Come, let us reason together

When George Wickham requests payment in lieu of the living he was promised, Fitzwilliam Darcy decides that he would set aside his dislike long enough to find a better solution. An hour of conversation and a little more money prevents many of the hardships the Darcys might have otherwise faced.

Pemberley, 1806

George Wickham wanted to lean back in his chair and prop his booted feet on the desk just to annoy Darcy, but in this instance he knew that he needed his one-time-friend to view him with favor.

"I have already deposited the thousand pound bequest with Childs in London, George. Then there is the matter of the living in Kympton. Mr. Fellows is still strong and healthy, so you have time in which to finish your seminary, secure your ordainment, and work as a curate under a more experienced hand before the living comes open."

"About that, Darcy..." Wickham said just a little too quickly.

Darcy raised an eyebrow for him to continue. Wickham took a breath and made his plea, "I have found that the Church holds little appeal for me. You know my habits as well as any man. Do you truly see me in a pulpit delivering sermons. The truth is that the law would be a better fit for me. If you would see your way to compensating me for the value of the living, then I could take a job as a clerk with a solicitor and read the law... ten-thousand would set me up well..."

Darcy laughed mirthlessly and replied, "Three-thousand and not a farthing more. As I already stated, it could be another two decades before the seat falls open."

Wickham gritted his teeth but he still had gotten better than he had anticipated... if not what he had hoped for. "Fine. Three-thousand."

"And you have to sign a document forfeiting any future claim to the living, George. I have to have the freedom to fill the position with a worthy candidate when the time comes."

Wickham almost cursed, having missed another opportunity to extract more. Without any document, he could have demanded pay twice. Now that chance was gone. He sat clenching and unclenching his fists while Darcy wrote the details out in his perfectly even hand.

Then, when the man was about to slide the document over to Wickham for his signature, he paused. Wickham watched as a complex and mysterious set of emotions and thoughts showed on Darcy's usually unreadable face. Then he said, "No... this is not right."

"What?" Wickham almost shrieked, "We had an agreement."

But Fitzwilliam Darcy's face was not gloating, it was more concerned, "George, what is it that you truly want?"

"What do you mean?" He asked suspiciously.

"When we were young, you wanted to be a soldier or a sailor. When we were older, I never once saw you crack open a Bible, so I knew long ago that the Church was my father's idea, not yours. I understand why he wanted to do it for you: a steady income. And I know that you wouldn't be happy with an estate... your father could never make any headway in teaching you his duties, and that is truly most of what owning land is about. But George, let us reason together: do you honestly think that you could be happy sitting in an office as a solicitor? You would be miserable."

George Wickham looked at his friend with skepticism. It was the first time in many years that the man had addressed him in such a friendly, logical manner. He knew that it was at least mostly his own fault. He had tried to poison the man's father against him. He had used his name to procure favors and then sullied Darcy's reputation when he could. He had even pretended to be Fitzwilliam Darcy and offered marriage in order to compromise a fetching young lady who was guarding her virtue too fervently. But now there was this question. "I can learn the law," he offered up with false defiance.

"True. You've always had the mind to do anything, but would it make you happy? Or would you run off again to the card table to find your excitement? Don't bristle, you know that it is true. I am asking you honestly: what sort of direction would be interesting and exciting enough to keep you on track. I do not think that soldiering would do. You are no coward, but you also would hate the sort of discipline and strictures required. I have a thought, but it might be too much..." Darcy scratched his chin, deep in thought.

"What?!"

"I have a meeting with a representative from the Hudson Bay Company looking for an investment. As you probably know, their worth has increased tremendously over the past few years, and with the French now being bearded on the continent, the Company expects to push across the frontier westward. Men have already made their fortunes with just what they have. Imagine crossing that vast continent."

"You just want to get me out of England," Wickham accused.

"Are you happy here? In England, no matter what you do, you will always be the son of a steward. From what I read, in the New World all that matters is what you do, not who your father was."

Wickham scoffed, "Would you leave?"

"I have Pemberley. It is both a blessing and a curse. If I manage it well, I am richly rewarded. If we have a drought, fire, floods, or terrible storms, then I stand to lose. And I can never leave it for long, George. Not now... not ever. But you are a free agent."

Wickham expelled air and admitted the truth. "I have debts.

"How much this time?" Darcy asked with resignation.

"Two-hundred in Matlock. Five hundred in London," he cringed, realizing just how bad that sounded.

Darcy regarded the man and tapped his finger on the desk with metronome precision. Finally he spoke, "You know that I already own all of your debts from around here and from Cambridge. I will pat the seven, but no more ever again. You will sink or swim on your own. However, I intended to invest five-thousand with the Company... So I will invest in you instead. This is a one time offer, George, for the boy who was my friend. For the young person who kept my father entertained. But if you take it, you leave for the Bay on the next departing ship and make a new life there... or fail... but if you gamble away your money foolishly or spend it on frivolities, it will be on your own head."

Wickham had been somewhat slumped, but now he was sitting very straight, "You were only going to give me three for the living. Now you are offering fifty-seven hundred?"

"Are you seriously trying to talk me down to a smaller amount? It is for you to begin a new life, debt free. One last chance to make something of yourself. But you still have to sign away the living." Darcy regarded the man he used to call friend sternly and asked, "Will you take my offer?"

Wickham nodded, "I will."

In the end, after another thirty minutes of talking, it was agreed that the five-thousand would go directly into an investment with the Hudson Bay Company under George Wickham's name. He would use his own inheritance of one-thousand for passage and to establish himself in the Canadas. And Darcy's own solicitors would pay off the debts in the two locations.

Pemberley, 1841

Elizabeth Darcy carried her youngest grandchild, Lily, sleeping against her shoulder as she knocked on her husband's office door and stepped in. As always a smile formed as she saw him working diligently on some matter of business. He was fifty-eight and still the most handsome man in England... at least to her loving eyes.

He looked up from the letter on his desk and gave her the smile which still melted her heart. "How is our Lily?"

"Still colicky, but not quite so grouchy. I'm giving Jane a break from her youngest so that she can keep her promise and escort William down to the lake." Twenty-nine years of marriage had given them five children and currently fifteen grandchildren, with another little one on the way in London. At the moment their second daughter, Jane, was on an extended visit while her husband was on a diplomatic mission to Russia. "Anything interesting in your correspondence?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Do you remember me telling you about George Wickham?"

"Turned out rather wild... according to dear old Mrs. Reynolds, God rest her sweet soul. As I remember it, didn't you send him off to Canada for a new start?"

"Yes, that's the one. From the day he left until this morning I never heard a word, but here I have a letter from him... and a check. May I read it to you?"

"Of course. Let forgive me if I keep pacing to keep Lily asleep and happy."

Darcy lifted the first page and began:

Dear Darcy,

I am sorry that it took so long for me to write to you, thank you, and pay you back for all that you did for me. To be honest, I hated you for a while, but then a good woman with an even better glare than yours set me to rights and got me on track. Though you gave me my chance, I truly owe my darling Emeline everything.

First off, your suggestion of locking the five-thousand into the Company proved wise. I had not made it halfway across the Atlantic before I lost most of my inheritance in a running poker game. By the time that I stepped onto land, I had little left to live on. Once I was there, I tried to pull from the investment, but you locked it in quite well. I would have to wait for the new quarter to collect any interest. Knowing me as well as you did, you can guess how I blamed you for it all.

There were no handouts there. I had to get a job. I had already learned that the sea was not for me. I lost two stone over the side and barely ate anything for the entire trip. That left clerking, hunting, or logging. I was always a decent shot, but there were not enough reserves to purchase the rifle and equipment. That left logging.

I have to admit that I hated you more with ever blister, but doing truly hard labor for the first time was cathartic. I had to eat to live, so I valued every coin I earned. Somehow I went a full two months without a drop of spirits or the touch of a card in my hands. Then, stupidly, I collected my quarterly profits and went on a spree.

It is difficult to say exactly what happened, mostly since I could never remember, but after a week-long binge I woke up in a church where an elderly parson and his daughter were seeing to my needs and keeping me alive. There must have been a fight and I must have come out on the losing end because when I woke I had tens of bruises and not a farthing to my name. As you may guess, I cursed God, Canada, and you... though probably not in that order. The parson's daughter, Emeline, brought me up short and told me off better than anyone ever had before.

When she was finished, I was so ashamed that I crept back to the logging camp and just went back to work. But when the nest quarter came, I took only a portion, bought some decent clothes, and paid a call on Miss Emeline Baker. It took me a full year, but I finally convinced her that I was a new and better man and then asked her to marry me.

She took over the finances from that day and kept a firm hand on the bankbook ever since, until the day I lost her, just this last June. I continued to work in lumber, but with my new muse keeping me on the straight and narrow, I made a positive impression. Five years after I first picked up an axe I was made a foreman. Three years after that I was put in charge of a new site on the frontier. With Emeline managing our purse, I eventually bought into the company.

We: My wife, my children, and I followed the lumber westward until I was offered a position on the board. I worked up to the top position, Darcy, and can safely say that our fortune was made. The thing is, old friend, as time went on I learned that all that really mattered was my wife and my children. Certainly, we all now wear the finest clothes and my children, two sons and a daughter, want for little, but my dreams of riches fled away long ago.

I wish that you could have met my Emeline. She was a small little lady with dark, curly hair and the prettiest eyes that would spark when she was happy or mad. She was my greatest treasure.

Oddly enough, once I stopped pursuing riches and position, they came to me. You probably read about the rebellions here several years back. I was a part of quelling the rebellions and helping the populace to come to agreement. As a reward, now that we are the United Province of Canada, they want me to serve in the new government. As we are the same age, you may imagine how little I wish for a position. Yet my children are all pressing me to accept and I suspect that my dear Emeline would do so as well. So when they finally finish organizing, we shall have to see.

Now, it does not seem right for a man of government to owe large debts, so I have enclosed a check. It is probably less than I truly owe you with interest, but I will revert to my old ways and blame it on my old math skills.

In the end, you proved to be a true friend, Darcy. I have only had one better.

God Bless,

George Wickham

President, Northwest Lumber

Fitzwilliam Darcy had to clear his throat to gain control of his emotions. He picked up the check, written for twenty-thousand. "I never asked him to pay it back. What should I do with this?"

Elizabeth smiled as she continued to walk the sleeping babe, "Invest it back into his company, or better yet, donate it to a local charity in his name. From what you told me, he left a lot of debt and pain in his wake thirty-five years ago. This way he can give back and maybe clear his name."

"You are ever wise, my dear." He watched her as she walked back out of his office and then smiled at the letter again. Your description of your wife sounds remarkably like my Elizabeth, George. I wonder... had you stayed in England, would you have become a rival for my Elizabeth's attention? No, that is ridiculous. How would you have even met?

I should let Georgiana know too. I seem to remember her asking after George some years back. I was surprised that he had known her well enough to be on her mind. Perhaps it was good that I sent him away when I did. Georgie was at an impressionable age back then. Now she's a Duchess. How the world has moved on.

Resolving to write back later, he put the letter away, rose, and followed his beloved wife out of his office. He had just been reminded what was more important than his endless business and estate matters.

AN: I wanted to wish everyone a Happy New Year. Unless inspiration strikes and demands my attention, I don't anticipate another short story until 2022.