Chapter 16

Sixteen

An unfortunate onset of stomach-ache affecting Bingley and Mrs Hurst had led to a dull, unsocial atmosphere at Netherfield. While Hurst did his best to entertain his wife with books and quiet conversation, Miss Bingley pronounced the estate to be cursed with brackish water, poor air, and ill-tempered servants, and she busied herself with plans for their return to town. Darcy suspected she would leave her brother and sister behind if they did not recover soon from their indispositions. Relieved by her occupation with something besides his comfort, he looked again at the letters that had arrived in the past hour. As he had anticipated, his solicitor confirmed no estates in Norfolk were connected to Wickham, now or in the future. The news from his cousin was more ominous.

Darcy,

You will not be surprised by the news I have on Wickham; you know his habits too well. He is in London, practising those talents he can boast of in the least accommodating gaming hells of Clapham.

Come to town as soon as possible. Your agent, Monckton, has further, more shocking news. Wickham's scheme did not begin with Miss Bennet…

Darcy had just sent word to his man that he would be travelling to town when a footman entered, bearing a note from Longbourn. He seized it, and was quickly relieved it did not contain worrisome news about Elizabeth. His irritation over the damnable weather and the household's dreariness was nothing to the regret he felt over missing her company. He ached for her presence and conversation. And yet, had he not cared so deeply for Elizabeth's feelings, he would have rolled his eyes at Mr Bennet's belated plea:

I understand you hold the key to Mr Wickham's undoing and my daughter's welfare. I would welcome your visit to Longbourn.

T Bennet

Cursing under his breath, he mounted his horse and rode directly through muddy fields to Longbourn, where, after handing his coat, hat, and gloves to the housekeeper, he discovered Elizabeth pacing about the entrance hall. Concerned as he was at the sight of her seeming distress, her relief when she saw him centred all his thoughts. It is her happiness I care about. I do this for her.

"You are here."

"Your father sent a note. What has happened?"

She led him down the hall towards the book-room, then stepped into a small alcove set between two doors. He followed, excessively aware of how close they stood. "Mr Wickham has demanded funds from my father—far more than Jane's dowry— that he must know we cannot afford, and if he does not pay it, he will sue him for breach of promise."

Darcy swallowed a curse. He should have foreseen this.

"I have told my father some of what you revealed to me, and he understands that everything Mr Wickham told us is a twisted truth, a lie, or hyperbole, at best. Why the fiend has chosen to hurt my sister, whom he professes to love, remains a terrible mystery. My father is consumed by finding a way to pay or extricating us from the claim." She shook her head, her eyes fiery with anger. "I never knew one man could be so bad."

Exhaling heavily, he wondered whether Wickham had any notion of his acquaintance with the Bennets. "Has anyone communicated to him that I am in Meryton?"

Elizabeth looked at him, clearly surprised. "No mention has been made of you or any revenge you imagine, but what does this matter? Jane cannot marry him, but my father cannot pay him off."

"He will not have to open his pocketbook," he assured her. "I know what must be done."

True as it was, something in his pledge visibly troubled her. "You cannot act on my father's behalf."

"I shall act on my own behalf." Darcy's eyes moved over her countenance, aching at the pain and confusion he saw there. Touching her hand—her skin softer than he could have imagined—his fingers closed around hers. "My intention has never been to ruin Wickham, but if ever there was a reason to do so, it is now, when I must prevent him from ruining your sister, or any others in the future."

Elizabeth looked away from him, but without a bonnet to shield her expression, Darcy could see the fragility there, the brightness in her eyes and trembling lips. "You are certain you can stop him? You would do this for Jane?"

"For you and for your family, and my own."

She closed her eyes before turning back to him. "Has the rain kept you away these past few days? I believe Jane has been distressed over Mr Bingley's absence."

And you, over mine? "He, Mrs Hurst, and a few of Netherfield's servants have been in poor humours, suffering from a dyspepsia."

"Oh, how do they fare?"

"All seem improved. None will likely eat fish soup again."

He earned a smile before she replied. "I am glad you were not stricken. Your wise company has been?—"

The sound of a sneeze somewhere in the house startled them both. Her hand dropped from his, and quickly she asked, "Do you know Mr Wickham's direction? I failed to ask my father where his last letter was posted."

"He is in London, likely at one of his… I know where to find him."

The lift of her brow urged him to continue. "I have received word from my cousin." He dreaded his next words but pushed ahead.

"Wickham cannot marry your sister, nor make claims to any of your father's fortune. He already has a wife."

A wife! Stashed away in the country!

While Mr Darcy spoke to her father, Elizabeth waited outside the book-room, her shock turning to cautious hope from his earlier revelation. When he emerged, she led him out of the door, towards last summer's overgrown garden, before her mother could see him and embarrass them with her complaints and invective.

In sharp contrast to the resignation she had seen in her father, Mr Darcy wore an expression of angry determination. Men could shake their fists in frustration while an innocent like Jane was in tears. Of course, Papa was a man who required guidance; Mr Darcy did not. He, and he alone, knew what to do. They were in his power—a power she was glad to accept. She trusted him.

Sighing, he rubbed his chin and in a grave voice said, "Your father understands Wickham's situation. I am to town with a letter from him to Wickham."

Her piercing expression must have worried him; he led her farther into the garden, where Elizabeth knew they could not be seen from the house.

"Tell me, all of it."

"Wickham's marriage was unhappy from its inception, and it adds to his complaints. His ‘profession' is little better than when I last knew him. He supplements his winnings at cards and gambling by wooing women whose families will be more concerned with ruin than the loss of funds or a breach of promise suit. He has used aliases elsewhere, but Georgiana's introduction to your sister in Ramsgate necessitated his true name. Beyond your sister, there are at least two or three others."

Elizabeth sank onto the bench, almost unable to breathe as she considered all he had said. She was horrified at the falsehoods perpetrated by Mr Wickham. How would Jane respond when she learnt her naivety and rashness could have ruined her family? Elizabeth had exerted herself not to feel angry with Jane for the situation she had created, but a small bit of resentment flicked at the edges of her worry before she set it aside to consider that at least Jane was safe now.

Mr Wickham was a horrid man—a repugnant reprobate! She pitied his wife, likely an innocent girl who had fallen for his charms and was forced to wed by her angry father. A father who acted in her best interests, only to see her tied to a loathsome, unfaithful rake.

Turning to Mr Darcy, now sitting beside her, she was full of hope for her sister. "Once Mr Wickham is reminded of his vows and his wife's legal claims, Jane is free?"

"Indeed. His crimes, indeed his indecent behaviour, must be exposed. It is what I should have done long ago."

Although he said it with conviction, Elizabeth now understood Mr Darcy's temperament and could hear the underlying anguish in his voice. His sorrow was misplaced—she would not have it! Touching his sleeve, she rested her hand on the rich black wool.

"Long ago? You were a boy, not wishing to distress your father. And then you were a brother, dealing with grief, caring for a young girl, and learning to be master of Pemberley."

He shook his head. "The master of Pemberley should not make excuses. He should make decisions, make differences in the lives of others."

Elizabeth stared up at the sky, coloured an almost cheery blue for an autumn afternoon. "I am tired of all thoughts and conversations being consumed by the travails of such an unsavoury man. It seems there is an embargo on other topics until Jane's happiness is secured."

Reaching for her free hand, he grasped it gently within his. "It will be over soon. Your father has agreed that I may take all necessary measures on behalf of your family. I promise you will not see Wickham again."

Shall I see you again?

Elizabeth's thoughts jumbled, all centred on that one question and on the sight of his large hand, encasing hers. He had taken hold of it in the house when she had felt overcome. Now, the warmth of his touch thrummed through her, filling her with a longing she did not recognise. Nearly trembling, she looked from their joined hands to find him gazing steadily at her. She nodded, breathless, unsure what to say beyond granting him the permission he sought.

"Thank you. You have become a dear friend to my family, and to me."

He inhaled sharply and leant closer, his dark eyes searching hers. She breathed in his scent and closed her eyes. His thumb rested against her cheek, lightly tracing the curve of her cheekbone, his bent knuckles trailing her jaw.

"As are you, to me."

His voice was so soft she could have imagined it. She leant into the warmth of his hand as his lips brushed her cheek. Dimly, she heard leaves crunching and then an unwelcome cry.

"Lizzy, are you to come home?"

Mr Darcy's hand fell away. He stood and stepped back, but his eyes remained on her, watching as she tucked her hair and smoothed her skirt. As composed as Elizabeth wished to appear, there was nothing to be done about her burning cheeks and the warm fluttering she felt within. Turning, she saw Mary nearing them, wearing a thick cloak and a fretful expression.

"Elizabeth," she said formally. "You are needed."

As the sisters returned to Longbourn, Elizabeth wished to keep her thoughts on the moments just passed: the intensity of Mr Darcy's gaze, the gentle touch of his hand, the fact that he clearly wished to kiss her. Instead, her patience was tried by Mary's hectoring.

"One of my sisters is already betrothed to a"—Mary shook her head in a fierce manner as if to summon the words—"to a man of questionable manners. Lizzy, you must not give rise to further rumours and gossip by going off privately with Mr Darcy."

Her sister's misunderstanding of the situation, of the reasons she was alone with Mr Darcy, gave Elizabeth pause. Mary was not as charmed by Mr Wickham as the rest of the Bennets and had never approved of Jane's hasty attachment. But as yet, she was innocent as to the true wickedness of one man and the goodness of the other. Still, Mary was not wrong, even if this was not mere flirtation. If Mr Darcy had intentions towards her, they were honourable.

If.