Fitzwilliam Darcy, Traitor

by Jennifer Joy

  She tugged on his sleeve, urging him, “Come inside, Mr. Darcy. You see how thick the snow falls. None of us can leave here today.”

  He allowed her to pull him inside the cottage where he spent the rest of the day in contemplative silence. He was vigilant assisting with the few measures they could take to ease Mr. Bingley’s discomfort, but he withdrew into himself.

  Elizabeth's curiosity grew the more she pondered Mr. Darcy. Opinions and gossip aside, who was he really? She burned to know.

  Chapter 16

  Bingley’s fever kept Darcy awake through the night. Not that he could have slept anyway. Miss Elizabeth filled his thoughts when he closed his eyes, and she was ever present when he opened them.

  Rebellious curls escaped from her pins, brushing against her cheeks and falling down her shoulders. One in particular was longer than the others. It coiled near her collarbone, and every time Darcy saw it glide over her skin he wanted to wrap the tendril around his finger.

  Miss Bennet cooled Bingley’s face tirelessly with a damp cloth, and Miss Elizabeth read to them by the light of the fire. Bingley could not wish for better nurses.

  Darcy checked the kettle for water. It would be daylight soon, and Miss Elizabeth would fetch more snow unless he got it for her. Putting on his coat so as not to alarm her, he grabbed the vessel and lifted the latch on the door. The force of the wind pulled the rough wood out of his hands to swing wildly in the gale.

  It would be another day stuck in the cabin … and Bingley showed no signs of improvement. If anything, he was worse.

  The ladies looked at Darcy expectantly when he wrenched the door closed and dropped the latch in place.

  He shook his head. “It is still too dangerous for us to leave. I could not see over ten feet in front of me.” The longer he delayed in getting to London, the more time Wickham had to use against him. What was he planning?

  Darcy took off his coat and draped it over the diminishing woodpile to dry. That was another source of concern. If the storm did not pass soon, they would run out of fuel for the fire.

  Miss Elizabeth handed him a piece of spiced cake topped with strawberry preserves. He smiled, both in thanks and for the happy memories he recalled on seeing the preserves and for her kindness.

  She handed another plate to her sister. Miss Bennet took it once she reassured herself Bingley slept.

  With every display of attention Miss Bennet lavished upon Bingley, Darcy’s guilt increased. He had been right to warn Bingley, given how little Miss Bennet had revealed about her character in the time they had known her, but Darcy had misjudged the lady.

  Dark circles ringed her eyes. Others would have succumbed to exhaustion, but she fussed over her betrothed selflessly.

  Darcy was not too proud to admit to his mistake. It was the right thing to do. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I was wrong to doubt your attachment to Bingley, Miss Bennet. He is fortunate to have you.”

  She smiled brightly. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Your opinion means a great deal to him.”

  He felt the grace of her forgiveness and the shock of Miss Elizabeth. She stared at him, her lips parted.

  His grin widened when she returned his smile. He basked in her approval, feeling lighthearted for the first time since … since before Wickham’s treachery.

  Darcy had spent all night weighing the consequences and had come to a decision. He needed to tell them about Wickham. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth would protect Georgiana’s reputation as surely as they protected each other, Darcy did not doubt.

  “Is Bingley asleep?” he asked. Darcy trusted Bingley, but not with this.

  Miss Bennet assured Darcy that Bingley was sleeping soundly. Miss Elizabeth still gaped at him. He wondered how she would react to what he was about to tell her and her sister.

  Darcy rubbed his palms against his breeches and began, speaking deliberately and clearly. He had no desire to repeat a word of what he was about to reveal. “I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget, and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold to anyone.”

  He sat on the hearth facing the Bennet sisters.

  Miss Elizabeth reached up to her collar, then dropped her hand to her lap with a sigh. Darcy had not noticed before then that her necklace was gone.

  She said, “With such a statement, I will own to a great deal of curiosity. But the secrecy you suggest gives me pause. Mr. Darcy, are you certain you must tell us what you admittedly wish to forget?”

  “I trust you.” Darcy meant what he said. Miss Elizabeth was genuine in her loyalty … even when it was misplaced. Her compassion would extend to Georgiana when she heard of the grave injustice done to the innocent girl. And Miss Bennet would never speak out against anyone. She was consistent in rising to the defense of her faintest acquaintance. Georgiana was safe with these Bennet sisters.

  Having their full attention, he continued, “My sister, Georgiana, is more than ten years my junior.”

  “Lydia’s age,” Miss Elizabeth noted.

  Darcy nodded. “I was left guardianship of her along with my mother’s nephew, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam — a good, trustworthy man as attentive to Georgiana’s happiness as I have always been. About a year ago, I sensed a restlessness in my sister’s letters. Thinking a change of place and occupation would please her, I took Georgiana from school and formed an establishment for her in London.”

  He paused.

  “She did not mention why she was restless?” Miss Elizabeth asked, leaning forward in her chair, her eyes intent on him.

  “No.”

  She looked at him askance. “Did you ask her?”

  He had not, nor had he thought to ask until Miss Elizabeth suggested it then.

  “Pray, do not answer, Mr. Darcy. You do not need to. It is not my aim to add to your discomfort by pointing out what is obvious to a lady with four sisters.” Miss Elizabeth’s eyes softened and her voice lightened. “I have not had the advantage of having a brother, but I have observed how they are more prone to action rather than conversation.”

  “Your observations are correct, though I see now how I might have benefited from an upbringing with four sisters,” he replied with the same humor with which she eased his confession.

  She shared a look with Miss Bennet, then replied in a dry tone, “If it did not kill you first.”

  He continued, his heart lighter, secure in their sympathy. “Last summer she went with the lady who presided over the London establishment to Ramsgate. Mrs. Younge was her name.”

  This was where the story grew more complicated. Darcy did not want to mention Wickham’s name. While he was certain Miss Bennet would believe the truth, he needed Miss Elizabeth to draw her own, correct conclusion.

  Taking a deep breath, he said, “A young man, known to my family, followed Georgiana to Ramsgate. I later learned there was a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived. By her connivance and aid, he courted Georgiana in secret.”

  Miss Elizabeth chewed on her lips and shifted her weight in her seat. Had she guessed he spoke of Wickham?

  Darcy continued, “Georgiana’s affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child, and she was persuaded to believe herself in love.”

  Miss Elizabeth reached toward her throat again, pressing her palm over her bare skin when there was no pearl there to fiddle with.

  “Oh, poor, dear girl,” said Miss Bennet.

  “He broke her heart?” Miss Elizabeth asked.

  Darcy swallowed the lump in his throat. “She consented to an elopement. She was only fifteen, which must be her excuse. I joined them unexpectedly the day before the intended elopement. Georgiana, unable to act deceitfully and offend a brother she looked up to, acknowledged the whole to me.”

  Miss Elizabeth sighed, sitting back in her chair. “How relieved you must have been that she confided in you.”

  There had been no time for relief.
Not when Wickham stood there, listening to Georgiana as she wept in shame. Had he loved her at all, he would have consoled her.

  Clutching his hands together and controlling his tone, Darcy said, “The young man exposed his true motives, and he did his best to hurt her with his vile words … until I made him stop.” Darcy rubbed his knuckles. It had only taken one swing of his arm to quiet the blackguard. Darcy’s only regret was that Georgiana had seen it.

  Wickham had retaliated. The bruised flesh on Darcy’s face and the piercing at his ribs with every breath he took were daily reminders of the damage the evil man had done … and could do.

  Miss Elizabeth’s nostrils flared. “I would have wanted to run him through with a sword. Nobody hurts one of my sisters and gets away unscathed.”

  Darcy was aware of that.

  She must have realized how loaded her statement was, for she added, “What he did to your sister could not be undone. He not only broke her heart, he trampled on it. I suppose he was motivated by money?”

  “Her dowry is thirty thousand pounds, but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. Had he married Georgiana, his revenge would have been complete.”

  A tear trailed down Miss Bennet’s cheek, and she muttered, “Your poor sister.”

  Miss Elizabeth stilled, her mouth agape. Had she realized he spoke of none other than Wickham? Surely, she had to know.

  She did not know the rest of Wickham’s offenses yet. If she did not come to the correct conclusion after hearing it, then Darcy would never presume to know her at all.

  He continued, “The young man threatened to ruin Georgiana’s reputation unless I gave him a large sum of money. I refused to meet his demand, being unwilling to allow him any control over my family’s fortune and my sister’s future.”

  “Such a man is not to be trusted. He would exploit your fear for the rest of your lives.” Miss Elizabeth reached for her necklace again, her lips pinching into a frown at the reminder of its absence.

  Darcy said, “I purchased a commission for him, all the while collecting evidence to use against him before he made his next demand. Sure enough, I heard from him not one month after the events in Ramsgate. He had accounts in London he assumed I would cover. He had indebted himself to unscrupulous men he had no business dealing with, and the sum was large. I told him of the receipts in my lawyer’s possession totaling thousands of pounds for debts he had incurred from defrauding honest people. I made it clear that if he ever came near my sister or attempted to harm her, I would hand the receipts over to the authorities to do with him as they saw fit.”

  “He did not insist?” asked Miss Elizabeth.

  “There is nothing he fears more than debtor’s prison. I did not expect ever to hear from him again.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Where did you say his regiment was stationed?”

  “I did not say.” Darcy did not need to tell her for her to know. He could see it plainly on Miss Elizabeth’s face. She knew.

  “Then let me ask plainly. Where was this man stationed?” she asked.

  “Meryton.”

  Miss Bennet’s eyes widened in shock. “The man was Mr. Wickham?”

  “And his accusation that you deprived him of the living bestowed upon him by your father?” Miss Elizabeth asked, her nostrils flared and her eyes flashing.

  Darcy replied, “My father did indeed promise a living to Mr. Wickham. What Mr. Wickham failed to tell you — what he fails to tell anyone — was that he sold the value of the living to pay off his debts. He later appealed to me for the living after he had squandered the money I had given him. I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity, should you wish to confirm what I have told you.”

  “There is no need, Mr. Darcy.” She looked down briefly before meeting his eyes boldly. “I have doubted your character, your pride. What I perceived as a flaw — as the blunt, ungentlemanly speech of a man lacking sympathy for anyone other than himself — is the very trait that makes me believe you.”

  Darcy drew no comfort from her words. They stung when they ought to have soothed. Perhaps he was a glutton for punishment, but he needed to understand why Miss Elizabeth called him ungentlemanly. “Is it your opinion that a gentleman must sacrifice truth to please society? Must a gentleman change his character to suit the sensibilities of others?” He would like to see her argue against her own words.

  She arched an eyebrow, one corner of her lips curling up impishly and disconcerting him completely. “You desire my honest opinion? You may soon wish you had not asked, Mr. Darcy, for I do not see how we could possibly agree. You are always right, and I am seldom wrong.” She crossed her arms, challenging him.

  Darcy had no patience for riddles, not when she called his character into question. “Truth is simple, Miss Elizabeth. Wrong is wrong, and good is good. Gentlemen who waver between the two often confuse them, compromising their values and disappointing those who had previously held them in esteem. A gentleman never fails to hold himself to the highest standard, and he rightly expects others to do the same.”

  “A rigid view, Mr. Darcy, but proof of your honesty all the same. I have never thought you a liar.”

  Him? Rigid? He relaxed his posture lest Miss Elizabeth use it against him to prove her point.

  She continued, “I misjudged you as badly as I misjudged Mr. Wickham. I allowed his charm to deceive me. It is a mistake I will not easily make again.”

  Darcy exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. He did not know what relieved him more — that Miss Elizabeth believed him, or that he had been right about her.

  Chapter 17

  Elizabeth was crestfallen. A gentleman as proud as Mr. Darcy would never reveal details about his sister’s near ruin — details difficult for him to reveal — unless they were the absolute truth.

  Why had she not demanded proof of Mr. Wickham’s claims against Mr. Darcy? Why had Mr. Wickham deemed it appropriate to speak against the gentleman to her? Had he believed her so gullible?

  She cringed in shame. She had been that gullible. She had swallowed his sob story with one greedy gulp.

  Elizabeth’s heart raced in panic. She had told no one other than Jane of Mr. Wickham’s complaints, but she had made her disapproval of Mr. Darcy obvious based on her misbelief of him. She had thought him a heartless monster. She had accused him of acting ungentlemanly to his face.

  She was praised in Meryton for being an excellent judge of character — praise in which she had prided herself and which she clearly did not deserve. The villagers despised Mr. Darcy while they adored Mr. Wickham.

  Truth cast an ugly shadow over her own actions, and Elizabeth saw Mr. Wickham in a new light. What she had considered pleasing and charming now lay exposed as the scheming, superficial act of the accomplished deceiver. The audacity of Mr. Wickham showing his face at a ball where he knew Mr. Darcy would be in attendance! If a man treated any of her sisters as Mr. Wickham had treated Miss Darcy … she shivered at the thought.

  Elizabeth clutched her stomach, feeling ill. “My sisters,” she whispered, the full danger of Mr. Wickham’s close association with her family clear.

  Reaching forward, she grasped Mr. Darcy’s hand. She squeezed harder than she meant to, but her need to hear his honest reply did not allow for a looser grip. “Mr. Darcy, pray tell me if you believe my sisters to be in danger. They are silly girls with no one to check their behavior. They would be easy conquests.” It pained her to admit as much, but her love for her sisters did not blind her to their faults.

  Jane was as still as a statue, not even breathing.

  Mr. Darcy did not pull away from her. He turned his hand, squeezing hers gently. It was a reassuring gesture. Softly, he said, “Wickham must marry a fortune. What is more, he is not currently in Meryton, nor do I suspect he will return.”

  “Thank God for that,” Elizabeth heaved, sinking back into her chair and crossing her arms over herself. A blast of wind struck the side of the cottage, caus
ing the timbers to groan and sending a burst of biting air through the drafty room — a harsh reminder that they could not charge after Mr. Wickham and bring him to justice for his crimes.

  Jane pulled Mr. Bingley’s dry greatcoat more tightly around his chin, her eyes melancholic as she looked down at him and said, “I pray you are correct, Mr. Darcy. For all of our sakes.”

  Elizabeth knew where Jane’s thoughts had led her, and it chilled Elizabeth worse than the winter weather out of doors. Mr. Wickham may not intend to do any harm to their sisters, but that may not be enough to save him from them were he to return to Meryton. Their mother would encourage Lydia and Kitty, and their father was not one to prevent a calamity when the absence of his silliest offspring meant he had more peace at home.

  Elizabeth’s concern returned with a vengeance. Lydia was the most determined flirt in all of Hertfordshire. She lived to selfishly snatch every wrap, bonnet, pair of slippers, or bit of ribbon that caught her fancy from her sisters. She would consider it her greatest accomplishment to snatch Mr. Wickham, believing that Elizabeth favored the officer.

  She shivered. He repulsed her now.

  Elizabeth tried to rein in her thoughts, but they had gone too far down the darkest path of possibilities. Dropping her hand down to her lap, she prayed Mr. Darcy would not read the distress in her expression.

  In all likelihood, she and Mr. Darcy would have to marry. The horrible speculation had struck her that if Lydia forced Mr. Wickham into a match, then he and Mr. Darcy would be family by marriage. They would be brothers.

  Mr. Darcy opened his mouth, and Elizabeth already felt the flush crawling up her neck and warming her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could turn back time. She would reprove Mr. Wickham for sharing intimacies that did not belong to her to hear. She would have given Mr. Darcy the benefit of the doubt.