by Jann Rowland
“How dare you, Lizzy!” Darcy heard a screeching voice as he rounded the chaise. Then came the sound of a well-known but detested voice. “Now then, ladies. There is no reason to fight over me.”
“The only ladies who would fight over you are those who are the most foolish,” growled Fitzwilliam.
Wickham belatedly realized that Miss Bennet was not alone, though why he would not wonder why she was here was beyond Darcy’s comprehension. Wickham started, his mouth hanging agape for the briefest of moments. Then the man’s self-preservation instinct made itself known as he turned to flee—only to meet Darcy’s two footmen, including the very large and implacable Thompson, a man whom Wickham had reason to fear.
“Not so fast, Wickham,” said Thompson, a growling quality in his voice.
Thompson and Rogers secured their prisoner between them, and Wickham, understanding there was no escape, subsided. The foul looks he sent at his captors did not allow anyone the mistaken notion he had given up.
“What are you doing?” screeched Miss Lydia. “Let him go, you ruffians!”
She turned to take a step toward Wickham, but Miss Elizabeth, alert for her sister’s actions and still incensed with her, pulled on the girl’s hand, spinning her away from her goal.
“Do not be foolish, Lydia! I know not what silly thoughts have been going through your head, but your little adventure is over.”
Miss Lydia gasped and glowered at her sister. “What adventure? I am going to Gretna Green to be married! You are jealous because Wickham is your favorite, and he chose me!”
“Be silent, you silly child! You are not going anywhere.”
“Let me go!” screamed the girl again, struggling to get away from her sister.
She raised her hand against Miss Elizabeth, but the expression on her sister’s face seemed to stop her before she could pull it back to swing. “Go ahead and try slapping me, Lydia,” hissed Miss Elizabeth, stepping forward and putting herself in front of her sister. “You will not like the outcome if you do, you stupid child.”
“That is enough!”
Mr. Bennet finally arrived at the scene just as Darcy was considering what he might do to restrain Miss Lydia. What he had been told before of the girl’s fear of her father seemed to bear true, for Miss Lydia became shocked, and then utterly panicked when she caught sight of him. At the very least, it stifled the last of her rebellious instincts.
“That is better, Lydia,” said Mr. Bennet, as he approached her. “Now, be a good girl and stand by your sister in silence while we deal with this miscreant who almost ruined you forever.”
Then Mr. Bennet turned to the owner of the chaise who was watching them all, eyes wide with astonishment. “You may go, for your services shall not be required.”
With little hesitation, the man mounted his chaise and urged the horses away, though he did cast one regretful glance at Mr. Wickham. For his part, the officer looked at the departing chaise longingly, though the presence of the footmen prevented him from making any attempt at a bid for freedom.
“But, Papa,” said Lydia, her headstrong nature overcoming her good sense. “Mr. Wickham did not ruin me. We are engaged to be married.”
“You are?” asked Mr. Bennet, his eyebrow raised. “That is curious, indeed. Did Mr. Wickham propose to you?”
Miss Lydia’s mouth opened to respond, but then she stopped, seeming puzzled. Mr. Bennet did not relent.
“Have the banns been read? Have the marriage articles been signed? Perhaps most importantly, has Mr. Wickham approached your father for permission? By my last reckoning, you are still under the age where consent is necessary for you to marry?”
By this time Miss Lydia had recovered some of her composure. “None of that matters, Papa.”
“I assure you, it does,” replied Mr. Bennet, his tone cold as winter frost. “Now stand with your sister and be silent.”
“But, Papa—”
Miss Lydia broke off at the sight of her father’s pointed look. Subsiding, though sulkily, she did as directed. It did not escape Darcy’s attention that Miss Elizabeth stepped close and grasped her sister’s arm, gripping it to her while whispering in Miss Lydia’s ear. The girl appeared no happier with her sister’s words, but at least she made no more protest.
“Well, gentlemen,” said Wickham, and if not for the quaver in his voice, Darcy might have thought him supremely confident. “It seems there is no need for me to escort Miss Lydia to her home. Since she is now in your company, I believe I shall take my leave.”
“You believe wrong,” said Mr. Bennet with a shortness Darcy did not think he had ever heard from the other man. “If you believe we will fall for such transparent attempts at misdirection, you are far stupider than I might have thought.”
“There is no need for that,” replied Mr. Wickham smoothly, emboldened when Mr. Bennet—and not Mr. Darcy—responded. “You cannot think I would have married the girl, so there is no need to claim the outrage of a father.”
Mr. Bennet all but ignored Miss Lydia’s outraged gasp, as he did not even glance in her direction. “No, Mr. Wickham—none of us thought you capable of the honor it would require to marry my daughter. It was your other intentions which concerned us.”
“But, Mr. Wickham,” said Miss Lydia, finding her voice. “We are for Gretna Green, are we not? That is what you promised.”
“I think, my dear Lydia,” said Wickham, “that if you look back on our conversations, the notion of going to Gretna was all in your mind. I made no mention of it.”
“Do not speak to my daughter in so familiar a manner,” said Bennet. “Even if she gave you leave, I am revoking it.”
“I do not understand,” said Miss Lydia, sounding faint.
Darcy almost pitied the young girl. It was true she was foolish and silly and had far too little sense, but he well knew how charming Wickham could be when he put his mind to it.
“Mr. Wickham tricked you for nefarious purposes of his own,” hissed Miss Elizabeth. “Now be silent and allow our father to handle this!”
“Well, Wickham?” demanded Fitzwilliam. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“I have nothing to say to you. None of you have any reason to detain me.”
“Finding you here alone with my daughter in the dead of night is not reason to detain you?” demanded Mr. Bennet.
“As I said, Mr. Bennet,” replied Wickham in an exaggerated tone of patience, “your daughter’s choice to accompany me was hers alone. I neither requested her presence, nor did I encourage it. Finding me alone with her is irrelevant and demanding I marry her to restore her reputation—a reputation in tatters, regardless, after her escapades in Brighton—is pointless. As you must already know, I do not have the means to keep a wife. It is best we go our separate ways.”
“And I suppose you mean to disappear?” asked Bennet, his voice laced with scorn. “Should I not turn you in to your militia commander? I suspect Lydia’s disappearance will soon be noticed, if it is not known already.”
“What is it to you?” asked Wickham. “I do not owe you money. Why should you concern yourself with my doings?”
“Whatever Mr. Bennet means to do,” growled Fitzwilliam, “you cannot think I would let you walk away from this place. Desertion is serious business, even in the militia.”
“And I,” said Darcy, “if you care to recall, hold a substantial amount of your debt.”
“Why would you call it in?” sneered Wickham. “You have never seen fit to do it before.”
“Perhaps I see fit to do it now. Granting you leniency has never worked as you have never used the reprieve to make something of your life.”
“You have never allowed me to make something of my life!” cried Wickham. “Or do you mean to honor your father’s wishes at last and give me the living?”
“Your audacity knows no bounds,” growled Fitzwilliam.
“No, Wickham,” said Darcy, shaking his head. “You are not suited to the clergy, and I would not have yo
u preaching to those within range of my influence. Besides, I no longer have the power to install you in the Kympton living, as I have already given it to another.”
“That is right!” exclaimed Miss Lydia, finding her tongue again. “You show your dishonorable nature by continuing to refuse to give the living to Mr. Wickham!”
Miss Elizabeth was attempting to silence her sister, but having found her courage, Miss Lydia was glaring at him, as if daring him to contradict. Darcy suppressed a chuckle. She had much less sense, little restraint, and a disposition more brazen than proper, but in certain respects, she reminded Darcy of her elder sister.
“Would you wish to be the wife of a parson, Miss Lydia?” asked Darcy.
“She is not fit to be the wife of anyone at present,” interrupted Mr. Bennet.
Though she wilted a little, Miss Lydia retained enough of her defiance to provoke a response. “The fact is, Miss Lydia, I paid Wickham three thousand pounds in lieu of the living, and he signed away any future right to it. Do you not agree it takes a special form of impudence to continue to claim it, even after he received ample compensation? And what has become of that money which would have lasted many years in the hands of a prudent man? Why is Mr. Wickham destitute now?”
The girl seemed to think it a good question, for her eyes darted to Wickham. For his part, Wickham was glaring at Darcy, though Darcy did not know why he would bother. It was not as if Wickham wished to maintain the good opinion of Lydia Bennet—not after doing everything in his power to lose it. Miss Elizabeth once again silenced her sister, and this time Miss Lydia did not seem inclined to cross her sister’s instructions.
“There is no reason to allow ourselves to become distracted,” said Mr. Bennet. The glare he directed back at Wickham was far harsher than Darcy thought the man able to muster. “The fact of the matter is that you are a deserter, a liar, a debtor, a seducer, and a libertine, sir. Even were it not my daughter whom you insulted, I would insist upon taking you before a magistrate.”
“Not before the army has taken its pound of flesh,” said Fitzwilliam.
“You may have him, Colonel,” said Mr. Bennet. “He is all yours.”
Darcy signaled to the footmen to drag Wickham away. “Let us see if this innkeeper has somewhere we may keep Wickham. An express to Colonel Forster should see him arrive with an escort by this afternoon.”
As Thompson, with Rogers’s assistance, hauled Wickham away, he began to shout profanities at them all, his words not fit for the ears of gentlewomen. Miss Elizabeth turned away, shielding her sister from the abuse, speaking to her again softly. Darcy thought he heard a sob from the young girl.
“I could have had your little daughter any time I wished,” shouted Wickham, resorting to insults. “And your elder daughter too. She always preferred me, Darcy! I could have plucked her with little trouble.”
“Hold!” commanded Mr. Bennet.
The gentleman stalked toward Wickham and then, quick as a viper, his hand darted forward, backhanding Wickham across the face. Darcy suspected his former friend might have fallen had the footmen not kept a firm grip on his arms.
“You shall not speak in such a way to my daughters, sir,” said Mr. Bennet in a deathly quiet voice. “Though you are most certainly not a gentleman, I demand satisfaction. Choose your weapon.”
Chapter VI
Wickham gaped at the sudden challenge but then triumph bloomed in his eyes. That soon transformed to cunning, though he did not immediately speak. A glance at where Darcy and Fitzwilliam stood was followed by a brief and nervous licking of his lips. Then he seemed to come to some decision.
“You wish to challenge me?” The false gentleman scoffed and shook his head. “I had not thought the man who sired a woman of Miss Elizabeth’s intelligence would be so foolish.” He sneered at Bennet’s daughters. “But then again, Lydia is your daughter as well. Perhaps she takes after her mother. Or perhaps not.”
A smile came over Bennet’s face, but given the thinning of Wickham’s lips, it must not have been pleasant. Not that he intended it to be.
“Your debts of politeness are growing ever larger, Wickham. You are a bounder and a whelp, and I am certain you have much more bravado than actual skill. Yes, I challenge you. Have you the courage to face me, or are you as craven as you are reprehensible?”
Anger roiled in Mr. Wickham’s countenance, but he maintained his grip on his temper. “I will accept on one condition.”
“That is enough,” said Darcy, stepping into the fray. “This man has neither honor nor integrity, Mr. Bennet. Fighting him will do nothing.”
“He has besmirched the honor of my daughters, Darcy. I will not tolerate it.”
Bennet exchanged a look with the man he suspected would one day be his son-in-law. Darcy seemed to understand what remained unsaid—Bennet had issued the challenge because of Wickham’s words concerning Elizabeth, not Lydia. While Bennet hoped he would one day be able to mold the girl into a woman worthy of being defended in this manner, at present, Elizabeth was the one who deserved it. Perhaps it was foolish, but he would be damned before he would allow Wickham to speak in such a manner of her!
“I strongly advise you to desist in this course, Mr. Bennet,” said Fitzwilliam.
Seeing the gentlemen seeking to discourage him, Wickham spoke up quickly: “I will fight you if you promise I will go free should I emerge the victor.”
“Done,” said Bennet before either of the other men could speak.
“Excellent,” said Wickham, his eyes lighting up with an unpleasant light. “Then when shall we meet and where?”
“Right now on the field outside of town should be acceptable,” said Bennet.
“Now?” asked Wickham, confused.
“Of course,” was Bennet’s casual response, designed to infuriate the libertine. “Not only do I have my doubts you would actually attend if we allow you to leave, given your cowardice, but I have no intention of letting you out of my sight until you are remanded to the proper authorities.”
“Unless I carve you up, old man,” growled Wickham.
“That remains to be seen. You have made your choice then? You mean to choose swords.”
“If a pair can be found.” Wickham sneered. “I appear to have misplaced mine, you see, and even if I had not, I doubt you could even lift Fitzwilliam’s cavalry saber. I suppose it is just as well if I shoot you.”
“I have a pair with me,” said Bennet. “They are in good order, excellent dueling swords I have had for many years. You may even choose your weapon first.”
Wickham appeared less certain now, but Bennet only glared at him. This appeared to be Darcy’s queue to speak up.
“This is unnecessary, Mr. Bennet.” Darcy directed a scathing look at Wickham. “You should know the authorities do not look on duels with favor, though prosecution is not always the result. Furthermore, if one combatant chooses a weapon with which the other is unfamiliar to gain an unfair advantage, fatalities are looked on as a means of facilitating murder.”
“Oh, so the word of a gentleman means nothing now?” jibed Wickham. “Bennet here just promised that I would go free if I bested him.”
“Besting him and going free is one thing. Serious harm or death is another. Do you think I would allow you to walk away in such circumstances, regardless of what another man promises?”
“No, with your damnable sense of honor, I do not suppose you would.” Wickham paused, thinking about it. “Then I will pledge to do no harm beyond that which is necessary in exchange for free passage away from here should I prevail.”
“He is untrustworthy,” said Fitzwilliam.
“It is of no concern, Colonel,” said Mr. Bennet. “I have no knowledge of this cur’s skill, but drink and gambling, and a lack of practice, have doubtlessly robbed him of whatever he might have previously possessed.”
“You shall be the first to discover the extent of my skill, old man,” snarled Wickham.
“Regardless, I offered the challe
nge this . . . man, such as he is, has accepted,” continued Bennet. “I will not back down unless he will take back his words.”
“Never,” was Wickham’s reply.
“Then we will meet on the field.”
Elizabeth could not believe her ears. Her mild mannered and bookish father enraged enough to call another man out? Who could have believed it possible?
“I do not understand,” whined Lydia. “Of what are they talking? Why is Papa speaking of swords?”
“Because he means to fight Wickham to make him take back his words and actions toward you.”
Elizabeth turned and glared at her sister, causing Lydia to shrink back in alarm. “Do you want your father to die in your defense?” Lydia shook her head. “Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you threw yourself into the power of an undeserving rake!”
Hanging her head, Lydia shuffled from side to side, unwilling to meet Elizabeth’s eye. But Elizabeth was not done with her sister—there was one matter which she needed to make perfectly clear, and while she was not eager to have that conversation, she knew it needed to be done.
“What other foolishness have you allowed Mr. Wickham, Lydia?”
When her sister looked up in alarm, Elizabeth scowled and stepped closer to her, peering at her with distaste. Lydia shrank away, a curious sight as she was larger and taller than Elizabeth.
“Have you allowed Mr. Wickham liberties with your person? Is there any possibility you may be with child?”
“No!” squeaked Lydia, outrage replacing fear. “I would never do such a thing without the promise of marriage!”
“Is that not what he promised you?” spat Elizabeth. “Is that not why you went with him? It is not the promise of marriage you should seek, you stupid girl. It is marriage itself, with a man who thinks enough of you to approach our father and ask his permission and blessing, a man who will care for you and provide for you. If you had more than a bit of fluff in your head, you might understand this!”