Inside, the book was hollowed out, leaving a secret compartment for the owner to conceal whatever they wished.
Carefully, Darcy removed several small sheets of paper, which were held together with a thin piece of red ribbon.
He spread them out over his desk. There were more than even he remembered, eleven piles in all, each of more than a dozen notes. They were promissory notes issued in lieu of payment, all wrote by Wickham.
Taking a clean sheet of paper and a quill, Darcy began to write.
Cambridge £259 6s 8d Complete
Oxford £ 26 18s 7d C.
Windsor £ 34 9s 11d C.
Aldershot £ 43 16s 2d C.
High Wycombe £ 60 2s 3d C.
Basingstoke £ 63 3s 6d C.
Rochester £ 84 12s 8d C.
Dartford £109 11s 2d C.
Harrow £124 4s10d C.
Watford £143 12s 8d C.
Meryton £188 7s 4d amount to date
Total £1,138 5s 9d
The list went on and on. Everywhere that Wickham had lived, he had run up debts. Everywhere Wickham had run up debts, so Darcy had paid them off. There were debts for clothes and boots. For lodging, food, drink and gambling. Wickham had even paid for his pleasures of the flesh with an I.O.U. Apparently, Wickham paid for nothing with cash.
For three years now, Darcy had been settling Wickham’s debts and buying up his gaming markers and promissory notes. Not to save him from the debtor’s prison, or even worse, deportation, but so that the honest tradesmen and merchants, the tailors, and cobblers, and blacksmiths could continue going about their business and feeding their families, instead of struggling to make ends meet when Wickham failed to pay his due.
Before him, Darcy spread out the map he had marked tracing Wickham’s travels. Each marker was a testament to where Wickham had honed his ability to charm, trick and deceive innocent people into lending him money and goods in ever-increasing amounts.
Starting at Cambridge, he had then skirted around the capital, staying in towns where the inhabitants would be more susceptible to his form of refined and polished charm. Each time he moved on, he appeared to have become bolder, and the level of debt rose accordingly.
The Cambridge debt, which included Wickham’s time at the university had been the largest so far. Darcy had paid it to honour his father’s wishes, who had died just days after he graduated with honours. Unsurprisingly, Wickham had failed to graduate.
“My God Darcy! Are all these Wickham’s debts? There is enough money owed here to feed my men for a year!” exclaimed the colonel.
Darcy had been so intent on the task at hand, he had failed to hear his cousin arrive.
Moving to greet him, hand outstretched, Darcy said,
“Good evening, Richard. Yes, but these are only the ones I know about. I am certain there are many more out there that I do not know about.”
“This must run into thousands, Darcy? Have you paid them all?”
Darcy nodded.
“Then you’re a fool. Your father liked Wickham, but not to this extent. You have served your father’s memory well, cousin, now let Wickham find his own fate. He will either tighten his belt or find himself in debtor’s prison.”
Richard was right, and Darcy knew this, but he still felt accountable for Wickham’s foul deeds. As for Richard, he only knew the life of a soldier, responsible for his men and himself. Darcy’s burden was much heavier, with the well-being of whole families.
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam had spent his formative years growing up with Darcy and Wickham, although he was a few years older than them.
Being the second son of an earl, he had a choice of careers. Join the church, join the army or navy, or lead an idle life of frivolity and boredom. As there was already a bishop and a black sheep in the family, he had decided to join the army. So, at the tender age of fourteen, his father bought him a lieutenant’s commission in the military. By the age of sixteen, he was in command of his own battalion of one thousand men, fighting a little know general called Napoleon Bonaparte on the Italian peninsula. Although commended for his bravery and promoted to Major, he had barely escaped with his life.
Undeterred, Major Fitzwilliam had badgered his commanding officer to send him to Egypt, where once again Napoleon was waging war.
Though the British troops initially pushed Napoleon's armies back to Switzerland, when Russian retreated from the fray, Bonaparte advanced once more.
Over the next few years, Richard’s bravery and leadership were rewarded with two further promotions, until he attained the rank which he now held, Colonel.
With the Treaty of Amiens, signed in 1802, England enjoyed a small respite from the rigours of war, but all too soon the French and the English were again battling one another.
Then, Richard and a few of his best men were drafted into a small elite group of soldiers by the Duke of Wellington, splitting their time between England’s shores and undercover trips to the continent. Fortunately, for Darcy, Richard was in the country at this time.
“So, what has he been up to now?” Richard asked.
Darcy filled Richard in on all that had occurred in the last three months, including his engagement to Elizabeth and Lydia’s foolish elopement.
“I warned you that Bingley’s sister had her eye on you,” he joked.
“I rather think her eye was on Pemberley, cousin, not me. Besides, is that all you took from what I just said?” Darcy asked.
“Of course not. You are engaged, Bingley is engaged, and Wickham is up to his old trick. But Wickham must be the task we tackle first. So, what’s the plan?”
Darcy had given much thought to what could be done about Wickham. He could buy him off and hope Lydia Bennet was unspoiled. Or, he could call in George’s debts, the result being he would then be thrown into debtor’s prison. Or, the most ungentlemanly choice of all, he could challenge Wickham to a duel, though Darcy knew that would be an unfair fight. He far outstripped Wickham in both shooting and fencing, in which case, it would be murder. Then there was the legal complication. Duelling was illegal, and he was a magistrate; both components rules fighting out in Darcy’s eyes.
Relating all this to his cousin, Richard watched as Darcy fought against his emotions, fought against what he would like to do to Wickham, and what was the right and moral thing to do.
Richard put his arm on Darcy’s shoulder, and said,
“Darcy, my friend, I can see the turmoil this causes you, feel the pain it gives you. Let me deal with Wickham. I can promise you he will trouble you no more. Just say the word.”
“Thank you, Richard, but killing Wickham would not sit well with my conscience. I understand as a soldier you have seen, and done many things in the name of our country, but killing Wickham in cold blood? No, it would just be murder.”
“I know your scruples would not allow me to harm him, Darcy, but let me remove him from your life, forever. I promise I won’t harm a hair on his head,” Richard said and raised his hand in mock horror.
“You could do that? With no injury to Wickham?” Darcy asked with hope.
“I promise. I will not harm a hair on Wickham’s head.” Richard repeated.
Darcy mulled Richard’s offer over in his head. To be rid of Wickham forever was something he had wished many times in the past.
“Very well. But first I must rescue Miss Lydia from his clutches. Then, and only then, will he be yours.”
“And how do you intend to do that?” Richard asked.
“Simple,” Darcy answered, “Give him what he wants.”
Elizabeth had tried to sleep, but her mind was in turmoil. As she paces to and fro in her bedchamber, she pondered the events of the last two weeks.
She had come to terms with her engagement almost immediately and had since felt her regard for Darcy grow steadily, to the point where she had willed him to kiss her that afternoon. Their encounter in the music room had awakened her to feelings and emotions that were new and exciting and exhilaratin
g, and she longed to repeat them. Blushing at her own brazen thoughts, Elizabeth reminded herself that her wedding was only weeks away. And Darcy, what of him? He seemed a different man to the one that had arrogantly strode into the assembly rooms at Meryton, derisively viewing the town folk with boredom and condescension. Somehow, together, they had begun to grow into a couple. This reassured her that her future, although thrust upon her unexpectedly, was something to look forward to and embrace as a new adventure. That was until Lydia eloped with George Wickham, throwing everything up in the air.
Indeed, Lydia had done many a selfish thing in the past, but this was beyond comparison. And Mr Darcy, well hopefully he was going to be the one to restore her to her family.
Elizabeth recalled when Miss Bingley had said, ‘Darcy is a man without fault.’ At the time, she had scoffed at the idea of a perfect man, but with every passing day, Darcy proved Miss Bingley’s words correct.
Giving herself a mental shake, she decided, she must try to get some sleep. These things would still be there on the morrow. Tonight, she must rest.
Knowing a book would aid her to sleep, she looked around to see if there were any in her room. There were none.
Deciding to venture downstairs to look for one, Elizabeth made her way down to the first floor, where she now knew Darcy’s study was situated.
When she saw the faint glimmer of light creeping out from under the door frame, she hesitated. Was there someone in there? Was it Darcy or her father? Should she go in?
“Oh, for goodness sake girl,” she muttered to herself. She had never been an indecisive person before, and she was not going to start now.
Turning the handle, she slid the door back.
There, standing before her, was Darcy, but he was not alone. A tall, rather handsome looking gentleman in uniform stood beside him.
Realising she had interrupted something, Elizabeth turned to leave.
“No need to make a retreat on my behalf, Miss Bennet, I was just leaving.”
Elizabeth turned back to face the gentlemen, and as she did so, she felt her colour rise.
Darcy stepped forward and made the introduction.
“Elizabeth, may I present my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Richard, this is my betrothed, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Richard took her hand and bowed low over it, saying,
“Charmed, madam.”
Elizabeth smiled and returned the Colonel's salute.
Then turning back to Darcy, Richard said,
“I will put things in place, and you will call me when I may take charge of the goods?” he asked cryptically.
“Yes, tomorrow, the next day at the latest,” Darcy confirmed.
Again, Richard bowed over Elizabeth's hand and then left the couple alone.
Standing awkwardly, it was Elizabeth who broke the silence.
“Mr Darcy, I did not mean to interrupt… that is… I came to choose a book.”
The pink hue that brushed her cheeks, combined with the candlelight, gave Elizabeth’s skin a golden glow.
Darcy smiled. He did not know why he smiled, other than because Elizabeth was here.
It was in this very room, three weeks past, that he had finally given in to his love for this woman. And now, here she was. In his house, with him.
A surge of love and longing coursed through his body.
Instead of sweeping her into his arms and acting on these feelings, he was the perfect host.
“You did not disturb us, Elizabeth, we had concluded our business,” Darcy said. “May I offer you a glass of wine?” and he turned to the array of bottles on the sideboard.
Elizabeth shook her head. “No…thank you.”
“Elizabeth, may I speak to you for a moment?” Darcy asked.
Elizabeth smiled and, glancing around for a seat.
Darcy quickly pulled up a chair and waited for her to be comfortable.
“Do you remember that first day, when we walked up the hill, and I cautioned you about befriending Mr Wickham?”
Elizabeth remembered only too clearly and had the good grace to colour further.
“Do not remind me. I thought you were jealous of Mr Wickahm, of his easy manner and flowing charm.”
“And if he was a better person, I might well be, but that is not why I bring the subject up now. I told you about a young woman I knew, who, like Miss Lydia had fallen under Wickham’s spell and was almost ruined by him?”
Elizabeth nodded.
Darcy took a deep breath, hoping to calm the quiver in his voice that was always present when he spoke of Georgiana’s near ruin.
“It was Georgiana,” he eventually managed to say.
The difficulty which Darcy had had to overcome to reveal this to her was evident on his face, in his expression, in his voice.
Georgiana had been the victim of a vile deception, perpetrated by George Wickham? Such a betrayal of a devoted and loving brother must have torn at his heart. Yet he had forgiven her for the part she played in it and loved her still. Was there no end to this man’s goodness?
The words she spoke next were guarded and cautious.
“Your sister is fortunate, sir, to have a brother as devoted and forgiving as you, to be her champion.”
A rueful smile twisted on Darcy’s lips.
“Fortunate, you say? No, Elizabeth...” Darcy shook his head in a pique of self-loathing. “If I had been more thorough when checking Mrs Younge’s credential, I would never have employed her, never put Georgiana in her care, and never exposed my sister to the underbelly of Wickham’s character. It is something which I will have to live with for the rest of my life. That my neglect almost cost my sister everything. And now, Miss Lydia. If I had acted differently…”
Elizabeth’s heart lurched as she witnessed Darcy’s pain. She stood up and went to his side.
Cautiously, hesitantly, she placed her hand on his arm.
“To have a brother who loves her so deeply, who protects her so prodigiously, and bears that burden gladly. Yes, I say fortunate, sir.” Elizabeth replied softly.
Darcy placed his hand over Elizabeth’s and looked deep into her eyes. He needed her comfort, her understanding, her…forgiveness. If he could be sure that she was sincere in her words, it would ease the guilt he now felt over her sister's predicament.
As if reading his mind, Elizabeth said,
“Lydia would never have been content until she had exposed herself in society in one way or another. Mr Wickham was in the right place at the right time as far as Lydia is concerned.”
“If only I could believe that, Elizabeth,”
Elizabeth could not let Darcy take all the blame for Lydia’s folly.
“Believe me, Lydia has always been a disaster waiting to happen. If not Mr Wickham, then it would have been someone else.”
Then, her voice soft and cajoling, Elizabeth tried to coax him out of his sombre reverie.
“Come, help me choose a book. I am in the mood for something light and entertaining.”
Elizabeth turned her attention to the row of books nearest to her.
Spying a novel she had previously enjoyed reading, Elizabeth reached up to retrieve it.
Noticing where her gaze fell, Darcy too reached up for the book, saying,
“Allow me.”
In the instant that followed, when their hands brushed together, an actual spark crackled in the air, breaking the silence with a burst of blue light.
“Ouch,” Elizabeth exclaimed, rubbing where the jolt of electricity had pricked her hand.
“I am sorry, Elizabeth, I only meant to save you the trouble of stretching.” Now it was Darcy’s turn to flush crimson.
Seeing the sombre expression on Darcy’s face and the redness of his cheeks, Elizabeth could not contain her mirth.
“I suspect even the ancient gods of Greece would have been envious of such a bolt of lightning, sir.”
Darcy’s mood lightened, relieved that Elizabeth had neither berated him for using he
r given name; nor reproached him for keeping Wickham’s past a secret.
Returning her smile, he said,
“If you will allow me, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy emphasised as he reached up and retrieved the book in question.
“Tales of Fashionable Life, Volume III, Vivian. You will enjoy this more than the one I might have recommended, Marmion, by Sir Walter Scott.” Darcy said as he turned the leather-bound novel over in his hands.
“I hope so,” Elizabeth said retrieving the book from Darcy’s hand. “Maria Edgeworth is a particular favourite of mine.”
Reluctantly, Darcy let her take the book, but not before he added,
“Elizabeth…I am glad you are here.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next morning, Mr Bennet and Elizabeth rose at their regular time and went down to breakfast. Although Elizabeth expected it was a little early for either Mr Bingley or Miss Darcy to join them, she had expected to see Mr Darcy.
As usual, Mr Bennet was engrossed in the morning paper, which had thoughtfully been placed at the side of his plate. He failed to notice that Elizabeth was perplexed about something.
Eventually, she could bear the suspense no more.
Turning to one of the footmen, she asked,
“Will Mr Darcy be joining us?”
The footman, immaculately dressed in the Darcy livery, leant closer to Elizabeth and in a hushed tone said,
“No, Miss. The master and Miss Darcy left some time ago.”
“Left?” Elizabeth echoed quietly.
“Yes, Miss.”
“Do you know where they went?”
Generally, James the footman, would not entertain revealing anything about the master to a stranger. However, as Mr Miller had informed the household two days ago that Miss Bennet was to be the new mistress, he felt at liberty to divulge the information.
“I believe the master had escorted Miss Georgiana to Lady Matlock’s town residence, Miss.”
“Oh, I see. Thank you.” Elizabeth said, and then turned back to contemplate the pattern on her breakfast plate.
Just as they were finishing their repast, in bounced Mr Bingley.
Mr Darcy's Proposal Page 17