29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

W ord came rather more swiftly than Darcy had anticipated.

The sun was beginning its slow descent over the London streets when Darcy entered the drawing room, an express letter from Richard in hand. Elizabeth sat near the window, her needlework resting in her lap as she glanced up, immediately curious.

"An express from Richard," Darcy said, crossing the room and handing her the envelope. He pulled up a chair beside her, unfolding the letter as she peered over his shoulder.

She leaned forward intently, breaking open the seal with fingers that trembled in excitement. "Does he send good news?"

Darcy scanned the page quickly, a smile tugging at his lips. "It seems so," he murmured before beginning to read aloud.

"My dear cousin,

I bring tidings of a matter that has weighed on us both for some time. After considerable effort, I was able to find Major Bellamy's daughter. She was married off in haste to a Lieutenant of the Regulars—now Captain, as he has recently been promoted—just before they were both shipped off to Newcastle. Very convenient, indeed. Her father, I assume, wasted no time in arranging the match to preserve her reputation.

I was able to meet with her discreetly, and I showed her the miniatures as we discussed the matter. She did not recognise Harry's likeness at all. However, upon seeing Wickham's portrait, the poor girl flew into a wrath such as I have never witnessed in any lady… or, no lady since Lady Catherine learned of your marriage, at least. I've no doubt you can imagine the reason for her distress."

Darcy paused, shaking his head slightly as Elizabeth's lips tightened with disbelief. "So, it is true," she mused. "She has every right to be indignant."

He cleared his throat and kept reading.

"I had been prepared to pledge help to the girl on your behalf, but it appears her father has already pulled the necessary strings. They seem to be as settled as they can be under the circumstances, and there is little more to be done. Her new husband has been rewarded well enough for his part in all this."

Darcy's eyes flicked up from the letter, meeting Elizabeth's knowing gaze. "It seems Major Bellamy was quite adept at managing the situation. No surprise there."

Elizabeth nodded slowly, her brow furrowed. "Poor girl. To think she was deceived so cruelly."

"I am now on my way back to Chatham to rejoin my regiment, but I intend to detour through Derbyshire and break my journey at Pemberley for a few days. I hope you and Mrs Darcy will also be there by the time I arrive. But if I should miss you, fear not. I am quite adept at making myself at home with your brandy and your house. I will return Harry's miniature when I see you. As for the other… Well, I regret to inform you that it has been flung into the sea by a very angry young captain's wife. And I say, good riddance to it."

Darcy chuckled as he finished the letter, setting it aside. "I cannot say I disagree with her decision."

Elizabeth's lips twitched into a smile. "Wickham deserves nothing less. Perhaps it is best if his image remains at the bottom of the sea."

"Indeed." Darcy leaned back, the tension in his shoulders easing as he reflected on Richard's news. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Harry's name, at least in this case, had been cleared, and the girl was safe—married and taken care of.

Elizabeth reached over, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. "You have done all you can, William. Harry would be proud."

"I hope he would be. And now, Mrs Darcy, it seems we had best prepare for our return to Pemberley at once, before Richard takes it upon himself to empty my cellars completely."

Elizabeth's laughter… well, it was all he wanted in the world.

I t had been two weeks since Darcy and Elizabeth returned to Pemberley from London. The change from the whirlwind of the city to the quiet grandeur of their Derbyshire estate was both welcome and strange. Though Pemberley had long been home to Darcy, it felt somehow transformed now that Elizabeth was truly settled into her role as mistress of the house. She had flourished in her duties, a natural grace in her interactions with the staff and tenants.

And after the news broke in London… why, the Darcy name was suddenly popular. Harry had gone from a blackguard to a posthumous hero overnight, and as for Elizabeth—why, perhaps it was the novelty of the mystery, perhaps attention spans truly were that short, but there were few left who would think to shun Mrs Darcy. Letters and invitations had begun to pour in, and the morning post had been full of social obligations from neighbouring families.

Elizabeth sat at the writing desk in the drawing room, the soft light of the morning streaming through the windows, illuminating the many papers before her. Darcy, seated nearby on the sofa, was reading one of the reports he had brought from London, his brow furrowed in concentration. But every now and then, he glanced up, a soft smile warming his face as he watched his wife, who, though occupied, would occasionally reach down to pat the eager little terrier at her feet.

"Mrs Darcy," he mused aloud, his voice warm with affection, "it appears you are quite in demand. Social engagements left and right."

Elizabeth laughed softly, holding up an embossed invitation to a dinner party in a nearby estate. "Indeed. We have been invited to more events in the past week than I care to attend in a lifetime." She placed the card back down, shaking her head with a smile. "Though I suppose it would be impolite to refuse all of them."

"Not all," Darcy agreed, leaning back in his chair. "But perhaps we can be selective. I have no desire to spend endless hours trapped in stifling parlours."

Elizabeth glanced at him, a playful twinkle in her eye. "Afraid you'll have to endure a ball or two, my love. I am sure you will survive, although I daresay you might require medical attention to accomplish the feat."

Darcy sighed dramatically. "If I must, I shall. Though I confess, I would much prefer our quiet evenings here."

Before Elizabeth could respond, the dog, little Fitzy, leapt onto her lap, wagging his tail furiously. She laughed, scratching behind his ears as he tried to lick her face. "Down, you scamp! Let me finish, and I will pet you."

"He's quite the lively creature, isn't he?" Darcy remarked with a grin, watching the small terrier bounce with energy.

Elizabeth nodded, setting the dog back down on the floor, where he proceeded to run in circles around the table. "He certainly keeps things interesting, but he may soon find himself replaced in that regard."

Darcy's brow furrowed in mock concern, his voice playful as he leaned closer. "Another companion? Who might that be?" His tone lowered conspiratorially. "Tell me you did not acquire a cat. I am afraid I would have to draw the line there."

She pursed her lips. "It is not a cat. Something rather more demanding of my attention, I am afraid."

"You should know, Mrs Darcy, I am very much the jealous type."

"Indeed! Why, then, I suppose you might be very interested to know who might be keeping me company."

"Madam, you have my rapt attention, I assure you. Who would be so impudent as to steal my lovely bride's attention from her dog? Or from me, for that matter?"

She grinned and glanced over at him. "Do you remember that time you had to help me up the stairs because my courses took me by surprise? You were all gentlemanly awkwardness in the face of my distress."

Darcy's face flushed immediately, his composure faltering. He stammered slightly, "I— I try not to dwell on such things."

Elizabeth waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, well, I have been doing a good job of ‘forgetting' that embarrassing incident, too. In fact, I had forgot it so well that I failed to notice something rather important until recently."

Darcy's expression softened, his teasing gone as he looked at her. "What do you mean?"

Elizabeth met his eyes, her smile brightening as she leaned back in her chair. "That was the last time I had my courses at all."

The words hung in the air for a moment as Darcy processed them, his face transforming from confusion to shock, then to joy. "Elizabeth!" he whispered, the happiness swelling in his chest. Without another word, he stood abruptly, scooping her out of her chair and twirling her around the room, her laughter ringing out in delight.

"I—" he faltered, his voice breaking with emotion. "I had married you expecting to raise Harry's child, and now—this—this is more than I could have ever hoped for!"

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her face glowing with happiness as he set her gently back on her feet. "More than we could have ever hoped for."

Darcy held her close for a long moment, his hand resting against her back as the little terrier barked and danced around their feet, wagging its tail furiously.

As if on cue, there was a sharp knock at the door. Fitzy immediately turned toward the sound, barking as he ran to the door. Elizabeth rolled her eyes fondly. "See? Ever the vigilant guard."

Darcy smirked and stood, waving a hand dismissively. "A fine watchdog, indeed. I will see who it is and send them away post-haste. I have not yet finished my moment of euphoria."

The door opened, and one of the footmen stepped in, his face slightly pale. "Mr Darcy," he began hesitantly. "There is… a gentleman here. A man, rather."

Darcy set Elizabeth back on her feet and turned back. "What is this about a man, Wilson?"

The footman cleared his throat. "It is Mr Wickham, sir."

Darcy froze in place, the name landing like a heavy stone between them. Elizabeth looked up, her expression turning serious, and she immediately called her dog and crouched to pick him up. Darcy's face darkened as he turned back to the footman. "Wickham? Here?"

"Yes, sir. He insists it is urgent. Shall I have him sent away, sir?"

Darcy's hand gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white with the pressure. The sheer gall of the man, to show up at Pemberley unannounced—and after everything!

"Stay here," he muttered to Elizabeth, his voice low with anger.

"William," Elizabeth began, her tone firm, but he silenced her with a look.

"I do not want you anywhere near him."

"And I do not want you anywhere near him! Why grant him an audience at all?"

Darcy balled his fists. Indeed, why should he see Wickham? The man ought to have been arrested by now—dragged before a court-martial like the others. The fact that he was here must have meant that he had run, was a fugitive of some sort. And that meant he wanted money.

"Do you know," Darcy growled, "I've not the least idea. But I will take deep… personal satisfaction in refusing whatever he came here to ask."

Elizabeth met his gaze, her lips thinning in protest, but she understood the look in his eyes. She gave a small nod. "Be careful."

Darcy turned and followed the footman toward the entrance hall, his heart pounding with outraged disbelief. Wickham, of all people, had no business coming within five miles of his home!

And yet, the moment he stepped into the hall, there stood George Wickham—his clothes wet from the rain outside, his hair dishevelled, but his smirk ever-present. He looked up as Darcy approached, his eyes gleaming with something between desperation and arrogance.

"Darcy," Wickham greeted casually, though there was a tremor beneath his usual bravado. "I was hoping you might hear me out."

Darcy did not move. His gaze was cold, cutting through Wickham like a blade. "Lost your uniform, I see."

Wickham's features froze, then broke into his old smile as he shook his head and wagged a finger. "Still the same Fitzwilliam Darcy, I see. My uniform, as you well know, is something more akin to a target at the moment. But you know that already, don't you?"

Darcy crossed his arms. "Why are you here, Wickham? What possible business could you have with me?"

Wickham spread his hands in a gesture of feigned innocence. "Business, yes, exactly. I am in need of a little… assistance."

Darcy's eyes narrowed. "Assistance? You're fleeing army justice because you betrayed my brother—betrayed good men who were killed needlessly, and broke the trust of more than one lady. After everything you've done, you think I would help you?"

Wickham had the audacity to smile again. "We've had our differences, I grant you that, but surely we can come to an arrangement. Harry, now, he was the hot head, but you've always been the rational one, Darcy."

Darcy took a step forward. "I am not interested in anything you have to say. Wilson! Have word sent to the commander of the militia regiment in Derby. We have a wanted fugitive, and he needs to be collected."

Wickham's expression shifted, desperation creeping into his voice. "Wait, hear me out. You've heard about the investigation, I'm sure. Egad, I would not be surprised if you were the one who started it!"

Darcy just stared at him, his jaw ticking involuntarily, but not another muscle moved.

Wickham eased closer. "The accusations against me—they're false, all of it. Harry saw it wrong. I just need a small favour from you to clear my name."

Darcy's eyes blazed with fury. "You have the gall to come to me, after all the lies you spread about Harry? After betraying him and now trying to save yourself from the consequences?"

Wickham's smile faltered. "Lies, Darcy? Harry was a good man, but even good men make mistakes. You know that better than anyone. I heard he died right before your eyes. You mean to tell me you made no mistakes? That you would not have that day back to do all over again if you could?"

Darcy turned away. "Carter, call for four strong lads to come bind this man. He is wanted by the army for his court-martial."

"Darcy, you have got it all wrong! I just need you to… create something for me. A document, a statement from Harry, exonerating me. He would have done it if he had known about all this. You could say he left it with you, and you just discovered it!"

Darcy's temper flared, his fist itching to strike Wickham where he stood. "You expect me to fabricate evidence? You are lower than I thought!"

Before Wickham could respond, Elizabeth appeared in the doorway of the drawing room. Wickham's gaze shifted, and his expression turned smug. "Mrs Darcy," he drawled. "What a pleasant surprise."

Darcy stepped protectively in front of his wife. "Do not speak to her!"

Wickham chuckled darkly, his gaze shifting between them. "Oh, I remember her. Thought she looked familiar. You were that… that tradesman's daughter, were you not? Harry's… woman. I see you found the wealthier brother to attach yourself to, in the end." He raked his eyes over Elizabeth's figure in a way that made Darcy's blood boil. "I liked your other gown better."

Before he could say another word, Darcy's fist connected with Wickham's jaw. The force of the blow sent him staggering backwards, clutching his face in shock. "How dare you!" Darcy growled, standing over him. "How dare you insult my wife in my home!"

Wickham scrambled to his feet, blood trickling from his mouth, his bravado crumbling. "Wait—wait, Darcy. Please, just listen—"

"Enough." Darcy turned to the footmen who had been watching in stunned silence. "Take him to the stables. Inform the colonel of the regiment that Wickham is here, awaiting transport to London for his court-martial."

The footmen moved swiftly, seizing Wickham by the arms. He struggled weakly, but he was no match for their strength. As they dragged him toward the door, he looked over his shoulder at Darcy, his eyes filled with desperation. "Please, Darcy! You don't understand—"

"I understand more than you know," Darcy said coldly, watching as Wickham was hauled away.

As the door slammed shut, leaving Wickham in the hands of the footmen, Darcy turned to Elizabeth, his expression slowly softening as he reached for her hand. She stepped forward, her eyes searching his before she gently placed her hand in his. Without a word, she moved into his embrace, her head finding its place against his chest, where she could feel the rapid beat of his heart.

"It is done," she whispered, her voice low and soothing, as if trying to absorb the tension that still lingered in him. Her fingers gently traced the line of his sleeve. "You need not carry this burden any longer."

Darcy exhaled a long, slow breath, his arms tightening around her as though she were the only thing anchoring him to the moment. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering against her hair as a tremor of relief passed through him.

"Harry's honor is avenged," he murmured, though the words felt more like a promise than a declaration. His hand slid up to cradle the back of her neck as he held her a little closer, needing the reassurance of her presence. "Finally."