Fate and Consequences

by Linda Wells

  Elizabeth gently ran her fingers through his hair, and kissed the frown that had formed. “Yes, but if he has noticed Georgiana, then others surely have as well. She deserves your attention, William.”

  “Have I neglected her?” He asked worriedly. “I thought that we have been getting on very well.”

  Elizabeth smiled at him kindly. “I think that I have been a distraction.”

  Darcy closed his eyes and buried his face back in her hair. “No, you have not. Without you, I would have been drowning in the sorrow of Georgiana’s ruin, as would she. I am grateful for you.” He breathed in the lavender that lingered faintly. “I know that I have much to learn about how to give attention. I think that I am improving my ability to accept it.” He looked down at her. “You must teach me.”

  Elizabeth caressed his face. “Someday you must tell me more of your youth. We spoke of it once before, but I could tell that you only touched on the subject.”

  Darcy’s face became as stone and he spoke without emotion. “I cannot.”

  His reaction worried her; he was so quick to retreat back into the fortress of self-preservation he had erected. “Will …” His eyes softened and he blinked rapidly as he gazed at her. “I can not understand what you experienced, but I do understand what it is to grow up with parents who do not feel love. I am sure that my youth is nothing to yours, but … well, whenever, if ever you are ready, you may talk to me without fear.”

  Darcy nodded, then rested his face back in her hair. “I will speak to Georgiana when we return from Longbourn.”

  He felt her head nod. “That seems like a fine idea.”

  They dozed in their embrace for one more hour, both desiring so much more. Darcy knew that if he began to caress her as he wished, it would be his undoing. It took a great deal of willpower not to give in to the siren call of her soft, intoxicating form. He instead cuddled her to him and imagined the coming winter, where he would forever be warm. Elizabeth took comfort from his steadily beating heart and the hardness of his body, holding her so possessively. It was a security she had never before experienced. Her parents rarely embraced her, not since she was very small, and a hug from Jane was no comparison at all to being loved and desired by William. It was very hard to let go, but the morning was advancing and they forced themselves to rise.

  Elizabeth went into the dressing room and returned wearing a robe. She smiled and handed William her folded nightdress, which he immediately held to his face. Withdrawing from the still-warm fabric, he smiled and handed her the nightshirt he held behind his back, and watched her breathe in his scent as well. Darcy set down his gift then gazing into her eyes, untied the belt of her robe, opening it to expose her nude body. He did not look away from her eyes, but let his hands wander over her, feeling her soft skin, caressing her breasts, and memorizing the shape of every curve. Elizabeth became lost in his warm blue eyes, and drawing a shaking breath untied his robe and ran her hands over the thatch of hair on his chest, allowing her fingertips to caress it, down over his tightly muscled stomach, and followed the hair trailing down to narrow hips and below to his arousal. Her touch made him shudder and he pulled her to him, holding her tightly, skin to skin. “My love, how I want you.” He kissed her throat, and pressed his body to hers. “I want to remember how you feel; it will seem an eternity before I can touch you like this again.” His lips rose to hers and claimed her mouth for the hungry kisses they needed. Knowing that he must leave or make her his own, Darcy closed his eyes and pulled her robe together, tied the belt and stepped back, immediately tying his own. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand and kissed her. Without a word, Elizabeth held his hand and opened the door. Darcy picked up his token and with her nod, slipped back out across the hall. He could not look back.

  WICKHAM SETTLED back in his bed, his hands behind his head, and stared out at the gradually rising sun. He had spent a sleepless night in the tavern of the Meryton inn, plotting his long-awaited revenge upon Darcy. He thought of Mr. Darcy, knowing now that he initially won his attention simply because he was a convenient child on whom he could shower gifts and infuriate his wife. But after she died, and his impetus was gone, Mr. Darcy continued to support the young boy who worked so hard to charm him. Wickham never questioned why he was chosen, never wondered why Darcy did not seem to earn his father’s praise. He just accepted the attention and enjoyed watching Darcy trying to win a bit of it himself, and ultimately withdrawing completely in failure. Wickham felt that HE was the favoured son, and made a point of making Darcy’s life hell. He noticed though that as Darcy grew older and the time passed after Mrs. Darcy died, his father gave him a different sort of attention, it was harsh and demanding perhaps, but it was the attention of expectation and pride in his heritage. Darcy was being groomed for his future, and Wickham felt his fantasy of winning Pemberley slipping away. It angered him. He decided that he had been employed as the dancing fool for Mr. Darcy’s entertainment, and he subsequently ignored the truth of the enormous gift of education and the bequest that had been left him. After seeing Darcy accept his place as master of Pemberley, Wickham’s delusion of entitlement and quest for revenge grew.

  He returned to his rooms no further along, but continued his musings. “Darcy engaged to a dowerless country girl … I can not imagine it!” He crowed. “Perhaps this is all that is left to him; perhaps his value has fallen so low because of Georgiana’s ruin that no woman of society would have him!” The grin fell from his face. “No, that is not the case at all, those rich heiresses will fall all over him forever, damn his luck! If I were he I would spend every night in a different bed!” His face reddened with his jealousy. He shook his head. “This is getting you nowhere … Think!”

  Closing his eyes, he mulled over what he knew. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, an extraordinary woman. Fought over by two gentlemen, extraordinary enough to drive Darcy to beat a man, he did not even beat me over his sister. This woman is extraordinary indeed!” A sudden thought struck him. “Darcy is in love!”

  Wickham threw his head back and laughed, practically braying at the moon in his incredulous amusement. “That is it!” He grinned. “I will take his love away from him!” He knew that he could never claim the dowry he lost, but to make Darcy miserable for the rest of his life … “Ah, yes, that would be almost worth the loss of the money, I wonder if I could turn her against him, but how?”

  He stood and walked across the room, and looked into the empty tankard sitting on the window sill with disappointment. He made use of the chamber pot and pushing it beneath the bed, stood at the window. “He cannot know I am behind this. That man, the rejected suitor, I will employ him. Yes, I will learn the name of this man, it should not be difficult to discover from a gossip in town. I will spread the news of Georgiana’s ruin through the village. So while the rejected suitor welcomes my aid, the village will disparage Darcy and that will ruin him in the eyes of Miss Elizabeth! The suitor claims that she is not mercenary, so it must be a love match for her as well. I could perhaps play up other rumours that I have heard of him.” He stared out the window, thinking hard.

  His eyes narrowed as another thought intruded. “But would her parents reject such a husband for their daughter? He is richer than they could ever dream … there must be more I can suggest about him.” He thought of the beating the suitor received. “Perhaps if I imply that Darcy is violent in his home … that might frighten the parents away. I must speak to this suitor and learn what I can of the beating.”

  Wickham heard the movement in the adjacent chambers and swore. Life as an early rising soldier did not agree with him at all. It only made his desire for revenge grow. He was invited with some other officers to tea at the home of Mrs. Philips that afternoon. As the aunt of the Bennet girls, perhaps Miss Elizabeth would be there, and perhaps he could discover why she attracts Darcy. He began to dress for the day, and looked forward to the afternoon.

  “SO, LUCAS has a new story about you, but no proof, and no names.” Mr. Bennet sat
back in his chair and watched Darcy as he paced the confines of the bookroom. “But the story he tells is recognizable to you?”

  “Yes sir, it is. I have heard it repeated to me seemingly everywhere I go. Apparently the money I paid the … fool in exchange for the living he refused was spent visiting the places I might go to spread his tale. I can not tell you how many people have told me versions of it.” Darcy glared at a painting of a horse hanging near the door; it resembled the hack Wickham rode at Cambridge. He tore his eyes from the animal and looked at Mr. Bennet. “I imagine that this is the tale that Lucas heard when he was in London, but I cannot pretend that he did not hear others. The city was replete with them this summer. I asked my cousin and Bingley what they heard … sir, they were ugly, but I assure you my conduct has always been that of an honourable man. If Lucas or any other tells tales of me, or God forbid my sister who was disparaged far more grievously than I, please, speak to me of it before taking the rumours as the truth.” Darcy had stopped his pacing and had fixed his sincere gaze directly at Mr. Bennet.

  “Do you know of any specific rumours?”

  His eyes turned away and his face flushed. “They claimed I kept a mistress.” He looked back at Mr. Bennet. “I assure you it is not true.”

  “But you are not without experience.” Mr. Bennet said quietly.

  “No, sir.” Darcy’s voice was soft.

  Mr. Bennet read the expression on his face. “I do not hold you in contempt, sir. In my youth I was encouraged to find relief frequently, why I remember reading advertisements in the papers from women looking for … well, in any case, I do understand. I assume that you will keep your past habits from Lizzy.”

  Darcy attempted to wrap his mind around the different mores of the older generation and shook his head. “I have already discussed my past with her.”

  “Have you?” Mr. Bennet regarded him with great surprise, and marvelled at this unique relationship they had formed. “Mr. Darcy, I have known you but a month, and my Lizzy has known you four, but I do believe your statement that you are a trustworthy man. If I do hear of rumours, I will ask you for an explanation. Please realize that I live with a woman who thrives on gossip. I am well aware of how a simple story can grow into a tale of gargantuan proportions in the blink of an eye. Your sister’s interrupted elopement is ripe for exaggeration.”

  Darcy hung his head and nodded. He sank heavily down into the chair opposite Mr. Bennet’s desk. “Indeed sir. I hope to God I never meet Wickham again.”

  “Wickham?” Mr. Bennet started.

  “Yes sir, George Wickham, he is the man … who claims I offended him, and the man who …” He looked down again, “ruined my sister in the eyes of society.”

  “Mr. Darcy, I do not know if this will please or anger you, but … there is a Mr. Wickham in Meryton.”

  Darcy’s head snapped up. “Pardon me?”

  Mr. Bennet nodded, sitting up. “In fact, he was here, in my parlour drinking tea with my daughters and wife yesterday afternoon. A tall man, almost your height I would say. Dark hair, from the behaviour of my daughters I would say they found him handsome. Very gentlemanly manners, a bit too solicitous for my taste, and perhaps a bit overly familiar…” He watched Darcy’s eyes turn black. “Does this sound like the man?”

  His fists clenched in anger Darcy hissed, “Yes sir. May I ask how Wickham came to be in your parlour?”

  “He is in the militia, my daughters Lydia and Kitty met him and another officer in Meryton and they asked to call.” He saw Darcy struggle with the emotion he was feeling.

  “Sir. I respectfully suggest that you tell your daughters to keep away from this man. He will do them no good.”

  “I believe that I had already reached that conclusion, Mr. Darcy. He will not be welcomed here again.” He saw a ribbon appear in Darcy’s hand. “What will you do?”

  Looking up, Darcy shook his head. “I do not know. I will need to speak to my cousin about this. He is visiting Colonel Forster as we speak; a courtesy call upon a fellow officer while in the area.” He glanced down at the bit of satin in his hand. “He wished to come and meet Elizabeth’s family, but I … I wanted to say my farewells …”

  Mr. Bennet interrupted. “You need not say more.” He smiled and then chuckled softly. “It is not as if you are never going to see her again.”

  Darcy smiled slightly. “It only seems that way.”

  “Well then, let us rejoin the party, shall we? I assure you, if this Wickham is the man who hurt your family, and speaks ill of you, or your sister, I will not listen.” Darcy slipped his token back in his pocket and stood.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  WICKHAM SAT across from John in the tavern and took in the earnest man’s face. It was quite a fortuitous circumstance that John had ridden into the village that morning in the hope of spying the soldier he had spoken with the evening before, and Wickham was more than happy to begin spinning his web of lies in the convincing manner he had perfected over the years.

  “Sir, I have been thinking over the news you told me last night of Mr. Darcy, I have a memory of hearing his name in London this summer, I attended an event at St. James’s and I am sure that I heard Darcy’s name spoken … and not in a complimentary way. I wonder, as you know him so well, can you confirm these things?”

  Wickham smiled, this was going to be even easier than he thought. “Of course, Mr. Lucas, please tell me what you heard.”

  John looked down into his tankard and spoke softly. “I understand that Miss Darcy was involved in an attempted elopement, and that she is ruined in the eyes of society.”

  He glanced up to see Wickham nodding his head solemnly. “That is indeed quite true. She was shunned by all.”

  John’s eyes widened. “Then, what I heard is true, she was caught in the bed of her lover at an inn … and Darcy found them and shot the man?” Wickham raised his brows and stared at him. John drew his own conclusions; Darcy had told him that he was an excellent shot. He continued in a low voice. “I understand that she was with child, but as I have seen her, it must not be true.”

  Wickham shrugged. “She may have lost it, or perhaps Darcy learned of the methods used by his prostitutes … she is certainly ruined, if she was in the man’s bed, it was not to sleep, was it?” He smiled knowingly at John.

  “Such a young girl, what could have driven her to go?”

  “Well, knowing her brother’s reaction, perhaps she wished to get away from him, look at what he did to you, after all. How did that come about?” Wickham’s eyes flicked over to John’s jaw.

  He rubbed the bruise unconsciously and avoided the question. “Do you think that he is violent with her at home?”

  “You said yourself that she is unusually timid.” He watched as the thoughts turned in John’s mind. “What have you heard of Darcy himself?”

  John looked up. “I understand that he keeps a mistress, perhaps more than one.”

  Wickham smiled at that unlikely thought. “Ah, well, I must admit that there was a constant stream of questionable ladies in our rooms at Cambridge. I know that he was forever settling gaming debts as well.” He watched with amusement as John’s eyes narrowed at Darcy’s supposed behaviour, which was really his own. “Can you imagine how much his reputation suffered in Town with his sister’s downfall? He could no longer hide behind his mask of respectability. I imagine that he has been quite angry with her for lifting the veil on his habits.” Wickham delighted in watching the effect his suggestions had.

  John was not innocent, but he kept his liaisons to the gentleman’s houses. He never paraded women into his chambers at school. “Yes, perhaps … Do you think that he is violent with her? Threatens her? I swear; she barely speaks above a whisper in his presence.”

  Wickham shrugged, knowing full well Georgiana’s shyness, how long had it taken him to coax kisses out of her? “I cannot say. The Darcys never expressed themselves openly. Who knows what happens behind closed doors? I can only feel concern for the rui
ned girl … and for the future of Miss Elizabeth.”

  At this John sat up. “What do you mean? Do you think he will be harsh with her?”

  He shook his head sadly. “If as you say the girl is not mercenary, but fancies herself in love with him, she will be blind to his behaviour. I imagine that her parents are delighted that such a rich man would want their dowerless daughter, and would do nothing to stop the match, but …”

  John stood and exclaimed. “Everyone should know his character! There is time! I must save her!”

  Wickham grabbed his arm and pulled him back down, whispering urgently. “Yes, you must save her, but how? She will not listen to you; she will think that you are making up lies to convince her to return to you.”

  Pounding his fist on the table, John swore. “There must be a way! I will not see her hurt!”

  “You will not see her in Darcy’s bed, you mean.”

  John’s face grew red. “No, I will not.”

  Wickham nodded knowingly. “I suggest that you tell everyone you know of the truth. Tell them of Miss Darcy’s ruin. Tell them of Darcy’s proclivities. Let the combined voices of the neighbourhood accomplish what your single cry could never do. Miss Elizabeth’s parents surely will not wish to connect their family with one containing such a ruined girl. It would taint their other daughters, and her father would not wish to connect her with a potentially violent man, no matter how good the settlement would be.” He knocked on the table. “Then when the Darcys are driven back to their estate, you will be here to offer her comfort, and she will ask for your forgiveness for ever rejecting you in the first place. She will beg for your favour again.”

  His eyes grew unfocussed, the vision of Elizabeth begging for his attentions was gratifying indeed, and clouded the reality that Elizabeth begging any man for such a thing was unlikely in the extreme. “I thank you sir, for telling me these truths. I will begin to spread the news of the Darcys’ unworthiness. Knowing the thirst for gossip in the neighbourhood, I daresay the news will be spread far and wide by dinnertime tomorrow, especially with church tomorrow, yes, I will be sure to tell it to everyone.”