Chapter 20

Near the Stone Bridge

Pemberley

Monday, 17th August, 1812

Wickham, seated on a patch of green turf, leaned back against the rough trunk of the tree behind him, the oak leaves overhead whispering soothingly in the faintest touch of a breeze. He had that morning donned an old green waistcoat and sober brown breeches, the better to blend in with the bushes and provide his cover for the day. The silvery flask in his hand belonged to Mrs. Camden, a very old … friend … from Wickham's youth.

Mrs. Camden had married one of the local solicitors in Lambton after Wickham had departed for school at the expense of his godfather. But it had been two years now since her substantially older husband had died, and Mrs. Camden – still quite handsome and only thirty years old – lived modestly but comfortably on the money her deceased husband had left to her. Hers was a lonely sort of life, however, and she had eagerly welcomed in her old paramour when he knocked at her back door some days previously. She was, by and large, an agreeable and accommodating hostess, not asking uncomfortable questions about Wickham's reluctance to be seen by the townsfolk, and he had done his best to make his visit worth her while.

Wickham startled at a sound nearby, but it was merely a squirrel darting through the brush, and he settled back again, his eyes shifting once more to the bridge. During his courtship of Georgiana in Ramsgate, she had mentioned this bridge, droning on and on about how she liked to walk down here and look out over the water. Peaceful, she had called it. As though Pemberley was not peaceful all over, so peaceful as to be entirely dull.

He had made a mistake a few days earlier in mistaking Miss Bingley for the daughter of the house, but it had been a reasonable error. Georgiana was tall for her age and had possibly grown taller yet, and from the back, it was not at all difficult to confuse the two women. He was very fortunate that Miss Bingley had not seen through his disguise; it had been a gamble to introduce himself as Peter Russell, for she may well have been acquainted with the local landowners. But no, she had been dazzled by his charm, as the fairer sex always were, and had suspected nothing amiss.

Wickham sighed deeply and took a swig of brandy from his flask. He dare not drink enough to grow tipsy, as he would need his wits about him if Georgiana appeared.

At some level, he was aware that he was being a fool. He was courting disaster by coming here, where many of the servants knew him.

But after Darcy's attack in London...

Wickham's teeth ground as he remembered the recent events in Town. He had been uncertain of his next steps in life, having fled the militia due to some pressing debts, but at least he had Lydia Bennet's companionship and intimacy to enjoy. And then Darcy had tracked him down, burst into his room, slapped him, and challenged him to a duel!

Wickham felt his face heat with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. He did not care a great deal about Lydia's view of him, but yes, it was a definite blow to his pride that he had run away instead of accepting Darcy's challenge.

Again he had been thwarted by Darcy. Why must the man persecute him so? First the denial of the Kympton living, when George Darcy had intended the church for his godson, then Darcy's interference when Wickham honorably tried to marry Miss Darcy! And now, when he was trying to make his way in the world with Lydia Bennet, Darcy had interfered again! Why did the Bennets matter to Darcy? Why should Lydia, stupid, foolish, na?ve, and passionate, be of any concern to the proud master of Pemberley?

Wickham was not, he knew, a particularly brave man, but any normal cowardice had been completely subdued by indignation. Above all, he wished to take revenge on Darcy. The master of Pemberley cared for his sister more than anyone else in the world, and Wickham relished the thought of taking her away.

Thus it was that he sat on a log, with a placid gelding tied to a tree some ten feet behind him, with sandwiches in his saddlebag and brandy in his hands.

Mrs. Camden had demurred a trifle when he had asked to borrow her only horse, but a pleasant interlude in bed had won her grudging permission.

The weather had thankfully stayed fine, and eventually, he hoped, Georgiana would make her way to the bridge alone, whereupon he would carry her away on the horse. He would do her no harm – he had no doubt that if he did hurt her, Darcy would find some means to kill him – but merely spending the night in his presence would be enough to ruin her reputation. Georgiana would, at last, be Mrs. Wickham, and he would have control of her beautiful dowry.

It was risky, of course, very risky, but the Darcys and the Matlocks had always cared about their reputation over everything else, and Georgiana loved him. Indeed, he was doing her a favor by capturing her as his bride; far better she be attached to himself than some dull nobleman in London!

He could not wait forever, certainly, but the last few days had not been so very tedious thanks to his accommodating hostess. Even so, if Georgiana did not appear soon, he would have to make his way elsewhere. He did not have any idea how he would live, now that his meager income in the militia was at an end, but there were women everywhere, and he was an expert at enchanting them into giving up both their virtue and their purses.

The sudden sound of voices caught his attention, and he rolled carefully to his feet and peeked cautiously around the nearest tree trunk. His heart rate sped up as he observed a red-coated male, who was arm in arm with a tall lady, walking toward the stone bridge. Wickham suppressed a hiss of dismay as he recognized the man – Colonel Fitzwilliam, the Darcys' cousin and Wickham's sworn enemy. It was a cruel twist of fate that Fitzwilliam was here guarding the woman, whose face was hidden by her parasol, but whose form matched that of Georgiana Darcy.

He clenched his teeth and turned to glare at the horse; it was critical, at this juncture, that the animal not whinny!

But no, the beast was busy eating grass very calmly. He was, among his other many excellent attributes, a quiet horse.

Wickham turned back toward the couple, who were now standing on the bridge, staring away from him. The sound of the water was sufficient that he was not able to hear the words, but it was obvious that the twosome were enjoying the breezes and pleasant sights of Pemberley.

His shoulders slumped with discouragement. Georgiana was in the right place, but she had a most inconvenient companion. Colonel Fitzwilliam of the Regulars was a trifle shorter than Wickham himself, but he was muscular and well versed in combat. If Wickham tried to grab Miss Darcy now, he would probably end up in the creek!

He blew out a breath and settled in to watch. It was almost certain that the twosome would walk back to the mansion together, but perhaps...

Ten minutes later, his wishes were fulfilled. He watched with careful attention, which transformed into hope, and then into delight, as the colonel leaned over to speak to Georgiana, who shook her head and gestured toward the lake. Fitzwilliam nodded and walked away, and Wickham swallowed a gasp of anticipation. If Georgiana stayed until Richard Fitzwilliam was out of sight, well, that would be perfect! He could drag her to his horse and force her onto it, and they would ride off to a small cabin, currently empty and slightly derelict, on neighboring land. He had food in his knapsack and would keep her there until marriage to him was the only remaining option.

Even as his thoughts ran in advance to a delightful future, he began creeping along, toward the lady who continued to stare ahead of herself in the direction of the placid lake where Wickham had, in his youth, caught many a trout, often with Darcy at his side.

He grinned as he took a few more steps closer to his quarry; soon, very soon, he would take his revenge...

He was but a step away now, and he planted his feet and, as quick as a snake, reached out with both hands, one to cover Georgiana's mouth and the other to snake around her chest.

Success!

A second later, his captive twisted in his embrace and delivered a sharp blow with her elbow, which caused him to grunt in pain and loosen his grip. This allowed his opponent to spin about and punch him in the jaw with a shockingly strong fist.

He fell over with a yelp, his face radiating agony, his eyes filled with tears, which made it difficult for him to focus on the face of his assailant as she leaned over and...

Suddenly he was being pulled to his feet and shoved toward to the railing. A moment later, he felt himself lifted over the railing, where he had a second to feel the rushing air before he plunged into the creek. He was sufficiently startled to drag water into his lungs, which naturally produced panic, but the creek was so shallow that his feet found the bed, and he pushed himself up to find himself on the surface, coughing and spluttering and sucking in deep draughts of air.

"Welcome, Wickham," a familiar and loathed voice said, and he looked up in horror to see Colonel Fitzwilliam standing on the bank, looking amused, with a grinning young man at his side, dressed in a gown, swinging his parasol merrily and punctuating the scene by dropping a small curtsey. For a moment, Wickham stared at the young man with his mouth hanging open, before realizing he had been fooled. Then he groaned and glanced at the other bank, hoping to flee that way, but no, several servants were waiting for him.

"How...?" he sputtered.

"Miss Bingley realized that Mr. Russell was a suspicious character, and described you in great detail. We decided to draw you out by having young Joe here dress up as Georgiana and entice you to strike. Now, are you going to climb out of there by yourself, or do we need to drag you out by your ears?"

/

Georgiana's Private Sitting Room

Pemberley

Georgiana shifted restlessly on the orange cushions of her settee and glanced around her sitting room. The maid had brought up a vase of the yellow flowers cut from the garden the previous day, and it provided another touch of sun into the room. Pale yellow curtains had been drawn back from the windows to let in every drop of light, and the orange wallpaper, with its white stripes and brightly painted sunflowers, added to the cheer of the bright room.

It was all very at odds with Georgiana's troubled heart. She glanced down at her book and slid the silk marker between the pages to set it aside. It was impossible to concentrate on the words, and she picked up her workbasket instead and gathered her embroidery into her lap.

A minute later, a tap at the door jerked her head up, and she called eagerly, "Come in!"

The door opened and Richard entered, causing her to leap to her feet.

"Is everything well?" she asked anxiously.

Richard smiled reassuringly and said, "It is entirely well. Wickham is securely locked up at Mr. Price's house in Lambton, with several of the servants at Pemberley taking turns keeping watch over him."

"Male servants, I hope," Georgiana asked.

"Yes."

Georgiana felt her entire body relax, and she smiled. "I am most relieved that he is in custody. It made my skin crawl to know that he was lurking around here with the hopes of abducting me."

"I am most pleased too," Richard agreed and produced a wolfish smile.

Georgiana gestured to a chair across from her own and said, "What will happen to him?"

Richard took the offered seat and leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees. "There are three possible options, and I wish to learn your views."

"My views?"

"Certainly. You are an intelligent young lady, and Wickham hurt you the most of all. You have every right to be part of this conversation."

Georgiana considered and then said hesitantly, "Ought we to ask Fitzwilliam his opinion?"

"No, because he is busy enough with Miss Lydia Bennet's situation. I was sent here to keep you safe, and now that Wickham is in custody, you are safe. But given that he attempted to take you by force, he cannot be permitted to wander freely again."

Georgiana shivered. "I agree, of course. What are the options?"

"The first is the most drastic, and that is to charge Wickham with attempted kidnapping and have him hanged."

Georgiana's blue eyes widened in shock at these words. "Execute him? Truly?"

"Truly," the colonel replied. "I believe he deserves it, but I am hesitant because inevitably, it would spread that he tried to abduct you, and that could affect your reputation."

Georgiana shuddered again. She well knew that given the power and wealth of her family, such rumors would probably spread like wildfire.

"What are the other two options?" she asked.

"The second is to cast him into Marshalsea for unpaid debts. Darcy has hundreds of pounds of receipts for the debts Wickham left in Lambton. He would never leave debtors' prison. The third is unusual, but I prefer it most of all. I have a friend, a former captain in the army, who is overseeing a mining encampment on the Isle of Man. He is, I know, in need of assistance with clerical work and digging, and Wickham is entirely capable of reading and writing. He is, moreover, not disabled in any way, and could doubtless handle a shovel as well as any man."

Georgiana frowned. "It does not seem like much of a punishment."

Richard laughed and said, "I am pleased to hear you say that, because it means you believe he does need to be punished, and he does. His service in the Foxdale works would be eye opening for him, with hard work and difficult conditions. Even more important, the local inhabitants of Foxdale are extremely suspicious of those who ‘come over' from England, and they will not allow him to take advantage of the local merchants and shopkeepers, or the women. I am certainly open to Marshalsea, but he could actually do some good on the Isle. He would also find it impossible to escape the island without permission from my friend, so he would be trapped across many miles of ocean water for the rest of his life."

Georgiana considered this and then said, "You prefer that option, then?"

"I do. Of course, he would need to be willing to do the work, but if he refuses to do so, I would be happy to send a few competent men to journey to the island and escort him to Marshalsea. Given the choice of debtors' prison or the Isle of Man, my guess is that he will choose the latter."

"I trust you, Richard. Pray do what you believe to be best."

The colonel nodded, rose to his feet, and then leaned over to plant a kiss on Georgiana's head before straightening. "I do promise you this. He will never trouble you again."

"Thank you, Cousin. That is a great relief to me."