Miss Darcy's Companion: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Read Online Free PDF Page A

stupidity, did Wickham imagine him ignorant of the sordid ways he had abandoned himself to, ever since he had voluntarily relinquished any claim to the living? Did the fool think he would not know that he had squandered his legacy of a thousand pounds, as well as the compensation in lieu of the living, on women of ill repute and in shady gambling dens? And now he was prepared to guide simple souls towards their reward in Heaven. Ha! He must think him very simple indeed to imagine he was likely to believe it.
    So he had learned of Rev. Hodges’ demise from whatever misguided acquaintance in the north that was still willing to give him the time of day. Very well. Then the same acquaintance could inform him that the living of Kympton had already been entrusted to Mr Hodges’ curate and even now the parsonage was being refurbished in preparation for Mr Bradden’s occupation. An eminently decent fellow in his mid-twenties who, despite his years, had shown more compassion and interest in the parishioners’ welfare than Wickham could hope to feign in his entire lifetime. He was already fulfilling all the duties of a vicar and had done so for six months complete, ever since Rev. Hodges’ failing health had made him unable to leave his home for anything but the very occasional church service.
    Bradden had willingly stepped into the breach and it was high time he got the recognition. Most assuredly he would not be passed over for the sake of a deceiving rat, much as Wickham had managed to secure his late father’s good opinion, Darcy determined grimly, refusing to acknowledge the old pain, still raw, after all these years.
    It was all in the past now – his father’s soft spot for Wickham, their closeness, their companionable laughter. At least in the final years of his life, George Darcy might have recognised that, different as he and his son might have been in temper, they did share the same sense of duty.
    The distance between them – present for as long as Darcy could remember, and which Wickham had so gleefully filled – might have been easier to bear had his father finished by seeing his godson for what he truly was. Or perhaps not. At least he had been spared the pain of that particular disappointment.
    With another scowl at the crumpled letter, Darcy conceded that simply ignoring his requests was not enough and – if not today, then soon – he would have to put pen to paper and let the rogue know they would never be granted.
    A light knock disrupted the dark train of thought and he looked up with vexed impatience.
    “Yes, Peter? I asked not to be disturbed,” Darcy spoke up with more than his usual sternness, and the young footman shuffled uncomfortably on his feet.
    “Pray forgive me, Sir, but there is someone here to see you.”
    “Whoever he is, he will have to wait.”
    “’Tis a young lady, Sir, from Malvern House, she says. Her name is Miss Bennet.”
    “Ah. Is the Colonel here as well?”
    “No, Sir.”
    “I see.”
    He did not, in truth. Fitzwilliam had declared his intention of accompanying her, but he must have reconsidered or had been detained. It was just as well. Darcy found he would much rather speak to her alone, without Fitzwilliam’s well-meaning but vexing interference.
    “Thank you, Peter. I will see her. Pray wait a quarter-hour, then show her in.”
    “Very well, Sir.”
    As soon as the footman left him, Darcy leaned back in his seat and ran a hand over his face. He needed the respite he had requested so that he could set aside the roiling anger caused by Wickham and give his full attention to the task at hand.
    Perhaps he should have jotted down the points that had to be addressed. Her circumstances. Her education. Her family of course – it had great bearing on a person’s conduct, morals and precepts.
    His expectations of her would have to be laid out very clearly. He was not about to entrust Georgiana’s comfort to a young chit barely out of the schoolroom without ensuring