Page 2 of Till Death Us Do Part
“How do you know? He was about half mad to start with.”
The words were not entirely accurate, but it had to be admitted that the viscount had always been a bitoff. He gambled too much, drank too much, cavorted too much, and the state of the Earldom had never been in particularly good hands. Everyone in the family gnashed their teeth and wrung their hands but otherwise hoped for the best. Young men usually grew out of such behaviour eventually.
The Earl grimaced again. “I have him restrained, but the last six months he went on the gambling binge from hell. I have debts—substantial debts—that I cannot pay immediately. They will take years to pay off, and that is assuming we can keep the creditors off our backs for that long, which is not entirely certain.”
Darcy leaned back, and for the first time in his life, wished he was a woman so he could cry with impunity. That thought only lasted a minute though.
“Perhaps it sounds harsh, but his death will probably be for the best. Is that all?”
The Earl shook his head sadly. “Not by half. Catty somehow convinced some bankers of the less savoury type to give her a large mortgage against Rosings.”
Unable to sit still, Darcy jumped up from his chair, stalked back and forth in circles a few times, and finally settled for walking up to the wall and bashing his fist against it a few times, hoping against hope that it would wake him from his nightmare.
Finally, his ire cooled a bit while his uncle looked on with grim amusement and appreciation for gallows humour, waiting patiently for his nephew to sit back down and continue.
“It seems we shall have to wait it out. The family’s reputation is still good enough. Malcolm was not much better or worse thanthe average heir to an Earldom. An heir will eventually appear one way or another. You have Richard next in line. One of us can go to Rosings and rein Lady Catherine in. It will be difficult and unpleasant, but I suppose we have endured worse.”
“It gets worse.”
Unable to say much more, Darcy just nodded grimly.
“We do not have as much time as we might think. I have cancer, so this is likely to be my last Christmas as well. You know I hate to leave such an unholy mess, but that seems to be how it will be.”
Darcy poured another brandy to give himself something to do. “Something tells me you are not finished.”
“Reginald got himself killed in a hunting accident.”
Darcy slammed the entire glass of brandy down in one gulp and cursed with language that would make a sailor blush, at length, and in detail. His other cousin, Reginald, the much lamented second spare in case of deep trouble had always been a weak candidate, but since the Earl had his own healthy heir and spare, and a babe on the way, nobody worried. The Earl had always been an optimistic man (overly so in Darcy’s opinion) and had never taken any further steps to secure his legacy. Darcy never worried about it because he had enough problems of his own without borrowing trouble.
“I do not see the problem. You just need to recall Richard, get him married, and start grooming him for the role. He will hate it, but it must be done.”
The earl sighed. “Now we get back to it. You see—”
Darcy was surprised when the earl paused and took a deep breath like a boy plucking up his courage before jumping into a river.
“Richard has been captured, and let us just say, the French are understandably reluctant to return him.”
Glass shattered as Darcy hurled the brandy snifter into the fire, and then his uncle jumped when he slammed his fist down on the table to complete the point. It seemed obvious what the big ask was, but Darcy thought he may as well get it out in the open.
“Are youreallyabout to ask me to negotiate his release?”
The Earl frowned ferociously. “They will only negotiate in person, and you are the only one I can trust with the job. I would go myself but cannot for obvious reasons. At the moment, they believe they have the spare. Imagine if they learn they have the heir.”
Darcy picked up another glass and filled it with brandy to give himself a minute to think. “What happens if I do not go—or more likely, go and fail?”
The Earl rubbed his face with both hands. “I fear our family is doomed. My nephew who is next in line would destroy whatever is left of the Earldom. I can try to entail it, but that would not persuade our creditors. One of them will call in the loan on either Matlock or Rosings eventually. It would not make much difference which, and it would all fall. Catherine and I would die in debtor’s prison, and you would be left to support the rest of the family or abandon them to their fates. We are in a position where our reputationmustbe kept pristine enough to keep the ship afloat long enough for Richard to retrench and dig it out. Pemberley is perfectly solvent, but Matlock and Rosings are not. It will take Richard a decade to make it right.”
Darcy got up once again and paced back and forth in the room like a caged tiger with his mind going around in circles.
After ten minutes of this, the Earl demanded, “Sit down, son! You are making my head hurt. Let us hear about this compromise of yours. I have more unwelcome news for you, but you are due a fair chance at the lash.”
“There is not that much to tell, Uncle. I danced with a lady, with whom I was slightly acquainted, at a ball.”
The Earl raised an eyebrow in surprise, since he well knew his nephew had mostly given up on women entirely. “So how did this dance turn into a problem?”
“We quarrelled on the dance floor—if you can believe such a thing. George Wickham is in the area, spreading the usual lies. She seemed like an intelligent woman, but she swallowed his tripe without question.”
The Earl slammed his fist on the table and yelled, “Wickham!”
