11. Chapter 10: A man reaps what he sows

Ch 10: A man reaps what he sows

The first glimmer of sun appeared over the horizon, rousing Edwards from his restless sleep. Late in the night, four of his men had relieved Davis and Stevens from their posts, allowing the footmen to return to Pemberley. Although Darcy's servants were good men and devoted to their master and his family, he still breathed a sigh of relief to have Wickham guarded by his own men.

He yawned and stretched as his bare feet hit the rough carpet. How many years was this your home, Bradley? I am glad you finally have the parsonage now. George Darcy was beyond generous to build this place for you, but the parsonage is still so much nicer a dwelling. He shook off the morning chill as he quickly dressed. It has been a long while since I have been without my valet. Reminds me of my last deployment. Unconsciously he rubbed the scar on his left side, all that remained of the wound that had effectively ended his military career and nearly took his life.

Pulling on his boots, he allowed his eyes to fix on the soft colors of the sunrise glowing in the small window. A new day. But my problem remains, what to do with young Wickham? His weathered features settled into a frown. Pushing himself to his feet, he briskly strode out of the bedroom into the dining room where Wickham remained bound to the chair as he had been last night. Two of Edwards' men sat at the table with him, engaged in a game of chess, warm cups of coffee placed on either side of the board.

"Sanderson, Elmer," Edwards nodded as he greeted them on his way to the kitchen.

"Sir." They nodded back, knowing he would not have them rise at his entrance. They had served under his command in the army, and knew their master's peculiar ways well.

Moments later, Edwards returned coffee and plate in hand. The manse had no staff, so his men had brought cold food from his own estate, and coffee. They dare not forget their master's coffee. Drawing a long sip from his cup, the gentleman sighed. Ah, just the stuff to start the morning with. It is going to be a long day. "When did you relieve Fredrickson and Knightley?" He sat down directly across from Wickham, who dozed uncomfortably in his bonds.

"About two hours ago, sir," Elmer replied, looking up from the chess board. He was a small, wiry man with a round face and a shock of red hair. His hazel eyes gleamed with intelligence.

"He's been pretty quiet, sir," Sanderson glanced back at Wickham. The jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face gave the man a sinister appearance, but Edwards knew better. The scar had been earned saving the life of his commanding officer. No more loyal a man could be found. "Once he saw that he could not talk his way out of the ropes, he shut up and fell asleep."

Nodding, Edwards studied Wickham for a long moment. "Very good." Silently, he ate the bread and cheese he had brought from the kitchen.

As the gentleman finished the simple meal, his prisoner began to stir. With a groan, Wickham lifted his head and tried to open his eyes. He blinked painfully in the morning light.

"Quite a headache you are nursing there, I would imagine," Edwards noted as he drained his coffee.

"Ugh!" Wickham grunted, smacking his lips, trying to rid himself of the bad taste in his mouth.

"I imagine you would like to break your fast?" Edwards' voice sounded the genial host, but his eyes were warily fixed on the man.

"I would," Wickham whispered as he screwed his eyes shut, trying to clear the fuzz from his head.

"If you would be so kind, Elmer, and bring our guest some food." Edwards nodded at the smaller man. "Promise good behavior, and I will have Sanderson here untie your left hand so you can feed yourself."

Wickham's head bobbed unsteadily in agreement. Sanderson cautiously untied his hand, but seated himself in the chair to Wickham's left. Elmer dropped a plate in front of the prisoner and landed a cup loudly beside it. Slowly, Wickham brought the cup to his mouth, his lip curling at the biting black brew.

"I take it you do not have a taste for coffee, sir." Edwards smiled as he rose to return to the kitchen to refill his own cup.

"Bitter, uncivilized stuff," Wickham muttered as he placed the cup back on the table and took a bite of bread.

The remainder of Wickham's meal passed in relative silence. Elmer and Sanderson returned to their chess game while Edwards watched closely.

"Quite a good game there, I would say, eh Wickham? Very well matched opponents, I wager this could end in a draw."

The prisoner glanced at the game board, shrugging as best he could. "I would not know; I do not play."

"I find that surprising, young Wickham."

Neither man spoke for many minutes. Finally, Wickham sighed in frustration, drawing his hand down his face and raking his unruly hair. "I have had enough of this game now, Mr. Edwards. Untie me, and I will be on my way."

"Excuse me, sir?" Edwards had the grace to look shocked, although he felt no such thing.

Rolling his eyes in aggravation, he shook his head in wonder. "I said, untie me and let me go. Enough of this game! I will remove myself from Pemberley, and all will be as it was." Darcy really is taking this thing too far this time.

"I heard what you said, Wickham." Edwards leaned his elbows on the table and regarded the disheveled man. "I am just surprised to hear you demanding such a thing. You know very well I cannot do it."

"Why the blazes not!" An angry fist slammed down on the table.

Immediately, Sanderson jumped to his feet and grabbed Wickham's hand, forcing it back down to the arm of the chair.

"Call off your dog, Edwards!" he snapped angrily. So Darcy has finally grown a spine and my welcome here is worn through. I see that quite clearly. The rest of this is unnecessary.

"Carry on Sanderson," the gentleman countered calmly, watching as his man bound Wickham's hand once again. "Now that we have order returned, let me ask you, sir, why do you demand to be released?" You think this is some sort of game you are playing here, young Wickham, but you have crossed a dangerous line.

"Why?" The derisive note in the steward's son's voice was not lost on his listeners. "Because we both know what we are playing at here and I have had my fill. Darcy has his baubles back, no harm was done. Release me, and I will be on my way. Surely the Master of Pemberly is as anxious for my absence as I am to give it to him."

"You seem to be missing a very important point, sir." The magistrate leaned in toward his prisoner. "You are clearly guilty of a crime. Last night I saw clear evidence that you entered both Darcy's and Georgiana's rooms and stole their property. You were a guest in their home, and reduced yourself to a common thief!"

"You are making a crime out of nothing at all!" Wickham's face screwed in disgust. "Had you not caught me last night, Darcy would never have missed those trinkets. They were worth nothing to him, nothing at all! How can you call that theft when he would never have missed them?"

"I am afraid, sir, that the law does not agree with you." Edwards leaned his chin on his fist. "You were found with property that does not belong to you and that you were not given permission to have on your person. You, sir, are a thief." You truly do not understand the gravity of what you have done. You are a greater fool than I imagined.

"Darcy will never press charges! His father would not have wanted that. He will insist that you free me!" A new note of urgency entered Wickham's voice, the strain beginning to show in his eyes. He must be joking. He cannot possible be serious about this!

"I am afraid, sir," Edwards rose to pace the length of the table, "that Darcy's wishes make very little difference. You see, it is not the man you wronged who will prosecute you, but the law of the land, the law that I promised to uphold when I took the responsibility as magistrate."

A little color drained from Wickham's face. "I did no harm to anyone. You can see that. Untie me and let me go. I have learned my lesson; I will not bother Darcy ever again."

"As much as I would like to believe you, sir, that has little bearing on your current situation. You do not seem to understand the position you have placed me in, Mr. Wickham. It would be wrong of me to take the law into my own hands. Regardless of what I may or may not believe about this situation, I can only uphold the law. I do not make it myself. In this I am as bound as you are right now."

"But others…" the bound man pleaded. All men have a price.

"Are not me," Edwards finished for him. "I am afraid that what you did last night, Mr. Wickham, is a hanging offense. Beyond that, I am quite certain that there is a writ of debt issued for you in Manchester. I have a man dispatched to find out . If it is as I fear, it will do nothing to help your case."

"But, but…"

"It is out of my hands. You had best hope for mercy, Mr. Wickham, for your best expectation is prison or transportation."

"Darcy will not stand for it! He will speak on my behalf, his father…" This cannot be happening!

"I would not be so certain of that. Or have you forgotten what you tried to do to his sister last night? I have no doubt you would have forced her beyond a kiss had we not happened upon you when we did. That leaves Darcy precious little motive to plead for mercy on your behalf, Mr. Wickham. I am not sure, given your past history with him, that I would counsel him to do so."

The magistrate watched as the weight of his words settled on the young man. A fearful understanding dawned on the steward's son, and a small shudder ran down his spine."I do not know if you are a man of prayer, George Wickham. I would suppose that you are not. However, this would be a very good time to change that. I am afraid I am not a man disposed to mercy right now, justice seems to need to be served instead."

The magistrate's deep blue eyes fixed Wickham's for a long moment. With a chill, the young man realized that, for the first time in his life, he would not be able to talk himself out of his dilemma. His charm and good looks were worth nothing in this situation, while his transgressions were weighing painfully against him. He swallowed hard at the thought of the hangman's noose. This cannot be happening! It cannot! Darcy would never…but this man would. He would. He swallowed hard again, slumping back in his seat, an unfamiliar but very real fear growing in his gut.

Bridget Cooperton blinked as the rays of morning sunlight poured into her guestroom at Pemberley. Stephen is already up. He is such an early riser. The night before had been a long one indeed. Georgiana had cried hysterically in her arms for most of it. Finally Bridget had called for Mrs. Reynolds to brew an herbal tea to calm the young woman and allow her to sleep. It was very late when she finally climbed in bed herself.

And now the difficult part begins. She sighed as she swung her feet down to the rich, soft carpet. Last night I held her as she sobbed, as a mother would. But this morning I must speak to her firmly as a mother does. I can only hope the dear little thing will listen to me. She still does not understand Wickham's true nature. The innocent little girl wants to believe it all a misunderstanding. Somehow she still sees her brother the villain in all this. I must get her to see the truth. Presently, she rang for her maid. Mr. Cooperton had sent word to his own estate just after he had placed Georgiana in her care. He had instructed his man to pack his things and Lilly to prepare a trunk for her mistress and come to Pemberly with two other servant girls.

"Good morning, madam," Lilly bobbed her blonde head in greeting. The young woman had served her mistress for several years now. Although she was not a French trained lady's maid, her mistress found no fault in her. "I packed several of your morning dresses. Do you wish to choose?"

"No, not today, I am quite content to place myself in your capable hands." The matron smiled gratefully at the young woman who had proven herself a discreet, steady, and reliable girl, things she valued far more than speaking French and dressing hair in the latest fashion.

With a curtsey, Lilly excused herself to fetch her mistress' tea and gown, but before she made it to the door, Mrs. Cooperton asked, "Did Millie and Patty accompany you?"

"Yes, mum. They are in the servants' quarters, mum. Do you want me to fetch them?"

"No, not yet. I will need them after I have had breakfast and spoken with Miss Darcy. Please see that they are ready for my call."

"Yes, mum." Lilly disappeared through the doorway.

Not long afterwards, Mrs. Cooperton appeared downstairs in the small dining room for breakfast. Her husband was already there, enjoying his morning tea. Rising to greet her, he took her hand and pulled her toward him to kiss her cheek, checking first to make sure none were there to witness.

A worn smile lit her face. "Good morning, Stephen," she said softly, pleased that their morning ritual continued even away from their home.

"You had a long night with her, Bridget?" he asked, pulling her chair out for her.

"It is the way of young women, I'm afraid, to carry on so in trying moments. She really is not so different from Evie at that age." She settled herself in her seat as her husband served her from the sideboard.

Sighing, he gently placed a plate and tea cup in front of her before returning to his seat. "I suppose you are correct, my dear. A father is apt to forget such things." He laughed with a wry smile. "I guess both our girls were a bit like that before they came out, were they not?" I cannot say I miss those days, never knowing what would cause the tears to flow!

"They were indeed, dear. Miss Darcy is still very young, and without a mother to guide her. But she is a good sort of girl, and she will do well if can just get her through this trying age." Poor Darcy, left on his own at such a time.

Their conversation trailed off as they heard footsteps in the distance. Soon, Georgiana herself appeared in the doorway. Both her guests rose to welcome her. Dark circles beneath red rimmed eyes gave testament to the trying night she had just risen from. Nodding to the couple, she went to serve herself from the food laid out by the servants, but little seemed appetizing. Finally she joined the Coopertons at the table, leaving a few empty seats between herself and her guests.

The silence soon became awkward, driving Cooperton to break it. "It is a lovely spring morning. So nice to finally see a break in all the rain." Please girl, do not begin to weep. I never have been able to tolerate the tears.

"As much as my flower garden loves the early rains, I do grow tired of all the grey clouds and gloom. Do you not, Miss Darcy?" Bridget smiled gently at the young woman, encouraging her to rise to the occasion.

"Yes, Mrs. Cooperton, I do. I find a sunny morning so much more agreeable than a dreary one." Though her voice was thin, clearly, Georgiana was making an effort to play the part of a proper hostess in the absence of the Master of the estate. "Have you seen my brother this morning, Mr. Cooperton?" she asked a little timidly.

"Not yet, Miss Darcy. I believe he retired very early this morning, and I do not expect to see him until afternoon perhaps." Cooperton held his breath, hoping this would not set the girl off.

"I see." Miss Darcy bit her lip and blinked hard for a moment, staring down into her plate. "He is usually up so early. I suppose I expected him to be here waiting on me."

"Do not worry, my dear," Bridget quickly offered, sensing the source of the girl's distress, "I am sure he will see you this afternoon when he has had ample opportunity to refresh himself."

"I am sure you are correct, Mrs. Cooperton. Thank you." Georgiana lifted her tea cup, though her hand shook slightly, and took a careful sip.

"Well, ladies, if you will excuse me," Cooperton rose from the table, "there is some correspondence I must attend to this morning." He nodded at his wife, who smiled gratefully in return, and left the ladies to their own.

For a long time, they ate in silence, neither knowing how to start what would prove to be a difficult conversation. Finally, they had finished their meal and were sipping tea, killing time.

"Georgiana, would you please join me in my sitting room? I think we need to talk, but the dining room is not the place for such conversations." The servants do not need to overheard what I must say.

Bowing her head nervously, the girl replied, "Yes, Mrs. Cooperton."

Together they returned to Bridget's rooms. After they settled themselves for a moment, Mrs. Cooperton began, "You know I have two daughters of my own. And three sons."

"Yes. I think I have met one of your daughters," Miss Darcy's voice was meek.

"They are both older than your brother, so I am surprised that you should remember either of them." She rose and wandered thoughtfully to the window. "You remind me much of them, you know."

"I do?" The girl gasped in wonder. How could she speak of me so after my foolishness last night?

"Indeed it is true, Miss Darcy. All girls go through a time where they are neither a little girl nor a grown-up woman. It is a very trying time indeed - a time of chafing under rules that no longer seem to fit, of romantic notions and foolish deeds." Her voice became serious as she turned to look at the young woman. "I do understand, Georgiana."

Dropping her face in her hands, the young woman fought to hold back the tears. "I am so sorry, Mrs. Cooperton! I am so sorry! I see what a foolish girl I was last night. I know I disappointed my brother dreadfully, and all of you…"

"You did, my dear girl, you did. But I do not think you truly understand the degree of danger you put yourself in." I am certain of it.

"But I do, Mrs. Cooperton, I do." Georgiana lifted her head, her blue eyes pleading. "I disobeyed my brother, I went into the garden at night instead of to my rooms. I allowed George to speak to me without a chaperone. When he spoke of eloping, I even thought about it, but just for a moment. I know it was improper, but it was so romantic. He said he loved me…"

"Enough," Bridget's voice turned harsh now. "Truly you know nothing of love. You ignore the word of your brother who loves you dearly and put yourself in the power of a man who has never loved anyone but himself!" Stupid, stupid girl!

"But that is not fair! I know George was wrong, but he has been treated so unfairly…"

"That is the last time I will hear you say such a thing, Georgiana. Nor will you continue to refer to Mr. Wickham in so familiar a manner." Bridget's face darkened with anger as her voice became harder still. "What do you know of Mr. Wickham's misfortunes?"

Affronted, the girl crossed her arms indignantly and glared back at Mrs. Cooperton. "Father promised him the living, and Fitzwilliam gave it to Mr. Bradley instead. Mr. Wickham would have let him remain the curate; I am sure of it. So Mr. Bradley would have lost nothing…"

"Maybe your father wished Mr. Wickham to have the living at one time, but it was far from promised to him. Did your father tell you that, or did Mr. Wickham?"

Creasing her brows as she thought, Georgiana slowly replied, "It was Mr. Wickham."

"If your father wanted Mr. Wickham to have the living, he would have left the advowson to him in his will. He did not! Your father was a careful man. If he wanted something done, he made sure that it was done exactly as he wanted it. He would never have left such a thing to chance. It was not an oversight on his part. He left it in your brother's hands to decide whether Mr. Wickham was fit to have the living. We are all most assured that he is not."

"That is not fair! Who are you to decide? What do you know of Geo… I mean Mr. Wickham's character? He has always been so kind to me. Until last night…" her voice trailed off in confusion.

At least that is a good sign. Mrs. Cooperton watched the girl thinking. "We know a good deal more of his character than you do, my dear." She rang for her maid who quickly appeared. "Lilly, would you please send Millie and Patty here."

"Yes, mum." With a curtsey, Lilly disappeared again.

"Who are they?"

"You will see in a moment, Georgiana." Bridget sighed. I am afraid you will see much more than you want to see. A moment later, two young women appeared at the door. Although they were clean and neat, their dresses made their positions as servants clear. "Miss Darcy, this is Millie," the brown haired girl curtsied carefully if a bit awkwardly, "and this is Patty." The other girl followed suit. "Please, girls, take a seat.

The two maids looked at each other nervously, not sure what to make of the situation, but they obeyed their mistress' instructions.

"I know that it is not usually your place to sit and converse, girls." Bridget began soothingly, "but today will be an exception. I find I am in need of your particular help."

"How can we help you, mum?" Patty, the more outspoken of the two asked, brushing stray red locks from her face. Mrs. Cooperton has always been a kind and fair mistress and the girl was pleased to be called upon to help her.

"First, I must ask you not to speak to anyone, anyone at all, of this conversation. " She reached into her pocket and withdrew several coins. "I value your promise greatly." With great seriousness she pressed the coins into the girls' hands. They stared I surprised at the glittering shillings.

"We promise, mum," Millie whispered, a little afraid of where the conversation would go next.

"Very good. I thank you for that. Now, the help I need from you today is for you to acquaint Miss Darcy with the character of a Mr. George Wickham."

Georgiana was startled to see the immediate change in the maids' countenances. Both girls seemed to grow angry and agitated at the mention of his name.

"You may speak freely. Nothing you say in this room will be held against you. Nothing at all. In fact, I insist that you speak honestly and openly in this matter," Bridget admonished firmly.

"Beggin' your pardon, miss," Patty glanced from her mistress to Miss Darcy, "but that man is not fit to speak of in polite company."

"No?" Georgiana sat up straight in astonishment.

"No, mum," Millie softly agreed, looking up shyly.

"He is the worst sort of man there is, Mrs. Cooperton," Patty turned to her mistress, somehow feeling safer speaking her mind to the older woman.

"What kind of man would that be, Patty?" Her mistress nodded and smiled encouraging at the girl's openness.

"The kind that says he is a gentleman, and then leaves a girl with nothing but a baby in her belly," she spat venomously.

Springing to her feet, Georgiana glared at the short red-headed maid. "How dare you say such things!"

Rounding on Georgiana, Bridget rebuked, "She says them because they are true. Now sit down and listen."

Flushed with embarrassment and tears welling in her eyes, Georgiana meekly returned to her seat.

"Go on, Patty, please."

"Beggin' your pardon mum, but that dog took to hanging about my sister two years ago. He talked all pretty to her and made her believe that he would marry her. She believed him, she did. Ended up carrying his babe, she did, and when she told him she sprained her ankle* he just laughed and walked away, never spoke to her again." Patty's fists balled in rage and her fair skin flushed. "My poor sister got sent to family in Scotland. I'll probably never see her again because that cur left her with her leg broke**!"

"No! He could never… He said that he…"

"That he loved you, miss?" Patty glanced up at her mistress as she drew her conclusion. "That is what he done told my sister too. But that man never loved anything 'cept gettin' his chimney swept out!***"

Georgiana blushed at the indelicate language, never having heard a woman speak so.

"It is true, Miss Darcy," Millie finally spoke, looking timidly at the young lady. She shrank back as she felt Georgiana's angry gaze. "It were not only her sister he done bagged. My sister, she were born the same time as me, me and her looked just alike. After Patty's sister were sent away, my sister caught his eye. But sometimes, he would see me and could not tell us apart. He would try to kiss and touch…"

"Enough! I do not want to hear…" Georgiana exclaimed.

"You will sit down and you will listen." Bridget stared at her with a stern, motherly expression until the girl obeyed. "This is not about what you want to hear. It is time for you to learn the truth about your favorite."

"I would push him away and tell him I were not Abby. Then he would go to find her. It were not long before she were in trouble too. Jes' like he did with the others, he up and left my sister high in the belly and without…" Millie's throat tightened in grief. "She died trying to birth his bye blow.+ That man killed my sister sure as if he slit her throat." She spat the final word with a venom Georgiana had never heard before.

"Thank you, girls." Mrs. Cooperton laid a soft hand on Millie's shoulder, comforting the grieving girl. She rang for Lilly once again. "Please, Lilly, would you take them down to the kitchen and see that they are given a nice tea and some biscuits."

"Yes, mum," Lilly curtsied gracefully, smiling genuinely at her mistress. She suspected what was going on, and appreciated her mistress' kindness to all involved. Gently, the lady's maid ushered the two younger women out.

Now alone, Bridget fixed her gaze on Georgiana. "He is not the gentleman you supposed him to be."

That cannot be true! They must be lying! They must. How could George have done those things? Weakly the young woman walked to the window to gaze out over the estate, her mind whirling.

Wisely, Bridget stood back and gave the girl the chance to consider what she had seen and heard. This will be a deciding moment in her life, poor dear. Will she believe the truth that has been set before her? Oh, heavenly Father, let her eyes open, let her see. Do not allow her to continue in her folly, or she will be lost to us all. She silently prayed as she studied her charge.

Georgiana kept her vigil for a long time. Finally her shoulders began to quiver and she gulped back a little sob. Immediately, Mrs. Cooperton was there beside her, a warm arm around the girl's shoulders leading her back to the couch.

"How could he, Mrs. Cooperton? How could he do those things? How could he do those things and say that he loved me?" She wept into her hands. "He does not love me, does he? He only wants…" She could not finish.

"Your dowry, my girl. I am afraid that is the sad truth of it all. Your father sought to keep your monetary worth a mystery to protect you from men such as Wickham. Men who would see your value only in terms of the number of pounds you could bring to their coffer. I am sorry for you to learn the truth of it all in such a way, my dear."

Georgiana wept a little more. "Fitzwilliam knew, he knew. That is why he did not give George…Mr. Wickham the living?"

"Yes, that is exactly what happened. Your brother has known Wickham a long time, and has tried to help him. Your brother is a man of good principles, who tries very hard to live by them. George Wickham has no principles and pursues only the pleasures of the moment." She stroked the young woman's hair softly.

Perplexed, she looked up at her comforter, her brows knit in confusion. "Surely Father could see it too. Why did he love Mr. Wickham so much?"

She pulled the girl into a motherly embrace, sighing, "I truly do not know, my dear, I do not know."

After his initial shock and revulsion had worn off, Darcy continued to read his father's journals. His appetite for the information contained in them was voracious, so he read through the night and into the early morning, until the dawn began peeking into the study windows.

He heard his father's voice speak so many things. Some things he had heard his father say often enough: how proud he was of Fitzwilliam Darcy, how much he loved their son. He always thought of me as their son. That's how he differentiated between us. Wickham was his son, but I was theirs. But the journals also spoke of many things that George Darcy never voiced to their son.

Chief among them was the crushing guilt that drove him in all matters concerning George Wickham. Always, it was guilt that pushed him--guilt that this young man would never have his place, even as a younger son of the estate. His father's folly had assured that. Forever, George Wickham would carry only his father's first name, never his last, and would therefore never have what by right should be his, had he been born to Anne Darcy. Father could see what George was becoming, but could not stop himself from giving in to him because of the guilt.

Bradley tells me over and over that I must forgive myself for what I have done. But how am I to do that? Every time I see the hurt in Anne's eyes, I hate myself all over again. And when I look at the boy, I see in him a younger version of myself. His eyes, his mouth, they are mine. Our son has his mother's eyes.

Countless times, Anne has assured me of her forgiveness—that she has taken Bradley's counsel and chooses not to hold this thing against me. What a woman she is! I know that she means it, that her words are true. She tells me her hurt is not for what I did, but for what I am doing now. She tells me I am ruining the boy, and it pains her to watch me take even more from him. But I have already done so much wrong by my son, how can I deny him the little I have left to give?

She warns me that I am pushing away our son by my actions. I can only hope that someday our boy will understand. He must. He is such a fine young man. I am so proud of the man he is becoming. That is surely his mother's influence on him.

Bradley tells me over and over that a good father disciplines the son whom he loves. He warns me that I am showing the boy no love in giving him what he wants and looking the other way when he errs. I suppose my curate is right. I am not. Once again, my friend has forced me to see the sad truth of the matter. I do not love the child. All I feel toward him is guilt. But it is enough to keep me jumping at his whim, a fact that brings me no pride.

His father's words rang over and over in his mind. I do not truly love the child… Darcy laid the journal aside and began to pace the room, muttering to himself, "All these years I believed he loved George Wickham better than me. To see now that he never did. He never did. Oh Father!" Though he did not feel entirely comfortable about it, a bitter weight slipped from Darcy's shoulders, knowing that he was not lower in his father's esteem than his boyhood rival. "It was guilt alone, oh Father, what guilt to have to carry. No wonder you lectured me so sternly about keeping myself under good regulation when I left home!" He paused at the window, watching the first lights of dawn reaching above the horizon. Weariness descended upon him heavily, like a blanket, weighing him down. "I must speak to Bradley. I cannot sort through this alone. But first I must sleep. I must have my wits about me before I try to take on what my father has left me."

Weighed down by exhaustion, he returned the journals to their place in the book shelf and trudged up the stairs to his room, only stopping to pull off his boots and cravat before falling into bed, asleep.

*pregnant**having a bastard child***sexual intimacy with a woman+ illegitimate child