by P. O. Dixon
His voice pained on Elizabeth’s behalf, Mr. Darcy said, “In saying you are not without connections, I was thinking only of myself. I can intervene on your behalf. I can be the one you need at such a time as this when you need it most. Let me do your bidding.”
Elizabeth held up her hand. “No, I cannot allow it.”
“Why in heavens not?” Mr. Darcy asked, his expression as well as his tone evidencing a measure of exasperation.
“How could I possibly expect you to involve yourself in this matter? You who are so wholly unconnected to my family and me, especially when I refuse to go to either of them?”
“At the risk of sounding immodest, I have immeasurable means the likes of which your family cannot even fathom. Coble will come to know I am the last man in the world he would wish to cross.”
He drew closer to Elizabeth. “I know your heart is in the right place, and your intentions for your family are good. I fear you have suffered a burden which no one in your situation ought to have endured. Not that you are wanting or that you lack true grit, strength, and determination. You are not yet one and twenty, and yet you are expected to protect a mother as well as four sisters – sisters whose ages are approximately the same as your own. Worst of all, your best efforts have always been hampered by the fact that your home is entailed away from the female line, placing all of you at the mercy of a stranger until recently.”
“And unless my sister marries Mr. Collins and until they beget a male heir, my family’s situation will remain tenuous,” Elizabeth reminded her companion. “As hopeless as it may seem to you, the burden of protecting my family is my fate. My father entrusted the responsibility to me. I will not forsake his memory.”
“No one expects you to forsake your father’s memory, Miss Elizabeth. But surely, your late father would not have expected you to forsake your happiness. I will not allow you to forsake your happiness, not so long as it is within my power to affect a solution far better than is currently expected.”
“As tempting as it is to surrender my burdens to you, sir, I do not know that I can.”
“Is this your final resolve?”
“I fear I have no choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“Then, I choose to absolve you from this entire sordid affair. I know what I must do.”
“Then, I will leave you to it,” he declared, with more feeling than politeness. Collecting himself, he said, “Good day, Miss Elizabeth. I, too, know what I must do.”
“What does that even mean, Mr. Darcy?”
“Do you trust me, Miss Elizabeth? I mean really trust me?”
Tears pooled in her eyes. She nodded.
He took her hands in his. “Then trust me.”
Men of Jerrod Coble’s ilk were Darcy’s abhorrence. A man of sense and education with knowledge of the world, Darcy had met more than a few such men in his business dealings as well as in his personal life.
While listening to Elizabeth explaining her dilemma with Coble owing chiefly to her sister, the recollection of a harrowing incident with his former friend and now his worst enemy, George Wickham, immediately came to mind.
Taking advantage of unsuspecting young girls was Wickham’s modus operandi. Darcy’s own sister, Georgiana, had nearly fallen prey to Wickham’s ploy to elope with him so he could gain control of her inheritance of thirty thousand pounds.
At age fifteen, Georgiana’s life would have been ruined. Darcy’s unexpected, yet timely, arrival in Ramsgate put an end to the scheme, for when he made it clear to George Wickham that he would never see a penny of his sister’s inheritance, the scandal scurried off to parts unknown.
Darcy supposed rather than knew that Wickham was hiding under some rock in town. He could not care less whether his supposition was correct. What he had done, though, was take precautions to make sure Wickham would never pose a threat to his sister again by secretly buying the scoundrel’s debts, which amounted to more than a few thousand pounds. Unbeknown to Wickham, should he ever cross Darcy again, the latter would know precisely how to act.
In hindsight, taking care of George Wickham was easy. But what of Jerrod Coble? How on earth is this man to be worked on?
Before parting with Elizabeth, Darcy had asked her not to do anything rash. In the state she was in, he could not be sure she would heed his advice.
When it comes to protecting her family, Elizabeth heeds her own counsel, even at her own detriment.
She had effectively claimed her youngest sister’s perils as her own and all for the sake of her family’s reputation and their security.
Having never met Elizabeth’s late father, Darcy could not help but question the man’s judgment. Was it not enough that despite Elizabeth’s best intentions, her hands would forever be tied, owing to the circumstances of the entail?
Now is not the time to pass judgment on a man whom I knew nothing about, nor is it time to ponder what might have been.
All his time and attention must be focused on the problem at hand – working on the vile Mr. Coble.
Even the most powerful of men have their Achilles heel – a particular weakness capable of leading to their downfall. Be it greed, a shady past, skeletons hidden away in a closet, insurmountable gambling debts, or worse. Whatever is Coble’s vice, I must do everything in my power to unearth it.
The alternative of Elizabeth bending to that vile man’s will is not an option.
Darcy supposed his friend Charles Bingley, having settled in his new home weeks ahead of Darcy’s arrival, seemed the logical first step in the quest to ascertain who Jerrod Coble was and what he was all about. Actually, engaging his London solicitors by way of an urgent express was the first order of business. Having done that, Darcy sat across from Bingley in the drawing-room at Netherfield.
“Darcy, it seems out of character for you to express such a keen interest in someone like Mr. Coble. Might I ask what this is about? Does it involve matters of business?”
He nodded. “You might say that. Pray, what do you know about his character?”
“Very little, I am afraid. He is one of the few gentlemen who has not called on Netherfield to introduce himself, as so many others have done. I would say he does not easily recommend himself to strangers. On the other hand, he is known to dine regularly with the officers. He has had them at his home on many occasions, or so I have heard. I believe he may be a bit of a gamester. Of course, I am merely speculating. Should I make a concerted effort to discover more about him?”
Darcy shook his head. “No, that will not be necessary. In fact, say nothing of anything to anyone about my interest in this man. For now, I must not show my hand.”
“Of course. You may rely upon my discretion,” Bingley replied. Changing the subject, he continued, “That being said, there is a matter which I wish to discuss with you. It has to do with Miss Bennet.”
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy said, his first thought being of Elizabeth. Always Elizabeth.
Bingley nodded. “Miss Jane Bennet.”
Darcy released his breath. Of course, Bingley was speaking of Jane. In fact, he often speaks of the eldest Bennet sister.
Darcy leaned forward. “What is it you wish to say?”
“Well—I know I may have said this before, but this time I really mean it. At least, I think I do. I know I want to.” Bingley combed his fingers through his hair. “I – I—”
“You what?”
“I am in love with her,” Bingley explained. He bolted to his feet and started pacing. “However, I fear she does not return my feelings.”
Darcy sat there in silence, his heart going out to his friend. What could he say? What could he do? He, too, had observed his friend and Miss Jane Bennet together on several occasions since his arrival in Hertfordshire. Several times the gentlemen had called at Longbourn. They even took a family dinner with the Bennets. They also had been in company with the Bennets at a couple of the other neighboring estates for dinner.
True, Miss Bennet smile
d a lot whenever she was engaged in discussion with Bingley, but other than that, Darcy had seen no evidence of any real affection.
“Darcy,” he said, “did you not hear me?”
“Pray, forgive me, Bingley. What are you asking?”
“Do you suppose it is merely Caroline’s repeated disparagement of the Bennets that have made me doubt my own opinion? If so, I am asking for yours. Do you agree with my sister that any feelings Miss Bennet may have for me are rooted in her desire to do what is in the best interest of her family and nothing more?”
Chapter 22
Darcy’s determined pursuit of Mr. Coble found him back in London because that is where the latter had gone. Coble’s being in town eased Darcy’s troubled mind, for so long as the scoundrel was in London, he was away from Elizabeth and her family. For now, the Bennets, and especially Elizabeth, were safe.
Even in London, Darcy’s conversation with his friend Bingley kept creeping into his mind when least expected. What a conundrum for his young friend. What a conundrum for Darcy.
He knew enough to know that the Bennet sisters fiercely protected their own, even at the expense of their own individual happiness. This was undoubtedly true of Elizabeth. He had no reason to suppose Miss Jane Bennet’s motives did not mirror her sister’s. Complicating Darcy’s situation, even more, were his own feelings for Elizabeth.
I have fallen in love with Elizabeth. And yet, she acts as though she does not know it. How can she consider marrying a man out of fear of retribution against her family when all the love I have for her is right here?
Have my sentiments not been on full display? Have I not shown Elizabeth the depth of my feelings for her through my actions, even if not in so many words?
By now, Darcy had gathered enough knowledge about Mr. Coble to wage a campaign to spare the Bennets from the man’s evil scheme. Darcy’s solicitors arranged a face-to-face meeting between the two gentlemen purportedly for purposes of business.
They met at White’s.
Seated at a table ideally suited to their purposes, Darcy’s desire to conclude their business demanded that they commence negotiations before they finished the first round of drinks.
“Now that you know who I am,” Darcy said, tacitly acknowledging that his solicitors’ investigations of Coble had encouraged the latter to make inquiries of his own, “the unseemly matter between you and the Bennet family is at its end.”
Taken aback, Coble reared his head. “I beg your pardon. What do my affairs with the Bennets have to do with this supposed business arrangement we are here to discuss?”
“The cessation of your ‘dealings’ with the Bennets is the business arrangement at hand. I am prepared to be very generous. Indeed, here is my offer,” said Darcy, retrieving a slip of paper from his pocket. He slid it, face down, to Coble’s side of the table.
Wasting no time, Coble seized it. The man almost gasped aloud. His menacing eyes bulged.
Mr. Darcy said nothing.
Coble broke the silence. Rubbing his chin, he asked, “Mind if I ask what these Bennets are to you? A man of your standing does not offer this much on behalf of a penniless lot of ninnies with no connections, no fortunes, and nothing to recommend themselves.”
Darcy leaned in. “My interest in this matter can be nothing to you. Take the money and be satisfied knowing that your future will be far more enhanced in having done so.”
Coble scoffed. “That sounds like a threat.”
Darcy shrugged. “Take it as a threat or a promise. The end result will be the same. If you refuse my offer, I will exercise every means at my disposal to ruin you. As it stands now, you are nothing to me.”
Pushing his chair away from the table, Darcy stood. “Let us keep it that way.” He nodded. “I shall expect to hear from you before too long.”
Not long after Darcy quit the establishment, a tall man who had been sitting with a rather respectable-looking gentleman at another table across the room sauntered over to where Coble sat.
“Do you mind if I join you?” the man asked.
Coble looked up from the paper he was still studying. With that amount of money, all his troubles would be over. What a tempting offer indeed.
“Do I know you, sir?” Coble asked.
“Not yet, but you will want to know me, I am sure. It appears we share a mutual acquaintance. And judging by the manner of your former drinking partner’s abrupt departure, he is no fonder of you than he is of me.”
No doubt taking Coble’s silence as encouragement, the tall gentleman sat in the chair Darcy had abandoned and held out his hand. “I am George Wickham - at your service.”
Elizabeth may have been at Longbourn in body, but hardly in spirit. Her busy mind was thoroughly engaged in unknowing and conjecture.
Mr. Darcy returned to London. The last Elizabeth had heard, Mr. Coble was away too. Is it too much to hope Coble is lying face down in a ditch alongside a lonely country road?
Elizabeth never wished to cause anyone harm. But if she had the power to make wishes come true, she would not be in her current predicament.
My beloved father would be alive.
There would be no entail on our home.
My sister Jane would see.
Her wish that the one man who would be her greatest enemy was dead amounted to nothing.
Elizabeth’s busy mind continued racing. Is that scoundrel in town? Does Mr. Darcy’s being in town have anything to do with Mr. Coble’s absence from Hertfordshire?
Whatever the reason for the man’s absence, one thing was clear. His being away gave Elizabeth a much-needed reprieve, even if it was temporary.
Elizabeth buried herself in the book she received in Kent. With the turn of each page, she fought the urge to think of the gentleman who gave it to her and wonder what might have been.
Darcy had surely expected to hear from Coble, but it somewhat surprised him to know the man had come to his home. After telling his butler to show the man into his study, Darcy sat at his large mahogany desk and waited. He would not stand. Coble did not deserve such a courtesy.
“That did not take long.” Darcy gestured toward an empty chair, inviting the visitor to sit. “No doubt you are here to accept my offer in person.”
“Not exactly,” Coble replied, crossing one leg over the other. “Your offer is tempting, but I have since learned that it is hardly a sacrifice for a man of your means. I now feel rather insulted, knowing what I know.”
Darcy scoffed. “I am certain we both know things, Coble.”
“True, true. Let me just say I know more now than I did when we sat across from each other at White’s. From what I am told, keeping this new information from seeing the light of day is worth far more than this pittance.” Here, he crumbled the slip of paper Darcy had handed him earlier and threw it. It landed atop Darcy’s desk.
“You are a bigger fool than I thought, turning up your nose on such a bounty, and based on what? Some supposed new information that you think you can use against me?”
“I believe I would be a fool were I to accept your first offer, albeit a generous one, made to preserve the reputation of the Bennet sisters when the reputation of your own sister is at stake, would I not?”
Darcy rose from his chair. “My sister!” His eyes shot daggers at the man. “You dare to mention my sister. You know nothing about her.”
“On the contrary. I knew nothing about her when I entered White’s. But by the time I quit the establishment, I had learned quite a bit about the young lady, as well as her dowry of thirty thousand pounds.”
The man did not need to say more. The earlier suspicion Darcy had suffered that his nemesis George Wickham was sulking about in the shadows at White’s, he had dismissed thinking it merely a figment of his imagination.
Coble sitting across from him and smirking, no less, said it all.
“You have made a grievous mistake in coming here, Coble. Indeed, instead of being nothing to me as I had hoped you would be, you have placed y
ourself in grave danger of being my worst enemy.
“You know your own vices as well as I do. Three dead wives warrant more than mere cursory investigations, do they not? I have the means to pursue the truth to the ends of the earth. Do not give me the motive!”
Darcy retrieved the crumpled paper from his desk and hurled it at Coble’s face. “Accept my one and only offer and walk away!”
Chapter 23
Finding his nemesis was easy enough, for where else would he be but in the general proximity of a Mrs. Younge, the woman who had been in charge of Darcy’s sister during the Ramsgate incident.
Getting the woman to betray her cohort’s whereabouts did not take much effort. Now, it was Darcy’s turn to sit opposite George Wickham, but in an establishment not quite so exclusive as White’s. The smoked-filled air, the stench of cheap liquor, and the steady roar of laughter and foul language occupied every corner of the room. Darcy could hardly think a month’s ablution enough to cleanse him from its impurities but dealing with Wickham must be done.
“What brings you here?” Wickham asked, his expression as though Darcy was the last person whom he expected to see that evening.
Darcy glared at his former friend. George Wickham’s vile propensities always rendered him unworthy of polite society, but never before had Darcy recalled the man’s general appearance being so wanting. No wonder he did not recognize him earlier at White’s.
“Well, do not just stand there looking stupid,” Wickham said. “Pull up a chair, old man. Let us have a round of drinks - on you, of course.”
“I did not come all this way to have drinks, you fool.”
“Is that any way to greet an old friend?”
Darcy scoffed. “An old friend? There may have been a time when we were friends. But you are nothing to me now.”
