Earning Darcy's Trust

by Jennifer Joy

  Wickham clutched the sides of his chair so hard his knuckles turned white. “Do you think that will stop me? Mrs. Hurst, who has been in your company for almost two months and can speak with authority, will make a few choice comments at private gatherings about our near elopement. You will be ruined!”

  “Mrs. Hurst has left Netherfield Park. She saw the error in her reasoning and was wise enough to withdraw.” Darcy let Wickham believe her change of heart was of her own doing.

  “Then I will do it myself. My superior officers are sons of titled families and highly respected. It would not take long for word to spread. You will not be rid of me so easily, you see?” Again, Wickham held out his hand.

  Darcy had no more arguments against him. Where was Elizabeth?

  A gloved hand knocked on the library door. Elizabeth entered with Mr. Digby behind her. How had Darcy missed the resemblance earlier? He had the same straw-colored hair and freckled face his mother had.

  Wickham jolted up from his chair. “What is this?” He pointed his finger at Mr. Digby, who stood next to Elizabeth.

  She nodded encouragingly to Mr. Digby, and he stepped forward toward their group, leaving Elizabeth free to stand behind Georgiana’s chair. Georgiana reached up and squeezed her hand.

  Darcy relaxed, though he did not know what was to come.

  “This man is the son of a murderess. It was his mother who killed your father, and you would bring him here? He is a liar!” Wickham’s finger pointed like a sword at the farmhand, but he stepped back behind his chair like it was a shield. He was afraid. Buy why?

  Any timidity Mr. Digby had when he first entered the room was cast aside at Wickham’s insults. “Do not call her that! My mother was used badly by the likes of you, and it is time that you were found out.”

  Darcy looked between the two men. Had not Mrs. Digby shot his father? Had she not confessed her crime? It was Wickham who had found her with the revolver.

  Before he could ask any questions, Mr. Digby continued, his eyes never leaving Wickham. “My name is Daniel Digby. My family lived as tenants at Pemberley. My father was a drunk and a gambler, but my mother loved him. She had just found out she was with child again when he failed to return home one night. Wickham found him the next morning with his neck broken and the stench of drink all over him. It was the week before Mr. Darcy died.”

  “I had nothing to do with his death!”

  “I do not doubt that, though it does look bad for you. You are so quick to deny it, I wonder at your innocence.” Looking at Darcy, Mr. Digby continued, “Father had lost badly in cards that night to Mr. Wickham. It seems that he left after quarreling with him. The other men in the room thought he was sore mostly for losing his wages to a fifteen year old boy. Either way, my father never returned to his family and my mother was beside herself. She was not in her right mind.” He sighed, his expression so sad Darcy could feel his pain.

  “We were a poor family. Too poor to own a revolver.” Mr. Digby’s breaths came rapidly, and he raised his eyes and an accusatory finger at Wickham. “I saw him give Mother the weapon. I saw it through our window the morning it happened. I heard him tell her that all our problems would be solved with Mr. Darcy gone. He told her he would be so gracious as to cancel Father’s gambling debt to him if she would do it. He told her how our life would be better out from under the thumb of the Darcys; how he too had been subjected to humiliation and scorn from the family; and how they deserved a comeuppance. He pressed the revolver into Mother’s hands and watched her walk out the door toward the master’s house.” His voice got louder with each accusation. His finger never wavered.

  Wickham looked around the room. His eyes settled on the window, then the door.

  He bolted toward the door.

  Darcy sprung from his chair, crossing half of the length of the room. But Mr. Digby was closer. He pounced on top of Wickham, his arms encircling his shoulders and bringing him to the ground with a loud smack against the edge of a table before he reached the library door. Wickham struggled to free himself, but he was no match against the fury of Mr. Digby.

  Darcy reached them just before the butler and a footman barged through the door, charging into the room.

  “Mr. Darcy, are you well? Is Miss Darcy unharmed?” The butler looked frantically around him until he saw a squirming officer on the floor and a blond farmer sticking to him like a bur.

  “Do not let this man move,” instructed Darcy. He nodded his forehead toward Wickham. Another footman entered the room and the three household servants surrounded him.

  “Wait!” Georgiana hurried over, untying the sash around her dress. “Use this.”

  Mr. Digby pulled Wickham’s hands behind his back and tied them together with the fabric while Darcy pinned Wickham’s shoulders to the ground so he could not move.

  “I will send someone to fetch the constable,” said Elizabeth over her shoulder as she hastened out into the hall.

  Thousands of questions milled through Darcy’s mind. He would get answers from Wickham later.

  Returning his attention to Mr. Digby, he asked, “Were you the child who ran away?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you run?”

  The servants sat Wickham up and pushed him into a nearby chair, one hand on each of his shoulders to prevent any further attempts of escape.

  “He was a coward. That was why he ran. He was a coward then, and he is a coward now.” Wickham’s bitterness seethed through every word.

  “Quiet. The sound of your voice will not be heard until the constable arrives. Do you understand?” Darcy got no answer, but Wickham seemed to lose some of his outspokenness.

  Mr. Digby faltered, his hands moving to cover his face as he let out a sob. “He is right. I was a coward. He saw me through the window and came after me. He knew I would talk to protect my mother. If only I had been brave enough, I could have saved her.” His shoulders shook and his head bowed.

  Georgiana stood and walked over to him. Gently touching Mr. Digby’s shoulder, she asked, “You do not know what happened to your mother?”

  He shook his head, tears running down his calloused hands.

  Looking at Darcy, she said in horror, “He thinks we sent her to the gallows.”

  Turning back to Mr. Digby, she added, “Mr. Digby, your mother did not hang for her crime. She was sent away with your brothers and sisters to the New Land.”

  Mr. Digby let out a sound Darcy would never forget. Grief gave way to joy, and Mr. Digby’s legs gave out from under him. He melted onto his knees, his hands on his cheeks.

  “She is alive? She really is alive?” he repeated.

  “I assure you she left England in good health,” Darcy said.

  “My brothers? My sisters? They all went with her?”

  “Yes. Only you were missing. We searched for you until their ship left.”

  Mr. Digby sniffed and raised his head. “Aye. I set out running as fast as my legs could carry me until I reached Miss Elizabeth’s barn.”

  “You traveled by foot the whole distance? However did you survive?” Georgiana was appalled.

  “I did what I had to, miss. By the time I reached Longbourn, I was a sad sight. It was no wonder Miss Elizabeth held a pitchfork up to me and called me smelly.”

  Georgiana giggled. “I can only imagine.”

  Mr. Digby grinned. “She thought I was a pirate.”

  Darcy chuckled. It felt odd to smile or laugh with Wickham bound in a chair in front of him and Mr. Digby standing beside him and Georgiana.

  Elizabeth returned to the room and stood by Georgiana. She smelled of fresh rain and lavender. Strands of wavy hair had escaped her pins and Darcy wanted very badly to reach out and see if they were as soft as they looked. He restrained himself.

  “She is alive?” Elizabeth asked Mr. Digby.

  He beamed back at her. “She is. I shall never see my family again, but it brings me comfort to know my mother left here with her head in place. All these years I beli
eved her dead.”

  “I did not think a Darcy capable of sending a woman with children to her death. They are much too honorable and take themselves far too seriously to carry out such a sentence.” She smiled at Darcy, her eyes glinting.

  Darcy reveled in the compliment, for a compliment it was. His mother would have loved Elizabeth,… but not so much as he did. Taking a step toward her, he reached out and grasped hold of her hands.

  “Thank you—”

  A squeal of delight cut him short from the open doorway. He looked up to see Mrs. Bennet and her gaggle of daughters. “Oh! Mr. Darcy, you have made me the happiest of all mothers! Imagine me with a son-in-law with such a high name and deep pockets!”

  Chapter 22

  Darcy felt Elizabeth pull her hands away, but he held fast. He was not ashamed of what Mrs. Bennet implied, nor did he think it disagreeable by any means. Nor, he hoped, did she.

  Elizabeth avoided his eyes, attempting to snatch her fingers away. When Darcy did not let go, she finally looked up. “Mr. Darcy, do you not realize what you are doing?” she whispered, a blush covering her cheeks and brightening her eyes.

  He knew exactly what he was doing. He only needed reassurance from the woman standing in front of him. “Does the lady have any objections?” he asked with a smile.

  Elizabeth bit her lips, but they curled up at the sides. When she opened her mouth to speak, Darcy noticed how her lips had darkened to a red the color of strawberries. He wondered if they would taste as sumptuous as they looked.

  “I hardly know how to answer, sir, but I find that I cannot refuse you.” She squeezed his hands back. “However, you must let me go. Do not forget that we have a prisoner in the room.”

  Darcy released her hands only to turn around and ensure that Wickham still sat tied up in the chair. With three men surrounding him, standing guard, it would have been a difficult thing for him to escape. Mr. Digby also stood between Wickham and the door. The prisoner was secure.

  “You are right, but not for the reason you give. I would never force my hand on you, Elizabeth. But know that my heart is yours if you wish to keep it. Tell me please, do I have any reason to hope?”

  Interrupting, Mrs. Bennet chimed in, “Of course you have reason to hope. Who in their right mind would refuse you?”

  Ignoring her mother’s remark, Elizabeth said, “You may hope all you want, William, for I shall dream of this moment for the rest of my days.”

  He stepped forward, ready to wrap his arms around her and nestle his chin against her silky hair. If only Mrs. Bennet had not squeezed herself into the small space between them.

  “Now that that is settled, we will expect you to call tomorrow to speak with Mr. Bennet. You may come in the morning. These things must be done properly, you know.”

  Of all the times the woman would insist on propriety, she chose that moment. Coming to terms with his empty arms, Darcy folded them in front of his chest. Choosing not to be cross, he saw the ridiculousness in the situation and chuckled. It was what Elizabeth would do.

  Georgiana hugged Elizabeth, the largest smile he had ever seen adorning her face.

  It was to a crowded room that Bingley returned. “What is this? My front door was open and I walked into this?” He looked around him and the surprise in his face grew to one of shock when he saw Wickham tied in a chair with his butler and two footmen surrounding him, a dirt-stained farmer, and the entire female portion of the Bennet family surrounding a chuckling Darcy and his contented sister in his library. Darcy needed to explain.

  Bingley folded his arms and said, “You know, Darcy, you really should consult with me before arranging a party in my home. You know how it went with Caroline when she tried the same.” He looked toward Miss Bennet, and Darcy recognized the opportunity he had been given.

  “Your sisters and brother-in-law are safely off to London then? It is a shame they chose not to live by the rules of your household, but peace will soon be restored here. Well done, Bingley.”

  “You mean you kicked them out?” asked Mrs. Bennet, her eyes as large as saucers.

  Bingley stretched himself up to his full height. “I will not allow anyone to disrupt the tranquility of my home nor disrespect those whom I have chosen as my closest friends.”

  Mrs. Bennet plopped her hands on her hips. “Well, now, I am impressed. I expect you to call in the morning along with Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bennet will be ready for you as well.”

  Her business done, her attention was caught by Lydia, who attempted to get Wickham’s attention by prancing in front of him. “Whatever are you doing, girl?”

  “He is so handsome, Mama. Would he not make a dashing beau?” Wickham sat so still in his chair, it was like he hoped nobody would see him if he did not move or speak.

  Mrs. Bennet huffed. “Not that one. He looks like trouble to me.”

  It was the first sensible thing Darcy had ever heard her say. “Very true, Mrs. Bennet. This man is awaiting the arrival of the constable for his involvement in the death of my father.”

  Gasps sounded around the room, the loudest from Bingley.

  Elizabeth looked at Darcy. “We should leave. There has been too much excitement this afternoon, and you still have much to see to.”

  Darcy nodded. He wanted to give Elizabeth the attention and proposal she deserved. To do that, he needed to clear his mind of all his worries and ensure that Wickham was put away for good. “I will call tomorrow morning.”

  They smiled at each other.

  “I do not suppose you need me here, do you Darcy?”

  Bingley’s gaze followed the Bennet ladies as they took their leave and filed out the door of his library.

  “Go, Bingley. You have more important matters to attend to and I wish you the best.”

  Bingley ran after the Bennets. Darcy heard him ask if they required the use of his coach and they decided their travel would be much more comfortable if they divided their group between the two carriages.

  Greetings were given to some newcomers and Darcy heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the marble floors leading to them.

  The constable had arrived, bringing Wickham’s superior officer, Colonel Forster, with him. Darcy recognized the constable. He was the same man who had set them in front of the fire and served them tea in his inn when they had first arrived to Meryton.

  Darcy welcomed them. “Gentlemen, thank you for coming so quickly. Please, have a seat.” Looking at Georgiana, he asked, “Do you want to stay?”

  “I would not miss this for the world.” Vengeance was in her eyes, and Darcy feared for Wickham. Just a little.

  The inn owner spoke first. “Mr. Darcy, we are such a quiet village, I am the constable in name only. I brought along Colonel Forster so that this young man might be dealt with in the best manner.”

  “Very good, sir. How do you suggest we proceed, Colonel?” asked Darcy.

  “The best place to start is the beginning. Let us hear your piece first, Mr. Darcy. Then I will have some questions for Lieutenant Wickham.”

  Darcy asked if just one footman might remain of the three servants standing behind his chair. Wickham could go nowhere with the footman on one side and Mr. Digby flanking him on the other, as well as the men representing the law between him and the door.

  To the butler, he asked for some refreshment to be brought in. They would be in the library for a while.

  Elizabeth arrived home with Bingley and Jane in his carriage. She looked out the glass the whole short distance to Longbourn, trying to give them some privacy.

  Mother had insisted that her carriage go first, strongly suggesting that they come behind at a leisurely pace with Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth had not understood her motive until they entered the sitting room. Papers were picked up, pillows were plumped, assorted shawls and bonnets had disappeared… Cheeks flushed and short of breath, Mother invited Mr. Bingley and Jane to enter the freshly arranged room and then neatly closed the door behind them.

  The girls went upstairs. Lyd
ia was quite put out that her older sisters should marry before her after all. Kitty followed her, offering condolences which did little to console Lydia. Mary extolled the virtues of the single state.

  Elizabeth, brimming with happiness, reached her arms around her mother and squeezed. “Mother, what a strange and happy day. You realize you have forced Mr. Bingley to propose by enclosing him in a room completely alone with Jane? Or was that part of your plan?”

  “You do not think I could leave a proposal up to fate, now do you, my dear girl? No. I know he has every intention of proposing, but this closed door guarantees it.”

  “You got what you wanted in the end.”

  “Yes. You will be no different once you marry and have children of your own, though perhaps you will be wiser about it than your old mama is. I am glad that Mr. Bingley is kind. He is a good match for Jane. And Mr. Darcy seems agreeable on further acquaintance?” She arched one eyebrow and looked expectantly at Elizabeth.

  “Yes, he is.” She could spend hours enumerating his appealing qualities, but Mother reached up to pat Elizabeth’s cheeks, bringing an end to her thoughts.

  “Very good. I am especially glad to hear that because we are expecting your father’s cousin, Mr. Collins, here in a fortnight. Your father despised his father and doubts that Mr. Collins is any better. The timing of these proposals will save me much grief.”

  “Why is Mr. Collins coming here?”

  “He aims to propose to one of my girls, of course. And now, you and Jane are safe. He is to inherit Longbourn, so it is only logical that he would want to marry into the family.”

  “Would you have made one of us marry him?” Elizabeth stepped back, the tender moment with her mother gone.

  “Let us not think of the unpleasant man, Lizzy. We need not worry ourselves about him anyway with Jane engaged and Mr. Darcy to call tomorrow. How advantageous that we decided to call on Mr. Bingley when we did. We would have arrived earlier, but I made Jane wear her best dress— you know, her white muslin. Then, we had to search for the rose pink ribbons and eventually they were found in the trunk in Lydia’s room. Ah, well, it all worked out.”