The rest of the dinner was relatively uneventful. No one wished to speak about Lady Catherine and the occurrence. Other than Miss de Bourgh reassuring Mr. and Mrs. Collins that their position at the parsonage was secure, only the most tepid conversation was attempted. The guests only remained a short while after dinner, feeling all the awkwardness of the situation.

Lady Catherine did not submit easily to her new role, and was confined to her rooms for the evening, with footmen placed as guards near her doors and windows. Anne and her cousins conversed until late in the evening about what needed to be done. Anne would keep her word and if her mother submitted to her new place, she could remain at Rosings. If, and very likely when, Lady Catherine disregarded one of the new rules and attempted to usurp Anne's new role as mistress, she would be sent to the dower house. Anne could not show any leniency, lest she be forever under her mother's thumb.

"But what of when my illness grows worse?" she asked her cousins.

"Are you not improving?" asked Richard with a frown. "You seem much improved."

"That is because I have ceased all my treatment. Without it, I am stronger and less tired, but my health will fail sooner. I believe I have the same illness that afflicted my namesake."

Darcy was struck by her words, for he had never connected the illness of his cousin with that of his mother. "Are you quite certain?"

"I am. At least, I am certain that is what countless doctors have told me. The tonics I was taking had poison in them, for they were meant to counteract the poisons my body was producing. As I no longer take them, I shall die sooner, but feel better in the time I have left."

Neither of her cousins knew how to feel about such news. They had known that the tonics Anne had been taking had dreadful effects on her, but they had not realised how sick she truly was.

"Do they say how long you shall have?" asked Richard.

"A year or two," said Anne. "I hope that I shall be able to see you both happy and settled in that time."

"I doubt that I shall be able to fulfil your wish, unfortunately," said Richard with a sad smile.

"Why not?"

"You know I am but a poor second son. I cannot marry where I choose and the women with fortune enough are all insipid."

"I have made you my heir, Richard," said Anne with a raised eyebrow. "I think an estate such as Rosings, with seven thousand a year, will be enough to support you, a wife, and as many children as you may have."

Richard sat, eyes wide, as he absorbed Anne's words, unable to move or speak.

"I did not know you had changed your will," said Darcy, breaking the silence.

"Yes. As soon as I inherited." She turned to Richard. "Your father assisted me, Richard. Did he not tell you that you are my heir?"

"No, he most certainly did not," said Richard when he finally regained his voice. "Are you quite certain?"

"Very. I always thought it unfair that you could not marry where you wished because of an accident of birth. You are a good man, Richard, and you deserve happiness," said Anne. "That is the reason I have been taking a stand now. I didn't want to leave you dealing with this mess my mother has made after my death."

Richard closed his eyes and considered the impact this would have on his life as he sat back in his chair.

"I think we should leave him to his contemplation," whispered Darcy.

Anne agreed, and they left him alone to stare into the fire.


Elizabeth meandered along the path by the stream, humming a cheerful tune that blended with the sound of the bubbling stream and the chirping of birds. One of the birds echoed her melody. She stopped for a moment and hummed that portion of the song again. The bird responded. She and the bird shared this sweet, gentle exchange for several minutes, until the approach of another person frightened Elizabeth's interlocutor away.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet. I am sorry to have spoiled your conversation," said Mr. Darcy.

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," she replied with a smile. "You must think me very fanciful now."

"Perhaps, but it does not follow that something fanciful cannot also be worthwhile."

"You flatter me, sir," Elizabeth replied with a laugh. "Will you join me in my walk?"

Darcy accepted and offered Elizabeth his arm. Sensing her curiosity about what was to happen at Rosings after the previous evening's events, he told her what he could without breaking Anne's confidence. He would not tell her of the illness, as he did not know if his cousin wished that to be generally known.

"That shall certainly make it easier on you, sir, to have Lady Catherine out of the manor house," said Elizabeth.

Darcy gave her a quizzical look. "It has no more effect on me than it does on Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"I meant for the future, once you and Miss de Bourgh are wed. Pray, do not take offense, but I would not think it pleasant to have Lady Catherine as a mother-in-law at all, let alone to have her constantly at hand."

Elizabeth was caught off guard when Darcy abruptly stopped walking and she nearly fell forward. He steadied her with a gentle grip on her arm. Once he was sure she was steady on her feet, he turned to face her.

"I am not engaged, nor have I ever been engaged, to my cousin. My aunt had been the one to spread the tale of the supposed infant betrothal, but it was nothing but a fabrication." Darcy's expression was serious and inquisitive as he studied Elizabeth's face. Her cheeks began to flush as she felt the immense weight of his gaze upon her, and she began to question why he had chosen to share this with her. Was it just so the rumour would spread no further, or had he another reason?

"Miss Elizabeth?" asked Darcy.

Elizabeth's face burned with embarrassment when she snapped out of her trance and realised she hadn't heard what Mr. Darcy had said. "I'm sorry. I was woolgathering."

"I asked if it was my aunt who spoke of the supposed engagement to you," he repeated.

"Actually," she replied, "it was Mr. Wickham who told me of it."

Mr. Darcy's face changed to a scowl upon hearing Wickham's name from Elizabeth's lips. "You ought not to believe anything that Wickham tells you, Miss Elizabeth. He is not to be trusted."

Elizabeth studied Mr. Darcy for a moment as she considered his words. Before coming to Kent, she readily believed all that Mr. Wickham had told her without needing to hear to other side of the story. Since coming to know Mr. Darcy better, she realised she had not acted fairly towards him. "Might I hear why I ought not to trust him?" she asked. "I have heard his version of the tale, but not yours."

"You may, but not here. Let us go where there is a clearer view of the surrounding area. This is not something that I wish for others to overhear." Darcy escorted Elizabeth away from the trees and down the path until they got to an open area where they could be sure to see anyone coming near them. Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy as he paced on the dew-damp grass, gathering his thoughts. She could sense the gentleman's distress and felt a wave of sympathy for whatever circumstance had caused it.

"I know not what Wickham might have told you about our history, so I shall tell all and you can judge for yourself what you wish to believe," he began. "If you doubt anything I tell you, Colonel Fitzwilliam can verify my statements as his close relationship to me and his position as executor of my father's will has acquainted him with all the particulars."

Elizabeth nodded her understanding and bade him to continue.

"Mr. Wickham's father was a very respectable man who had the management of my father's estates for many years. His good conduct naturally inclined my father to be of service to him, and therefore my father supported Mr. Wickham, the younger, who was also his godson, at school and afterwards at Cambridge. His own father would not have been able to provide him with a gentleman's education, as he was always poor due to the extravagance of his wife. My father doted on Mr. Wickham, whose manner was always engaging, and had the highest opinion of him. He intended for the church to be Mr. Wickham's profession and made arrangements so such might be the case."

Everything that Mr Darcy said had been consistent with what Mr Wickham had told Elizabeth, and she informed him of this.

"That does not surprise me. Wickham often leads with truth, leaving out details where it suits him. Let me not get ahead of myself, though." Darcy ran his hands through his hair and ceased pacing, coming to stand in front of Elizabeth. "My father was blind to Mr. Wickham's faults. His lack of principle went unnoticed by his best friend, but could be observed by a young man of nearly the same age. My excellent father died about five years ago. His commitment to Mr Wickham was so strong that, in his will, he specifically asked me to promote Mr Wickham's advancement in the best way I could. If he took orders, he desired for him to get a valuable family living as soon as it became vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own father did not long survive mine. Six months later, Mr. Wickham wrote asking for a monetary award instead of the church living. He had some intention, he added, of studying law, and I must know the interest of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I wished more than I believed he was sincere. At any rate, I was content to agree to his proposal. I knew he ought not to be a clergyman, and therefore paid him three thousand pounds and he signed away all tights to the living, then and in the future."

"All connection between us seemed now dissolved. I did not wish for his company. I believe he lived mainly in town, but I know not much more, as I did not hear much of him for three years. He then wrote me, requesting the living that he had given up. He said his circumstances were bad, which I easily believed. He had found law unprofitable and now wished to be ordained, trusting I would present him to the living. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition to it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances—and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others as in his reproaches to myself. After this period, every appearance of acquaintance was dropped. How he lived I know not."

"The gall of the man!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Four thousand pounds, with only himself to support, was gone in three years?"

"I believe it likely that most of it was gone in but a few months. Wickham is a man of most dissolute habits. Even as boys, he would be given a few shillings and they would be gone by the end of the day."

"I am exceedingly sorry, Mr. Darcy," said she, "for ever having believed his tales about you."

"You are not the first to be taken in by his pretty words, Miss Bennet," he replied. "I feel obliged to tell you more, however, so that you can know the entirety of his character. I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself, and to which I must beg your secrecy."

"You have it, Mr. Darcy, but do not feel you must tell me anything more. I am quite confident that his appearance of goodness is false and I shall write to my father this day to tell him no longer to allow Wickham into the society of my family."

"I feel I must, if nothing else, so you may protect your family completely. If you wish to tell your father of it, I beg you do not share the identity of the young lady."

Elizabeth gasped, realising the essence of what was to be shared with her. "I shall not share her identity."

"Very good." Darcy took a long breath before continuing, "My sister was left to the guardianship of Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. We removed her from school last year and established her in London with a companion, Mrs. Younge, to watch over her. They went to Ramsgate on holiday during the summer, and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design. There proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived. Through her cooperation, he was able to gain Georgiana's favour, as her loving heart remembered his kindness to her when she was a child. She was eventually convinced that she was in love and agreed to elope with him. She was then but fifteen, which must be her excuse. After stating her imprudence, I am happy to add, that I owed the knowledge of it to herself. I unexpectedly joined them just before the elopement, and Georgiana revealed the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Out of consideration for my sister's reputation and emotions, I refrained from any public disclosure, but I wrote to Mr Wickham, who immediately left the place, and Mrs Younge was naturally removed from her duties. Mr. Wickham's chief object was unquestionably my sister's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds, but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed."

Elizabeth was overcome with emotion, and Mr Darcy passed her a handkerchief to dry her tears. "Is Miss Darcy well?" she asked when she was calm.

"She is. She was hurt, of course, and I believe she is still healing. Time with my aunt, Lady Matlock — Colonel Fitzwilliam's mother — seems to have helped some."

"That poor child," said Elizabeth, thinking of her younger sisters. "Thank you for telling me, for trusting me."

"Of course," said Mr. Darcy. "I should have told you sooner, or perhaps your father. I ought not have left the area unprotected from the cad. It has weighed on my mind and I have often thought of writing to Sir William or your father, but without telling all, who would believe me when Wickham has made himself so agreeable?"

"I hope they shall believe me," said Elizabeth.

In the stillness, they both felt overwhelmed by the intensity of their feelings, and needed a few moments to compose themselves. Not until Colonel Fitzwilliam came looking for Darcy did they separate, each going towards their respective chambers to reflect on the events of the morning.