The Darcy Brothers

by Abigail Reynolds

  “You will give me time to escape, will you not? I promise you, I will go to the Continent and you will never hear from me again.”

  “Not good enough, George.”

  An ugly expression marred Wickham’s handsome face, turning it into an unfamiliar mask.

  “I thought you were different from the rest of them, that you were the only decent one of the Darcys. I see I was wrong. You are just as willing to punish me for the crime of not being as well-born as you are—and it is not even your money I am asking for, but your brother’s. You will never see a penny of it, you know!”

  There was no point in arguing further. Theo started down the steps, but was knocked to the side when George Wickham pushed past him, racing ahead in hopes of reaching freedom. Theo struggled to catch his balance and hurried after him, damning himself for a fool in warning Wickham of what he had planned.

  He need not have rushed. In the tavern, Monty leaned back against the door to the street, his arms crossed. Monty the Mountain. Wickham looked small in front of him.

  “Going so soon?” Monty drawled. “I believe Theo is not quite finished speaking to you.”

  His mouth dry, Theo slapped a silver coin on the bar. “Fetch a constable right away. That man is guilty of theft.”

  He had barely turned when the sound of a blow reached him. He turned to find Monty still leaning against the door, while Wickham nursed his knuckles.

  “That was a foolish thing to do, Wickham,” said Monty. As Monty’s fist shot out, there was a cry of pain from Wickham, and he slumped to the floor.

  Theo stepped over the sprawled figure and opened the door for the barman, who rushed into the street in search of a constable. Monty stooped down to drag Wickham to his worthless feet.

  As Theo cast a look outside, the neighborhood looked much as it had when they arrived, its inhabitants ignorant of the drama unfolding behind the inn’s door. Theo shuddered; even now before nightfall, it was a dismal place, with drunkards arguing loudly, a beggar wailing on the corner, and several children in ragged, dirty clothes fighting over a much cherished object. The only solace in this gloomy, grey-brown world was the bright basket of flowers on the arm of a girl offering posies to indifferent passers-by.

  Stepping inside, Theo closed the door on the unwelcome scene only to find himself face to face with Wickham, who was testing his chin gingerly with one hand and holding the other out to Theo in supplication.

  “Have some mercy, Theo; for heaven’s sake, you cannot simply cast off all our years of friendship. We went through so many things together—you cannot do this. I see you mean to caution me, and I have heard you. Now let me go, and we will say no more of this matter.”

  Theo shook his head and brushed past Wickham, ignoring the outstretched arm. “It is out of my hands. A constable will be here directly.”

  Wickham’s countenance turned ugly. “You choose to send me into exile? For the love of God, Theo, Prince William has influenced you too strongly. Though he has long earned his title, neither of you are of Royal blood, and you would do well to remember it.”

  Turning about, Theo glowered at him, conscious of a spark smoldering in his breast. “And you would do well to remember Darcy’s caution to you after you tried to ruin our sister!”

  Wickham returned Theo’s glare with a sneer. “And you have only her word that I did not succeed!” Then, he laughed mockingly.

  The spark flamed fiercely as angry bile rose in Theo’s throat and without further thought he aimed his fist at Wickham, whose head snapped backwards as he dropped to the floor like a rag doll.

  “Ouch! Damn it,” Theo bent over, cradling his aching hand.

  “You are not made for fist fights, my friend!” Monty pushed him gently onto a nearby settle and inspected the hand. “You will do—no broken bones, though it will smart for a while.” He walked over and bent down to inspect Wickham’s prone form. “His brow will bear the evidence longer, I suspect.”

  Theo glanced at Wickham, rage still throbbing within. “An hour ago, I could not bear the notion of death for him, but for a moment, I wished to kill him by my own hand.”

  “Understandable.” Monty straightened up. “He lives, though he has not much of a life remaining. He will wish for death before too long, I fancy.”

  Not wishing to dwell upon this, Theo turned his attention to the pain in his hand, and he flexed the fingers tentatively. He would have to forego the pianoforte—his escape, his relaxation, his comfort—and he sighed. In the short term, he would have to find another outlet…

  He looked up as the barkeeper returned with a constable in tow and, as Theo outlined the charges against Wickham, a wooden jail cart pulled up outside and two large and menacing men clambered down from the bench.

  Wickham began to stir, and Monty, who was using him as a footrest, crossed his legs and winked at Theo. “Have no fear—he goes nowhere.” He waved a well-manicured hand towards the constable. “Finish your duty, and then we may wash our hands of the scum.”

  Within a few minutes, the necessary paperwork was complete, sufficient time for Wickham to come round fully and appreciate his situation. The steadily blackening eye and bruise on his chin were in stark relief to the paleness of his countenance as he took in the cart through the grimy window, Monty having hauled him to his feet once more.

  Theo refused to look at Wickham, brushing past him as he began to beg him once more to let him go. He could not bear to hear his pleading and, angry though he was with him, his heart ached at such an outcome for one who once was very dear to him. Swallowing hard on a restriction in his throat, he shot out into the street as the burly men entered and drew in some air, then wished he had not.

  Coughing, he covered his mouth with his uninjured hand, then turned to speak to the constable and shake his hand as Wickham, now trussed like a turkey, with ropes about his ankles and wrists, was man-handled into the cart and secured behind the padlocked door.

  As it rattled away slowly along the cobbles, Monty turned to Theo.

  “What do we do now to assist the young lady?”

  “I promised Miss Elizabeth Bennet I would do all I could to try and put things right, so we must restore her sister to the family as soon as possible.”

  Monty frowned. “It is fortunate Miss Bennet did not follow Wickham downstairs to witness what just took place, but I am surprised she did not. Could aught be amiss?”

  “Perhaps she awaits Wickham’s return.” Theo sighed. “We have done all we can now to aid the family and have only to take her to them.” He gestured towards Monty’s curricle. “Will it suffice, do you think? Speed is of the essence.”

  Monty smiled ruefully and shook his head. “Do you not recall our journey hither? You are nearly as broad as I, yet you propose we squeeze her in between us? It would not be very fitting, my friend.” He looked up and down the street. “I shall see if I can find a willing lad to take word to Gracechurch Street, that Miss Bennet’s aunt and uncle can come and claim her. It is but a mile distant.” Monty glanced about the street, then grimaced. “Though it is another world, thankfully. I may have to spread my search; I shall return directly.”

  Theo nodded and threw one last glance about the street before turning to re-enter the inn. Little had altered since he last viewed the scene other than the young flower seller had moved on, taking with her the only splash of color in the grime-filled corner of London.

  Closing the door, Theo tried hard to let go of his last sighting of George Wickham. The fear writ upon his countenance as the cart set off would likely haunt him for some time, but he pushed it ruthlessly aside and walked quickly over to the barkeeper and shook his hand.

  “Your timely assistance is much appreciated, sir.”

  The man inclined his head and touched a hand to his forelock. “A pleasure, sir; ‘tis not the first time and ‘twill no doubt not be the last I see a fallen man dragged from the building.”

  “I assume there is a bill to settle.”

  The man’s
air became disgruntled. “Aye, there is. An’ who be paying it now, I wants to know.”

  “Have it drawn up and presented to this address,” Theo handed him a card. “I will arrange for it to be settled. In return, I ask one further favor.”

  Pocketing the card, the man nodded. “At your service, young sir.”

  “Would you be so good as to send a girl up to the room to assist the young lady within to dress and to pack up her belongings?”

  As the barkeeper turned to hail one of the serving wenches, the door to the street opened and Monty strode into the room.

  “These streets are full of nothing but reprobates; look who I encountered!”

  “Richard!” Theo’s smile widened as he recognized Monty's companion. “What the devil are you doing in this God-forsaken part of Town?”

  “On maneuvers, old chap.” Colonel Fitzwilliam tapped the side of his nose. “Covert; undercover; top secret stuff.”

  They shook hands and then walked over to stand near the empty hearth.

  Monty grinned. “Routing out the miscreants who were too in their cups to find their way back to barracks, more like.”

  With a reciprocal grin, the Colonel nodded. “Indeed. So—what have I missed? I could not have been more surprised to see Sir Montgomery Preston’s noble features, nor to learn that you were in this…” he waved a hand, “charming establishment.”

  It did not take above a few minutes to acquaint the Colonel with all that had happened, and, as Theo’s narration drew to a close, Richard Fitzwilliam released a low breath and shook his head.

  “I am not surprised at such an end for Wickham. Man only has so many narrow escapes, whether by wit or good fortune, and he has surely taken his share.” His gaze narrowed as he met Theo’s eye. “And how do you fare, Cousin?”

  Theo shrugged. “Other than a sore hand, I do not know. I am saddened by it, but like you, I am not surprised his chances ran out. He has angered me too, yet I would have given a deal not to be personally involved in this outcome.”

  Monty clapped his friend lightly on the shoulder. “Do not take on so, Theo! You cannot assume the blame for his misdeeds; besides, we are equally liable for catching the toad in his final leap.”

  He flexed his hand, and the Colonel grinned. “That I should have liked to see! Long have I wished to plant one on Wickham myself, yet always I was restrained by one more tolerant than I. Talking of whom, how is your brother and what of the enchanting Miss Bennet? Is she well recovered from the accident?”

  Theo barely had time to enlighten his cousin when the door to the staircase was pushed aside with a bang and Lydia Bennet flounced into the room. Though she had received some assistance to dress, she remained somewhat disheveled, her curls haphazardly tied with a ribbon and her gown creased.

  With little concern for propriety, she marched straight over to where the gentlemen stood.

  “What have you done with him? Where is he?”

  It seemed ludicrous to adhere to any form of civility in the circumstances, but nevertheless, Theo made the attempt.

  “Miss Bennet, may I present to you my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam and my friend, Sir Montgomery Preston.” He turned toward them, but before he could present the lady to them, Lydia tapped him on the shoulder.

  “I do not care who they are,” she pointed rudely at his companions, “I wish to know only where Wickham is. I will not be parted from him.”

  Could this creature truly be a sister to Elizabeth? Theo could feel his temper rising once more, but as his desire was to restore the girl to her family at the soonest opportunity, he drew in a calming breath and swallowed the retort he longed to utter.

  “If you will please take a seat, Miss Bennet, then perhaps I can explain.”

  Throwing herself into the nearest chair, Lydia pouted as Theo sat opposite her. “You may talk all you wish. I shall only listen to that which interests me: where my Wickham has gone and how soon we can be reunited.”

  “May I ask what you presently understand?”

  Lydia shrugged. “How should I know? I did not bother to listen to what business you discussed; I was admiring the light from the window upon my dear Wickham’s hair. He has quite the softest hair I have ever known.”

  Theo stared at her incredulously; then, he rushed into a rapid explanation.

  “George Wickham stole some pieces of jewelry and sold them to a pawnbroker. The stolen items were identified and returned to their rightful owner; however, the family concerned wishes to press charges. The pawnbroker is prepared to testify. It is a clear case of theft. Wickham is only fortunate the family is prepared to overlook the more valuable piece in favor of the smaller, permitting a sentence of transportation rather than death.” Lydia sat up in her chair, her countenance bewildered. “He is presently in custody and will be charged with the crime and duly tried. You cannot see him.”

  She frowned. “But we are to be married!” Lydia looked bemusedly at each of the gentlemen in turn. “Will he be there for very long? I had hoped we could set a date. The summer is such a fine season for a wedding, is it not?”

  Catching his cousin’s eye, the Colonel slightly shook his head before addressing the lady.

  “Miss Bennet. Mr. Darcy has outlined the situation precisely as it is.” He paused as Lydia let out an unladylike snort.

  “Mr. Darcy?” She let out a short laugh. “Oh yes, I forgot—I have met his brother. Mr. High and Mighty Darcy, soon to be my brother. Lord, I find I cannot think of this one as ‘Mr. Darcy’ too.”

  The Colonel glared at her. “Let me summarize the situation: Wickham has committed a crime and will be sentenced, either to death or transportation. He is incarcerated with immediate effect. The next, and likely the last, time you see him will either be on the gallows or boarding a ship; in either case the journey has no return passage.”

  Lydia stamped her foot. “But what about the wedding?”

  The Colonel sighed. “He faces a sentence far worse than marriage, Madam.” He turned to Theo and shook his hand before repeating the gesture with Monty. “I have tarried too long and will take my leave of you both; I must return to my duty.”

  “It was good to see you, Richard, albeit so briefly.” Theo raised a hand as his cousin did likewise before closing the door, and he turned back to face Lydia who was curling a strand of hair about her finger with studied interest. She seemed like such a child at that moment, and he felt the first stirrings of sympathy for her. What chance had she in the face of Wickham’s practiced arts?

  “Do you believe Wickham would have married you?”

  She looked up and then shrugged. “In time. It did not signify when it would take place, but I am certain it would have.” Lydia sighed dramatically. “Now I must begin anew, but I shall soon succeed. After all, every man is in need of a wife, is he not?” She giggled, then looked from Theo to Monty and back again. “You are both very handsome. Do either of you seek a wife?”

  His empathy faded in an instant. Was the girl deluded? Monty was staring at Lydia in blatant disbelief, but opportunely, the serving girl appeared with a cloak and bonnet, followed by a young man carrying a small trunk, and Theo got to his feet

  “I think we have said sufficient on the matter; your aunt and uncle will be here directly. They have been most concerned for you.”

  “Oh la!” Lydia jumped to her feet. “They are such fuddy-duddies. And they will make all manner of fuss about this, which Mama never would.”

  The servant held out the cloak, but Lydia merely raised a brow before turning towards the gentlemen, a coy smile upon her lips. “Would you be so kind as to assist me?”

  Theo grasped the cloak and held it out, staring at the ceiling while Lydia made a performance of settling it on her shoulders.

  “Where is my bonnet?” The serving girl thrust it into Theo’s unsuspecting grasp and disappeared through the scullery door and hastily he passed it to Lydia.

  “Will you tie my ribbons for me?” She peeped up at him from under
her lashes.

  Theo shook his head. “I am afraid you will have to do it yourself, Miss Bennet. I have sustained an injury to one of my hands and am unable to assist you.”

  Lydia pouted, then laughed. “Lord, you are becoming stiffer by the minute! I begin to see a resemblance to your lifeless brother.” She walked over to a mirror on the far wall, though the layer of dust upon it hardly made it fit for purpose, and made a show of tying her ribbons, adjusting the rim of her bonnet this way and that. Then, she turned back to face Theo.

  “Your cousin is not wed, is he? I have always had a preference for a man in uniform—though I do prefer a red coat over any other.” She smiled as she walked back to where the men stood. “My dear Wickham has such a fine figure and wears his regimentals better than any other I have seen.” Her face fell for a second. “Though I must think on him no more.” Then, she glanced at Theo again. “Yes, your cousin would do nicely, for though he is old and his countenance is quite ordinary, he has broad shoulders and thus wears his coat well.”

  Before he could muster a response to this piece of absurdity, Theo jumped as the lady squeezed his arm. “And you, sir. You are a gentleman of means, if you are Mr. Darcy’s brother; yet you must have a profession, and as you wear no uniform nor dog collar, might I essay you have chosen the law?”

  Theo removed her hand from his arm. “Indeed. I am a barrister, and I have no time for seeking a wife as I have a career to make.”

  Lydia let out an exaggerated sigh. “My poor, dear Wickham. He was intended for the law, you know? Well, he was first intended for the church, but your unprincipled brother put paid to that!”

  The desire to defend William, something he seemed to be making a habit of lately, rose within him, but though his acquaintance with Lydia Bennet was in its infancy, he knew when to save his breath.

  Salvation arrived in the form of a carriage pulling up outside the inn, and Monty strode to the door, swinging it open. “I believe your aunt and uncle have arrived, Miss Bennet.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were clearly relieved to find their niece safe from harm, but her unabashed manner soon drew their censure. They tried to curb her tongue as she delighted in retelling her story, but their obvious discomfort in her evident pleasure over her escapade elicited the gentlemen’s sympathy, and in a bid to end their torment, Theo and Monty urged the party out to the carriage as Lydia continued to spout inanities.