The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy by Marsha Altman Page B

not have to provide an inheritance for Isabella Wickham made the marriage
possible. He was a pleasant fellow—not overly bright, but sensible enough to limit his wife’s pin money to something manageable. His redeeming qualities were his love for Lydia and desire to support her, and his general concern for the well-being of the Wickham children he had inherited with the marriage. Although not flawless, he was good enough to be liked by the family as a whole. Lydia had done her wifely duty of providing him with two children, one male, in the space of three years, so she must have been inclined to him as well. It was a relief to the family.
    That left George and Isabella in a somewhat awkward position. Their financial futures were secure—more secure, in fact, than the rest of their family’s—but even though he was a better father, Mr. Bradley was not their father. They would forever be “the Wickham children.”
    Young George’s appearance had stunned Darcy; the boy had shot up like a weed in spring and looked very much like his father. He needed only his side whiskers to complete the picture, but was too young to grow them. He had his mother’s eyes. Unlike the rest of the guests, the Darcys had enough tact not to discuss George’s resemblance to his late father. In personality, the young man was pleasant, but quiet and often anxious, and his current stage of rapid physical changes did not aid his social development. George had lost his cousin Joseph when George moved out of Longbourn, and Geoffrey and Charles were in Derbyshire most of the year.Young George was not to go to Eton or Harrow. He would go straight on to university, and then probably the church or higher academia.
    Darcy gave him a rare smile to reassure him, but there was only so much that he could tell a young man of three and ten. So he employed neutral conversation over lunch. “How is your sister? Does she enjoy living in town?”
    â€œVery much,” George said, dissecting his intimidating steak. “She prefers it to the countryside, though I think she misses our grandparents and Aunt Townsend. And she’s positively sick of being escorted everywhere.”

    â€œIt is better for her to be sick of it than not have it,” he said. “And how do you find town?”
    â€œI don’t go out much,” George said. “Dr. Maddox took me to a lecture at the Royal College of Physicians.”
    â€œReally? What was it about?”
    â€œThey were debating the new vaccines. There was a speaker, but at the end they were all shouting over him. Dr. Maddox said it’s usually like that. Everyone has their own opinion.”
    â€œAnd Dr. Maddox’s opinion?”
    â€œThe doctor thought they needed more testing before they could be deemed safe, but he barely said a thing the whole time. He said when he voiced his opinions they were unpopular, and he didn’t appreciate being yelled at for what he thought was a good idea by old fogies. So he said that he would wait until he was a fogy to put forth his ideas.”
    Darcy smiled. “Dr. Maddox is a brilliant man. What did you think of it?”
    â€œIt was interesting, but I don’t know how they do it. I can’t stand the thought of performing surgery. It makes me feel ill.”
    His uncle chuckled. “If you think you are the only person with such thoughts, you should ask the esteemed Dr. Maddox what he thought of his first surgical lecture at Cambridge. Ask him how long he made it into the lecture.”
    For the first time, George smiled. “I will. Thank you.”
    George was too young to fence or gamble, so there was little else for him at White’s, and they left after dinner, walking back up the lane beside the Thames. It was an early summer day, and it was during the season, so girls under white umbrellas were going up and down the lanes with their friends. More than once, Darcy saw George turn his