She laughed a little.
“Why did you come back to me?” He shook his head at her, seemingly dazed.
“Give me a moment, sir. I will put something on and we will go to the east wing.”
He straightened, and his voice was a steadily rising threat. “You put him in the east wing?”
“Well,” she said, going to her wardrobe, “there was nowhere else.”
“But that is… he is defiling—”
“I know,” she said. “I did not know what else to do with him.”
Darcy sighed, his jaw twitching. “He won’t say there. There must be somewhere else to put him.”
She pulled a dress over her head. It had only a few buttons in the front and she did them up. Tying her hair into a careless knot at the nape of her neck, she presented herself. “All right, let’s go, then.”
“All right,” he said.
As they walked, she told him of her conversation with the doctor, and how he had advised that they turn him over to the authorities for stealing their horses.
“But he didn’t steal any horses,” Darcy muttered darkly.
“What he’s done is far worse,” she said, “but it may be harder to have him condemned for such things, so I think it is the best way.”
“I’m not having him condemned to death for a lie,” said Darcy.
“Sir, I am not one to wish suffering on anyone, even a man like Wickham, but…” She stopped then, twisting her hands together.
Darcy kept going several paces after her before stopping. He was leaning heavily on his cane and limping, but he was moving just the same. He turned to her. “What?”
“Do you remember when we spoke of Iago and Don John in Shakespeare, and I said such men were fictional, that no one hurt people just because they delighted in causing pain?”
“I do,” said Darcy.
“Well, whatever Mr. Wickham is, he is…” She swallowed. “He made threats to me, Fitzwilliam, and I could see it all over him. He does enjoy inflicting pain. He is some kind of… storybook monster.”
“No, Elizabeth, he’s a man,” said Darcy. “But you’re right, he’s a different sort of man. I don’t know if he could inhabit the pages of a Shakespeare play, but there is something within him that is… wrong. He can be so charming, you know, but it’s all a mask.”
“Yes,” she said. “And underneath, he’s horrid.”
“Yes,” said Darcy.
“Did you know before? Before he took your sister?”
“I…” He grimaced. “I suppose I did not know the depths of his depravity.”
“You see, then, Fitzwilliam, you can’t blame yourself for not understanding him, for thinking him like other men. It is him you must blame and not yourself.”
Darcy sighed heavily and started to walk again.
“Fitzwilliam, wait,” she called.
But he kept going.
They did not speak again until they reached the room where Wickham was being kept.
Darcy spoke to the guard at the door, telling the man he could go.
“No,” whispered Elizabeth, “what are you doing? Have him stay.”
Darcy ignored her and entered the room.
Wickham was lying on the floor, asleep.
Darcy went to him and kicked him. “Wake up, Wickham.”
Wickham scrambled up into a crouch, holding his bound hands in front of him. “Fitzie! It’s you. You’re here.”
“I am.” Darcy looked down at him, and in the scant candlelight, with his scars, he was frightful to behold.
“I’m glad,” said Wickham. “It seems to me that we have a disagreement of sorts, and we should settle it like gentlemen.”
“Settle it?” echoed Darcy.
“Yes,” said Wickham. “I challenge you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, to a duel.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Darcy took a step back, and he had to catch himself on his cane. He wavered, nearly losing his balance.
Wickham laughed. “It’s only honorable to accept, Fitzie. If you don’t, well, then, what will be said of you? That you’re a coward?”
“I suppose you’d want a loan from me of whatever weapon I choose? And I suppose you haven’t got anyone to be your second or third either,” said Darcy.
“Well, naturally, I’d be dependent on your hospitality.”
“Very well,” said Darcy. “Swords.”
“What?” said Elizabeth. “Are you insane? He is your prisoner, you cannot agree to duel him.”
Wickham held up his hands. “Untie me. I need time to prepare. Shall we fight at dawn?”
“Fitzwilliam!” said Elizabeth. “He must die. Not you. There must be no chance that anything would happen to you, and we spoke before of duels, about how they were not about justice, but sheer chance. Please.”
Darcy did not take his eyes from Wickham. “Elizabeth, you said that you were not with child, so I don’t see what you’re so concerned about. You mustn’t think that you would not be well taken care of. You will be my widow, after all. You think I would not provide for you in the event of my death?”
“You’re not dying,” said Elizabeth. “I don’t want you dead. Don’t you understand?”
Darcy shook his head. He leaned on his cane. “I can’t lie. I can’t have him hung as a horse thief. That’s not how this ends.”
Wickham looked back and forth between them. “Hang me? Don’t be ridiculous, Darcy. You’re the one who’s wronged me. I’m still grieving over the loss of my wife, and—”
“Have a care,” Darcy interrupted him in a quiet voice. “I might change my mind.”
“You’ve already accepted the duel,” said Wickham. “It would be dishonorable to back out now. And this is about honor, isn’t it, Darcy?”
Darcy chuckled softly, looking Wickham over.
“Come now,” said Wickham. “Let me free.”
Darcy moved his cane, and then he dragged his feet toward Wickham.
“I can’t let you do this,” said Elizabeth, and she started forward as well.
“I hardly think you’d be pleased,” said Darcy to Wickham. “Whenever we fenced, I always bested you, didn’t I? You didn’t really think I’d choose pistols?”
Elizabeth approached.
Darcy turned to her, sticking out his cane. “Stay out of this.”
She halted, biting down on her bottom lip.
Wickham held his hands up to Darcy.
Darcy fumbled in his jacket and came out with a small dagger. He unsheathed it and cut Wickham free.
Wickham got to his feet, kicking off the remains of the ropes. He sprang across the room and seized Elizabeth.
Elizabeth struggled, but Wickham’s grasp was too tight.
Wickham laughed, delighted. “I can’t believe you fell for that, Fitzie. Really, you are an idiot.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Elizabeth struggled. She drove her elbow into Wickham.
Wickham let out a noise, air going from his lungs.
Elizabeth tried to get away.
But Wickham tightened his arm around her, pulling her back against his body. He moved, one of his arms going about her throat.
She gasped, coughing.
Darcy put his cane down on the floor, and the sound echoed through the room.
Wickham laughed again, but it was thinner now. “I’ll crush the life out of her. Don’t move.”
“I thought you said this was about honor, Wickham,” said Darcy.
“Well, it’s about yours. I don’t have any. Honor is a dreadful inconvenience, you know.”
“Indeed.” Darcy shook his head. “Let her go.”
“You know I can’t. She’s my shield. No, listen, here’s what we’ll do. She and I are going to go downstairs, out of this wing, and you’ll provide us with a horse—no, that’s a bad idea. I won’t be a horse thief. A carriage.”
“Us?” said Darcy. “You think to take my wife along with you?”
“For leverage, of course,” said
Wickham. “And perhaps a bit of fun as well. After I’ve had her, it’ll be like the girl in Cambridge, the one I stole from you?”
Darcy bared his teeth.
“We can talk over how wet her cunny was, just as we did then, and decide to be friends and never let a bit of breasts and hips come between us again,” said Wickham.
Elizabeth struggled once more.
Darcy cleared his throat. “I’d rather you didn’t speak such vulgarity in front of my wife.”
“Well, let me tell you, the vulgar things I’m going to subject her to—” But Wickham stopped speaking.
Because Darcy had taken a pistol out from the folds of his coat.
“Darcy, what are you about?” said Wickham.
“Step away from her,” said Darcy, holding the pistol aloft, pointing it directly at Wickham’s head.
“You… you wouldn’t shoot me,” said Wickham, who was all agog over this development.
“I should have brought a loaded gun when I came for Georgiana,” said Darcy. “You think I’d make the same mistake twice?”
“Fine,” said Wickham, wounded. He let go of Elizabeth and stepped backward, arms up. “There we go, Darcy, it’s all right. You’re really getting rather worked up, aren’t you? How long has it been since you’ve slept? You look a bit worse for wear.” Wickham laughed again, nervous. When Darcy didn’t reply, he kept talking. “Well, there it is. I’m no longer touching her. Lower the gun, for God’s sake, man. Lower it now.”
Darcy pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Elizabeth screamed. She didn’t mean to. She wasn’t upset at the development, even though Wickham’s throat had exploded in red gore, even though he was thrown backward and he twitched twice before he was still.
She was relieved, and she wanted to start crying.
Darcy let his hand holding the pistol drop to his side. Laboriously, leaning heavily on his cane with the other hand, he made his way across the room to Wickham. He nudged the man’s body with his foot.
“He’s dead,” said Elizabeth softly.
Darcy looked up at her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Darcy let out a breath and a strange noise, reminiscent of a sob. Then he hobbled out of the room.
Elizabeth looked around, at the fire, the chamberpot, the ceiling, everywhere except at the body. And then she followed him.
Darcy walked directly into the wall. He rested his forehead against it, and then his cheek, and then he turned around, his head still touching the wall. With his back to the wall, he slid down to the floor.
His cane dropped with a clatter.
He set the pistol carefully in front of him.
It was quiet.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway to the room where Wickham was.
Movement, at the end of the hallway, servants coming into the wing. She stepped forward, shaking her head. “Back, go back!” she called at them. “Not yet.”
They halted, looking from her to Mr. Darcy.
Darcy waved them off.
Hesitantly, they retreated.
Elizabeth watched them go, and then she sat down in front of Mr. Darcy. She took his hands in hers.
The unscarred side of his mouth quirked up a bit. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I’m all right.”
“I shouldn’t have let you come with me,” he said. “I don’t know why I did.”
She thought of his sending off the guard at the door. “You were planning on killing him all along.”
He sighed heavily. “I think perhaps I was.”
She squeezed his fingers. “He deserved it. He had nothing but evil to bring to the world.”
“I’m sorry that he hurt you.”
“I’m all right.”
“I’m sorry he said those things in front of you.”
“Mr. Darcy, I am fine. I am whole and well.”
“You know, I was not in the habit of having horrible discussions with him about women’s, er… That thing he said, I was not that sort of man. I was never that sort of man.”
“Mr. Darcy,” she laughed. “There are great many things that I seem to be able to forgive you. Something that happened when you were barely more than a boy, before you even knew me… I shall never think on it again, and I have never believed a word out of his mouth.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“I love you, though,” he said. He winced faintly. “I’ve never told you that, have I?”
She looked away, suddenly shy.
“I’ve loved you a long time,” he said. “I’m not sure when it started, but for a great many days and nights, since before your sister fell sick at Netherfield, I have thought of you first when I awoke and last before I went to sleep. And if I have not treated you the way a man should treat a woman he loves, then I must say… well, I cannot excuse myself, for there aren’t excuses. But you are here. You came back. So, I think you might be willing to give me a chance to try to do better?”
“That is exactly why I’m here,” she said, smiling.
“I shall,” he said, giving her a very serious look. “I swear to you that I shall be a better man from now on.”
She squeezed his fingers again.
* * *
Without any real discussion of the matter, the servants hauled Mr. Wickham’s body out of the house, and Mr. Nelson loudly proclaimed that he’d been stealing the horses and had been shot in the attempt. “No one will say any different, upon my word,” he assured Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Darcy said they could bury Mr. Wickham in the morning. It was too late for any of that now.
Then he and Elizabeth went to his bedchamber, where he washed himself as best he could in a basin, and then, exhausted, he fell into bed, and Elizabeth stayed with him. They didn’t discuss that either. She wasn’t about to leave his side, and he didn’t ask her to.
When she woke in the morning, it was like the first night in the inn, their limbs entangled, his firm warmth wrapped around her. She breathed in the scent of him. She never wanted to let him go.
She studied him in his sleep. He seemed lighter somehow, and she didn’t know how. But some burden he’d been carrying had been jettisoned along with that bullet. It wouldn’t bring back his sister, and it wasn’t justice, not truly, because nothing could make it all right.
But she couldn’t be sorry that Mr. Wickham was dead.
She kissed Mr. Darcy’s scar, the place where it started, right at his eyebrow.
His eyes fluttered open.
“Sorry I woke you,” she murmured.
“You’re here with me,” he said, smiling at her.
She smiled back.
He pulled her down and kissed her lips. She clung to him.
“How could I possibly be so lucky as to have you here?” he whispered.
“You know,” she said, “you are not really as awful as all that.”
He chuckled. “No?”
“No, your wickedness is somewhat exaggerated, I must say. I would not be a wardrobe of dresses or a table set with plates when you are angry, truly, but beyond that, you are all bluster.”
Now, he was really laughing.
“I am not frightened of you at all,” she said.
“That, my sweet one, is because you have tamed me.” He kissed her nose.
She shut her eyes, happy in this moment, and she knew this was where she belonged. She could not be anywhere but by his side. “If I have tamed you, then I command you.”
“Yes, absolutely. I am your willing slave. What do you require, Elizabeth?”
It was her turn to laugh. “I shall probably require a great many things. After we break our fast, I shall begin a list. An exhaustive list.”
“Mmm,” he said. “Planning on keeping me busy, then?”
“Yes,” she said. “I think so.”
He let out something very like a growl. “I would very much like to be kept busy righ
t now.”
“But?” she said. “I sense there is a ‘but’ coming.”
“Well, we do have to deal with the body,” he said, and grimness settled over him.
“You’re right, of course,” she said. It was odd, she would have thought it monstrous to be thus the morning after a killing a man, but because of the oppressiveness that Wickham had wrought in his wake, it was hard not to feel as if a weight had been lifted now that he was gone.
Wickham had no family. His father, the steward, had passed some years ago, and his mother had died long ago in childbirth. He had no brothers or sisters. So, there was no one to claim him. He was buried quietly and they moved on.
Later that evening, they sat in front of the fire in the main hall, and the dogs lay between them.
Mr. Darcy was absently stroking Lady’s head. “Georgiana found them.”
Elizabeth, who had been staring into the fire for some time, mesmerized by the patterns of the flames, looked up. “Found who?”
“They were out on the edge of the woods there.” Darcy gestured, taking his hand off of Lady. He scratched at the scar on his face.
“Does it itch you?” she said, leaning forward, concerned.
“I prefer it itching to hurting,” he said, giving her a half smile.
“What are you talking about?” she said. “What did your sister find?”
“Oh, the puppies,” he said. “She was small then. Only about eight years old. Our parents were both gone by then. I think it was only a month after my mother’s funeral.”
Elizabeth looked at him, her heart going out to him. So much suffering in his life, so much pain. “The puppies,” she murmured. Then she looked at Lady. “Oh, the dogs!” She understood now. “They were puppies then.”
His smile widened. “That is generally the nature of dogs, madam.”
“Oh, leave off.” She narrowed her eyes good-naturedly. “I know what you are speaking of now.”
“They were small then,” he said, returning to scratch under Lady’s chin. “There were three of them, and they were squirming and mewling and half-dead. Their eyes weren’t open yet. They were just tiny things. Georgiana was enchanted. She insisted we bring them into the house and find some way to feed them and care for them, and I was worried that one or more of them would die and break her heart all over again. She took the loss of our mother very hard. She was so young, and girls need their mothers.” He shook his head.
Mr. Darcy, the Beast Page 17
