Page 42 of Mr. Darcy's Runaway Bride
“It is,” he acknowledged. “One I would not presume to ask if Darcy had not written to me of your arrangement.” He motioned to the bench. “May we sit? I assure you my interest stems from concern for you both, not mere curiosity.”
Elizabeth seated herself, arranging her skirts with careful movements. “Darcy has been everything considerate since our hasty marriage. He has provided me with independence and security, precisely as promised.”
“That does not quite answer my question,” Richard observed shrewdly.
“Perhaps because I am not entirely certain of the answer myself,” Elizabeth admitted, surprising herself with hercandour. “We are still learning about one another. But I find that I am growing increasingly content with my situation.”
“I believe you,” Richard said, studying her face. “And I am glad of it. My cousin deserves happiness, though he often seems determined to deny himself the possibility.”
“You are fond of him.”
“He is more brother than cousin to me,” Richard confirmed. “We grew up together, and I know him better than most. Which is why his letter describing your unorthodox marriage took me completely by surprise. Darcy does not typically act on impulse.”
“And yet he did,” Elizabeth murmured, thinking again of that strange moment in the park—the gentleman and the runaway bride, forming an alliance neither had anticipated.
“Yet he did,” the Colonel agreed thoughtfully. “Which suggests to me that he recognised something exceptional in you, Elizabeth—something worth breaking his own careful rules for.”
“Your cousin rescued me from a disastrous fate. I shall always be grateful for his intervention.”
“Gratitude is a worthy sentiment,” Richard replied, “but not one that sustains a marriage.” He leaned forward, his manner earnest. “I observe you together, and I see more than practicalities or friendship. Has it occurred to you that your temporary solution might be developing into something more enduring?”
Elizabeth looked away, flustered by his directness. “I have given very little thought to what happens beyond our agreed year.”
“Then perhaps you should,” Richard said gently. “For I believe my cousin has.”
This revelation startled her. “Has he spoken to you of… of changing our agreement?”
“Not in so many words. But I know him well. The way he looks at you, how he speaks of you—these are not the behaviours of a man merely fulfilling a convenient bargain.”
Elizabeth was unable to meet his gaze, and she felt sweat breaking out at the nape of her neck. She had noticed changes in Darcy’s manner towards her—glances that lingered longer than necessary, a softening in his expression when he thought she was not observing.
“I do not wish to presume upon his sentiments,” she said finally. “Nor would I have him feel obligated beyond our original understanding.”
“Obligation is not what I observed at breakfast,” Richard said. “But I have said enough on the matter. It is not my place to interpret my cousin’s heart—or yours.”
Elizabeth was grateful for his discretion. She had much to consider regarding her own feelings, which had grown far more complicated than she had anticipated when accepting Darcy’s proposal.
Not eager to continue this line of conversation, she sought to change the subject. She contemplated if she ought to ask the one thing that weighed upon her the most. Could she trust this man she hardly knew to tell her the truth?
She decided to take the chance.
“May I ask you something in return?” she said.
“Of course.”
“Do you know a Mr George Wickham?”
The change in Richard’s expression was immediate and dramatic—his open expression hardening into something grim and forbidding. “I do,” he said shortly. “To my considerable regret. How do you come to know that name?”
“I discovered his portrait hanging in Pemberley’s gallery. Mrs Reynolds spoke of him with dislike, but would not elaborate on the reason. I have wondered about him ever since.”
Richard’s jaw tightened. “It is not my story to tell in full,” he said carefully. “But I would advise you to be wary should you ever encounter him.”
“Mrs Reynolds mentioned the late Mr Darcy was fond of him and intended him for the church,” she said, not wishing to reveal that she had met Wickham herself.
Richard seemed to debate with himself before answering. “Wickham and Darcy grew up together—Wickham’s father was the old Mr Darcy’s steward. They were educated together, treated almost as equals. The late Mr Darcy had a particular fondness for Wickham, who could be immensely charming when it suited him.”
He paused, seeming to measure his words carefully. “When Darcy’s father died, he left Wickham a living in the church. Wickham had no inclination for clerical life, however, and requested money in lieu of the position. Darcy gave him three thousand pounds—a generous sum that Wickham promptly squandered.”
