by Jann Rowland
Darcy swore. “He should not get far, unless he steals a horse, for he was on foot when I saw him.”
“I would not have thought Wickham was a horse thief.”
A grim smile was Darcy’s response. “Where his own wellbeing is concerned, Wickham is capable of anything. There is ample reason for him to fear me and even more for him to fear my cousin. I might have followed him and apprehended him myself, but his confrontation with the ladies was tense, and I judged it proper to see to them first.”
“Might I assume the three ladies in question were the three eldest Bennet sisters?”
For a moment, Darcy was bemused, despite the situation. If the colonel referred to the three eldest, Darcy wondered how many there were, and if they were all as pretty as those he had met this morning.
“That was what they called themselves,” replied Darcy, forcing his thoughts back to the task at hand. “I did not see the genesis of the disagreement, but I cannot imagine it began with any cordiality.”
The colonel looked at him with some appraisal. “If you were only in their company for a few minutes, they would not have had time to inform you of their recent trials with Wickham. If you are willing, I will share the story of the matter with you. Since it is known throughout the neighborhood, I cannot imagine there is any harm in doing so.”
With a nod, Darcy sat in the chair in front of the desk while the colonel positioned himself behind it. It was not a long story, but the contents were of no surprise to Darcy. As he sat back and considered what he had been told, Darcy reflected there were certain aspects of it which did not seem like the Wickham he had always known. But perhaps there were reasons for that change.
“Though you have not spoken,” said Colonel Forster, “I can see you have heard something similar of this man in the past.”
“In fact, I have heard little of Wickham’s attempts to gain a fortune for himself, though I can well imagine to what lengths he might descend.” Then Darcy paused and shook his head in rueful regret. “I am far more knowledgeable of Wickham than I wish, but it has just occurred to me that I have not explained my connection with him. Let me do so briefly so you understand a little more of what you are dealing with in this man.”
And so, Darcy did, relating his experiences with Wickham, from his childhood at Pemberley to university. He spent more time on Wickham’s character as he knew it rather than the specific events, and he did not touch the matter of Georgiana, except to say that Wickham had attempted to induce a young girl of his acquaintance to elope to obtain her dowry. The colonel listened to what Darcy was telling him, and when his account was complete, he sat back in his chair.
“That is quite the tale, Mr. Darcy.”
“And every word is true.”
Colonel Forster put his hand up in surrender. “I do not doubt it, sir. Even if I did not already have Wickham’s recent behavior to inform me of his character, I doubt I could put your account aside.”
“Thank you.” Darcy paused and then returned his attention to his previous thoughts. “The one part of Wickham’s actions in Hertfordshire which contradicts what I know of him is how he became impatient with the Bennet sisters. The Wickham I know is unruffled, at least by a woman. If he was not getting what he wanted from her, I would have thought he would move on to the next target with little regret.”
“Perhaps being a member of the militia tied his hands,” suggested Colonel Forster. “Deserting, even from the militia, is not a matter to be undertaken lightly.”
Darcy considered it and nodded. “That is possible. However, of greater import is my continued search for him, and his repeated failures to obtain a fortune. The frustration has likely been mounting, especially after he failed with the young woman of my acquaintance. It is also possible he has convinced himself a marriage to the daughter of a landowner will protect him, should we find him.”
“Would it?” asked the colonel.
“Perhaps from me,” replied Darcy, though he was uncertain that was even true. “But my cousin is another matter entirely.”
Colonel Forster nodded his head in approval. “Yes, I can see how that may be.”
A knock sounded on the door, and the colonel called out permission to enter. On the other side stood a tall man, his scarlet jacket bearing the insignia of a captain’s commission.
“Captain Carter,” said Colonel Forster. “May I assume you have no good news of our missing lieutenant?”
“Wickham cannot be found,” said Captain Carter. “The entire village has been searched, and I have canvassed the local estates. In addition, there is a horse missing from the stables.”
“Damnation!” thundered the colonel, rising and pacing the room. “When was the last time he was seen?”
“Denny reports having seen him not long after rising this morning, but no one has seen him since. Since his reprimand yesterday, the regiment has been informed of your instructions for him to remain close to camp. But somehow he gave us the slip and departed.”
“Do you believe Denny?” asked Colonel Forster. “Since Wickham’s arrival, he and Denny have been thick as thieves, as have Chamberlayn and Sanderson.”
“It is unlikely, and equally unlikely they are still close friends,” replied the captain. “After the excitement at the Phillips home, the men had a falling out. Though it did not come to blows, several of the other men reported a loud argument among the four men, which resulted in Wickham returning to camp alone.”
“Then I begin to see something different from what I thought I saw this morning,” said Darcy. “I expected he would return to camp after escaping from me, but I suspect now he had a horse nearby and was intending to leave after accosting the Bennet sisters.”
“Because his plans in Meryton were in ruins,” said Colonel Forster with a curt nod. “Why confront the Bennet sisters? It would have increased the chances of his capture and had he hurt them, he would have become wanted by more than just you and your cousin.”
“The Wickham I know has never been violent,” replied Darcy, speaking slowly while thinking. “However that may be, it seems he has changed over the years since I have associated with him. There may be a measure of vindictiveness in his character which was not present before—he always relied on his manners and charm when I knew him.”
Colonel Forster nodded. “Despite our conjecture, it seems our quarry has flown. Do you have any suggestion of where he has gone?”
“London,” was Darcy’s short reply. “There is no other place in which he can conceal himself with so little effort, and his knowledge of the dark underbelly of the city is extensive. If you have a pen and paper, I shall write a letter to my cousin and send it by express.”
“If you provide the directions, I shall have one of my men deliver it.”
Darcy nodded and sat down at the desk when the required implements were produced. The letter was short and to the point and was soon passed to the captain, who left to see to its disposition. When he had left, Darcy turned back to Colonel Forster.
“I should have prevented Wickham from leaving. If I had, he would be in our custody right now.”
“Do not blame yourself, sir. Wickham might have been armed, and any attempt at capturing him might have resulted in the loss of life.”
It was a factor Darcy had not considered. “I suspect my cousin will come to Meryton to see if he can learn anything of Wickham’s time here or his future plans.”
Colonel Forster grimaced but nodded. “There is little for him to discover, I fear, for Wickham has spoken little of himself. Even his group of friends know little of him, and Denny, who was acquainted with him before, has told me Wickham was closemouthed about his history. With his manners and his bearing, he had always impressed us as a gentleman’s son, though his behavior often proved such suppositions a lie.”
“That is his greatest asset,” said Darcy with a nod. “He wishes to be a gentleman, but even more, he wishes for unending riches. The manners he d
isplays to the world are nothing more than a pretense he can use to forward his selfish desires.”
“I hope we find him, Mr. Darcy, for a man such as he does great damage to our society.”
“I cannot agree more,” said Darcy, reaching out his hand and grasping the colonel’s in a tight grip. “But I should leave you now, for I suspect you have much to do, and I promised I would return to speak to Mr. Bennet.”
“And I shall set in motion a further search for Wickham. It may be futile, but we should make the attempt.”
Darcy nodded and turned to depart. Perhaps he had missed the chance to capture Wickham, but he was much closer to it now than he had been yesterday. Oh, yes—they were now so close Darcy could almost imagine the expression on the face of the cur as he languished behind bars where he belonged.
Near the outskirts of London, a rider whipped his horse ever faster, caring little for the hard blowing of the beast. George Wickham had no thought in mind but escaping the wrath of the colonel of the regiment and, even more importantly, putting himself beyond the reach of Darcy and his vengeful cousin.
Darcy! The name filled Wickham’s mouth with bile, the revulsion of it causing his eyesight to turn a murderous red. How had rotten chance brought the man to the location in which he had concealed himself? Would that he had remembered his pistol at that moment and shot the sanctimonious bastard, forever putting him out of Wickham’s misery!
But, no, it was best he had not allowed his passions to rule him. Though he would like nothing more than to repay Darcy for all the misery he had caused over the years, the killing would forever put Fitzwilliam on his scent like a bloodhound. Had he killed Darcy, he knew he would never be free of the man’s cousin, and if there was one man in all the world that Wickham feared, it was the burly cavalry colonel. Furthermore, Wickham had resolved to leave the regiment before Darcy had even arrived, and though vengeance on those insipid Bennet sisters would have been satisfying, it was better he had not given another angry father reason to pursue him.
The anger still simmered, but with these thoughts, Wickham was better able to put it in perspective, and he allowed his laboring mount to slow as a result. Wickham had underestimated Darcy. The man had always been eager to wash his hands of Wickham in the past, and he had thought he would do the same this time, notwithstanding Wickham’s knowledge of Fitzwilliam’s search for him. It was also evident that marriage to the daughter of a gentleman would no longer be any protection.
The question was then what Wickham’s next move should be. If Wickham managed to make a marriage to a woman in possession of an estate, he would still come to Darcy and Fitzwilliam’s attention, even if he married a woman with the smallest estate in the remotest part of the kingdom. That suggested the only choice was to leave England forever. The notion of leaving England did not distress Wickham as much as he might have thought it would. While playing the part of a gentleman was amusing, Wickham could get along well in any society where there was ample money, amusement, and the chance to gamble occasionally. Willing young females were plentiful wherever one went, after all.
But Wickham would not go into exile with nothing to sustain him. The chances of wealth in the New World were better than they were in England, he thought, but he still did not wish to go without something. Fortunately, Wickham was a clever, devious sort of man, and the first glimmers of a plan had begun to burn in his mind. The details were as yet unclear, but a little thought would flesh them out nicely.
As the first order of business, he would need to stop somewhere and rid himself of the blasted uniform which would make him an easy target of anyone searching for him, and then sell the horse he had ridden to exhaustion. That infusion of funds would sustain him while he waited for his plans to come to fruition. Then, he could make the rest of his way to London, where he could stay where he usually did. A few contacts later, and his plans would be set, waiting for the correct time to spring his trap. Then he would have what he needed to begin a new life in a new place. And Fitzwilliam Darcy would pay for interfering in his life.
Chapter XIII
The estate of Longbourn was no more than a mile from Meryton, and Darcy’s mount made short work of it at a swift canter. It was a pleasant country, he decided, though in his view, it could not be the equal of Derbyshire and Pemberley. But the land was good here, and it was fertile, the landowners of the area coaxing the bounty of their estates with a gentle hand, unlike the wrestling which was often required in the rockier north.
Longbourn itself seemed to be a small estate, likely comprising the home farm and perhaps two or three tenants. But as he rode up the drive and inspected the house before him, Darcy noted how everything was kept in good repair, the pastoral nature of the scene and the trees, now bereft of their summer greenery, gently waving in the breeze, spoke of the solidity of those who called it their home. His impression was of a neighborhood populated by country squires and no one of any prominence. Despite his expectation of their countrified manners, Darcy was not fooled into thinking like Caroline Bingley, for he knew people such as these were salt of the earth.
It was a little surprising that one of the young ladies was already waiting for him on the portico, watching him with expressive eyes, seasoned with gratitude. Though thoughts of vengeance had occupied him at their first meeting, Darcy studied her, noting the diminutive stature, the lightness of her figure, the mahogany of her locks tied behind her head, and the intelligence which shone from her expressive eyes. Those eyes were fine, as fine as any Darcy had ever seen. She was, altogether a picture of youthful hope and happiness, though tempered with a sure knowledge of the nature of the world. Given her family’s recent association, Darcy suspected they had learned that lesson painfully.
“Miss Bennet,” greeted Darcy when he dismounted. “I see you have anticipated my coming.”
The woman regarded him, cataloguing him unless Darcy missed his guess. There seemed to be a measure of instinctive trust between them, no doubt a result of the circumstances of their meeting. But she did not trust him implicitly—Darcy knew he would be required to prove his constancy to this exquisite woman.
“I have been watching the drive for your arrival,” said she at length. Then she directed an impish smile at him, her eyes sparkling. “But I must correct your misapprehension—the title ‘Miss Bennet’ belongs to my sister Jane. I am naught but the second daughter of the house, while my sister Mary is the third. Should you wish to flee, I suggest you do so at once, for I have two more younger sisters!”
A delighted laugh escaped Darcy’s lips. An exquisite woman? A rare gem? It was becoming clear to him she was all of that and more.
“Shall you protect me from your predatory sisters, Miss Elizabeth? If so, I shall be content to take my chances.”
The laughter in her eyes never abated. “I can make no promises, sir. Though Jane will inherit this estate and is thus secure, the rest of us must shift for ourselves. You seem to be a man of such substance—it would be foolhardy for me to allow you to escape.”
In the past, the mercenary attitudes of young ladies had always disgusted Darcy—not to mention similar behavior from not a few young men. This woman, jesting of the subject openly, informed Darcy she was not one of their ilk. An idle thought crossed his mind, and he wondered what it would be like to earn her regard. Akin to the sweetest ambrosia, he imagined.
“I have informed My father of what happened on the path with Mr. Wickham, sir. Perhaps I should take you to him?”
The reminder of the business at hand refocused Darcy’s attention, and he pushed thoughts of this woman to the side for the moment. As he did so, he could not help but marvel they had entered his mind at all. Their acquaintance was only a few minutes old, after all!
Darcy agreed, and a stable hand appeared, taking charge of his mount. The vestibule, to which she led him, was also clean and tidy, a few treasured items displayed with great care. It was a home, one lovingly maintained and tended to, one which
spoke to pride in one’s possessions and responsibility for one’s stewardship. The door to which the young lady led him was situated a short distance down a hall, away from the entrance, and after Miss Elizabeth knocked, she led him into a spacious room, decorated with a large desk and several bookshelves, stuffed with a bounty of books Darcy had never seen at such a small estate.
“Mr. Darcy, I presume?” asked the gentleman who stood and rounded the desk. He reached out his hand, which Darcy clasped in greeting. “I am Henry Bennet, Elizabeth’s father and proprietor of Longbourn.”
“Mr. Bennet,” said Darcy. “I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“The feeling is mutual and doubly so,” replied Mr. Bennet. “Having heard my daughters’ accounts of what occurred this morning, I suspect I am in your debt for having prevented their harm.”
“It is nothing, Mr. Bennet. I am relieved I could provide assistance, for I know much of Wickham and have been searching for him for some time now.”
“Yes, Lizzy mentioned as much.” Mr. Bennet’s eyes found his daughter and he smiled. “I suspect we will learn as much as we wish concerning Mr. Wickham, Lizzy. Perhaps you would prefer to stay, rather than hearing it from me later?”
“If that is acceptable,” said Miss Elizabeth, her eyes finding Darcy.
“I have no objection,” replied Darcy, interested to see how this man included his daughter in their discussions. Most men would have sent her away.
While Darcy and Miss Elizabeth were settling themselves on chairs in front of the desk, Mr. Bennet stepped from the room, returning a moment later. He took his own seat behind his desk and regarded Darcy with a speculative eye. It appeared Miss Bennet had received her intelligence from this man.
“I have ordered a tea service, Mr. Darcy, for I expect your revelations will be a dry and dusty business. Perhaps it would be best if you inform us of what you know of Mr. Wickham, after which we will reciprocate by relating the events of the last few months.”