Page 71

Chapter 18

London

The Royal Academy of Art

Somerset House

The Summer Exhibition

George Wickham was thoroughly enjoying his stroll through the summer display in the Great Exhibition Room of the Royal Academy of Art. Having had the good fortune of being born to the steward at Pemberley, he was raised almost as a member of the illustrious Darcy family after his father’s death, so faking his suitability to be among this crowd was no hardship. He was an expert at parroting the manners of the ton.

It mattered little that he might not have the funds necessary for a room at an inn. The money that he did have went towards the purchase of clothes that mimicked those worn by Fitzwilliam Darcy—his coats, gloves, hats and even his boots were of the same style. A good first impression was essential to one’s livelihood when one lived by one’s wits. Even though there were times he had not eaten well, he had always cut a dashing figure. Fortunately, with his new partnership with the count, the lean times seemed to be in the past. A small smirk lifted the corners of Wickham’s mouth as he surveyed the unsuspecting throng.

Hobnobbing with the wealthy, well-connected, cream of society—this is where he belonged!

Truth be known, though he may have been a little awed by the display of hundreds of paintings hung on the walls at every conceivable level, he was more impressed by the sheer number of jewels conspicuously hung about the necks of the women perusing the art. If he played his cards right, perhaps he might be able to find his next victim—either someone whose jewellery would make a fine addition to his collection for the count or a vulnerable woman he could manipulate, as he had Mrs. Preston.

Suddenly his eyes came to rest on a beautiful pair of breasts, adorned by a lovely drop pearl surrounded by diamonds, all prominently displayed in a gown the colour of a summer sky. As his eyes journeyed upward, Wickham found that the breasts and the necklace belonged to a beautiful woman who looked to be in her thirties, with honey-blond hair and eyes the same shade as her frock. She was watching him, too, and a slight smile flickered across her face before she turned to address a man to her left. This man was half-hidden in the crowd, and Wickham could not make him out.

Not one to be put off by a woman’s husband, fiancé or family, Wickham sauntered across the room in her direction. He was within twenty feet of her, when the crowd thinned and the man who accompanied this vision turned. It was Stefano! The count caught sight of him at the same time, and his smile fell away. He had made it clear that Wickham was never to approach him if they met in public.

Wickham halted. His eyes wavered between the woman and Stefano as he quickly evaluated the situation. Then tilting his head slightly, he nodded curtly at the count, and turning on his heel, quickly retraced his footsteps to disappear into the crowd. Lady Gwendolyn Waltham watched the exchange, apparently amused that an admirer had been warned off by the count. She had no way of knowing that he and Stefano were partners in enterprises that would eventually involve her.

Meanwhile, satisfied that Wickham had done as instructed, the count turned to whisper to his next target, even as his eyes searched the room for an even bigger catch. “Gwendolyn, darling, why do we not go on to the next gallery? This one is so very crowded.” Taking her arm without waiting for a reply, he skilfully guided her through the next door and into yet another room teeming with opportunities for him.

Pemberley

Three days later

Evening

William slipped into Elizabeth’s bedroom to find Mrs. Drury asleep in the large upholstered chair beside her bed. He reached to touch the companion’s arm, and she startled before remembering where she was and why she was there. Glancing to Elizabeth and finding no change, she looked to Mr. Darcy and smiled sympathetically. Motioning with his head towards the door, he started in that direction, and she rose to follow, neither speaking until they were outside in the hallway.

She knew what he would say before he asked.

“Has there been any change?”

His weary eyes pleaded for hope, but she had none to give, not even for the man who was so obviously in love with Miss Elizabeth.

“No, sir.”

His shoulders slumped as his head dropped, and he studied the floor for a moment. Her heart went out to him as he was obviously distraught. His appearance, which had always been faultless, was now unkempt, and he looked as though he had not slept at all in the last three days. She did something she normally would not do—she reached out to pat his arm sympathetically. He took a shuddering breath.

“Do not give up! You are all she has; you must be strong!” As his eyes rose to inspect her, she could tell that he was starving for a ray of hope.

“She needs you to have faith in her. Tell her you expect her to recover. I have always felt that people in her condition hear much more than we realise that they do.”

William’s countenance changed immediately, and he straightened, standing tall and pulling his shoulders back. Mrs. Drury had no way of knowing that her advice had reminded him of Mr. Towson’s almost identical words. How could he have forgotten?

“Do not undertake this challenge unless you can do it wholeheartedly, believing she will recover. Your faith will have to sustain her until she can have faith in herself. She shall rely on your believing in her. Tell her she is going to be well, that you have faith in her ability to recover, and, if it be true, tell her you love her. Love works miracles for which no man of science can account.”

William patted the woman’s hand and tried to smile. “Thank you. You have given me excellent advice. Now, it is time you rest in your own bed. I shall sit with her until Mrs. Reynolds takes another turn. Please get some sleep, as you may be needed again.”

She nodded and with one last smile, turned and proceeded down the hall. As she arrived at the door to her room, she turned to see him waiting in the dim light of the candles along the wall, making sure she was safely inside. Both smiled at the shared encouragement.

Back in Elizabeth’s room, William replaced the almost burned out candle with another and then slumped down in the large, soft chair. Elizabeth looked so small in the large bed that he reached out to take hold of her hand. It was cold, so he began rubbing it, hoping to return some warmth. As he focused on massaging the soft skin, he reflected on what had happened in the last seventy-two hours.

Richard and Arthur had departed, but not before he had learned that the boy had no other knowledge of Elizabeth’s time at Northgate and could offer no suggestions to help her recall the ordeal she had been through. Shortly after they left, William was summoned to a far pasture to look over a shed that needed repair, and it was there that Evan found him and delivered the news of Mr. Hazelton’s death. He and Evan had immediately gone to the Hazelton’s estate and upon returning to Pemberley, found it in an uproar.