Pride and Proposals

by Victoria Kincaid

  “If she met with him, I doubt it was by choice,” Darcy said.

  The countess’s voice lowered further to her most scandalous whisper. “But the rumor is that they are conducting an affaire du coeur. And she is his sister by marriage!”

  “Never!” Darcy was suddenly standing and had to restrain himself from stalking toward his aunt. “She blames Wickham for ruining her sister. Eliz—Miss Bennet would never trust him!”

  The countess shrugged. “They were seen together at Hyde Park.”

  Darcy could not help rolling his eyes. “One encounters all manner of people at Hyde Park.”

  “Yes, but there are rumors of other meetings, clandestine meetings, even at his lodgings.” His aunt straightened her shoulders and folded her hands in her lap, apparently uninterested in considering the veracity of her gossip.

  Darcy met Georgiana’s horrified eyes; she was too stricken to speak in defense of her friend. But Darcy was not. “Vague rumors about secret rendezvous? I cannot believe you credit such talk!” Next to him, he could feel Georgiana relax against the back of the settee. At least he seemed to allay the worst of her fears. “Miss Bennet loathes the man—she would not give him her opinion on the weather, let alone entrust him with her virtue!”

  His aunt was eyeing him shrewdly. “Why do you care so much about her reputation?”

  Darcy seated himself once more, making an effort to appear relaxed. “I would not wish to see anyone unfairly maligned. And she was my cousin’s betrothed. I care about her for his sake.” God willing, his aunt would not examine the truth of that assertion!

  “Hmmph.” Lady Fitzwilliam sat back in her chair with an air of dissatisfaction. “I think it wise for Georgiana to discontinue her association with Miss Bennet, at least until these rumors die down. Georgiana cannot be linked to any scandal during her debut year.”

  Georgiana’s eyes pleaded with Darcy, and he gave her a short nod to acknowledge the silent request.

  “I do not believe these rumors have any merit, and I have no intention of separating our household from Miss Bennet’s. To do so would suggest we believe such vitriol.” He gave his aunt no more opportunities to object. “Now if you will excuse me, I have urgent business matters to attend to. However, Georgiana has a new piece which she might be prevailed upon to play for you.”

  Darcy stood abruptly and strode out of the room before his aunt could draw breath for another objection.

  ***

  Elizabeth sipped her tea as she perused the list of plants which must be replaced. The magnitude of the damage still saddened her, but it was comforting that eventually they could restore the garden to its former glory. She was, however, no closer to ascertaining who might have caused the damage. Despite her initial fears, Elizabeth was now inclined to believe it was the work of a deranged individual, perhaps a vagrant.

  The housekeeper, Mrs. Lawrence, marched in with a plate of lemon biscuits, which she placed on the table next to the tea pot. “Thank you.” Elizabeth smiled up at the motherly woman. “You always seem to know when a craving for sweets has struck.”

  The other woman folded her hands over her plump waist and smiled briefly, but her eyes narrowed with worry. “Is there something else?” Elizabeth asked her.

  “Ma’am …” Lawrence’s hands worried the edges of her apron. “I have not known you for long, but I want to say … well, you are a good woman…The colonel knew what he was about when he chose you.”

  Elizabeth smiled faintly, a bit mystified where the conversation was tending. “Thank you.”

  The rest of the housekeeper’s words emerged in a rush. “I want you to know I don’t believe a word of them rumors—and neither does any of the staff here.”

  Elizabeth blinked rapidly, assimilating this information. “Thank you. I appreciate your faith in me. But which rumors do you mean?”

  Lawrence’s hand flew to her mouth so quickly it was almost comical. “I thought you knew, ma’am, or I would never have presumed—”

  “It is all right. Sometimes the servants’ gossip is the most efficient in London.” Elizabeth was far more concerned about the content of the rumors than her staff’s reactions to them. “Quite possibly, I ought to know about them.”

  Lawrence started wringing her hands as she realized she must now reveal the rumors to her mistress. “Well, I had it from the housekeeper over at the Browns, and Jenny heard the same thing from one of the footmen at Lady Pierson’s house.” Elizabeth nodded encouragement for the other woman to continue. “They’re saying ….” Lawrence’s hands moved even faster. “Forgive me…They’re saying you’ve taken up with your sister’s husband. The one who’s a widower.”

  “Mr. Wickham!” Elizabeth cried.

  “That’s the one.” Lawrence nodded. “We know such gossip is false, ma’am. We’ve never seen that scoundrel here or even heard mention of him.”

  For the first time in her life, Elizabeth was tempted to utter an oath. She swallowed the impulse and assumed a soothing tone, which did not match her mood. “Thank you for telling me.” Lawrence gave her a worried smile. “And tell the staff I appreciate their faith in me.”

  Lawrence nodded, bobbed a curtsey, and disappeared quickly into the hallway, no doubt grateful to have such an awkward conversation at an end.

  Once she was alone in the room, Elizabeth buried her face in her hands. She should have known Wickham would retaliate for her refusal to pay him. Slandering her good name was exactly the kind of stratagem that would appeal to him. Her social standing was already tenuous. No doubt this new calumny had spread quickly.

  Women who had been betrothed were often considered “used goods” by the ton and somewhat less than virtuous, whether or not they had actually anticipated their vows in any way. This made it easier to spread rumors that she was giving her favors freely.

  Knowing it must be Wickham’s doing did little to solve the problem. She brushed a stray tear from her cheek, angry she had permitted that man to distress her.

  Such rumors were frustratingly hard to refute—like grabbing a handful of water. The gossip was vague and difficult to trace to its source. She could refute the accusations but could conceive of no way to disprove them. While Richard was alive, such slander would never have been repeated, but no one of any social standing would defend her now. Richard’s parents were more likely to repeat the rumors than refute them.

  Elizabeth was unaware how long she sat in the drawing room, dwelling on her situation without coming closer to finding a solution. Minutes ticked away as she reviewed all the options over and over, only to discard them once more. She gave a deep sigh. Perhaps she should accept that nothing could be done. The inhabitants of the ton would talk behind their hands and titter behind their fans whenever she walked into a room—and she could do nothing but ignore it.

  She had just resolved to collect herself and attend to her afternoon tasks when Grayson opened the door and intoned, “Mr. Wickham, ma’am.” She could detect a note of steely disapproval even in those few syllables.

  Elizabeth did not trouble herself to smile at her erstwhile brother but focused on a fruitless attempt not to scowl. She waited until Grayson had closed the door and Wickham had seated himself before she spoke. “Mr. Wickham, I gave you my answer the other day in the park. It has not changed, I assure you.”

  Wickham laid his walking stick across his knee in the studied pose of a gentleman. “But I believe we do have matters to discuss, Elizabeth.” The grating sound of his voice uttering her Christian name made her skin crawl.

  “So you are the source of the rumors.”

  Wickham never asked which rumors she meant. “I would never stoop to such stratagems.” His knowing smirk implied otherwise. He paused for dramatic effect. “However … I did hear about the gossip, and I have no doubt I could identify the source and dissuade them from spreading such heinous lies … for the right incentive.” He toyed idly with the head of his walking stick, regarding her with a raised eyebrow.

&nb
sp; Blackmail? Elizabeth was aghast. She had not believed Wickham capable of such despicable behavior.

  “I only require a small loan,” Wickham continued. “Perhaps three thousand? And your reputation will remain intact.”

  Rage boiled through Elizabeth’s veins. This scoundrel would stain her dear sister’s memory by blackmailing her family! It could not be endured! She found herself suddenly on her feet, staring down at the still-seated Wickham. He seemed a little uncomfortable to be looking up at her in such close proximity. Good.

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Richard may have paid you out of concern for my sensibilities, but I can be the judge of my own sentiments. My sensibilities would be far more offended by continuing to fund your villainy than by any trumped up rumors that people of sense would ignore!”

  Wickham’s face turned scarlet, and he appeared on the verge of exploding. He surged to his feet, nearly knocking Elizabeth over, and used his height to loom over her. She took an involuntary step backward.

  “Do not make the mistake of supposing that the only threat is to your reputation,” he snarled. “Such a shame about your garden …” Elizabeth gasped; there was only one way he could have learned about that destruction. “It would be terrible if a similar fate were to befall your horses.”

  Elizabeth stared at the man. Every time she marveled at how low he had sunk, he found new depths. The mews on the other side of the garden, held Richard’s curricle and horses, including his prize stallion. A groom slept in the mews above the stable, but he could hardly guard against determined ruffians who sought to hurt the animals.

  Nausea swept through her. Would Wickham act on that threat? Everything in Elizabeth rebelled against giving this villain so much as a shilling, but the vision of Richard’s beloved horses maimed or dead in their stalls was equally dreadful.

  “Even you would never go that far!” She hated the weak, high-pitched sound of her voice.

  “Oh?” His voice was silky and threatening. Wickham pressed forward, forcing Elizabeth back another step.

  “Stand back!” she cried.

  “Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?” Wickham took another deliberate step forward, once again pressing against her. But when she backed away, she encountered a bookcase. There was nowhere else to go.

  She took a deep breath, hoping for a commanding, forceful tone in her voice. “Mr. Wickham! You must leave at once!” If she spoke loudly enough, Grayson would hear and investigate.

  “Or else … what?” Wickham smirked. “You are hardly in a position to give me orders, Sister.”

  Suddenly, the drawing room door flew open, and someone entered. However, Wickham’s body blocked her view. Perhaps Grayson had heard her cries. There was a flurry of movement. Elizabeth barely had time to make sense of what she saw before Mr. Darcy was standing over the prone form of Wickham, who appeared somewhat stunned to find himself on the floor.

  “Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth exclaimed. How had he come to be there?

  His eyes held a wildness she had never seen before. At that moment, she believed him capable of anything. He was breathing hard as he loomed over Wickham, undisguised contempt on his face.

  He glanced up briefly. “Miss Bennet, please forgive the intrusion.” His calm, polite words were at such odds with the situation that Elizabeth fought the temptation to laugh. “I heard raised voices and I feared—”

  “Your arrival was quite timely, thank you,” she assured him.

  In one swift movement, Mr. Darcy swooped down and pulled Wickham up by his cravat so that the man’s feet barely touched the floor. “What villainy are you perpetrating now?” His voice was low and threatening.

  Wickham’s face began to turn red, and Elizabeth feared for his safety. She had never seen Mr. Darcy quite so enraged. “He cannot answer with you strangling him,” she observed.

  Mr. Darcy grunted an acknowledgement and settled Wickham on his feet but maintained a firm grip on the cravat. “This does not concern you, Darcy.” Wickham’s voice was weak and raspy.

  In the past, Mr. Darcy had expressed a sense of responsibility for Wickham because of his failure to reveal the man’s true character. He also seemed to feel that the Darcy family had somehow been responsible for unleashing Wickham on the world.

  So she was unprepared for Mr. Darcy’s response.

  “Anything which concerns Miss Bennet concerns me,” Mr. Darcy growled, shaking Wickham a little by his cravat.

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened. Certainly that was taking his role as adopted cousin a little far!

  “Indeed?” Wickham sneered. Elizabeth very much feared he would twist Mr. Darcy’s statement into something that could be used to hurt him.

  Abruptly, Mr. Darcy released his grip on the cravat, allowing Wickham to stumble backward. “Whatever scheme you have concocted to extort money from Miss Bennet will cease now. Leave her alone, or you will face my wrath!”

  “I am not afraid of you!” Wickham’s cough at the end of his assertion somewhat undercut his bravado.

  “Do not threaten her again, or I will have you arrested!” Mr. Darcy grabbed the front of Wickham’s coat in both hands and dragged him toward the drawing room door.

  “For what?” Wickham managed a smile even as he was pulled, stumbling, across the polished wood floor. “I was simply having a conversation with my sister, my dear departed wife’s sibling. That is not against the law.”

  “Stay away, Wickham, if you value your health,” Mr. Darcy snarled. He opened the door and practically threw the other man into the entrance hall at the feet of a very surprised Grayson. Mr. Darcy looked up at the butler. “Ah, Grayson, could you make sure that Mr. Wickham finds his way back to the street?” Grayson nodded, helping Wickham to his feet and guiding him to the front door with a hand under one elbow.

  When Mr. Darcy turned back into the room, he spied Wickham’s walking stick sitting by the chair he had occupied. Without a pause, Mr. Darcy strode across the room, grabbed it, returned to the doorway, tossed the stick into the hallway, and closed the door.

  When Mr. Darcy turned back to Elizabeth, his eyes searched her face with ferocious intensity. “Did that villain hurt you?” He crossed the room quickly, taking both of her hands in his.

  “No, I assure you, I am quite well.” Her statement would have been more believable had her voice been less shaky.

  Mr. Darcy guided her gently to a chaise longue. “Come, sit. Is there nothing I can get for your present relief? A glass of wine?”

  “I am well, thanks to your timely intervention. You have my gratitude.”

  Mr. Darcy scowled. “I should have been here earlier.”

  Elizabeth arched her eyebrow. “By all means, please castigate yourself for a failure to be omniscient. I intend to.”

  For a moment, Mr. Darcy seemed at a loss, staring at her. Then he burst into laughter. “Ah, Elizabeth, you always find the means of telling me when I take myself too seriously!”

  Elizabeth was taken off guard. Does he even realize he used my Christian name? But he displayed no awareness.

  Apparently reassured she would not collapse in a faint, Mr. Darcy finally seated himself. “I should have anticipated he would importune you once he knew of your bequest from Richard.”

  Elizabeth’s heart ached for him, wishing she could ease some of his burden of guilt. “You could not have anticipated this. You take too much upon yourself, sir.”

  Mr. Darcy rested his forearms on his knees and ran his hands through his hair. “Would that I could find some means of removing that man from your life permanently.”

  “He is an annoyance, nothing more,” Elizabeth said firmly.

  “You do not realize how destructive he can be!” Mr. Darcy’s voice had an almost desperate edge. “He is responsible for these appalling rumors—”

  So he has heard them as well. Elizabeth grimaced. “I suspected he was the source.”

  “I only heard about them today, or I would have been here earlier.” Mr. Darcy looked up at her ea
rnestly. As if she would have reason to expect him to offer assistance with her troubles!

  Mr. Darcy’s hands flexed open and closed on his knees, and he smiled in a rather predatory manner. “For such lies alone, I could happily strangle Wickham—”

  Elizabeth found this fey mood slightly alarming. “Please do not trouble yourself with murder. The opinions of the ton mean little to me.”

  “Do you not care about your reputation?” His voice betrayed surprise.

  “Those who know me will recognize how patently false these stories are. I would never ally myself with Mr. Wickham in any respect.” She focused her eyes on her hands as she smoothed her dress.

  “It is not only the rumors that concern me. If he does not obtain what he desires, he may resort to more extreme measures.”

  Elizabeth sighed. She might as well reveal all. The servants’ gossip would inform him eventually. “He has made threats against the horses.”

  Mr. Darcy’s head jerked up. “The horses?”

  There was nothing for it; she divulged everything: the meeting in Hyde Park, the damage in the garden, and Wickham’s threats. By the time she was finished, Mr. Darcy was fairly quivering with barely contained rage.

  “The blackguard! To threaten innocent beasts. And Richard’s thoroughbred stallion!” He was now pacing the length of the room.

  “I fear he might hurt one of the servants should they interfere,” Elizabeth said.

  Mr. Darcy nodded grimly. “I will send you another groom to help guard the horses.” It was not a request but rather a statement. Elizabeth inclined her head. Accepting his help was prudent, and she did not have the strength to argue with him.

  “I fear that Wickham views you as an easy victim. A young, unmarried woman living alone— one who has recently inherited. He expects you to be unprotected.”

  Elizabeth felt a chill at Mr. Darcy’s assessment of her vulnerability, but she also felt the stirrings of anger. The independence Richard’s bequest had granted her should not come with a price! “Perhaps I should return to Longbourn,” she conceded. At least Richard’s horses, and the staff, would be safe if she were not in residence.