by Maria Grace
He held his breath along with her, tense and ready to spring.
Tears trickled down her cheek, and he was at her side—to do what, he did not know, but he had to be there.
“Oh! Where, where is my uncle?” She sprang from her seat and ran into him.
He caught her upper arms to steady her from falling. How pale and fragile she seemed.
“I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed; I have not a moment to lose.” She struggled to see the door around him.
“Good God! what is the matter?” No, that was neither polite nor gentlemanly, but it was all he could say in the moment. He collected himself with a deep breath. “I will not detain you a minute, but let me, or let the servant, go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself. Not yet, you need a moment.” And she needed to tell him what was wrong.
She trembled in his grasp and slowly sank back on to the stool.
Had he ever seen one so bereft, so alone? “Let me call a maid or Mrs. Reynolds. Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? A glass of wine, shall I get you one? You are greatly distressed.” There had to be some way to help!
“No, I thank you.” She dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. “There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well. I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.” She burst into tears and for a few minutes could not speak another word.
Darcy hovered over her, pressing his handkerchief into the dainty hands. Oh, the impotence of not knowing her distress! Had her mother taken ill, or perhaps died? Worse still, it could be her father. Longbourn would then go to Collins who would no doubt throw them out immediately.
But with that he could help. If she accepted his offer, then he would see her mother and sisters well settled. Perhaps though, he should not offer marriage now; he should settle them all first, then she would understand his good will. Perhaps then she might accept him. Yes, that would be better.
She sniffled and swallowed hard. He held his jaws clamped shut. Pray she would simply speak!
“I have just had a letter from Jane with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from any one. My youngest sister has left all her friends—has eloped. She has thrown herself into the power of—of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton. You know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to—she is lost forever.” She covered her face with her hands and huddled into her lap, rocking just a bit.
The blood drained from his face, and his joints went rigid. Wickham. Wickham! But why—Miss Elizabeth was right—her sister had nothing that would tempt Wickham…
… except revenge against Darcy.
How had he identified Darcy’s muse’s fixation upon Miss Elizabeth? It should be no surprise that he did—it had happened before. Wickham had used that discovery during university to tease and vex him with small distractions, but then left that tack to pursue something bigger as he set his sights on Georgiana’s dowry. Surely, his actions now were revenge for those thwarted plans.
“When I consider—” how thin and frail her voice, “—that I might have prevented it! I who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it only—some part of what I learnt—to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is all, all too late now.”
“I am grieved, indeed. Grieved—shocked. But is it certain, absolutely certain?” If only he could snatch those letters and read them for himself!
“Oh yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night and were traced almost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone to Scotland.”
“And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?” Pray her father was not so lost as to abandon her entirely.
“My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle's immediate assistance, and we shall be off, I hope, in half an hour.” She sobbed into her hands, muttering, “But nothing can be done. I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is every way horrible!”
If only he could take her into his arms to comfort her and promise that all would be well. It had to be. He would make it so.
“You gave me the power to have done something. When my eyes were opened to his real character. Oh, had I known what I ought, what I dared, to do! But I knew not—I was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched, mistake!”
Had she kept his secrets to protect Georgiana? What other motive might she have had? And if she had, her current misery was also his fault.
Darcy paced the length of the room and back lest his rage be unleashed, and she misunderstand its object. Was it not enough for Wickham to have tried to take his sister? Had he not learned from that endeavor? The unmitigated gall that he should now attempt to steal from Darcy again. It would not work; no, it would not.
Mrs. Gardiner’s concerned face peeked through the doorway, Mrs. Reynolds just behind her. Miss Elizabeth would be in far better hands with her aunt. At least now, though, he knew what he should do. “I am afraid you have been long desiring my absence, nor have I anything to plead in excuse of my stay, but real, though unavailing, concern. Would to heaven that anything could be either said or done on my part, that might offer consolation to such distress! But I will not torment you with vain wishes which may seem purposely to ask for your thanks. This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister's having the pleasure of dining with you at Pemberley today.”
“Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologize for us to Miss Darcy. Say that urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it is possible. I know it cannot be long.” She peeked up over her hands. How like her to recognize Georgiana’s delicate feelings at such a time as this. Her tear-stained face wrenched fierce determination from his soul.
If there were anything that could more secure his resolve in this moment, he could not imagine its form. He offered her a slight bow and approached Mrs. Gardiner. “Pray, madam, ask Mrs. Reynolds for anything that Pemberley might offer to assist you in this time. You shall have it. I insist.”
She murmured something that was half-gratitude and half-confusion and rushed to Miss Elizabeth’s side. If only he could take charge of the situation, offer assurances and consolation in the face of the news Mrs. Gardiner would soon hear. But that was not his place.
Not yet.
He strode out, brisk and purposeful. First, he must tell his valet to pack to leave in the morning. Next, there were letters to be written and posted today. His steward needed to be made aware of his travel plans, and Mrs. Reynolds needed instruction regarding the same. Surely all that could be accomplished yet today. He would leave at first light, no matter what.
Chapter 5
He had been told the Gardiners had left directly for Hertfordshire that very afternoon. It was only to be expected. Still though, the news cut like a knife.
Mrs. Reynolds had packed a hamper for the Gardiners and Miss Elizabeth to ease the discomforts of hunger and thirst along their journey. Not that Miss Elizabeth would likely be interested in such base things as food and drink in the midst of her distress. Still it was a token, hopefully to remind her that she had friends willing to exercise efforts on her behalf.
Bingley had been most concerned about Darcy’s rapid departure so soon after the house party’s arrival, but he assured Bingley the urgent business could not wait. The house party could and should continue without him. It would be good for Georgiana to practice being a hostess to them.
Perhaps he should have told Bingley the entire truth, but that would doubtless have ended in an uncomfortable revelation of the part he had played in separating Bingley from Miss Bennet. Yes, he would have to confess everything soon enough, but not while there was an urgent matter demanding his intervention.
He woul
d find Wickham and make him pay for what he had done. He would make things right for Miss Elizabeth, and he would marry her. All those were certain.
And maddeningly uncertain at the same time.
His generous muse had brought Miss Elizabeth to him but now demanded that he prove himself worthy of the gift. And he would do that. Somehow, he would.
But now he had to determine how.
If Wickham and Lydia were indeed in London and not gone off to Scotland, that was far better news than Miss Elizabeth realized. Darcy had connections in London, and he knew Wickham’s connections there. No doubt Wickham’s associates were sworn to secrecy, but the kind of people that allied with Wickham were also the sort that could be bought … and bought rather easily. That was in his favor.
And he knew exactly where to begin: Mrs. Younge. The despicable woman had taken a house in Edward Street and rented rooms to lodgers. Where else would Wickham begin but in a place that might offer him succor that he might not have to repay?
∞∞∞
If anything, Mrs. Younge proved herself more canny and conniving than she had been when she had offered Georgiana to Wickham, like a lamb to the wolf. Three times he had to return with increasing promises of blunt and favors before she gave Wickham up. No doubt she thought herself driving a hard bargain, but in truth, the intelligence was cheaply won and worth every penny and more. How disappointed she would be to learn just how much Darcy had been willing to pay.
According to her, Wickham and Lydia were hidden away in cheap lodgings just a few streets away, in a part of town Darcy hoped Georgiana and Miss Elizabeth would never see. To there he made haste the next morning. With any luck, he would have Lydia’s situation negotiated by midday and take the good news to Miss Elizabeth by evening.
Who was he fooling? Himself alone, most likely. Nothing should ever be so easy. No errand demanded by his muse could be unfraught with hardship and strain. But whatever it took, he would show himself worthy.
A frumpy woman with stringy grey hair that framed her plump face—perhaps the housekeeper, perhaps the purveyor of the lodgings, let him in and pointed to the stairs. “Third room on the right,” she wheezed.
No sunlight actually reached the windows of the third-rate townhouse, leaving the interior dark and dank. The entire place smelt of gin, sweat, and debauchery. How welcome Wickham must feel.
Darcy marched up the stairs and pounded on the door.
The moment he laid eyes on Wickham, he nearly lost control. He had been taught too well to sink so low as to physically engage Wickham, but a tongue lashing was an entirely different matter.
“Darcy! How good of you to call upon me. I had no idea of you being in town.” Wickham ushered him inside. He wore no jacket, his cravat draped, untied, across his shoulders. His wrinkled shirt hung open at the neck as did his red waistcoat, unbuttoned across his chest. How could he receive anyone in such a state of undress?
The room was cluttered with tattered furniture and swathed in dust. The odor of stale food and gin hung in the air, probably a permanent fixture of the lodgings.
“Naturally. If you had known I was here, you would have hidden yourself more carefully.” Darcy picked his way across the floor littered with garments and other personal debris.
Wickham pointed him toward a chair covered with a filthy shirt. Darcy stood behind it.
“Is that any way to greet your old friend?” Wickham draped himself across a shabby, faded wingback.
“Our days of friendship are long since gone.”
“Then why have you come, except to renew our excellent acquaintance?” That smile, that laugh! Both needed to be erased from Wickham’s face as soon as possible.
“I seek an audience with Miss Lydia Bennet.”
“Whatever for?” Wickham snorted.
“She has quit the protection of her friends and family and has entered under yours. I wish to ensure her safe and whole.” Darcy balled his fists behind his back.
“She is no prisoner of mine. She is here of her own will. Talk to her all you wish; you will find no different.” He called over his shoulder, “Lydia! Lydia, do come out and meet our guest.”
Lydia burst forth from a shadowed doorway, wrapped in a sloppy dressing gown. One could only imagine what was—or was not—underneath. Darcy could make out the lines of a rumpled bed in the background. Pray that they were betrothed, and this might be at least a modicum less distasteful.
“Mr. Darcy would very much like to talk to you.” He winked at her.
Lydia pranced barefoot to Wickham’s side. “La! What has he to do with me?”
“Apparently, he is concerned for your welfare.” He slipped his arm around her waist.
“I do not see why. But as you can see, I am entirely well and quite happy, I might add.” She leaned down close to Wickham.
“You do not have to remain in this situation.”
“Why ever would I want to quit it?”
“These accommodations,” Darcy sniffed—he could not help it, much as he tried, “are hardly the style to which you are accustomed.”
“I think little of that! The company alone is sufficient to make any privation irrelevant.” She batted her eyes at Wickham who flashed his brows at Darcy.
Just how much gin had he plied the girl with to make her lose all her sense?
“You do not need to stay, you know. I would be happy to assist you in returning to your friends.” He would also be happy to toss her over his shoulder and abscond with her to the Gardiners’ doorstep.
“I have no desire to return.” She dropped into Wickham’s lap and looped her arms around his neck.
“But your situation is … disgraceful! Your reputation is in danger, and the damage to your family and sisters is considerable.” No sense in mentioning that her own reputation was not just endangered but irrevocably ruined.
“La! You exaggerate. I cannot imagine where you get such an idea from! Indeed, I cannot. We will be married, and I will return home a married woman.” She kissed Wickham’s chest and he grinned like a wolf about to feed. “What harm can that bring to my sisters at all? If nothing else, I will be able to offer them introductions and assist them in finding husbands of their own. I will be their benefactor.”
“And when exactly shall this wedding be?”
She glanced at Wickham, and they exchanged shrugs. “We have not fixed a date.”
“And that does not bother you?” Had her mother taught her nothing?
“We have hardly been in London long enough to fix a date. We have not had time to attend Holy Services yet to present ourselves to the vicar.” She leaned into Wickham. “Once that is done, we can begin to consider the wedding.”
“I see. Does that not bother you?”
She waved him off. “Of course not. It will all take place in due course, and we will be married when the time is right.”
He gripped his hands together and leaned forward. “What, if any, assurances have you that it will take place at all?”
She turned her back on Darcy and looked directly at Wickham. “You are right, my love. Darcy is quite tedious and dull. But do not be afraid, my dear. I have no intentions of leaving your side.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I do not imagine there is anything further to be said, Mr. Darcy. I think I shall go for a walk.” She jumped up, grabbed a bonnet from the table near the door and flounced out.
“You see, it is just as I told you. She is hardly my prisoner.”
“She is drunk and indecent. How can you allow her out of your rooms like that?”
“The housekeeper will not let her out on the streets. She will direct her back to me soon enough.”
Darcy dragged his hand down his face. Stubborn and foolish, he might have been able to work on. But stubborn, foolish and plied with drink? There was nothing he could do to affect her. “So then, when will you marry her?”
Wickham laughed. “Marry her? I am in hardly any position to marry.”
“You are an officer in the
militia.”
He rolled his eyes as though to remind Darcy he hardly considered it a boon. “I must make to you an unfortunate confession. I have been obliged to leave the regiment on account of some debts of honor which were very pressing indeed.”
“The position I acquired for you.” Why would Wickham regard that any more highly than any other Darcy beneficence he had enjoyed?
“Without my consent, I might remind you. Surely, you did not expect me to eschew all recreation whilst suffering your fate for me. I hardly see what your bother is with it. I am simply doing as I must.”
“Despite the fact the young lady,” yes, it was hard to apply that description to her, but still, to honor Miss Elizabeth’s sister, he would try, “will suffer for it.”
“She has made her own choices, and the consequences of them belong solely to her.” Wickham blinked—no doubt trying to affect an innocence which he certainly did not possess. He knew exactly who would be damaged and by how much.
Blackguard.
“What of your own future? Where will you go? How will you live?” Darcy tapped his fingertips together, waiting. Father had done the same thing.
“I have given that no little thought, but I have no great answer for you. I will get by somehow, I always have.” How could he manage such an air of pathos in the midst of such guilt?
“Why do you not marry Lydia at once? Though her father is not very rich, I imagine he would be able to do something for you. Your situation will be largely benefited.”
“I suppose you are correct. Some good might come out of it. But hardly enough, I think.” Wickham sneered. “I am not ready to throw myself away upon a young woman of such a meager fortune. I shall marry, do not doubt that, but I need a woman of greater means. I think from the continent, perhaps. Yes, I shall go there.”
It was tempting to ask how, precisely, he thought to get to the continent, but that was a moot point. Wickham had not thought of that until just this moment. It was simply his opening salvo in a familiar game.
