Mr. Darcy's Indiscretions

by Valerie Lennox

  Wickham clutched his chest. “Oh, I’m wounded. Steal from you, Lyddie? I would never.”

  “You have,” said Lydia. “More than once.”

  Elizabeth could not begin to comprehend the relationship between Lydia and Wickham. For some reason, Lydia tolerated the man, even though he was horrible. His fortune had not improved since he’d been dismissed from the militia and now he drifted through London from scheme to scheme, sometimes on top with some gambling winnings, but usually begging for funds from anyone he knew of, even Lydia.

  She thought that Lydia might have still found Wickham charming, in some sad way. Or maybe Lydia simply felt sorry for him. Elizabeth wasn’t sure.

  “No,” said Wickham. “I would never do such an awful thing to such a beautiful lady.” He threw himself down on a chair opposite Elizabeth and grinned. “Now, tell me about being despoiled again?”

  “I refuse to speak to you,” said Elizabeth.

  “The high and mighty Miss Elizabeth,” said Wickham. “Too good for the likes of me, even though her name has been dragged through the dirt by all of good society.”

  “What my sister chooses to do with Mr. Chivsworth is her own business,” said Lydia.

  “Lydia!” Elizabeth protested. “You are giving things away to him.”

  “Oh, sorry,” said Lydia, wrinkling up her nose.

  Yes, not a brain in her head. Elizabeth sighed.

  “Mr. Chivsworth, is it?” said Wickham. He leered at her. “Lucky man.”

  Elizabeth felt strongly as though she might vomit.

  Lydia went over to Wickham, grabbed him by the hand, and hauled him up out of the seat. “Out. Go to the front door, like I’ve told you, Georgie.”

  He winked at her. “I’m not here asking for anything, Lyddie.”

  Lydia sighed and crossed the room to find her reticule. She took out a few coins and pressed them into Wickham’s hand. “There. Now, off with you.”

  “You don’t need to do that,” said Wickham, who was already shoving the money into his pocket. “I can’t accept anything.”

  “Go,” said Lydia, pointing at the door.

  He kissed her on the cheek. “You’re a dove.”

  “Goodbye, Georgie.”

  Chuckling, he left.

  Lydia shut the door after him. “Oh, thank the Lord.”

  “I don’t see why you put up with him,” said Elizabeth. “Or why you give him money.”

  “With Wickham, it’s better to pay up if you want rid of him,” said Lydia.

  “It’s more than that.” Elizabeth arched her eyebrows. “You care about him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Lydia laughed airily. “For Georgie?”

  “You call him by a nickname. He calls you—”

  “I don’t care for him at all,” said Lydia. She crossed the room. “Let’s stop talking about him. If you are really serious about this Chivsworth business, then we have a lot of preparation to do.”

  “Of course I’m serious, and you mustn’t try to talk me out of it. I need to do this for the family.”

  “You realize, Lizzy, if you were to meet a man later—”

  “I won’t.”

  “But you’ll never be able to get married—”

  “We are a houseful of spinsters, and you know it.” Elizabeth squared her shoulders. “There is nothing to risk on that score. The only thing I fear is the knowledge of who I am getting out. There is a bit of infamy attached to me after what happened at Rosings. No one speaks of it anymore, but if anyone were to remember who I was, to put it all together—”

  “We will transform you,” said Lydia. “No one will even recognize you.”

  “Good,” said Elizabeth. “Then let’s get started.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Fitzwilliam Darcy would rather not be in London. It wasn’t that he hated London, not exactly. In fact, at one point in time in his life, he would have said that he liked the society of friends and the pace of it all. While he did not like being crowded into spaces with strangers, he was not averse to the warm friendship of those he already knew, and he rather liked witty conversation.

  But he liked little these days.

  For as long as he could manage, he had stayed in mourning for his late wife, but the time for that being acceptable had passed. Society was less forgiving of a bachelor who remained in mourning for a long period of time, anyway. The thought was that he needed to get back out there and find another wife.

  After all, he had come out of this marriage with no heir.

  But that very thought caused him to crumble inside. He got up from his desk and crossed the room to find a bottle of whiskey. He was about to pour himself a drink when there was a knock at the door.

  He set down the bottle. “Yes?”

  A footman appeared in the doorway. “Sir? It’s a Mr. Wickham in the sitting room downstairs.”

  “Wickham?” Darcy’s jaw tightened. “You let him in?”

  “Was I not supposed to?” said the footman, looking a bit worried.

  Darcy sighed heavily. “Oh, dash it all. Now that he’s inside, you’d have to haul him out bodily, and then he’d probably stand outside on the street and make a scene.” And that might upset Georgiana. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

  The first time that Mr. Wickham had darkened Mr. Darcy’s door after the incident with Georgiana, Darcy had thrown him into the street himself, with his own hands. And Wickham was lucky that Darcy hadn’t knocked him down with his fists as well.

  The second time that Wickham arrived, Darcy had just gotten married, and he was feeling charitable, and he’d let the blackguard in, but he hadn’t given in when Wickham asked for money.

  The third time…

  Well, the point was that Wickham had worn him down. Darcy wasn’t sure what kind of man had so little pride that he would keep coming begging from a man who he had wronged and who despised him, but apparently Wickham was that kind of man. It was easiest to give him a little something. Never much, of course, but enough to see him through, and then there would be no more Wickham for months.

  That is, if Wickham managed to gain entry. Darcy had told the staff at Pemberley to bar the door to him, and they did. The staff at his London house changed over more regularly, though, and they weren’t always as good at getting rid of him. Wickham was more likely to appear in London, also, which was unfortunate.

  Darcy poured himself a few fingers’ worth of the whiskey and downed it in a gulp. He felt the liquid coursing a warm path into his stomach, but he didn’t know if it had done much to lessen his annoyance at seeing Wickham.

  No matter. He had said he would see him. That was all there was to it.

  He hurried to the sitting room and opened the door.

  When he entered, Wickham stood up, not that Darcy cared how polite the man was pretending to be while he begged for money he didn’t deserve.

  “Darcy!” said Wickham, smiling broadly.

  “What do you want?” said Darcy, striding across the room without meeting Wickham’s eye.

  “Now, who says I want anything?” Wickham sat back down in his chair, getting comfortable. “Perhaps I’ve just come to see my old boyhood chum.”

  “Have you?” said Darcy, eyeing him.

  “How have you been?” said Wickham.

  “In mourning,” Darcy said flatly.

  “Oh, right, yes,” said Wickham. “So sorry about Mrs. Darcy. Terrible shame. And the babe too, I hear. At least it was only a girl.”

  Darcy rounded on him. “Out.”

  “Pardon me?”

  Darcy pointed at the door. “I don’t have to listen to this, to you. Get out of my house now.”

  “Oh, Lord, Darcy, you’re in a bad mood.” Wickham chortled. He didn’t move.

  Darcy marched back to the other side of the room and opened the door. “Get. Out. Now.”

  “You know,” said Wickham, not budging from his chair, “I just saw Miss Elizabeth Bennet today. That was what reminded me of you
in the first place. I saw her, and I remembered that she hated you, and I thought, ‘I should stop by and see old Darcy again, shouldn’t I?’”

  Darcy paused at the door. Elizabeth Bennet. Now that was a name he hadn’t heard in a while. He’d always felt a little grim about what had become of her. More than once, he’d thought of trying to call on her and offer for her again. Or to offer something to help her.

  It had been his fault she’d been caught up in that business. He knew his aunt must have been responsible for it all. But then Mr. Bennet had been killed suddenly, and the whole family had been turned out of the household by Mr. Collins, who inherited Longbourn. The speed of that was likely due to his aunt’s influence on Collins as well, he thought. But, at any rate, he’d lost track of her. “You see Miss Elizabeth? She allows you to call on her?”

  “Well, not exactly,” said Wickham. “She’s not nearly as nice to me as she used to be. Probably your fault, I wager. You’re always turning people against me.” Wickham fussed with his cravat as if this was always being turned against him by Darcy as well.

  “So, then, how did you see her? Where is she? Is she in London?”

  Wickham grinned. “Oh, so it’s like that, is it?” He sat up straighter. “I heard rumors that you proposed to her and that she turned you down flat, but I thought it had to be rot. Because someone like you would never lower himself so far as to offer for the likes of her. But maybe there was some truth to it.”

  Darcy shook his head. There was no point in continuing this conversation. It wasn’t worth any knowledge that Wickham might give him. Besides which, he didn’t care about Miss Elizabeth. Why should he, after all? “Never mind it, Wickham. I need you to go.”

  “I know all manner of wicked things about Miss Elizabeth,” said Wickham. “And I could tell you an earful. But it’ll cost you.”

  “Lord, Wickham, don’t be ridiculous,” said Darcy. “I’m not paying you for gossip.”

  “She’s right on the brink of becoming notorious, if I understand it myself.” Wickham made a tent with his fingers and rested them under his chin.

  “Notorious? What are you talking about?”

  “As I say, it’ll cost you.”

  Darcy rolled his eyes, but he found himself shutting the door. “Fine. How much money do you want this time?”

  Wickham named an amount.

  “Have you lost your mind?” said Darcy. “No.” He started to open the door again.

  Wickham named another, significantly lower amount. “She is in London. I know her address.”

  Darcy made a disgusted face. But he stalked across the room, taking a key out of his breast pocket as he did so. He used the key to unlock a drawer in one of his desks and he found some money there. He counted out what Wickham had asked for and showed it to the man.

  Wickham got up, hand out.

  “No,” said Darcy. “Tell me first, and then you’ll get your money.”

  “The way I understand it,” said Wickham. “She’s going to become Mr. Chivsworth’s mistress.”

  “Mistress?” said Darcy. “But she is—” He broke off. Well, she was not of such an elevated station, actually, and it was his fault. “I still don’t think she would ever do such a thing.”

  “I think the family is in financial distress,” said Wickham. “They’re dealing with gambling debts left behind by their late mother.”

  Oh, so Mrs. Bennet was gone as well? Darcy had never liked the woman, but he was sorry for it. He knew what it was like to have lost both parents, and it was difficult. “Chivsworth?” Darcy shook his head. “I’ve never met him.” But he had heard of the man. He was a baronet, so Darcy thought.

  “Really? I’ve met Chivsworth,” said Wickham.

  “Oh, well, capital,” said Darcy sarcastically.

  “Chivsworth never has a mistress, because he only wants to bed virgins.”

  Darcy’s lip curled. “That is positively—”

  “Willing to pay lots of money for it, I imagine,” said Wickham.

  “How would Miss Bennet even be privy to such things?” said Darcy. “She would have no connection to someone like Chivsworth.”

  “Her sister, most likely.”

  “Which sister?”

  “Oh, right,” said Wickham. “I’d forgotten that you don’t know that either. You’ve heard of Miss Lydia Swan, I assume?”

  “The courtesan?” said Darcy. “Why, yes, I even saw her from afar at one of those balls at Cartwright’s. Colonel Fitzwilliam is always dragging me to them. She was…” He trailed off, and then he realized that she had looked a little familiar. “Lydia Swan is actually Lydia Bennet.”

  “That’s right,” said Wickham. “She really is the most fun of the Bennet sisters, I must say.”

  “Well if there is one woman of pleasure in the family, then why add to the number?” said Darcy. “Why can’t Miss Lydia take up with Chivsworth?”

  “Because he only wants virgins. I’ve explained this,” said Wickham.

  “And this is all because of gambling debts?”

  “I believe so.”

  “You said you knew where Miss Elizabeth lived, did you not?”

  * * *

  Darcy didn’t know why he found himself calling on the Bennet household the following morning. He had only the vaguest outline of a plan, and he wasn’t entirely sure what it might comprise, but he’d been agitated since he’d received the news from Wickham.

  He hadn’t slept well, in fact. He didn’t like thinking of the business. It was sordid.

  Certainly, he no longer had feelings for Miss Elizabeth. He hadn’t had feelings for her in quite some time, and even when he had, they’d been some kind of passing madness. He was not the sort of man who entered into an alliance with a woman like her, and he knew it. Even before his aunt had meddled and destroyed her reputation, she had been below him.

  He had been taken with her bright eyes and her quick wit. The fact that she had not fawned all over him had been appealing as well. Most women seemed to fall all over themselves around him. They all wanted to secure their places as his wife, and not because of anything other than his station and his fortune. Elizabeth had seemed immune to that, and he had been charmed by it.

  But she had not been interested, and even though he wondered if she might have changed her mind after that awful business with Cumberbottom, he was glad he’d never pursued it, because it would have been tainted, then. If she was only taking him because she had no other options, it wouldn’t have meant the same thing.

  And back then, he was young, and he was proud, and he was worried about how he might be perceived if he took a wife with a colorful past.

  Now, none of that mattered. He didn’t care much about anything anymore. He had felt gray and empty since Anne and the baby had died, and he hated himself for all of it. Anne had always been sickly. He should never have gotten her with child at all. And once she was with child, he’d taken her to the country, and he shouldn’t have done that. And he’d allowed her to work with midwives, and not the accoucheurs that everyone raved about in London. He had as good as killed her.

  He was no good to anyone, that was how Darcy saw it. He couldn’t even get his sister married off, even though she’d been out in society for three seasons. Thinking he could help Elizabeth Bennet? It was folly. Thinking she’d want help from him? Ha. She’d just as likely spit in his face.

  But here he was, heading to her home, and he had no idea what he was going to say to her.

  What he did know was that ever since he had heard she was about to become Chivsworth’s mistress, he’d had the most abominable visions of Elizabeth without her clothes in bed with that man, and he could not chase them from his mind. They were driving him to the brink of madness. He had never really even contemplated Elizabeth without her clothes before.

  Well.

  That was perhaps a lie, but he had not contemplated it for such a stretch of time, at any rate. He had stricken such an improper thought from his head at once,
as was only right. At least, mostly, he had stricken them. Almost always.

  It was going to be unbearable when she received him in her home and he looked at her, and he recalled that he had been imagining her bare skin.

  He shouldn’t go at all, in fact. He should turn around and go home.

  Yes, that’s exactly what he would do. He would turn around, and he would not visit the Bennet sisters. To do so would be quite insupportable.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Elizabeth did not know what to do with herself. What was Mr. Darcy doing here? How had Mr. Darcy even found them? Why would he call on them?

  It was mortifying, because they had nothing to offer him, not even bread and butter, since they had kept all of that back for Lydia’s visit the day before. There was nothing but tea and a bit of milk, and they were obliged to serve it to themselves, because they only paid for a maid of all work a few days of the week. The rest of the time she served another family in similar straits to themselves.

  Elizabeth wished he would leave.

  Mr. Darcy himself looked very uncomfortable. He kept coughing and saying the same stupid thing over and over. “It certainly has been a long time.” The rest of the time, he was maddeningly silent.

  Elizabeth remembered that he was rather bad at making conversation. She sipped at her tea. “Well, I daresay you’re a busy man, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Busy?” said Darcy. “Well, not entirely, no.”

  “But certainly you have other things you need to attend to today. We would hate to keep you from them,” said Elizabeth.

  “Lizzy,” admonished Jane. She smiled at Mr. Darcy. “You must forgive my sister. We are unaccustomed to having visitors. She has quite forgotten her manners.”

  “Oh, no, indeed,” said Mr. Darcy. “I, um, that is, I…” He coughed. “It certainly has been a long time.”

  Elizabeth glared at him.

  “Do you see Mr. Bingley much these days?” said Jane. “And his sisters?”

  “Sometimes,” said Darcy.

  “And how are they?” said Jane.

  “Oh, well,” said Darcy. “Quite well.”

  “You must convey to them our greetings and well wishes, of course,” said Jane.