Chapter Nineteen

Elizabeth

L ater that evening, Elizabeth stepped outside into the chill evening air. The sun was setting in the distance, painting the sky in hues of crimson and purple, like a masterpiece in a gallery. It afforded her a moment’s respite, though she knew it would be fleeting. Her world had been shattered. Georgie, her Georgie, a rake and a scoundrel? It could not be true.

Her heart told her it must be lies or misunderstandings. She knew him. Didn’t she? Elizabeth had always prided herself on her discernment, and it seemed impossible for her to have been so mistaken about the one person who mattered most. But then again, had she not also misjudged Mr Bingley? And look how that had turned out.

“Elizabeth,” Georgie’s voice came from behind her, soft and uncertain. She turned and instinctively flew into his arms. It was a reflex more than anything else. They stood arm in arm for what felt like an eternity, but still ended all too soon when he stepped back.

When she looked at him, she found an expression of utter devastation reflected back at her.

“I am not that man,” Georgie repeated. “I didn’t do those things to Miss Georgiana Darcy. I don’t know any Darcys. It can’t be true! It simply cannot.”

Elizabeth placed a comforting hand on his arm, though her own heart was in turmoil. “Georgie, please, I know. I believe you. We must remain calm. And you must not let my mother send you away.”

He turned to her, his eyes wide with anguish. “How can I be calm? They say I am this George Wickham, a man of despicable character. But I don’t remember any of it! It feels like a nightmare. I cannot remain here and put you and your family at risk. I- I must discover who I am.”

Elizabeth’s mind raced. Her cousin had sounded so certain, and the letter from Lady Catherine, which he had left in her father’s care for them to read, had been so authoritative. How could all of this be true? She was shaken to her core, yet her love for Georgie remained steadfast. She couldn’t believe he was capable of such deceit and malice.

“Georgie, I know this is overwhelming,” she said. “But we must think clearly. Did you not say that the name Wickham didn’t sound familiar to you at all?”

He nodded vigorously. “Yes, that’s correct. The name meant nothing to me. It still doesn’t. In fact, it invokes a kind of distaste.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Then perhaps it means you are indeed not him.”

“Or it means I am, but I have grown to despise myself. Perhaps I do not want to remember,” he said, suddenly changing his opinion as he paced.

“You just said you know you are not that man,” she reminded him, feeling as though she were caught in a storm or on a boat cast adrift on the rough seas. He raised his hands towards the heavens.

“I know, but how can I be sure? I feel as though it is wrong, as if all of it is wrong, but then I doubt myself. I do not know who I am or what I’ve done. And the woman? The blonde woman I saw in that flash of memory? Perhaps she was Miss Darcy?” he said in a tone so desperate it almost broke Elizabeth’s heart.

“No, I am sure it was not. I know what we will do. We will go to Rosings Park. Just as we said to Mr Collins. Then we must prove that Lady Catherine was wrong. She did not even see you. She was told you were George Wickham without ever seeing your face. Mr Collins told her your name when he wrote to her, remember? So she was bound to be sure it was you.”

“He described me as well, did he not?” Georgie replied miserably.

“Yes… but…”

“And my coat said George Wickham,” he added.

“Still, it proves nothing. We should travel to Rosings and present ourselves to Lady Catherine. We can confront her directly and confirm whether or not you are this George Wickham. I am certain you are not.” Elizabeth looked at him with a small smile, convinced this would resolve everything.

“I am not wanted at Rosings Park. Your cousin said as much,” he reminded her, but she shrugged.

“George Wickham is not wanted there, but if you are not him, then it does not apply to you. If we go there and you are allowed an audience with Lady Catherine without challenge, then it will prove that they do not recognize you as George Wickham, and neither will she,” she surmised. “We will go there and then we will get married and—”

Georgie looked at her, his despair deepening. “Elizabeth, we cannot get married like this. Not with such accusations hanging over me.”

“An accusation we will have resolved by then,” she pleaded.

“No, I was foolish to think we could marry under these circumstances. Even if I am not George Wickham, what if I am worse than that? What if I am already married? We have spoken of this many times, I know, and I let my love for you blind me. But now that I am confronted with what could be, I cannot allow myself to be delusional any longer,” he said. “I want to postpone our wedding until I know who I am.”

Elizabeth’s heart sank. “No, Georgie, please. I still want to marry you. You are a good man. And it will be as we said, anything that comes our way we will resolve together and if you are married then…”

“Then you are ruined. I was so selfish, Elizabeth. I should not have let it come to this. I cannot let you marry me under this cloud. I need some time alone to find out who I am. I have saved some money, I shall go to Rosings, but first I will travel to London. From what Collins said, Wickham is the sort of scoundrel who is likely to have some notoriety. Perhaps even in London? And even if I am not him, then someone might know me in Town still. I will hang posters, present myself to the Bow Street Runners for examination.”

“But, Georgie, what if you find nothing? What if no one recognizes you?”

“As I said, then I will go to Rosings, even though Mr Collins warned me not to. I need to know the truth, Elizabeth. I owe it to you, to us,” he said “And if I am who they say, I must find out how much of what I supposedly did is true and which parts are Banbury tales. Most of all, if I am indeed George Wickham, I must find out what happened between me and Miss Darcy. I cannot believe I would act as described, I must know for certain.”

“And if you did all the things they said you did?” she asked.

“Then I cannot marry you, of course. You deserve better than that,” he said, the words coming out rapidly, as if he hadn’t wanted to say them at all.

Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears. “I cannot bear the thought of losing you. I am not sure what is worse, finding out that you were an awful person or losing you to this quest.”

Georgie took her hands in his, his expression pained. “Elizabeth, if I was that man I might become that man again if my memory returns, and you do not deserve that. I must prove who I am so I know what sort of man I might be in the future. Please understand. I will return regardless of what I find out, that I vow.”

She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I understand. Just promise me you will come back and that we will make these decisions together.”

“I promise,” he whispered, pulling her into a tight embrace.

As Georgie walked away, Elizabeth felt her heart shatter. She stood there, watching him until he disappeared from view, her mind a tumult of fear and hope. She wasn’t sure what the future held, but she knew one thing—she loved Georgie, no matter who he had been. And she prayed that love would be enough to bring him back to her.

***

Elizabeth blotted the ink and sighed as she read through her letter telling Jane exactly what she had come to learn. As she had put the words down on paper and described the man Lady Catherine claimed to know, she could hardly believe it. This could not be her Georgie. It had to be a mistake or perhaps another man of the same name, from the same area, with the same northern accent, who had done these things. Not Georgie.

My dearest Jane,

How I wish you were here, how much I need you now. The worst has happened. We may have discovered who Georgie truly is, and it is quite dreadful. Although I cannot believe it is true. No, I know it isn’t true. I can barely compose myself.

Mr Collins received a letter from his patroness upon hearing that I was to be married, and she claims to know Georgie, or rather, she claims to know Mr George Wickham, and he is a dreadful man. A truly dreadful person.

She dropped her head into her hands. Who was she fooling? Everything Lady Catherine had said made sense. Georgie had no family. His parents had died, and he had no siblings. She was not aware of any family ever being in the picture other than the Darcys, therefore, no family would have missed him. Particularly if he was from the north. If he was from the north and had friends there, they might not even have noticed he was missing if he travelled or did not see them with any regularity.

The only people who would have possibly noted George Wickham’s absence were the Darcys.

“Hang that Mr Darcy,” she cursed under her breath. Of course, he was somehow involved in all of this. This man, whom she had never even met, had wrought so much chaos in her life and that of her family.

No, that wasn’t fair. He had nothing to do with this affair other than by way of his sister.

A gasp escaped her, but she picked up her quill again.

Jane, I just had an awful thought regarding the possibility of Georgie actually being this rotten man. You know I told you he had a flash of memory involving a blonde woman. If we assume it was Georgiana Darcy then I fear I know that it might mean. If he only used her as Lady Catherine claimed, it seems unlikely that he would be thinking of her so deeply to have her appear before him… Could there be more? Could it be that he is George Wickham but there was a misunderstanding? Could it be that Lady Catherine is misinformed and Mr Wickham did not attempt to seduce Georgiana Darcy out of harm, but out of true love? What if he loves her and that dreadful Mr Darcy made up this entire story to force them apart? It would not be the first time. He has done it to you.

Elizabeth longed to have her sister with her because she could almost hear Jane’s tender, measured voice telling her that she did not know anything for certain and that all of these were speculations based on the word of one woman, and the rest were products of Elizabeth’s active imagination. They knew nothing. Not yet. To find out what really happened and if Lady Catherine was indeed correct about Georgie’s identity, they would have to write to her or visit her. One or the other…

Elizabeth rose and paced her room. Why had Georgie not agreed to travel to Rosings? Why go into London first? Yes, someone might know him there and it was on the way to Kent, but why not first prove he wasn’t George Wickham? Was it because he suspected he was?

He stood accused of being a philanderer and a cheat. Wouldn’t he want to clear his name? He had decided to leave for London in the hope of finding out who he was. But could it be that, in reality, he already knew that all of this was true, that he really was this awful man, and he wanted to escape?

Worst of all, could it all have been lies? Could he have known who he was all this time and…

“No!” Elizabeth cried and slammed the quill down on the paper, splashing ink all over the letter to Jane. “Perdition, perdition,” she called out and snatched the letter, which only made things worse. The ink ran into the carefully crafted words, making a mess she knew she would not be able to fix. She dropped the letter into the wastebasket and collapsed on her bed. Tears spilled out of her eyes as she hugged her pillow close, remembering that just a few weeks ago Georgie had lain in this bed. She remembered that day when he had opened his eyes and looked at her, the confusion had been evident. The fear, the uncertainty. No, none of this had been lies. None of it. And yet, why hadn’t he wanted to come to Rosings with her? Why hadn’t he wanted to clear his name? It was all impossibly tangled, and Elizabeth lay there, her pillow becoming stained with tears, unable to distinguish right from left, as the future before her grew murkier than ever.