by Jennifer Joy
“What do you plan to do, Darcy? You cannot allow Mr. Tanner to accuse you wrongly. It seems that most of Meryton supports him.”
“I know it. I shall simply have to take matters into my own hands.” There was no one else he could trust. He could not reveal the basis for his resentment of Wickham, nor could he reveal where he was at the time of his murder.
Bingley poured two drinks and brought them over before the fireplace. “If there is anything I can do to assist, please do not hesitate to ask. You can bet Caroline will do her best to clear your name of fault, although I fear they saw through her falsehood,” he added with a worried smile.
“It is best for her not to involve herself— if Mr. Tanner is any indication of the animosity held against me by the villagers.” Far worse than Miss Bingley’s unwanted interference was the possibility that she could come to harm.
Bingley’s eyes grew large. “You do not really think they might go to that extreme, do you?”
“I do not know. Wickham took no time at all in making himself out to be a victim of abuse at my hand.” Of course, Darcy had done himself no favors by refusing to dance at the Meryton Assembly.
After some moments of pause, Bingley nodded his head decisively. “I will order the carriage to convey my family to London at the first sign of trouble. Even if Caroline’s testimony is needed at the inquest, the distance is not too great for her to return.”
“And you? Would you go with them if it comes to that?”
“I shall stay, of course. I am not one to leave a friend in need, nor do I wish to part company from a certain young lady so soon.”
“I noticed you paid particular attention to Miss Bennet. She is a fair lady, and I found her manners far superior to those of her family. Is her admiration for you as strong as yours?”
Bingley shuffled his feet. “What do you think, Darcy?”
To be truthful, he believed her indifferent.
Looking down at his hands whilst collecting his thoughts, for it was never easy to be the bearer of bad news, he saw Miss Elizabeth’s bite mark on his finger, now encased with a purple bruise. What did he know of the gentle sex? He had not noticed Georgiana’s infatuation with Wickham in time to safeguard her from unnecessary heartache. And he did not have sense enough to eliminate Miss Elizabeth from his every thought. She had made her opinion of him as clear as crystal and yet, he admired her still.
“You are a better judge than I am, Bingley.” He would say no more on the subject. He knew Miss Elizabeth would have approved.
Chapter 8
Bingley was determined to accompany Darcy to Meryton the following morning. He wore a patterned waistcoat with a coat to match the blue swirls on it on the chance they might see Miss Bennet.
“The officers will think you a dandy,” Darcy teased him.
“You are one to criticize! I see you took care to wear your dark green riding coat instead of your normal brown. It sets off your black armband nicely. Who are you hoping to impress this morning, Darcy?”
Darcy did not tell Bingley that he had changed his coat three times before settling on the green. It was the same dark color Miss Elizabeth had worn to the Assembly. It sounded foolish to him now, but he hoped she might see him more favorably if he wore a color he knew she liked.
Green suited her, bringing out the rich chestnut of her hair, her honey skin kissed by the sun during her rambles through the countryside, the pink glow to her cheeks…. Like a rose hidden amongst verdant foliage.
“Do you ignore me, Darcy? Or do you plan to make a habit of not answering my questions?”
Startled back to reality, Darcy said breathlessly, “I give no answer because there is none to give, Bingley. Were I to have a satisfying reply, I would gladly share it with you.” He must control his foolish thoughts before they carried him too far. He did not love Miss Elizabeth. Admire her, yes. Respect her, absolutely. Love her? It would be the height of stupidity to fall in love with a lady who was tenaciously determined to believe the worst of him.
“Do not be stupid, Darcy. Your manners only make others likely to believe your guilt. You do not always need to say something profound all the time. You come across as pompous and taciturn.” Bingley shuffled the reins between his hands.
Darcy forced a laugh. Bingley did not know the half of it. “You are a good friend, Bingley. There are few in England who would speak to me as you do.” Miss Elizabeth had been equally honest with him. She was wrong, of course, but she had been honest.
“You need more friends,” Bingley replied earnestly.
“I would rather have a few good friends than many false ones. I daresay you are correct in your assessment of the villagers’ reaction to my character. However, I refuse to bend to their wishes and have no desire to befriend anyone who expects me to do so. It is impossible to please everyone, and any attempt to do so would only make me miserable.”
“So you do not try? Come, Darcy, you are better than that. With this business, you ought to concern yourself more with making a favorable impression. Otherwise, the entire village will set themselves against you.”
It grated against Darcy’s convictions, but there was some truth to what Bingley said. It was unjust, but people would judge him based on appearances.
“Very well. I will strive to be more amiable where it is appropriate.”
The tops of the white barracks’ tents peeked over the hill at the side of the village. They would go there first. As Wickham’s friend, Mr. Denny would be the best source of information.
He answered their call with a towel draped around his neck, and some shaving cream tracing his side whiskers. Dabbing at his face, he invited them in and motioned for them to sit at a small table adorned with a deck of cards and surrounded by four stools.
“I apologize for calling early, Mr. Denny,” began Darcy.
“I had expected you would call. The sooner this unpleasant business is resolved, the better. Tell me, Mr. Darcy, how may I be of service?”
Their call off to a promising start, Darcy said directly, “First, I wish to settle any debt Wickham may have owed you.”
Mr. Denny sat down with a thud. “You want to know if Wickham owed me money?”
Darcy laid his hands out against the table. He had nothing to hide, nor any secret motive. “There are more comfortable ways of acquiring this information, but my time is better directed elsewhere at the moment. My intention is to settle his affairs to the best of my ability so that I may focus my energies on discovering the identity of his murderer.”
Shaking his head and narrowing his eyes, Mr. Denny said, “But you hated Wickham. You refused him his living.”
Would that lie never disappear? “You ought not believe everything you hear. I understand, then, that your friendship with Mr. Wickham was not long-standing?” Darcy’s first impression of Mr. Denny was of an honest— albeit naive— chap who would have cut ties with Wickham once his true nature was revealed.
“I met Wickham in London last year. He helped me out of a difficult spot, and we have— or rather had— been friends since.”
“I am sorry you lost a friend. I still struggle to comprehend that he is gone.” Darcy looked down at his spread hands, momentarily taken aback at the squeezing sensation in his chest. He and Wickham had not always been enemies. There had been a time— though it felt like ages ago— when they had been comrades in boyish mischief. It was why he wore the armband, though others were sure to ridicule him— seeing it as a mockery in celebration of the fall of his foe.
Silence consumed the room, and he felt Mr. Denny’s stare. Clenching his fists, Darcy said, “I will not pretend that Wickham and I were on good terms. We were not. However, our discord was not for the reasons you suppose.”
Mr. Denny leaned forward on the table. “Then, tell me, why do you care?”
“Aside from my obvious personal interest in seeing his killer discovered, I cannot in good conscience allow for the gravest injustice known to humankind to go unpunished— and
all the more so when it has befallen a man I once called my brother.”
Leaning back and crossing his arms, Mr. Denny said, “I do not know what to make of you, sir. I know— er, rather, I do not believe that you killed him. I have told Colonel Forster as much, but I can offer no proof of it. You come to me with every intent of acting honorably even though you are under no obligation to do so.” Balancing his chair back on two legs, he added, “I will help you where I am able. To answer your question, Wickham did owe me a sizable sum, but he gave me an item of value which I mean to sell the moment I can get leave.”
“That is not likely to happen during the course of the investigation. Might I purchase the item from you for the amount owed?” offered Darcy.
Mr. Denny grimaced. “Tis true. Colonel Forster has informed us that no officer will be permitted leave until after the inquest, which Mr. Stallard has scheduled in four days hence. I shall manage until then, but I thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
“Did Wickham have any enemies of which you are aware?” pressed Darcy.
“If he did, I did not know them. There were places he would avoid, but that was because he was discreet.”
How had Wickham blinded the mind of Mr. Denny, as he had Miss Elizabeth? Darcy wondered how an officer in the militia could be so innocently trusting. It was to be expected of Miss Elizabeth— who no doubt had never had occasion to be exposed to the duplicity common in the higher ranks of society. How refreshing.
But he had not called on Mr. Denny to ponder on Miss Elizabeth’s finer points. What had they been discussing? Ah, manipulating charm. Though the artful use of charisma had gained Wickham numerous friends, his selfishness had prevented him from keeping most of them. His list of enemies must be longer than Mr. Denny or Darcy supposed. The thought was not comforting.
“Do you think Wickham suspected his life was in danger?” he asked.
“He had never given that impression since meeting up with me to join the militia. However, I do know he was greatly disturbed by a business deal that turned sour over the summer.”
Darcy held his breath. He did not know what Mr. Denny knew, but he did not want any hint of the scandal in Ramsgate repeated.
“If I may inquire, what was the nature of his business?” asked Bingley.
Dear Lord, Bingley, stop asking questions!
“I hardly think it signifies,” Darcy said casually.
Mr. Denny shrugged his shoulders. “Probably not, and I cannot tell you anything more than what I have said already.”
Darcy let out his breath slowly, his relief intense.
“Did Wickham come directly from Ramsgate to here?” Bingley asked, his cheeks pink with self-satisfaction. Darcy wished his well-meaning friend would keep his mouth shut.
“He stayed on in Ramsgate another two months after negotiations fell through, so I knew he was in a bad way when I saw him outside a pawn shop in London. Our meeting was nothing short of providential. He needed an occupation worthy of him, and I was happy to help. In no time at all, arrangements were made, and he scraped up enough for his commission to join me here.”
Wickham’s blatant dishonesty filled Darcy with disgust, and he pitied Mr. Denny for what he would discover once Wickham’s lies were revealed.
Thanking Mr. Denny for his cooperation, Darcy and Bingley departed from the barracks, going to the next best source of information. The inn next to the post. It was a bold move to invade Mr. Tanner’s territory, but they had seen the man leave and chose that moment to make inquiries.
A couple of well-placed coins loosened the barmaid’s tongue, and Darcy soon learned that Wickham had incurred several debts during his short time in Meryton. As far as she was concerned, Wickham had been a charming gentleman and liked by all who had met him.
Darcy’s head ached with injured pride by the time they departed the inn. How could the villagers blindly sing the praises of a lout such as Wickham while they held him, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, in derision?
Going across the village square, he saw Mr. Tanner walking their way. It would be impossible to be amiable to that hard-headed man.
“Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley. I trust you are not disturbing my guests?” Mr. Tanner snarled, his muscled arms crossed in front of his broad chest.
Mr. Bingley, looking back and forth between the two, spoke quickly, “No, Mr. Tanner. How pleasant to see you. We are merely making some discreet inquiries.”
Mr. Tanner raised his chin, leveling his eyes with Darcy. “If I hear of you bribing any of the villagers, I will arrest you. I know a liar when I see one, and I will accept no false witnesses when you are on trial.”
“Take care that in judging me without any knowledge of my character, you become the one to spread slander and lies.”
“Are you an honorable man then? Is that possible among your set?”
“You are convinced of my guilt based on my rank?” Not even Mr. Collins could have thought of something more absurd.
With a low chuckle that set Darcy’s hair on end, Mr. Tanner said, “Me and all of Meryton, sir. Good day to you.” He bumped Darcy’s shoulder as he charged past. Darcy held his ground.
Bingley looked at him with wide eyes. “We ought not underestimate Mr. Tanner. He means to see you hang.”
“He is like an empty ale barrel— full of air. Nothing more.” Despite his flippant remark, Darcy felt a cold sweat spread over his body.
Chapter 9
Elizabeth stepped out of Aunt Philips’ house. Aunt had been a wealth of information, relating to whom Mr. Wickham had owed small sums of money, how charming he had been, and what a pity that such a handsome officer could no longer marry one of her nieces.
Elizabeth had argued that no Bennet sister in her right mind— well, that only left herself, Jane, and probably Mary, but she held hopes that Kitty and Lydia might improve under the guidance of Mrs. Yeats— should want to marry an officer unable to manage his finances, but her common sense fell on deaf ears.
There had been some interesting details mentioned about the state of Mr. Wickham’s room…. Details she had not overheard from Mr. Collins regarding his missing pistol.
Deep in thought, Elizabeth walked in the direction of Longbourn. She had slipped out of the house after taking an early breakfast. She had not told anyone where she was going, not wanting any company to distract Aunt Philips with other, less important matters.
“Miss Elizabeth,” called a cheerful voice behind her.
She turned to face a grinning Mr. Bingley, followed by a somber Mr. Darcy. For once, she could not blame him for his ill-humor and thought none the worse of him. Under his greatcoat, a dark green jacket stretched over his chest, lending a striking contrast to the dark pools of his eyes. Like the rich coffee she sometimes drank— both bitter in its taste and enticing in its essence. Her mouth began to water at the comparison before she came to her senses in horror of where her thoughts had strayed.
Mr. Bingley stepped forward, his face anxious, “Are you well?”
Lifting her chin and clasping her hands together tightly, she said, “I am well, thank you, Mr. Bingley.”
“Are you certain?” he insisted.
Her ears tingled in the heat spreading over her face as Mr. Darcy looked at her silently, unrelentingly.
“Nothing a cup of tea will not cure, I assure you,” she said, struggling for air.
Mr. Darcy inclined his head, the corners of his lips quivering. Was he laughing at her? Ooh, the infernal man!
In his buttery smooth voice, he said, “I have noticed the heightened color and healthy glow with which exercise blesses you. One might mistake it for a feverish complexion, but it is most becoming.”
Elizabeth lost all sense. Otherwise, she would have closed her gaping mouth much sooner. Mr. Darcy had paid her a compliment? She had not known him capable of charm, yet there was nothing else to call his address.
Mr. Bingley, oblivious to the palpitations of her heart, asked, “Are all of the members of your family well? I was a
nxious holding the ball so close to Miss Bennet’s recovery. She did not tire herself, I hope?”
Focusing her full attention on Mr. Bingley, she smiled a bit too enthusiastically and a giggle escaped. For the love of heaven, she was acting like Lydia! Exceedingly aware of herself, and hating Mr. Darcy for making her feel self-conscious, she attempted to ignore the gentleman completely. “Yes, we are all well. Thank you, Mr. Bingley. I do hope your household is equally well?” She would earn no points for clever conversation, but Mr. Bingley did not expect it of her. What a dear man. Mr. Bingley would be kind to Jane… that is, if he proposed.
“As well as can be with this unfortunate affair with Mr. Wickham.” He looked to his side at Mr. Darcy.
Like traitorous little balls of metal pulled by a magnet, her eyes followed Mr. Bingley’s to settle on Mr. Darcy. The muscles at his temples pulsated where a strand of his hair curled. His broad shoulders tensed up to his ears, and she watched him as he appeared to measure his breaths. She felt his eyes searching her as intently as she searched him. Expecting a condescending glower, she met his gaze directly and promptly lost her breath. The firmness of his chin and the confidence in his steady eyes made him look angry, and dangerous, and… achingly handsome. Drat Mr. Darcy!
Forcing herself to look away, Elizabeth said, “How fortuitous that we should meet here today, gentlemen.” Collecting her scrambled thoughts, she continued, “I have recently learned some news which may serve to your advantage. I… I also have some unpleasant news of which you should be equally aware.”
She flicked her gaze to see Mr. Darcy’s reaction, but something over his shoulder caught her attention.
“What is it, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked.
Composing her expression, Elizabeth smiled, “This is not a good place to share information. Mr. Tanner is watching you.”
Mr. Darcy grimaced. “I seem to have invoked the wrath of that man.”