Chapter Twenty

Darcy

G eorgie stood by the stable, his hands trembling as he tightened the saddle on his horse. Mr Bennet had loaned him the use of his best horse, the man had insisted that Georgie take his carriage, but Georgie did not want to cause the family any more inconvenience than he already had. He would leave the horse in the care of Mr Bennet’s brother-in-law in Town, and the beast could return to Longbourn when Elizabeth’s sister journeyed back. His mind was a storm of confusion and despair. The accusations laid upon him by Mr Collins, the letter from Lady Catherine, the horrified looks from the Bennet family—these images replayed in his mind, making it difficult to think clearly.

Mounting the horse, he took a deep breath, trying to ready himself for the task ahead. The horse’s steady breathing was the only calming presence around him. He urged the horse forward, beginning his ride into Town, it was twenty-four miles to London and Georgie hoped that he would arrive before sunset.

“Georgiana Darcy,” he muttered under his breath. The name resonated with him in a way that felt both foreign and familiar. He recalled the first time he had heard it. There had been a flicker of something—recognition, perhaps, but nothing more. Certainly not romance. Yet, the name had stirred something deep within him. Could it have been guilt?

He tried to remember the blonde woman who had appeared in his fragmented memories. Was she Georgiana Darcy? The image was so vague, so indistinct. He remembered her as a figure from a dream, someone who had evoked a sense of… what? Not love, not longing, but perhaps remorse?

Georgie shook his head, frustration bubbling up. “Am I truly this Mr Wickham?” he asked aloud, his voice barely audible over the sound of the horse’s hooves. The thought gnawed at him. If he was George Wickham, did that mean he was capable of such deceit and cruelty? Had he really sought to ruin an innocent girl? The idea repulsed him, but the lack of any solid memories left him adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

He had heard of Wickham’s misdeeds from Collins’ dramatic retelling—of gambling debts, of seducing young women, of living a life marked by deceit. The details had painted a picture of a man completely at odds with the person he believed himself to be. Yet, the absence of his past made it impossible for him to refute these claims.

“Georgie,” Mr Bennet called, and Georgie urged his horse to a halt. Mr Bennet was on his cart, riding back to Longbourn with supplies as he came to a stop beside him. “You’re really leaving? I hoped perhaps that you would reconsider, this is all rather hasty.”

“I am, I am on my way to London now, the sooner this matter is resolved the better,” Georgie confirmed.

“Georgie, are you certain this is the best course of action? Have you considered writing to Lady Catherine or calling on her to confirm your identity? Why not do that first? It seems easier,” he said, repeating what Elizabeth had already suggested.

Georgie tightened his grip on the reins and shook his head. “I don’t want to do that, Mr Bennet. I can’t stomach the idea of seeing Elizabeth’s face when I find out I am this awful man. I can’t believe I am Wickham—I just can’t.”

Mr Bennet sighed deeply. “As far as I know, you are a good man, Georgie. I find it hard to believe you are a terrible person. But we must know the truth. As it stands, I can’t let you marry Elizabeth until we know. The truth is, I was not certain marriage was right for the two of you in the first place because I feared something like this might happen,” he admitted, though it did not take Georgie by surprise.

Georgie understood the gravity of the situation. “That is also why I am seeking out my true identity. I need to know who I am. I hope that if I go into town and ask there, someone might recognise me and tell me who I truly am, if not George Wickham. It would be preferable than to go to Rosings and find out the truth from there.”

“Better to cling to hope than have it all dashed, I suppose. But you understand you are merely procrastinating, young man, don’t you?” Mr Bennet said in a fatherly tone that comforted Georgie somewhat.

“I do. And there is more. I must think about what I will do if I find out I am indeed George Wickham. How will I move forward in life? If I am he, then I must find out more about him to see why he did what he did, perhaps I can redeem myself. Or him… Or us both, I suppose. And if not, I must find another way, for my memory may never return,” he said miserably.

“It is a difficult load, Georgie but one I know you can carry, one way or the other. Also do keep in mind Mr Collins tends to be dramatic, and his patroness, while I’ve never met her, sounds much the same. Mrs Bennet has these traits as well. Sometimes people sound worse than they are, and perhaps that is the case with him.”

“I will find out, Mr Bennet, one way or the other. Will you speak to Mr Morris for me? Let him know I cannot take the position just yet?” Georgie asked and the man nodded.

“I will do that.” Mr Bennet placed a reassuring hand on Georgie’s shoulder then. “Then go, Georgie. Find out who you are. I wish you luck, and remember, you have people here who care about you, regardless of your past.”

“Thank you, Mr Bennet. I will return, and I will find the truth,” Georgie replied.

As he urged his horse forward again, ready to ride away, he glanced back at Longbourn which had faded into the distance. He could almost see Elizabeth at her window. Was she looking after him? He hoped so. He hoped that he would find a way to return to her somehow, a man complete with his memories intact and his reputation unsullied.

***

The countryside blurred as he rode on, his mind racing faster than the horse. “Am I a bad man?” he whispered, the weight of the question pressing heavily on him. He had no clear answer. All he had were the past few weeks—weeks in which he had felt kindness, compassion, and a sense of belonging with the Bennets. But was that enough to define who he was?

One thing he knew for certain, he loved Elizabeth Bennet. The thought of losing her, of not being able to marry her, was a pain he could hardly bear. Yet, he also knew he could not bind her to a man with such dark accusations hanging over him. He owed it to her, to himself, to find out the truth.

If he found no answers in Town, he resolved he would go to Rosings, despite Collins’ warnings. He would face Lady Catherine and confront the past head-on.

Georgie arrived in London just as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting the city in a golden glow. The streets buzzed with activity, carriages rattled over cobblestones, street vendors called out their wares, and pedestrians hurried about their business. London was a maze of elegant townhouses, narrow alleyways, and bustling markets. He realised that he knew these streets quite well, Mr Bennet had given him his brother-in-law’s address, and the address of a couple of boarding inns—however once he had reached Barnet, it was as if he knew the terrain like the back of his hand. Clearly, whoever he was, he had spent much time in London. That notion gave him a sense of purpose, for surely here, he would find his answers.

For some odd reason he felt as if he should stay in Mayfair, but he had to live within his means. Thus he found a modest inn near Grosvenor Square, a place that seemed both welcoming and discreet. After securing a room and handing his horse to the stableboy, he set out to walk the streets, hoping to stir some recollection of his past. As he wandered through the familiar yet unfamiliar streets, snippets of memories began to surface—faces, sounds, fleeting images that he couldn’t quite grasp.

Georgie marvelled at the sudden rush of recollections. It had been so long since he’d remembered anything concrete about his past. He wondered if his happiness with Elizabeth had kept his mind from dwelling on these forgotten fragments. The more he walked, the more the area around Grosvenor Square felt familiar, like a half-remembered dream.

He recalled Lady Catherine’s letter, describing Wickham as a drunkard who frequently used the Darcy name to gain access to taverns and gentlemen’s clubs. The memory made him shudder. Was that really him?

Georgie stopped outside a tavern, its sign swinging gently in the evening breeze. As he stood there, pondering whether to go inside, the door burst open and a man rushed out, colliding with him. They both tumbled to the ground, Georgie’s hat flying off and landing a few feet away.

“Watch where you’re going!” the man snapped as he scrambled to his feet. But then he froze, his eyes widening in recognition. “You! At long last, where the devil have you been?”

Georgie grabbed the man by the arm, his heart pounding. “You know me? Who am I?”

The man looked bewildered, glancing back towards the tavern. “Have you been on the spirits?” he slurred, his breath betraying the beverages he’d consumed. Before Georgie could press him further, another man emerged and lunged at the first man. The two struggled briefly before the second man broke free and dashed down the street.

“Wait!” Georgie shouted, chasing after them. The narrow streets and alleyways were a blur as he ran, but soon he lost sight of both men. Panting, he stopped, frustration mingling with a strange sense of hope.

Someone knew him. Someone had recognised him, even if just for a moment. It was a small victory, but it was enough to rekindle his determination. He couldn’t find the man now, but the encounter had given him a crucial piece of information—he was not a complete mystery to everyone.

Feeling more encouraged than he had in days, Georgie resolved to keep searching. The truth about his past was out there, and he was one step closer to finding it.