Page 112 of Honor Requires

Darcy held his eyes. “And what prevents you from being so now?”

Wickham’s expression hardened. “Reality,” he said.

“Reality is not so immutable as you suppose.”

Wickham laughed, though his hand trembled as he raised his glass. “You speak as though men may simply choose to undo their past.”

“They may choose to answer for it,” Darcy said.

Wickham’s gaze snapped to his.

Darcy detected a familiar, unyielding quality in his own tone, one that belonged more to the man he had once been than to the identity he now wore, and the effect upon Wickham was immediate. For an instant, Wickham’s expression changed. Recognition flickered.

“Impossible,” he muttered.

Darcy did not move.

Wickham shook his head, dismissing the thought with visible effort, and took a long swallow of wine. His hand was not entirely steady. “You remind me,” he said after a moment, forcing a lighter tone, “of a man I once knew.”

Darcy’s pulse quickened, though his expression remained shuttered. Blast, I ought to be more careful. “Do I?” Thankfully, his voice did not betray him.

“Yes.” Wickham studied him more closely now. “He had a similar way of speaking. Very certain. Very…unyielding.”

Darcy inclined his head. “And what became of him?”

Wickham’s gaze dropped. “He died,” he said.

The words fell between them. Darcy felt them like a blow—and still, he did not flinch. “I see,” he said.

Wickham swallowed. “A pity,” he added, though the word seemed insufficient even to his own ears.

Darcy regarded him steadily. “Yes,” he said.

“A great pity.”

Silence followed. The fire crackled in the grate. Around them, the murmur of other conversations continued, oblivious to the tension that had settled between the two men.

Wickham leaned back at last, as though the moment had cost him more than he wished to show. “You are a curious companion, Count Vendicarsi,” he said.

“I am.”

Wickham smiled faintly. “Perhaps that is why I find your company tolerable.”

Darcy inclined his head. “Perhaps.” But as he rose to take his leave some time later, he knew that something had shifted.

Wickham had always appeared careless and indolent. Now Darcy saw something else beneath both qualities. The man was haunted. And whatever remorse lay within him—it was real. Darcy was left to consider what Wickham’s remorse might accomplish. It might prove useful. It might destroy the man before justice could be done. It might even alter Darcy’s own intentions.

With a glance behind him, he noted that Wickham remained by the fire, his glass in hand, his thoughts—at last—no longer entirely his own.

Shaking his head, Darcy stepped out into the night, the cool air striking his face with welcome clarity.

Darcy did not intend, at first, to make a habit of seeking her. That was what he told himself. The first morning had been coincidence—so he had reasoned. He had risen early, restless from a night too full of thought and too empty of sleep and had gone out into the park with no fixed design beyond the need for air and motion. That she should be there as well, walking with that same grace he remembered, attended by a discreet footman and followed closely by the great dog, had seemed at once inevitable and entirely unforeseen.

The second morning had been less easily explained. By the third, he no longer troubled himself with pretense.

He had come to understand the general rhythm of her mornings, without knowing anything that propriety would forbid. She walked most mornings when the weather permitted, favoring a particular path where the trees arched overhead and the press of society was less constant. Sometimes she was accompanied by the children; sometimes by her sister; but more often she was alone save for the footman and the dog, whose loyalty required no instruction.

Darcy told himself that these encounters were necessary. He told himself that proximity allowed him to observe, to judge how much she knew, how far her suspicions extended, whether she might—when the time came—be trusted with more. His stated reasons were convenient, but they did not withstand scrutiny. He sought her company because he was drawn to her. Each step toward her carried him nearer to what he had lost and to the future he still dared to hope might be restored.