lizzy, but Mr. Darcy strikes me as a thoughtful, compassionate gentleman. His steadfast devotion to his sister is beyond question. Mr. Gardiner and I had a chance to discuss the young man between ourselves while you were upstairs with your father.” She reached out her hand to her niece. “I hope you do not mind.”

Accepting her aunt’s warm gesture, Elizabeth reassuringly smiled, thus indicating that she did not mind one bit.

Mrs. Gardiner took that as sufficient encouragement to go on. “Mr. Gardiner, too, was quite favorably impressed with the young man. Mr. Darcy is truly the personification of what every young man ought to be. On that, your uncle and I wholeheartedly agree.”

CHAPTER 18

UNYIELDING TEMPER

Darcy looked about the well maintained establishment in stunned incredulity. He could hardly believe his ears when told that he would find his former friend, George Wickham, staying in such a place as this with Elizabeth’s youngest sister. Darcy had expected to discover the wayward couple holed up in some dilapidated dwelling barely fit for human habitation—mired in filth, stench, and infestations of every kind. Climbing the stairs leading to the designated apartment, he ran his gloved fingers along the railings for a second or two before holding them up for inspection. As well-kept as every aspect of his surroundings was, he should not have been surprised to find no evidence of neglect.

He arched his brow. How on Earth can Wickham afford to secure such lodgings?

The last time he saw that gentleman in Ramsgate, he looked more like a poverty-stricken dandy who had wasted his last shilling foolishly pretending to be wealthy, no doubt for Miss Darcy’s benefit. Learning that Wickham had joined the militia shortly after that further confirmed Darcy’s view that his former friend had squandered every other opportunity for respectability—because Wickham did not possess a shred of honorability that would otherwise compel him to serve his king and country.

Were such not the case, I surely would not be standing here, Darcy silently considered. By now, he had reached the door. He gave it a series of sharp raps.

Within moments, Wickham threw open the door. The stench from his breath took Darcy aback.

“Where have you been?” Wickham bellowed. By his manner, it appeared he had expected to find someone else standing in his doorway. Dumbfounded by the presence of his old friend, he spat, “What are you doing here—of all places, Darcy? You are the last person in the world I ever expected to find at my door.”

“This is not a social call, Wickham,” Darcy said, forcing his way inside. He stole a quick glance about the room. It was in total disarray—a striking contrast to the public areas of the establishment. “Where is she?” he demanded.

“I do not have a clue what you are talking about.”

“After everything I had to endure to find you, I am not in the mood to be trifled with. Where is Miss Bennet?”

“Miss Bennet! I am afraid I do not know anyone by that name. Tell me more about this young woman.”

“You are a liar!” Darcy shouted. “I know it all. I know you persuaded the youngest Bennet daughter to run away with you under the guise of an elopement.”

“How absurd! Where did you hear something as preposterous as that?”

Not wanting to say anything that would betray Elizabeth’s confidence, Darcy said, “It turns out that your Mrs. Younge is no better than you are—easily bought off. Now stop lying, and tell me where Miss Bennet is.”

Giving up all pretenses, Wickham said, “As you can see, that silly chit is not here.”

“Did you abandon her on the streets of London after you had your way with her?”

Shrugging, Wickham huffed sardonically. “Were that only the case, but no. I put all of my trust in her, and she absconded early this morning. Taking with her all of my money.”

“Stop making yourself out to be the victim in all this.”

“Indeed, I am the victim. A common whore would not have used me as ill as that so-called gentleman’s daughter did.”

“Why would you have me believe your nonsense about Miss Bennet making off with all your money? Knowing you as I do, any money she might have taken from you would get her no farther than across the street.”

“That is where you are mistaken, my old friend. I recently came into a rather large sum of money, and I was foolish enough to let that silly Bennet girl in on my secret.”

“Why should I believe such a lame explanation?”

“Why should I lie? Even more importantly, why should you even care? Unless⁠—”

“—Unless what, you idiot?” Darcy demanded.

Finally, I am beginning to comprehend Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s motives, Wickham thought to himself. She used me in her scheme to save Darcy for her sickly daughter, Anne.