by Jann Rowland
Disbelief warred with utter fury on Mr. Darcy’s countenance, and Elizabeth was not certain which would ultimately prevail. For his part, Colonel Fitzwilliam only shook his head in exasperated annoyance.
“We should have seen this coming, Darcy. He was never one to leave well enough alone, especially when it concerned you. Wickham has been a thorn in your side for far too long now. It is time to do something about him once and for all.”
“You think that Wickham is still waiting for her?” asked Darcy.
Mr. Bennet only shrugged. “It has been less than thirty minutes since Elizabeth found Lydia trying to leave. I know nothing of his situation here in Brighton, but given what you have told me of his character, I suspect he has more than simple escape on his mind. He will give her every opportunity to arrive before he departs.”
The colonel and Mr. Darcy exchanged a look, and the colonel soon excused himself. “I will go and rouse the footmen of the house since I doubt we have enough time to roust the colonel’s men to apprehend him.”
“And the colonel might not believe you even if you made the attempt,” murmured Mr. Darcy.
“Even so.” Colonel Fitzwilliam turned his attention back to Mr. Bennet. “If you will retrieve the location they were to meet from Miss Lydia, I will ensure we have the number of men to allow us to take him with a minimum of fuss.”
Mr. Bennet nodded curtly, and the colonel bowed and left the room. Mr. Bennet turned and considered the rest of those in the room, before he said: “I suppose you may provide chaperonage for each other. I shall return directly, and then we can see about the lieutenant.”
Then Mr. Bennet excused himself, and on the other side of the sofa, Elizabeth could see Jane and Mr. Bingley speaking earnestly. For herself, she found that she could not even look at Mr. Darcy, for fear of the condemnation she thought she might see on his face. It was fortunate for her that the man had no intention of allowing her to avoid him.
“Miss Elizabeth, is there aught amiss?”
Sighing, Elizabeth looked up into the man’s concerned eyes. What she saw there gave her hope, but she was not about to assume anything, especially concerning so important a matter.
“My sister’s folly, Mr. Darcy,” said she simply. “I am aware of your position on society, and how it might be affected by the indiscretions of a young lady without sense. I would not wish for you to have to concern yourself with such worries.”
“Miss Elizabeth,” said he, surprising her with the note of exasperation in his tone, “do you think your sister’s situation is any different than mine?”
Elizabeth blinked. She had not thought of the matter in such simple terms; in fact, she had quite forgotten about Georgiana’s history with Mr. Wickham. She thought to protest—after all, Georgiana was a dear sweet girl who had made a terrible mistake, while Lydia was a willful child who had almost thrown her life away with her eyes wide open—but any such words died on her lips. The severity of Mr. Darcy’s countenance, coupled with the determined clench of his jaw rendered all such arguments void.
“In fact, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, “there is little which could cause me to forsake you. I dare say that you are the only person who could possibly keep me from you. As for George Wickham, I will not allow him to steal my happiness, though this little scheme was undoubtedly aimed directly at me.”
Unable to help it, Elizabeth giggled, and when Mr. Darcy’s eyebrow rose in question, she could only smile at him impishly. “My father knows you far too well, Mr. Darcy. He predicted your response with exactness.”
“And well he should,” replied Mr. Darcy. “I have made my sentiments quite clear, and the likes of George Wickham will not keep me from my purpose.”
As they gazed at each other, Mr. Darcy’s grin reflecting the one gracing her face, Elizabeth felt a powerful feeling for this quiet gentleman rise within her breast. How could she possibly resist him when he spoke such wonderful words to her? It was inconceivable. Then Mr. Darcy did the unthinkable: he knelt in front of her, never letting go of her hand.
“I know that this is not the right time for such a declaration, but I can go no longer without telling you how completely I adore you.”
Tears started flowing from Elizabeth’s eyes. Mr. Darcy, seeing them, immediately began to backtrack, saying: “I apologize, Miss Elizabeth! I should never have spoken so on this day of all days!”
“No, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, laying her hand upon his, which still held her other hand. “I am merely overset by the emotion in your words. I have no objection to hearing you speak.”
A slow smile spread over Mr. Darcy’s countenance, and he squeezed her hand. “I suppose I should know by now that the intrepid Miss Elizabeth Bennet would never allow her sister’s folly to affect her to such a degree. You are a jewel, Miss Elizabeth—a jewel of the first order. I would be the happiest man alive if you would do me the great honor of accepting my hand in marriage.”
“Of course I will, Mr. Darcy. You had only to ask.”
“If I had only to ask, you should have accepted me at the menagerie.”
Elizabeth could not help the laugh which escaped her mouth.
The door opened and Mr. Bennet stepped back into the room. Seeing how they were situated, he directed a knowing smile at Mr. Darcy, but when he spoke he ignored it for the matter at hand.
“I have the location, though I fear I might have insinuated that I was going to retrieve Wickham to see them married.”
“Papa!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “She will be insufferable when she discovers that you have no intention of allowing her to marry Mr. Wickham.”
“Then she will be no worse than she is now,” said Mr. Bennet. “Either way, I did not have the time to attempt to extract the information from her by other means, so it is of little matter.”
“Your father is right, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, standing and facing Mr. Bennet. “Then shall we depart? We would not wish our fox to know he is hunted.”
“After you, Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Bennet. “We can speak later, for I am certain you have matters to bring to my attention.”
And Mr. Bennet laughed at Mr. Darcy’s expression as the men left the room. Elizabeth could only sigh with relief—even if they did not manage to apprehend Mr. Wickham, disaster had been averted. Perhaps it was time for her to learn to expect the best of Mr. Darcy’s behavior, rather than to fear the worst.
Chapter XXIX
In the end, capturing George Wickham was anticlimactic, as the man surrendered without a fight. He was, however, to discover that what had worked for him in the past would not save him now, as Darcy had meant it when he had told the man that he would not advance another farthing for his support.
When they left the Bennet townhouse, Darcy and Bingley, in the company of Mr. Bennet, soon joined with Fitzwilliam and the men he had brought from the townhouse. There were a total of four stout footmen, all loyal to the Fitzwilliam family, and all eager to apprehend the wayward lieutenant so they could return to their beds. The square in which Miss Lydia was to meet Wickham was not far, and they soon arrived, taking care to ensure their quarry had no warning of their coming.
“And there he is,” said Fitzwilliam, his tone assuming a grim quality it often did when he was speaking of Wickham.
The man in question was pacing beside a waiting carriage, and though the light was not good, Darcy was certain he could see a thunderous scowl on Wickham’s face. He would have done better to simply leave when the girl had not come at the appointed time. Unfortunately—for Wickham—he had always possessed a high opinion of his own cleverness, and in this instance, he obviously dismissed any possibility of Darcy’s ability to stop him.
“It seems the lady won’t come,” the faint sound of the carriage driver’s voice floated out from the vehicle. “You sure you don’t want to leave?”
“We will wait a few more minutes,” said Wickham shortly. “I will pay you for your trouble.”
“It’s your head,” replied
the driver with unconcern.
“It is, indeed,” murmured Darcy.
A short command from Fitzwilliam had two of the footmen making their way around the square to either side, hoping to cut off any escape Wickham might have contemplated. They waited to give the man time to assume their positions, and then when Fitzwilliam judged the time to be right, he led the men out into the square.
Although George Wickham had faults aplenty, being slow of thought was not one of them. In his heightened state of emotion and awareness, he saw them the instant they entered the square, and though Darcy was certain the man could not make out their faces in the gloom of the late night, he obviously knew that several men entering at once could not be good. He took one look at the carriage, realized that it would be prevented from departing, and began to flee in the opposite direction from which Darcy and his companions had entered.
Unfortunately for Wickham, he ran right into the arms of one of the pairs of footmen Fitzwilliam had dispatched for just that purpose. There was little struggle as the two men prevented him from running, and Darcy could hear one of the men as he addressed Wickham: “Come on, man. Mr. Darcy wishes to have words with you.”
They propelled him forward, soon joined by the other pair of footmen who entered from a different direction, and though Wickham protested his rough handling, the men were implacable, and Darcy could not see anything untoward in their treatment of him. And as he drew close and his face became visible, Wickham looked over the company of men who were now accosting him, and he blanched, seeing several among their number he most likely wished to never see again.
Shaking his head, Darcy looked up at the carriage driver, who was perched in his seat, watching with interest, a decidedly unpleasant smirk directed at the unfortunate George Wickham. “You may leave now,” said Darcy. “I am afraid your passenger will not be accompanying you.”
The man let off a harsh laugh. “Nor the young miss, from the looks of it.” He shrugged. “He’s already paid me, so it means nothing to me.”
“Then you are more fortunate than most,” said Fitzwilliam, his glare never leaving Wickham. “Wickham, here, considers such trifling matters as paying honest men beneath him.”
“That is why I insisted on payment in advance,” said the driver. “His kind is nothing I have never seen before.” He tipped his cap and clucked his horse into motion, whistling an off-key tune as he left, never once looking back.
“Well, well, our old friend George,” said Fitzwilliam. His tone, though congenial, would only be taken as such by one who did not know him. There was a harsh undertone to his words, and his eyes almost bored holes through Wickham. For his part, Wickham was aware of Fitzwilliam’s antipathy for him, and he watched the other man through wild eyes.
“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Bennet, pushing forward, “I believe I would like to speak with Mr. Wickham. Though you all have your own grievances with the man, it was my daughter with whom he attempted to abscond tonight.”
Wickham seemed to find a measure of his old bravado, as he sneered at Mr. Bennet. “So, the silly chit could not even keep her mouth shut long enough to achieve her heart’s desire.” The man made a guttural sound at the back of his throat. “You have no idea how easy it was to persuade her. Your daughter has quite the reputation in the regiment as being rather free with her favors.”
Mr. Bennet directed a faint smile at Wickham, and then he balled his fist and buried it in Wickham’s gut. Doubling over, the only reason Wickham did not fall to his knees was because the footmen held onto his arms and would not release him. For Darcy’s part, he looked at Mr. Bennet with shock, noting that Bingley was in similar straits.
“You never did know when it was best to remain silent!” said Fitzwilliam with a laugh.
But Mr. Bennet just looked on the man with contempt while Fitzwilliam was laughing and shaking his head. After a moment, Mr. Bennet turned to them.
“Would you think less of me if I owned to enjoying that?”
Fitzwilliam laughed again. “If so, then you are in good company, Mr. Bennet, for I rather relished it myself.”
“You are in more company than you know,” added Darcy. “I cannot think of a single person acquainted with Wickham who would not have cheerfully throttled him at one time or another.”
“You know nothing,” rasped Wickham, glaring at Darcy. “I have friends enough, no thanks to you.”
“Then you had better hope they are willing to help you out of your present predicament, Wickham. You have attempted to abscond with a gentleman’s daughter, and furthermore, you were caught trying to desert your regiment. In a time of war, that is a capital offense, is it not Fitzwilliam?”
“Oh, it is, indeed,” said Fitzwilliam, as he glared evilly at Wickham. “I dare say we can have you court marshalled and hanged, and be home in time for dinner.”
Wickham gazed at Fitzwilliam through wide, terrified eyes. “But . . . but . . .” He seemed to collect himself, and he glared at them all, though his bravado this time was forced. “You cannot prove I meant to desert. Perhaps I was just taking Miss Lydia to an inn to become better acquainted.”
The sight of Mr. Bennet flexing his fist caused Wickham to pale and his mouth closed quickly. Darcy and Fitzwilliam gazed at each other, Darcy questioning, Fitzwilliam shrugging at his unanswered question.
“It is hard to say how it might go,” said Fitzwilliam. “It is quite possible that he will only be flogged instead of sent to the gallows, since he was unable to abscond.”
“That is well,” said Darcy, seeing Wickham’s eyes open even wider. “He was my father’s favorite, little though he deserved the honor.”
Seeming to sag a little in the footmen’s arms, Wickham let out an audible sigh. “Thank you, Darcy.” Then he seemed to perk up a little. “Then what shall it be? Perhaps a new start in America where I can no longer be of any harm to you might be for the best?”
For a moment, Darcy stood and stared at his former friend, noting as the man’s new-found confidence dissipate under his scrutiny. If Darcy was honest with himself, he was not quite sure he knew what he wanted to do with his father’s former favorite. He had long ceased to think of the man in anything other than the worst terms, and when he considered all those whom Wickham had harmed—the shopkeepers, the men he had stolen from, the women he used, and not least of all, Georgiana, Miss Elizabeth, and even Miss Lydia, young and foolish though she may be—the desire for Wickham to finally pay for his actions was nearly overwhelming.
“Surely you are not considering letting him off so easily, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam.
“No, I do not think so,” said Darcy, shaking his head.
“What do you mean?” asked Wickham.
“You have spent your entire life moving from one place to the next, leaving havoc in your wake,” said Darcy. “You have cared not who you have harmed or the price others have had to pay because you did as you wished. No more.
“I hold your debts in the amount of many hundreds of pounds, Wickham, and should I call them due, I very much doubt you would leave debtors’ prison alive.”
“Darcy!” exclaimed Wickham, an expression of horror on his face.
But Darcy continued to speak as if the man had said nothing. “But we would not wish you to be without hope, would we? Instead, I believe we will hand you over to the magistrate and canvass the local merchants. Whatever you owe to them should be sufficient for you to learn your lesson.”
It was the absolute terror on Wickham’s face which told Darcy that the man’s debts here in Brighton were akin to what they had been in Cambridge or Lambton—no doubt he had been up to his usual tricks here. For a moment, Darcy almost felt sorry for Wickham, and wondered if he should reconsider his decision.
Then the memory of all those unknown faces hurt by this man stiffened his resolve. If he were to relent, no doubt Wickham would learn nothing.
“No, Darcy, do not do this!” cried Wickham. “I will amend my ways, I promise. Send me to the Americ
as or even to Botany Bay if you must. Do not let me rot in debtors’ prison!”
Darcy only shook his head. “Your promises mean nothing, Wickham. How many times have you promised that you would stop this behavior?”
“I mean it this time!”
“No, you do not,” said Fitzwilliam, regarding Wickham with disgust. “You never do. Though this is the least Darcy could do to you, I agree—you must not be allowed to continue on as you were.” Fitzwilliam turned and glared at Darcy. “And if you will not hold him to account for his actions, then I will ensure you go before a military tribunal on the charges of attempted desertion. One way or another, Wickham, this time you will atone for your sins.”
“I have no mercy left to give,” replied Darcy, waving his hand. “Do with him what you will.”
And Darcy nodded to his cousin, and then turned and walked from the square. A part of him wished for nothing more than to return and offer the clemency for which Wickham had pleaded, but he knew that this time he could not offer it. Fitzwilliam was in the right—Wickham would not change, and no matter where he was sent, he would continue to harm others. It was time for the price to be paid.
The next day was no easier, for Fitzwilliam had made the decision that the first right of Wickham’s punishment belonged to the army, and Darcy found that he could not gainsay his cousin.
“Yes, Wickham has run up debts all over the kingdom,” said Fitzwilliam when they discussed the matter, “but you have never held him accountable for what he has done. Once he has answered for the charges laid at his door, he will find himself at the mercy of the shopkeepers of Brighton. I do not doubt he will be discharged from the militia in disgrace and find himself with new quarters in prison, and that is after he receives a flogging for his troubles.”
Darcy winced, but he understood. Wickham had no one to blame but himself.
“Do you know what his debts total?” asked Darcy.
“There are men investigating that as we speak,” replied Fitzwilliam. “I dare not guess as to the amount, but as he has been in Brighton for some time, I imagine they are quite substantial.” Fitzwilliam paused and looked at Darcy carefully for some moments before he spoke again. “I know you feel some responsibility for Wickham, Darcy, but if you will excuse my saying so, you have never handled the matter the way you should have. If you look at it from Wickham’s perspective, he has always been allowed to think that if his situation truly became desperate, that he had only to apply to you and your assistance would be forthcoming, for no other reason than the fact that he was ‘your father’s favorite.’