“What can you arrest me for?”
“You have trespassed on Pemberley’s grounds, Wickham.”
Lord Markham pulled his arm back and continued to pace, speaking more to himself than others. “I will not be responsible for my actions,” he sneered at the younger man. “Do not test me.”
Wickham, cackled at the man’s statements. “Your anger will cost you, sir. Because you are uncertain of how to behave like a gentleman, the price just became more expensive. I recommend you think before you make threats.”
Lord Markham glanced around at the footmen in the room, before casting a questioning look at Darcy, who replied to the unanswered question. “My staff can be trusted implicitly, sir. I can guarantee their silence.”
At that, the door opened and in walked Margaret Anderson.
“Maggie, darling!” Wickham exclaimed, a warmth in his tone which was not present only moments before. “At last. My Maggie, I have found you!”
Darcy looked from Wickham to Margaret Anderson. “Mrs. Anderson. What brings you here?”
“Darcy, address her properly! That is Mrs. George Wickham! My love,” Wickham oozed. “I am alive! I came to you as soon as I was able.”
“You did?” she asked with wide eyes, walking towards him.
“I did! I was imprisoned and reported dead but made my way across the channel to Brighton. I became ill and have been recuperating but came as soon as I could. Our babe,” he said extending his hands to her stomach. “I am to be a father?”
“Does that please you?” she asked with little emotion.
“Of course, it pleases me. We will name him George, and you will be the sweetest mother.”
“Do you believe there is not already an abundance of little George Wickham’s running around across different estates in England?”
“I do not comprehend your meaning, my love. Now, tell these men to unhand me, and we will leave for London at once.”
“No, you will not,” Turner said, walking up behind Mrs. Anderson and placing his hand on her shoulder.
“Sir, unhand my wife at once!” Wickham spat, attempting to stand, only to be pushed down by the footman Nathaniel. “Maggie, what is the meaning of this?”
“Do not address me so informally. We have not been introduced.”
“Not been introduced? My sweet lass from Cornwall, say what you will, but we have been more than introduced. That babe within you is mine.”
She walked over and slapped him across the face. “I do not know who you are, but my husband is dead. He died in the war, and you could never be half the man I believed him to be.”
She turned her back to him and walked to the door. At that very moment, it opened, admitting Georgiana, Mrs. Anderson, Lady Markham, and Lady Cecilia.
“Oh, look,” Wickham said as the door closed. “It is a reunion. Welcome, ladies.”
The women looked from one to the other, before Georgiana began. “You had no right to come to my home.”
“Now, Georgie, I…”
“You will cease your talking and listen,” Lady Cecilia stated.
“Ceci, why are you angry? You told me you always wanted to travel, and you were able to see America, if I understand correctly.”
Lady Cecilia, raised her chin, but her eyes shot daggers at the man sitting before them.
“How can no one take responsibility for their own actions?” Wickham chuckled, rubbing his cheek with his hand at the remnants of Margaret Anderson’s smarting blow. “Am I to be the blame of all the world’s problems? Shall Napoleon blame me when he loses the war? Does the King blame me for the revolt of the colonists?” He looked around the room. “You must all realize I am not responsible for your choices.”
“You disgust me,” Georgiana said, folding her arms and retreating back against Mrs. Anderson.
“Yes, well. Once again, your choice…”
“You should have let me run him through, Darce,” Richard said, coming around from the back of the couch and standing before Wickham. “I should have just done it and begged forgiveness later.”
The first look of fear crossed Wickham’s face. “You would not unfairly injure a man with all these witnesses, Richard. What would your commanding officers think?”
“Obviously, you are not a real military man, Wickham. Strange things happen on the battlefield which are unexplainable. No one would miss you.”
“Do you have a black soul?” Lord Markham asked, stopping his pacing to stare at Wickham. “Do you have no regrets for your actions?
Wickham rubbed his jaw again, and shook his head. “No. My only regret, is that I did not get any of your dowries. But, no matter. I will still get what I want.”
Lord Markham walked back and forth, holding up his hand when Darcy attempted to speak. “And what is it that you want?”
Without hesitation, Wickham said, “I want a new life. Somewhere where no one knows me, and I can live like the gentleman I truly am; where I can live the life I deserve, and not be reminded daily that it was stolen away from me. Somewhere without young whining girls or old haggard woman demanding so much from me. That is what I want.”
After a moment of silence, Lord Markham nodded his head. “Then that is what you will get. I will see to it.”
“Lord Markham…”
“No, Mr. Darcy. You have attempted to rein in this man for the last sixteen years. Allow me to have a turn.”
Darcy nodded. “I would at least like to know what his fate holds. I do not wish him to have easy passage back to England to take up where he left off torturing my family.”
“No, I promise all in this room,” Lord Markham said calmly, “that Mr. Wickham will receive passage to the Americas and a new life. It is what he deserves.”
With Wickham locked in a room under guard until Markham’s people could ensure Wickham’s travel in the morning, Darcy and the guests from his study made their way back to the ballroom, where the dancing continued. Georgiana wore a smile that could have lit up the sky and danced every remaining dance that night. Lady Cecilia danced no more and excused herself to her room. Mr. Turner did as he promised and sat with Mrs. Anderson in a quiet corner, only standing up once with Georgiana. And Mr. Darcy? Well, Mr. Darcy was searching for a beautiful face with fine eyes surrounded by chestnut curls.
“Richard, have you happened to notice where Miss Bennet has run off to? I need to speak with her directly.”
“Come to think of it, I have not seen her since her sister came in the door two hours ago with Wickham and… What about Mrs. Younge?”
“I have not forgotten about her. The footmen are even now searching the house and the grounds.”
After another hour, he was informed that all common rooms had been checked, with no sign of Mrs. Younge.
“She must have slipped out when she realized Wickham had been caught.”
“You might be right. But, I think we must be on our guard. She cannot be a contemporary of Wickham’s for no reason. She is just as culpable for his actions.”
Darcy nodded his assent and, and took the stairs down to Mrs. Reynolds office. “Mr. Darcy. What are you doing down here? I trust Wickham has been disposed of?”
“Not the way you would wish, ma’am, but in a sense, yes.”
She clucked her tongue and spoke through clenched teeth. “The idea that that man would believe he has the right to come into this house. What is to be done with him?”
“Lord Markham is seeing to his relocation plans.”
“Relocation? Hmmm… Very well, then. What can I do for you?”
“Are you aware of where Miss Bennet has disappeared to?”
“Yes, sir. She has retired for the night with her aunt and…sister.” He noticed Mrs. Reynolds looking up at him with a distasteful countenance.
“Thank you. I will see her in the morning, then.”
“Yes, sir.”
Darcy turned and made his way towards the stairs, before pausing in his ascent. “Mrs. Reynolds. It might be premature, as
no formal announcement has been made…”
She stopped to look at him with hope in her eyes.
“But, could you please see to the airing out of the mistress’s chambers tomorrow?”
A grin spread across the woman’s face and a tear welled up in her eye as she nodded her agreement. “Nothing would give me more joy, sir. It will be done.”
He nodded and walked back up the stairs, disappointed he would not be able to dance the last that night with Elizabeth, but grateful for the plans already set in motion for his future.
We will conquer this, Elizabeth. Together.
The carriage bumped and rocked over the road on the way back to Chenowith with Mrs. Gardiner, Elizabeth, and Lydia Bennet inside. They had left before first light; Mrs. Gardiner attempting to hide the youngest Bennet sister from the prying eyes of Pemberley’s guests and alleviate any more humiliation from both Miss Darcy and Elizabeth herself. Mrs. Anderson had stayed at Pemberley with Margaret Anderson and Mr. Turner, awaiting the return of the carriage the next day, allowing the poor miss the opportunity for another day’s rest.
It was determined it was best for Margaret Anderson and Lydia Bennet to steer clear of each other, as Lydia was still not repentant, and Maggie Anderson’s temper was in accordance to a red head’s reputation. As much of a force as Lydia Bennet was, to quote the playwright Congreve, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
“I do not see why we have to leave,” Lydia said again, but this time in a more subdued tone. “I am certain Miss Darcy would be happy to accommodate us, and—”
“Not another word, Lydia, or you will not go back to Longbourn but straight to a convent!”
“Aunt, we are not Catholic,” she whined in exasperation.
“Enough money can see beyond all problems, girl. Now, enough talking.”
Lydia quickly clamped her mouth closed, and Elizabeth was certain it was because she had never seen this side of her aunt before. After another hour, Lydia fell asleep, and Aunt Madeline glanced up to look at Elizabeth.
“And, how did Mr. Darcy take you leaving this morning? Are we expecting him tomorrow at Chenowith?”
Elizabeth looked out the window at the sun peaking over the hills in the distance. “I do not believe so, Aunt.”
“And, when did you speak to him?”
“I did not.”
“You did not?” Aunt Madeline asked, eyes wide in shock.
“No, I did not,” she repeated, her throat catching with emotion. “I did not seek him out. I believe—”
“Elizabeth Anne Bennet, do I need to take you over my knee as well?”
Silent tears began to spill down her cheeks. “I cannot burden him with shame. With a sister like this, who so selfishly ruined the happiness of his own most beloved sister? We have always believed Lydia would be the ruin of us. Well, last night, she was the ruin of me: of my dreams for the future. I could never allow Fitzwilliam…Mr. Darcy to align himself with a family like ours.”
“Lizzy…”
“No, Aunt. For it is not only Lydia. It is a mother who encourages the behavior and a father who refuses to censure it. I will not see such a noble house aligned with one so disgraceful. I will not!”
Aunt Gardiner looked at Elizabeth and said, “And you will give him no opportunity to make his own decisions? You have already made up his mind for him?”
“I fear he would be ruled by cupid’s arrow. That he would not be thinking with his head but with his heart. I cannot have that for him or for Georgiana.”
Aunt Gardiner sadly shook her head. “Then you are sentencing yourself to a life of misery, for you will never be truly happy with anyone else. Whatever man you choose to marry will be your second choice and will always feel as such. And Mr. Darcy? He will have his world stolen from him again.”
Mrs. Gardiner pulled the rug up over her shoulders, turned her back towards Elizabeth and attempted to sleep, leaving Lizzy to wallow in her own gloom.
Chapter 15
July 21, 1812
Margaret Anderson, leaned back and allowed the feeling of the warmth of the sun to dance across her cheeks. It had been a long night, one filled with tears and heartbreak. Having to face down the father of her child, the man who she had believed loved her, only to find out it was a lie, had nearly broken her. But, I am made of stronger stuff than that! She rubbed her belly as her child moved within her. A man of his ilk will not break me!
She had stolen away from Mrs. Anderson, who had done all in her power to comfort her the previous night, and had ambled down to Pemberley’s maze. I need a moment to consider what to do with my future. Where and how I will raise my daughter.
She wandered through the twists and turns for half an hour, trying to get lost from her own problems, until she found a bench by a small fountain. Unlacing her boots, she removed them and placed her feet in the water. Heaven. She looked at her swollen ankles, knowing she would need to somehow get her shoes back on, but unable to imagine it were possible.
“You are quite the sight, Maggie-girl,” she said to herself, using her grandmother’s nickname for her. “But, you will survive.”
She started as a voice replied to her statement, “I believe you will more than survive, Mrs. Anderson.”
Looking up, she saw Phillip Turner standing only a few feet from her. Shame colored her features, as she attempted to pull her skirts down and cover her swollen ankles. “I am afraid you caught me at a most indecorous moment, sir,” she said. “Forgive my appearance.”
He shook his head and turned to give her privacy while she finished her task. “Please, do not apologize on my account. I am the one who has come upon you in your moment of solitude. I should be apologizing. May I?” He motioned to the bench next to her, and she nodded her assent. “I have been worried about you, Mrs. Anderson. After last night’s events, I was concerned for both you and your…daughter.”
She smiled at him and looked down at her lap before she replied. “We are both well, sir. Only attempting to determine our fate. We can neither hide in the gardens of Pemberley forever, nor trespass upon your kindness at Chenowith. We must soon make our way into the world.” She lifted her chin and looked at the bushes ahead of her.
“Yes, you must.” They remained silent for a few minutes until he continued. “As your current guardian, until my brother Anderson returns from business, I believe I have come up with a solution which might be pleasing to all parties involved.”
“You have?”
“Yes, but first…last night when that vile man was trying to work on you, trying to degrade you in my presence, I wanted nothing more than to borrow the colonel’s sword and run him through myself.”
She smiled at his emotion. “I have never had a younger sister, one to protect, but at that moment I did. You are not alone. I will take up your favor and carry it into battle.”
She smiled gratefully at him.
“And now, you are an heiress, Mrs. Anderson. And as for connections, you will be elevated through your friendship with the Darcys, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and now the Markhams.”
“But what of my past? People will talk. They will discover that my child is illegitimate.”
“My dear girl,” he said, raising her hand and kissing it. “Do not worry yourself. Remember? Your husband is dead. You said so yourself.”
“But where am I to go?” she asked, a spark of hope kindling within her breast.
“I am determined you shall not suffer the monotony of boring women with bland personalities and unaffected airs. After the babe is born and you are ready, you shall, if you desire, achieve the adventure you crave and travel to America with a suitable companion—that Darcy and I will pick together. With my brother’s help and connections in the New World, you will start anew. You are an heiress. And your husband has died gallantly on the continent.”
She grinned up at him, not unaware of the service he was doing her and her child. Attempting to control her emotions, she spoke haltingly. “America?” The word d
anced through her mind. “America. I do not have anything left to tie me to England.” She nodded taking in the idea. “I promise you, sir…”
“Phillip. Please call me Phillip. After all, we are like brother and sister now.” He reached in his pocket and offered her his handkerchief.”
“Phillip,” she repeated with a grin. “I promise you, Phillip, that I will do all in my power to protect my child. And thank you. I could not have hoped for a better resolution. You are quite as dear to me if I had had a brother.”
He looked over the shrubberies of the maze, before leaning forward and interlacing his fingers. “Of that, I am grateful! And now, Mrs. Anderson, do tell me what your daughter has said her name would be—in your dreams.”
She bit her lower lip, and looked up at him, happiness beaming from her. “I had not understood why, but now I comprehend why this is her name.”
Mr. Turner looked at her questioningly, before she grinned “My daughter has insisted she is named for her uncle. Phillippa,” she said. “Her name is Phillippa.”
The carriage hit a large bump, tossing Elizabeth up in the air and causing her to awake with a start. “Are we there yet, Aunt?” she asked, sitting up and rubbing her neck.
“We are just entering the woods around Chenowith.”
Elizabeth spied her slumbering sister, who had declared herself done in as she had “…shared a carriage with strangers all the way to Pemberley and was not able to properly rest.”
“I only hope my father will take this matter seriously,” Elizabeth whispered to her aunt. “If it was up to Mama, Lydia would be back in Brighton tomorrow.”
Aunt Madeline looked at her with a set to her jaw. “Do not fear, Lizzy. I can promise you that Lydia will feel the sting of her actions for a long while.”
“How can you be so sure?” she asked, uncertainty in her voice. “True, she has not done anything so dreadful before but has also never suffered consequences. I do not believe my parents know how to dispense them.”
Madeline Gardiner looked out the window and cryptically replied, “It is no longer their place to do so.”
The Goodness of Men Page 17
