Page 107 of The Difference of a Darcy
Darcy said nothing aloud, but in his heart, he agreed.
They both remained where they were, unmoving, as Wickham cursed and wobbled in the saddle, trying to force the animal into a tight circle.
Then he saw them.
“Oi!” Wickham shouted. “You there! Come help!”
John exhaled sharply through his nose. “If only to spare the beast his lash,” he muttered, then moved forward with stiff limbs and a weary sigh.
Darcy remained rooted, spade still in hand, as John approached the horse and caught the reins with practiced ease. The animal huffed and pawed the dirt, but calmed slightly under a steadier hand.
As soon as all four hooves were firmly on the earth, Wickham sneered and slid from the saddle with all the grace of a sack of grain. He staggered slightly as his boots struck the frozen ground, then, with a flourish, he pulled a flask from the inside of his coat and took a long draught.
Foxed.
Darcy’s stomach turned.It is not even midday.
Wickham wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, swaggered a few steps toward the house, then lifted his voice in a crude bellow.
“Where’s my wife? Georgiana! Georgie, my girl!” His voice slurred over the words, and Darcy winced at the unpolished speech from a man who had always prided himself on his gentlemanly behavior. “I’m back, Georgie! Come give your Wickham a kiss!”
Darcy stiffened, fists curling tight around the handle of the spade he had forgotten he was holding. His whole being bristled with fury—but as he took a step forward, John’s hand came down hard on his arm.
“Do not,” the older man said quietly.
Darcy looked at him, confused and outraged.
“Best not to get involved,” John added in a low tone. “You may have been a gentleman before you came here, but you are no longer. Nothing good comes from standing up to a master.Not when you’re a servant. Not even to the likes of him. The law is no friend to men in livery.”
The words struck Darcy like a blow. He drew a sharp breath and looked down at the worn coat he wore, the trousers loose at the waist, the calluses on his hands. His clothes were homespun. His boots scuffed. To all the world, he was a servant. And if he intervened—
“But, my wife,” he said, desperately, “is not just a servant. She is a gentleman’s daughter.”
John’s eyes softened slightly. “Aye. I know. So does Mrs. Reynolds. She will do what she can to protect the girl.”
But the grim concern in the man’s voice spoke more honestly than his words.
Darcy turned back to the courtyard. Wickham was shouting again, something slurred and incoherent, waving the flask toward the front door.
If he harms one hair on Elizabeth’s head—on Georgiana’s—Darcy thought, his vision blurring with rage,I will not be held responsible for what I do.
Chapter 21
Elizabeth stared at the housekeeper in horror before turning to Georgiana, whose face had gone white.
So white, in fact, that for a moment Elizabeth feared she might faint. Her fingers clutched the arms of her chair. Her mouth trembled open. “He… he is here?”
From outside, Wickham’s voice rang loud and clear: “Georgiana!”
The girl flinched.
Elizabeth turned to Mrs. Reynolds, who stood stiffly with both hands wringing the corner of her apron. Thinking quickly, Elizabeth stood and crossed the room to Georgiana.
“Quick, Mrs. Georgiana,” she said firmly, taking the girl by the elbow. “Let us get you upstairs. You are quite ill, after all, and must remain in your bed for the baby’s sake.”
Georgiana blinked. “Ill?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, guiding her toward the door, “with something contagious, perhaps. A stomach ailment. You have been vomiting and are in frequent need of the chamber pot. You are weak. You must stay abed and away from others.”
