His Choice of a Wife

by Heather Moll

  I have the comfort and security of knowing that I shall be able to respect my partner in life and that Fitzwilliam admires me and is more devoted to me than my father is capable of being to anyone he claims to love.

  Fitzwilliam’s desire for this sad affair with Lydia and Wickham to be over and done with was clear. For a man so reserved, he truly had an affectionate heart. She remembered sitting across his lap, smiling while they chatted amiably and lightly and then spoke on more somber topics. Elizabeth recollected the look of adoration in his eyes when he told her that she had saved him from a lonely existence…

  Fitzwilliam held a tightening grasp around her, and Elizabeth leant in to meet his lips. She opened her mouth at the insistent caress of his tongue and returned his kiss with equal ardor. Elizabeth felt a rush of pure desire shoot through her. She was pulled towards him and found herself straddling his lap facing him, evidence of his arousal firmly beneath her. She watched his pupils dilate and heard his labored breathing, and the feel of his hands roaming her body added to her building excitement.

  Consumed by the thrill of his touch, Elizabeth had not noticed the ties to her dress had been undone and Fitzwilliam was now frantically tugging at her sleeves. In another moment, her chemise was roughly torn off her shoulders, and she instinctively pulled her arms free. His warm lips left hers, and she arched her neck as his mouth moved down the column of her throat. He cupped one breast firmly in his hand and eagerly explored the other with his tongue.

  “I want you,” she whispered.

  Fitzwilliam’s insistent mouth stopped, and his hands slowly slid away back to her hips. One breast longed for more while the other stung from neglect. Her breathing was shallow and her vision hazy, but when she realized he had pulled away, she focused her gaze on his face.

  “I did not intend this, Elizabeth,” he said, still breathing heavily. “I simply wanted to say good-bye to you alone without the eyes of your family on us. I wished to speak freely with you without any regard to propriety.”

  “It does not follow that this is unwelcome.”

  He shook his head and seemed not to know where to rest his eyes. Elizabeth was still bare-chested across his lap, and she had no intention of moving. His white shirt clung to his chest from the heat of the room, and Elizabeth had a sudden need to tear the garment off of him. Something in his eyes made her pause.

  “What changed for you since the last time we found ourselves here? Wickham’s treachery and Lydia’s situation do not change the way I feel for you.”

  “What I ought to do and what I want to do have never been more at odds,” he answered in a controlled voice.

  “We are not like them,” she murmured. “You cannot compare what we have to Lydia and Wickham.”

  He met her eye but did not answer.

  “Fitzwilliam,” she breathed with a sigh, well aware that, undressed as she was, she was not nearly as imposing as she desired to be, “I have had enough formal civility, and I suppose that you have as well. You cannot believe that what we have done is entirely wrong, given our feelings for one another, given that we are engaged. If you did think it was immoral, then you would not have done so the first time. Your carefully prescribed manners serve you well in every other interaction, but you cannot be that way with me. Do you no longer think of me as your wife?”

  “Of course not. I love you. You have been the wife of my heart for a long time.”

  “Then there is no need for gentlemanly restraint when you are alone with me. While we neither of us wish to have our actions here spoken of by the outside world, with me you can simply act in the manner that will most constitute your happiness.” She leant closer and focused intently on his face. “There is no need for you to hold back from me.” She saw a flicker of light in his eyes and heard his quickening breath. She gave a mischievous grin as she leant back to afford him a better view. “I shall not presume to speak for you, but I feel no desire to be anywhere else.”

  His eyes widened; then he gave her a roguish smile. There was a noise of rustling fabric, and her skirts were pushed up to her waist. His fingertips traced along her stockings and then finally reached the bare skin of her thighs. Fitzwilliam lifted his hands beneath her and forcefully pulled her closer.

  “That is just as well, madam,” he said, his tone all confidence as he lowered his head, “because I simply must have you.”

  His words sent her pulse racing, but it was his look of reverent desire that made Elizabeth intoxicated with the knowledge that he was hers.

  Chapter 24

  Darcy estimated there were five hundred people in and around the Upper Rooms on this blistering Thursday evening. He avoided the train of carriages and went inside, taking his share of the heat and inconvenience by mingling with the crowd. A fancy ball was always held on Thursdays, and Darcy arrived just as the second cotillion began. He made swift work of crossing the vestibule and slipping down the corridor to the octagon antechamber, eager to avoid being welcomed by the master of ceremonies.

  The assembled company passed by him on their way to and from the ball room, the card room, and the tea room. He paused before entering the card room to gather a calming breath while he steadied his mind. He acutely felt the difference between the expectation of an unpleasant event and the certainty of it. With his heart beating rapidly in his chest, Darcy strode into the crowded room.

  There was a multitude of tables in the card room, but it did not take long for Darcy to locate Wickham. He simply had to find the most crowded, boisterous table, and at its center would be the man he needed. Near the middle of the room was a table of six rowdy men with Wickham reveling his role as dealer at vingt-et-un, wearing a fine cut of clothes that Darcy was sure he could not have afforded a fortnight ago.

  Wickham raised his smiling countenance from the cards he was dealing and met Darcy’s cold stare. He paused with the last card still in his hand, and the laughter instantly died in his eyes. It was not until one of the men called his attention to the game that Wickham tore his gaze from Darcy. By the time Darcy approached Wickham’s side, he had regained his easy manner and finished dealing, but his pallor remained. Darcy was still recovering from the thought of having to address this poor excuse for a man, and Wickham took the advantage and spoke first.

  “I have been in Bath these two weeks and have not encountered you. You must not have been here long enough to enjoy the evening parties.” Wickham displayed a false friendliness that turned Darcy’s stomach.

  “No. The usual character of them holds nothing for me. I am no card player.”

  “You always did prefer books to cards. Might I introduce you to my companions, Darcy?” Without waiting for a response, Wickham addressed his compatriots. “May I present Fitzwilliam Darcy? All you need know of him is that all of his actions may be traced to pride, and pride has often been his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than any other feeling.”

  “I would speak with you privately, Mr. Wickham.” He spoke in a measured tone, ignoring the assembled men.

  “Do you hear this, my friends? So full of improper pride he cannot condescend to acknowledge you.” He gave an exaggerated frown and shook his head. “You can be on your way, Darcy.”

  Wickham called for his companions to place their bets. Darcy watched in a controlled fury at Wickham’s audacity to ignore him. Wickham’s confidence had increased exponentially in correlation with his new wife’s fortune. He had known that Wickham would not be easy to deal with, but he had not anticipated outright disrespect. Any other gentleman would have either asked Darcy to call at his home or stepped away from the table. But since when has George Wickham acted in a manner befitting a gentleman?

  The men went around the table placing their bets, and then Wickham checked his card and doubled the stakes. After watching Wickham, Darcy addressed the entire table in a blighting tone: “Mr. Wickham always doubl
es his bet when he has an ace.”

  Groans were heard as the men shook their heads and tossed their cards on the table. Wickham’s shoulders tensed, and he exhaled angrily as he slowly set down his cards. He looked up at Darcy, and all pretenses of polished manners were dropped.

  “You think so little of me as to interfere with my play! Is this the reason you have come to Bath?”

  “I think you have turned out very wild, but that is not what brings me here. I again ask to speak with you privately, Mr. Wickham.”

  “I think not, Mr. Darcy. The distress of my circumstances, prior to my marriage, was entirely your doing. I shall not interrupt my game for your convenience.”

  A few gentlemen nodded to one another, and others whispered to the man next to him. Watching the rising tempers proved far more entertaining than a high-stakes game. Pairs of eyes from the neighboring tables had also begun to turn their way. Perhaps having an audience for this interview could be to his benefit. If Wickham preferred to save face in front of the wealthy and influential, Darcy might shame Wickham into speaking with him in a less public place.

  “I am here to see that you acknowledge the young woman you seduced and who is now carrying your child.”

  Wickham’s confident demeanor slipped, but his gentlemanly attitude was soon put back in place. “Perhaps you have not heard, but I am a married man.” He gave an unaffected smile. “You ought to be careful what you say of me. My wife’s uncle is an earl.” Darcy rolled his eyes at this inanity from such an insecure man. “My acquaintance is exceedingly sought after. I am now a man who needs to draw back from introductions and still am having cards left by people of whom I know nothing.”

  “You can still be held accountable—easily done now that you have control of your wife’s money. I have no doubt that you will spend her fortune to set up your mistresses and gamble to your heart’s content. However, I will see you use some of your ill-gotten fortune to provide for your child by Miss Lydia Bennet.”

  “Lydia Bennet is a strumpet and a senseless flirt!” Wickham then lowered his voice so only Darcy could hear. “You had an opportunity to preserve her honor, but chose not to act.” He shrugged before raising his voice so the crowd could once again hear him. “What does it signify to me or the world whether a slut has a bastard?”

  “Unless you are royalty, illegitimacy is generally frowned upon. Perhaps you have been removed from the realm of gentlemen too long. You ought to have remained with the regiment in Brighton.”

  “Soldiers play high, Darcy, and I have always been expensive,” Wickham answered with a disarming smile. “I was a dove—plucked of all my money. My fortune, due entirely to your cruel neglect, has never been large.”

  “From what I understand of your new wife’s fortune, that is no longer a distress under which you must suffer. I am here to see that the Bennet family name is restored to some respectability by your public acceptance of the connection between you and Miss Lydia Bennet’s child. The father of an illegitimate child has a legal duty of maintenance for seven years.”

  “You mean to say that you are here in a cause of compassion and honor?” Wickham asked in a tone of mock surprise. “I suspect that you are here for the sake of your family pride since you have become entrapped by that whore’s sister.”

  However little Darcy might have liked such an address, he contented himself by coolly replying, “I will see you meet your obligation to your child.”

  Emboldened by his newfound wealth and perhaps by the desire for dominance over him, Wickham rose and stood nearly eye to eye with Darcy. “I acknowledge no child, and you have no right to accuse me!” His voice was piercing, dripping with contempt. “I think you are here because you have been taken in by that whore’s sister and you must preserve your family name. Why else, but for your own sake, would you concern yourself with Lydia?”

  Darcy felt the gazes of the nearby parties and knew he was losing the upper hand in this disgraceful conversation. It went against his character to hold a private conversation in view of the gawking public. Leaving now was not an option, and Darcy had no alternative but to see this confrontation concluded, preferably without giving in to his building rage. There was no way he could return to Elizabeth unless he was able to say that he had done all he could to see that part of her family’s reputation would be restored.

  He managed to answer with a calm he did not feel. “I am not here to discuss anything other than your open acknowledgement of Lydia Bennet’s child and your promise to provide for their upkeep.”

  Wickham then clapped him on the shoulder, giving every appearance to their assembled audience that they were long-parted friends. Speaking quietly so that only Darcy could hear, Wickham leant closer with a cold glint in his eye and murmured, “I have despised you for a very long time, and I finally know how to have my revenge over you.”

  Wickham smiled broadly and stepped away and, in a louder voice, said, “I hear you are to be married! Lizzy Bennet is a prime article.”

  “Refrain from speaking about Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  “Come now! She is lovely. Any man who has seen her would agree—charming, pretty, rather clever, though poor with bad connections. I was surprised to learn of your engagement. I was certain you were destined for your cousin. You must have been willingly tempted by her…alluring femininity.” Wickham gave a knowing smile to the crowd, and Darcy bit back the bile that was rising in his throat. How dare this fiend bandy about Elizabeth’s good name! He could feel his heart pounding faster.

  He stared at Wickham with such seething hatred that some of the men at the table stood to leave. When he finally spoke, he knew his accent had none of its usual sedateness. “I will not tell you again: do not speak of Miss Elizabeth Bennet! I am enduring this mortification only to see that you preserve what is left of Miss Lydia’s respectability and to ensure the protection of your child.”

  “It is a shame that Lydia is a fallen woman!” Wickham smiled with unrestrained amusement. “The virtuous among us are so eager to apply the term ‘prostitute’ to an unmarried woman who has mislaid her virginity.”

  To Darcy, Wickham’s merriment as he maligned the Bennet women deepened the wounds of his vicious insults. All of this brought anew to Darcy’s mind the rage he felt when this man had attempted to elope with his own sister. How much farther beyond all decency would this wretched man go? “It was ‘mislaid’ because you seduced her and left her with child,” he replied through gritted teeth.

  “I acknowledge no child! If Lydia Bennet sprained her ankle, it is no fault of mine. You are here because you have become entangled yourself and do not want your proud family name sullied by a connection to a household with such fast daughters. You need someone to take responsibility for ruining Lydia Bennet, and you have chosen me.” Wickham winked at Darcy, and then continued in a loud, clear voice, “Elizabeth Bennet is a lively young lady. She has much in common with her forward youngest sister. Is she foisting a bastard child on you as well? It would not surprise me if it were true.”

  “I will not allow you to defame that lady’s good name!”

  “I speak only the truth, Darcy. Lydia Bennet is a wicked whore, and so is her sister Elizabeth. If you allow Elizabeth’s child by another man to inherit Pemberley, it is no concern of mine. Now go back to Derbyshire, and leave me to my game.” Wickham returned to his chair, and Darcy felt the ungovernable outrage that had been building within his chest burst forth.

  “Mr. Wickham!” cried Darcy. “I expect your apology in person and in writing tomorrow morning, or you will answer for your words!” Darcy promptly turned on his heel and exited the room.

  Darcy passed from the assembly rooms—with no memory of the journey—to discover himself outside near the sedan chair entrance: dazed, nauseous, and with trembling hands. The night air was still sweltering, but Darcy felt inexplicably cold. How did I let this
happen? Darcy tried to pace with nervous energy, but his motion was prevented by the ambling crowd. He stood astonished and knew not know where to go or where to look, rage and bewilderment battling for the dominating feelings crossing his mind. It was in this confused manner that Bingley found him not long thereafter. He had come from the dance and pressed Darcy to walk with him.

  “Come, Darcy.” He led him away from the crowd. “You must tell me what happened! It is all anyone can talk of. Hurst left his card game to find me in the ballroom. Hurst! Abandoned his game! What did you do?”

  Darcy had genuinely believed that he could reason with Wickham and persuade him to acknowledge his child. Was that hopeful rationalizing on his part or arrogance? Upon hearing Bingley’s entreaties and realizing he was being led away before a gaping crowd, Darcy recovered his deportment and steadied his features. It would not do to appear shaken and outraged. He needed to act with a level head if he was to recover from this disaster.

  “Bingley,” Darcy said, choosing his words carefully, “I request a favor of you.”

  “Yes, just tell me what has happened!”

  “I am going to write a letter, and I need you to deliver it in person for me first thing in the morning. You then must wait for a reply.”

  Bingley laughed pleasantly. “Have you left all your servants in London? Why do you ask this of me?”

  Darcy stopped walking to meet the younger man’s eye. “I need you to deliver a letter to Mr. Wickham and await his response. You have my consent to accept his apology. If he does not concede and agree to my terms, you will be obliged to hand him a second letter containing my challenge.”