Sufficient Encouragement: A Pride and Prejudice Variation (When Love Blooms Book 1)

by Rose Fairbanks

  Perhaps I ought to have exposed his true character to Meryton society, but I can only say that I worried for my sister’s reputation and feared I would sound like a pretentious gentleman slandering a common man. I have met with Wickham, who assures me that he has no need of my money, and he has avoided me at every encounter. I dare not trust he is reformed, and I am surprised to hear that he has spoken to you so much as to have your good opinion. I do not know what scheme he has planned, but it is now clear to me that he has used his presence in this county well. He must detect my feelings for you, as open as I have displayed them.

  I do apologise for not making my intentions clear to you weeks ago and exposing us both to gossip, but please be careful around Wickham. You cannot trust him! I will do everything in my power to put this letter in your hands on Monday morning, and should you amend your answer, you need only give me some opening. If not, I will only say that my love for you will never end, and should you ever need my assistance, I will always be your servant. God bless you, Elizabeth.

  Love always,

  Will

  She believed it without hesitation. Yet why did Will not give her the letter as he intended? There was the claim that Georgiana suddenly fell ill, but nothing was told about it in her note. Before she could consider more, she heard the voice of Mr. Wickham calling out to her.

  “Miss Eliza!” She cringed. He was the last man in the world she wished to ever see again. “Eliza,” he said as he reached her side. He breathed heavily as though he ran some distance to her, but his well-kept appearance made that unlikely.

  “Mr. Wickham.” She nodded and continued on the path.

  “Just a moment,” he reached for her hand, “I have the best news, my dear.”

  Confused and concerned, she spun around. She attempted to pull her hand free, but Wickham did not relent.

  “I have your father’s blessing.”

  “For what?” she blurted out.

  “Our marriage, of course!” She yanked her hand, but his grip tightened, and his other hand caught her arm. “Surprised, my love?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he kissed her hard. When he released her, she could barely contain the urge to retch.

  “Do not worry about the money. Your father’s debt will be forgiven, and instead we will have something extra each year.”

  “My…my…my father’s debt?” she stammered.

  “Forgiven is the wrong word. I have simply managed to collect one owed from our friend, Darcy.”

  “What do you mean?” she pleaded.

  He pulled her closer. “Oh yes, I should have known you would be eager to hear how I manipulated him.”

  Elizabeth’s skin crawled as one hand wrapped around her waist, and he trailed the other over her throat.

  “It was a splendid plan. When I realised you were only leading Darcy on for Jane’s sake, I knew we were kindred spirits. Your father’s sudden attack of conscience in wanting to provide an ampler dowry for you and your sisters was the perfect opening. Darcy soon exposed his interest in you. For your happiness, he would be willing to pay any price. He has already agreed to pay any sum owed to me by your father.”

  Her confusion had progressed to fear when Wickham exchanged his hand for his lips on her neck. Squeezing her eyes shut and willing the nightmare to cease, she forced herself to speak. Perhaps if he had to talk, his lips would leave her skin. “But why does that mean we must marry?”

  He placed one of her arms around his neck but stopped when he noticed the letter in her other hand, gripped tightly. His eyes dropped to the handwriting, and his hold on her waist tightened painfully.

  “You were not playing him. You were playing me!” he screamed harshly and turned red. He pushed her to the ground. She tripped over a root, twisting her newly healed ankle. He paced angrily in front of her then threw a folded piece of paper at her.

  “I have a letter of my own. Here. You have no choice.”

  With trembling hands, Elizabeth opened the note and saw her father’s handwriting.

  I insist.

  “No!” she screamed. She was not for purchase. “You have widely mistaken my character, Mr. Wickham, if you did not realise my selfishness. I care too much for my own happiness to rescue my family from the poor choices of my father.”

  “You can’t mean that!” he bent and shouted in her face.

  She pulled herself to her knees to be of more equal stature. “I do. Nothing in the world could prevail upon me to marry you.”

  He pushed her backwards, knocking the air out of her lungs. Elizabeth hated how weak she was compared to him. “You stupid girl! You are determined to have him?”

  Elizabeth vowed to herself that if she survived this encounter, she would indeed have Will. Nothing would keep her from him, even his own pride.

  Maniacal laughter filled her ears. “You are, aren’t you?” He straddled her still prone figure and held her arms above her head with one hand while another roamed over her body. He said lowly but harshly in her ear, “And he will take you won’t he, beautiful Eliza? Then you must be my collateral lest everyone will know how his wife was a mercenary harlot.”

  Elizabeth whimpered and kicked and strained to be released. “Settle, love, or you will leave me no choice. Darcy wants an innocent wife for his first tumble, but he will have to know that I got a foretaste.”

  Tears streamed down Elizabeth’s cheeks as he pulled her bodice low. Afraid of his reaction, she bit her lip to avoid crying out in pain and disgust. In his zealousness, he let go of her hands, and as she began to lower her arms, she felt a rock. Gripping it in her hand, she hit him on the side of the head as hard as she could.

  Wickham cried out in pain, and blood trickled from the wound. He reared up to tend to his injury, and Elizabeth pulled free, scrambling backwards. He stood to reach her and promptly fell to the ground, clearly dizzy from his wound. With savage instinct, Elizabeth stood and ran as best she could on her hurt ankle while attempting to fix her gown. She pushed herself at a painful pace until she came to the fork in the road to turn to Longbourn or Netherfield. Catching her breath, she looked around and perceived no sign of Wickham. Then turning her back on Longbourn, she limped towards her sanctuary.

  Chapter Twenty

  Darcy sat in his study, anxiously awaiting the arrival of his male cousins and uncle. They had dined together at the earl’s house the night before in celebration of the dual engagements of his sons. Despite the celebratory atmosphere and the numerous other guests, it was immediately evident to Darcy that the countess was in a nervous mood. Her husband and sons soon took notice as well. The lady was well-known for being composed regardless of circumstances and nothing less than utterly charming.

  The gentlemen of the house agreed to tell Darcy should there be a serious reason for her behaviour. The evening’s meal sat like lead in Darcy’s stomach, and the feeling of dread only grew as the evening went on. He had thought Wickham had his revenge when he revealed that Elizabeth had plotted against him. Whether or not she had, Darcy knew Wickham enjoyed inflicting such torture. Until last night, Darcy had not considered that Wickham had any further plot or motive.

  This morning, a note awaited him at breakfast, which he ate alone in his study. All three gentlemen would be calling this afternoon. The matter concerned him directly. Shortly afterwards, the morning post arrived, including an envelope from Meryton. Darcy read Wickham’s vile words with increased agitation.

  Darcy,

  You must wish me great joy. I have obtained the hand of Miss Elizabeth Bennet and earlier than I anticipated thanks to your kind intentions of seeing me distinguished in battle. My dearest Eliza could not think of allowing us to be separated without an understanding. Unfortunately, her father can offer us nothing as he currently owes ten thousand pounds after an unlucky round of cards. The gentleman no longer holds me in much esteem, but assurances had to be made. It will grieve Eliza terribly should the Bennets have to give up Longbourn, and who knows what other sacrifice
s might have to be made to meet the debt? Give my love to Georgiana. I always will think of her fondly, for she is surely twice as sweet and pure as my beloved, but again, I thank you for fuelling her fears and passions.

  Immediately, Darcy made use of the rubbish bin for what little breakfast he had consumed. After calling in a maid to clean the mess and retiring to his chamber to refresh himself, he spent the rest of the morning staring blankly at the fire in his study. Elizabeth had deceived him so far as to love and wish to marry Wickham. While he worried he had been too selfish with his kisses, she allowed Wickham even more.

  It was all clearly a request for funds, and Darcy did not miss Wickham's sly statement of blackmailing Mr. Bennet. Wickham knew Darcy would not allow Elizabeth to wallow in the misery of marrying an impoverished soldier and bankrupt her family. That Wickham somehow faulted Darcy for his orders to the North was a case of his enemy’s finding a way to fault Darcy for everything.

  Again and again, he tortured himself with the incongruent thoughts of the Elizabeth he knew—honest and virtuous—and Wickham’s report. Had he been so blind to imagine her encouragement and affection? Her refusal of him was due to faults in his character, not lack of regard.

  It mattered little, however. It would be worse for her if she did love him. Wickham so clearly worked a scheme of revenge. If marriage to Elizabeth was part of it, he would not leave it possible for her to break the engagement without extreme discredit to her reputation and family. Darcy would marry her if she were reduced to a street beggar, but he knew her to have such extreme affection for her family that she would put her happiness last. Because Darcy loved Elizabeth more than himself, he sincerely wished she did love Wickham. Marriage to him would bring her misery in any case, but Darcy could only hope it might be lessened by beginning it with affection instead of blackmail.

  How much had changed since his first arrival in Hertfordshire! He had prayed his sister would cease to love Wickham then, and now he prayed for the woman he loved above all others to love the rogue instead. How blind he had been to Wickham’s true intentions of revenge all these years! By loving Elizabeth, he made her a target for Wickham’s plot.

  He had resisted the idea of matrimony for years, even as he felt his attraction for Elizabeth grow. He certainly felt far more pain than his cousins—who created his prejudice—ever did. He did not lose Elizabeth for mercenary reasons. Neither did she die before they said their vows. No, he had lost her due to his faulty character and reserve. Now he must now see her marry and live life as Mrs. Wickham.

  Filled with such guilt and remorse, Darcy’s previous ideas of living life in quiet duty would now be impossible. That he, merely by loving Elizabeth, would be the reason for all her subsequent pain would drive him mad. Wickham would indeed have his final revenge.

  At last, Darcy heard the knock at the front door, and soon his relations were shown into the room. A stranger with a dark complexion named Jacob Truman was introduced as Richard’s friend and current batman. Darcy recalled the name from Richard’s correspondence. The man had displayed considerable bravery on the battlefield.

  “We will need fortification, William,” the earl said.

  Darcy handed round glasses of port and sat, awaiting their news. He would share his own afterwards.

  “Your aunt is being blackmailed,” said the earl.

  “By whom?” Darcy asked.

  “The man who delivered the note is not the author.” His lordship passed Darcy the paper to read.

  It would be a shame for a scandal to befall the House of Matlock due to her ladyship’s gambling debts.

  Darcy’s grip tightened on the paper. As he had suspected, his aunt’s behaviour and his letter this morning were no coincidence. “Her ladyship does not gamble,” Darcy said.

  “Not any longer.” The earl shook his head. “There was a time when she had made some serious debts—caught up in the behaviour of many of our class. They were settled years ago.”

  “Then how could a scandal be formed now?”

  “They were owed to the Duke of Somerset,” Arlington said.

  Darcy closed his eyes. “Any chance they were to the current duke?”

  “No,” the earl said quietly. “They were to Jack Rutland, not his nephew. Her former betrothed.”

  The earl and countess set London on its heel when they eloped thirty-five years ago. Miss Eleanor Manners, daughter of a minor but shrewd baron, was arranged to marry the heir to a dukedom. Arlington was born only seven months after the elopement. Angry at being thrown over for a viscount, Rutland declared that he had enjoyed the favours of his betrothed and that the child she bore was his. The rumours were not widely believed but made for salacious gossip nonetheless. Rutland soon inherited the dukedom and, with his nearly unlimited funds, lived a lifestyle without restraint. He took many mistresses from wives of the Quality but never married. A genius at cards, his reputation for accepting the favours of women instead of either their or their husband’s debts was well-known. Having the name of the Countess of Matlock and the Duke of Somerset intertwined again would be irresistible to the gossips of Town.

  “It is not true,” his lordship said. “I paid him myself, and Eleanor vowed to never play again.”

  “But he is not alive to confirm it,” Darcy supplied.

  “He likely would not even if were living,” Richard said sadly.

  Realising they could do nothing about that concern, Darcy instead focused on Wickham’s angle. “I am rather sure it is from my father’s godson, George Wickham.”

  “He lists no demands,” Richard observed. “Once again, we are uncertain if it is money or revenge he desires most.”

  “Revenge,” Darcy and Arlington said simultaneously.

  Arlington looked at Darcy in surprise and allowed him to explain. “I have had a letter from the rat.” He handed it around to the others to view. “As you can see, he blames me for his regiment being ordered to the North. He is to marry…” He trailed off, incapable of saying Elizabeth’s name in conjunction with Wickham’s. “In addition to believing I would wish to see her well-settled rather than suffer with a poor militia officer facing action, he owes her father’s debts. I do not understand why he would seek to harm the House of Matlock, but at this point, nothing should surprise me.”

  Arlington paled upon reading the note. “This is my fault.” He turned anguished eyes on Darcy. “After learning of his interference with you and Miss Eliza, I asked Cavendish if he could send some troops to deal with the disturbances and recommended Colonel Forster’s regiment. I only wanted him to be away from her for your sake.”

  Darcy gritted his teeth and counted to five before replying lest he be too intemperate. “This is precisely why I always said we should not use the privileges extended to our positions to deal with him.” Arlington blushed but nodded in acceptance of the reprimand.

  Lord Matlock intervened. “My militia is wintering in Cornwall. I would have requested Cavendish’s assistance in any case.”

  “It would not have been linked so directly to someone who had just been in the area, though,” Darcy said in exasperation and then took another deep breath. “This is my fault. I refused to see Wickham’s motives as anything more than mercenary, and I always fed his desire for more.”

  “He is counting on you feeling guilty,” Richard said. “Ten thousand pounds? That is incredible!”

  Darcy shook his head. “He is counting on more than my feeling guilty. He knows I would never leave the Bennets in such a condition. He has studied me better than I have studied him, I am afraid.” He took a gulp of port. “I intend to have my solicitor send the funds. If we are lucky, that will end his threats against Aunt Eleanor as well,” Darcy said and looked at his uncle.

  “Pardon me, sir,” said Mr. Truman. “That may not be necessary. Last night, I was able to trace the man who delivered the note to Edward Street, staying in a house run by a Mrs. Younge.”

  He stopped and looked at Richard. “I gave him permission
to go and address the man. I worried Mrs. Younge would recall me and not allow me to enter.”

  Mr. Truman continued his tale. “It was a Mr. Denny, who serves with Mr. Wickham. It seems they are all old friends. Once he had some drink in him, he became quite talkative. He expected to be coming into five thousand pounds shortly. Clearly, he thinks Mr. Wickham will split his payment.”

  “And you think Wickham will not?” Darcy asked.

  Mr. Truman shook his head. “In my experience, people with that sort of selfishness will choose to cross even their closest friends.”

  Darcy nodded in agreement. Nor did he wonder that the man had seen cruelty in his life. Britain was not near as bad as America, as he understood it, but many people were still harsh to the freed blacks and mixed-race individuals. He turned his mind back to Wickham. “At the very least we can prove extortion and blackmail with Denny’s testimony. It is a minor offence, but it would secure the loss of any honour still attached to Wickham’s name. He will cease his claims to keep that, and we shall reach a more reasonable demand.” The other men agreed. “Retrieve Mr. Denny if you would, Mr. Truman.”

  The gentlemen were gathering in the hall to exit when Bingley was shown down. “Jacob Truman!” Bingley cried in astonishment.

  The other man smiled, showing perfectly white teeth. “Charles Bingley. I would know you anywhere!” He stretched forward his hand, and the two men shook.

  “You know my batman, Bingley?” Richard asked.

  Bingley tore his gaze from his old acquaintance to answer Richard. “Indeed. The last time I saw him, I was a lad about to enter my second year in Eton. Mr. Truman was about to enter the army and was good friends with my cousin, with whom my family was staying. Caroline would…”

  He trailed off, and Darcy noticed Bingley wince and the well-known look of haunted pain enter Truman’s eyes.

  “How are your sisters?” Truman asked.

  “Louisa married a few years ago. Her husband is heir to a small estate.” Bingley looked between Truman and Arlington, clearly uncomfortable. “Caroline is still unwed.”