“Elizabeth, I cannot. These are your sister’s private thoughts. It is perfectly acceptable that you read them, but it would not be appropriate for me.”
Elizabeth took the book from him and opened to the last entry. She looked up at him with such painful eyes that his heart turned to ice at the sight. She mouthed, “Read it.”
He would rather not but for those eyes. They pleaded with him. He would do anything to make her happy again, and if Elizabeth wished that he read her sister’s diary, it was an easy request to fulfill.
Nodding, Darcy looked down and began reading.
Dear Diary,
La! What a perfect day for a walk. I shall laugh when I see the faces of my family when I return with Mr. Wickham and announce our engagement.
Engagement? Darcy’s heart sank to his feet, but he read on.
To think we have been secretly engaged for two months and not a soul knows about it. Not even Kitty! My dear George said we must keep it a secret until his sister marries and he inherits the money he was to have been given from the settlements or some such detail. La! We shall be rich as lords — for I just heard from Mrs. Forster that Wickham has requested leave for his sister’s wedding. So it is done! I shall insist we announce today when he comes to call on me. He would want to tell his family at the wedding about his own intended, I am sure. Besides, I cannot wait much longer. My dresses are already getting tighter. Oh, how happy George shall be to know that he will be a father before long! Oh, but he is here; I can hear him being announced below. When next I write, I shall sign ‘Mrs. Wickham.’ Oh, how droll that sounds! For now, the future Mrs. George Wickham!
He was frozen; he could not move, react or think. No, no, no! Elizabeth was looking at him with a steady, piercing gaze. How could she not blame me? He thought. It was his fault for not revealing Mr. Wickham’s true character to the good people of Meryton last autumn. He, who could have prevented Elizabeth’s family from the licentious designs of such a man. He knew Wickham would never have married the girl! Now he was beginning to accept that Wickham was likely guilty when it came to Lydia’s accident — an accident that was looking to be nothing of the sort.
What words could he say to atone for such devilry? Her own sister ruined, and at the hands of a man from whom Darcy should have protected society. If only I had been more open with my neighbors. He felt as if his own future were crumbling around him.
What words could she say to atone for such devilry? Her own sister ruined, and at the hands of his enemy. Who could possibly wish to connect themselves with the family of a fallen woman? Even with Lydia’s death and the secret of the loss of her maidenhood — a secret Elizabeth would never allow anyone to know — she knew Darcy could not wish to have such connections. And to think there was a baby. The loss she felt for her sister and her foolishness was only compounded by the defeat Elizabeth was now feeling for herself. She felt as if her own future was crumbling around her.
Darcy found his voice. “I cannot say . . . cannot find words to express how sorry I am.”
Elizabeth’s eyes dried, and she lifted her chin. She could not show him the affect his words were causing her. Of course he was sorry — sorry he could no longer honor his intentions towards her. “I am sorry too, though I understand your feelings.”
She did? He could not think so; it was his fault after all. Of course, she was sorry about what this meant for their own future. It was too painful to think about.
She wished she had not felt honor-bound to show him the diary. But she would die if the shame became generally known. Her parents! Lord, they would be brokenhearted. No, she had to have his word. Elizabeth could not meet his eyes when she asked, “You will not tell, will you?”
“Of course not, Elizabeth.”
Darcy was already transferring the searing pain in his heart into justified anger toward the man who caused all the torture in Elizabeth’s eyes — anger toward the man who once again intruded on his life, this time dashing Darcy’s chances for happiness. He had to go to London at once to speak with Wickham. He had to rid himself of the man for good. It would not change the situation with Elizabeth, but at least he could bring Lydia some justice, even if no one knew it but himself.
“I can see you have long desired my absence, nor have I anything to plead in excuse of my stay but real, though unavailing, concern. Would that I could do something . . . ” Something to make you love me still.
Elizabeth nodded. Her heart was numb, and the hole in her chest was expanding. “This I fear will prevent you and your sister from visiting Longbourn this afternoon.”
He made no response. Mr. Darcy seemed scarcely to hear her. He was now pacing in front of her in earnest meditation, his brow contracted and his air gloomy. He seemed to come to himself after several long minutes and was distracted as he said, “Ah, yes. Please make my excuses. I must be off to London as soon as I can.”
“Of course.”
Elizabeth’s dejected voice brought Darcy’s mind back from where it was in London, already planning what he would do to Wickham. He was grateful that his cousin was still watching the villain. He kneeled in front of Elizabeth then and took up her hands in his. They were so slight, so fragile. He turned them over in his hands. He thought about confessing his love to her right then. Surely, she must know even though he had not said the words.
He almost did, but he could not put her through the agony of hearing it when she could not possibly want him now. Instead, he carefully took off her gloves and turned her palms up. Holding her hands in his, he allowed his face to fall into her hands. Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears again as she looked down at her lap, at Darcy’s dark curls, his face hidden in her hands. She could feel his breath on her fingers. A tear escaped the confines of her eyes, rolled down her cheek and fell into his hair. She watched it glisten in the morning sun. For a brief moment, Elizabeth allowed herself to lean down and rest her cheek against the feathery curls. If that moment were all she could have from him, she would take it.
A moment later, she felt him kiss each of her palms tenderly, whisper a good-bye and stand to leave. He could not meet her eyes, and she watched him walk away, every step taking him farther from her and breaking her heart into more pieces. She looked down at her hands when she could no longer see his form. They were wet with his tears.
Chapter 17
With every pound against the saddle and every hoofbeat on the hard road, Darcy closed his heart further. He could not think about his own pain; he had a nightmarish task ahead of him. It would be the last gift he could ever give Elizabeth — the gift of justice for her sister. The fact that Elizabeth would never know was no consequence. The least he could do was secure that Wickham never caused pain elsewhere, for him or anyone else. He had to do this for himself and for Elizabeth. Darcy kicked his stallion’s flank and rode harder.
He had left a note with his sister, informing her of his departure and instructing her to have her trunks packed and to return to London in the coach. His valet was instructed to accompany her and her maid. He could not wait until their trunks were packed; he had to be on the road, his need for a distraction from his pain driving him forward. Harder, he pressed his horse. The sooner he could reach London, the sooner he could find his cousin and close the books on George Wickham.
He was tired, physically and mentally spent from the ride by the time he reached Grosvenor Square and the mews behind his London home. The horse was panting, lathered from its exertion. He threw the reins to the waiting groom and took the stairs into Darcy House two at a time.
Bellowing for Mr. Carroll, Darcy headed to his bedchamber at the same pace, pulling at his road dust-covered clothing. He was already half dressed in the dull black clothes he used to meet Perkins when his butler arrived at the door.
“Send a footman to Matlock House for Colonel Fitzwilliam immediately. Send one to his clubs, too, in case he is not at home.”
“Yes, sir. At once!” Mr. Carroll bowed and made a hasty exit. To see his master home so early and
with such blue devils was more than a surprise for the loyal retainer. His was the best of masters, and Mr. Carroll knew that some dire circumstance had occurred to pull Mr. Darcy away from Hertfordshire and a certain lady there. He hurriedly issued the orders to the footmen and sent them on their way. Within thirty minutes, he was escorting an equally concerned and surprised Colonel Fitzwilliam into his master’s study.
* * *
“What in the world has you back so soon, Darcy?”
Darcy spun around to face his cousin. The color drained from his cousin’s face when he saw him. Turning away, he caught a glance in the mirror. He barely recognized himself as the drowning man he saw in his reflection.
“Do you still know where Wickham is, Richard?”
“Of course, I have my men near him at all times. Why?”
“We have to find him. He did it. Blast that man! He did it!”
The colonel’s jaw firmed, and he spit into the empty fireplace. “Tell me everything.”
Darcy sank into one of the armchairs, momentarily defeated. “He ruined her . . . ”
“What! That bastard! But how could it be? We have been watching him here. I swear he could not have gone to Hertfordshire.”
Darcy glared at his cousin. “I did not mean Elizabeth. God help me, not her. Thank goodness. He ruined her sister, got her breeding, telling her that they would marry. On the day she fell, she had written in her diary that she was going to insist he announce the engagement because her, ah, condition was beginning to show.” His look told his cousin that he could guess what happened next.
Richard ran both his hands through his hair, growling, “Then we have to get him for sure this time.” They were silent — Richard contemplating plans, Darcy trying to breathe.
Richard looked at his cousin, dressed to meet with Perkins. “What is your plan then?”
“Other than to get my hands on Wickham’s neck and send him to hell?” Anger was good. It kept him from feeling the other painful emotions that threatened to overcome him.
“Yes, besides that.”
“I was going to meet with Perkins; I care nothing for that man either. I was going to reveal that I know his game and insist he take me to Wickham.”
“But we already know where Wickham is.”
“I want him to confess, Richard. I have to hear him say it. I do not know why, but I feel as if having Perkins there will help. The man knows too much, has been watching Wickham for too long not to. And if he is useless, well, I will just arrange for him to travel to the colonies or some such.”
“It is a good plan. What do you want me to do?”
“I need your friends to help me to convince Perkins. We get him to take us immediately to Wickham and then we need to see that we have a place to talk with him.”
Richard nodded, standing. “Then we are off?”
“I have already sent a note to the pub owner requesting Perkins’s appearance as soon as possible.”
“Well, let’s get to it!” Richard laughed with malice. Within a few minutes, they quitted the house.
* * *
Georgiana was worried — really quite worried. She had received her brother’s note and had done as he instructed, but she had insisted on paying a farewell call to Elizabeth before leaving the area. She had to know what was going on. Something had obviously upset her brother. She knew he had gone riding that morning, and she knew he never would miss their planned call on Elizabeth later that day. He had told her that he planned to propose to Elizabeth that morning during their visit.
What had her more worried was the fact that, when she called on Longbourn to pay her respects, Georgiana was told that Miss Elizabeth was indisposed. She had come home feeling ill from her walk and was not taking visitors. Georgiana had been hurt at first until the thought hit her that perhaps her brother had encountered Elizabeth on his ride. He must have proposed and been refused! But it did not make sense; she knew Elizabeth loved her brother. She was sure of it. Didn’t she? Georgiana’s concern then turned to her brother. To have been refused when he was so sure, so happy and so in love — it was unfathomable. She instructed her coachmen to make all due haste to London. Her brother needed her, and she would be there for him. If only she knew what was wrong.
* * *
A determined Darcy, his eager cousin and a visibly shaken Perkins were currently encased in a small hackney on their way to a set of boarding rooms where Perkins claimed Wickham was presently lodging. Darcy looked at his cousin when Perkins gave the driver the direction. His cousin’s nod was almost imperceptible. Perkins at least was telling the truth that time. Darcy had clearly shown the man he was not best pleased to have been misled by him. Perkins was not fool enough to try to deny it, especially when three burly men stood up from their tables throughout the pub and surrounded him. He recognized the men as some of those who had been often at the other places Wickham frequented.
Their conveyance stopped in front of the building. Perkins gulped; he was not yet sure whether Wickham’s men might be worse to face or not. Either way, his employment was surely at an end. Everyone exited the carriage, another one behind them emptying of the men from the pub. The man Perkins knew as ‘Burns’ left him in the custody of his burly associates from the pub as he and the officer went up the steps of the building.
“Keep him down here until we call for him,” Colonel Fitzwilliam instructed the bruisers.
At the top of the stairs in front of the door Perkins had indicated, Richard turned to his cousin. “Darcy, let me go in first. I do not know whether he is armed.”
Darcy protested but finally agreed. He stepped aside, out of view of the door. Richard kicked the door in and called for Wickham. A moment later, Wickham sauntered out of a back room, followed quickly by a servant girl who was readjusting her dress as she slipped out.
“Richard, how pleasant of you to visit!” Wickham pretended not to be concerned at the sudden appearance of Colonel Fitzwilliam at his door, or what was left of it, surreptitiously surveying his options for escape. The window to his right was too high off the ground. Damn! He usually preferred ground floor apartments for times likes this.
“Put off, George. I did not come for a social call.”
Darcy could not wait another minute. He charged into the room and planted Wickham a facer that sent him sprawling to the floor, down for the count.
“Well, great, Darcy. Now, how are we going to question him?”
Darcy was rubbing his cut knuckles. “He will come to eventually. Blast, if I have not wanted to do that for so long!”
Richard slowly started to laugh. After a few moments, Darcy did too. Richard shook his head and went to call the others up to the room. When the rest of his men and Perkins entered the room, Darcy noticed how Perkins’s eyes went wide at the sight of an unconscious Wickham on the dirty floor, his nose bleeding. The men sat Perkins down in the corner and ordered him to stay there.
After a few more minutes, Darcy went to the wash jug at the side of the room and poured its contents on Wickham. He sputtered and started to come around, cursing as he reached for his broken nose.
“What the bloody hell?” His voice died in his throat when he saw the fury on the face of Darcy. If he was concerned before at Richard’s appearance, now he was truly alarmed at the rage in Darcy’s eyes.
“Tell me now, Wickham; did you do it?”
“He is talking about Lydia,” Richard clarified as Wickham was yet oblivious.
Wickham looked between the two men and considered his options again. “I do not know what you are talking about. Lydia Bennet? The girl from Hertfordshire?” he said, feigning indifference upon hearing her name.
“Cut line, Wickham.” Darcy roared, “I know you ruined the girl. Furthermore, I know you left her with child, too.”
Wickham gulped and looked again between the men. He sputtered, “What does it matter now? I heard the girl died! It’s not like her father can make me do the pretty to a dead girl. Did she say something before?
” He was beginning to panic.
Darcy nearly punched him again for his careless disregard for Lydia’s death, an event that had affected his beloved Elizabeth profoundly. No, not mine anymore. His vehemence grew, and he stepped towards Wickham again, his fists clenched.
Richard stepped in his way. “No, Darcy.”
Darcy’s irritated eyes set upon his cousin. “And why not?”
Richard motioned to two of his men to get Wickham into a chair and off the floor. Then he instructed them to guard both Perkins and Wickham while he stepped outside with his cousin.
Darcy was reluctant to go, of course. How many years had he waited to finally deal with Wickham? How many times had he been hurt, cheated and deceived by him?
As soon as they reached the hallway and out of earshot of the room, Richard spoke through clenched teeth. “Get a hold of yourself, Darcy!”
“I am surprised to hear this from you, Richard. You know what that blackguard has done to me.”
“Yes and here’s the rub. Firstly, Wickham cannot talk when he is unconscious on the floor. Second, if you kill the man, you will be hanged.” When Darcy huffed, Richard asked, “What about Elizabeth and Georgiana?”
“There is no Elizabeth!” Darcy spoke so coldly that Richard had to step back.
“What?”
“She would not have me after that man” — Darcy pointed down the hall towards the door — “ruined and killed her sister.”
Richard cursed and ran his hands through his hair. He mumbled to himself, “I cannot believe she holds you accountable.”
“Why would she not when I could have prevented it?”
Richard was still confused; the letter he received from Georgiana while they were in Hertfordshire had related how well they got on. He looked at Darcy then and caught a glimpse of the drowning man again. There was nothing to be done about her today; they had to deal with Wickham first.
“Put that aside now, Darcy. You have to think of Georgiana at least. So you cannot kill Wickham even if you should like to.”
Darcy closed his eyes and groaned.
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