A Most Civil Proposal (44 page)

Darcy’s mouth curled into a slow, cold smile, and he and his cousin again clasped hands fiercely.

“Mrs. Darcy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam turned to Elizabeth. “Sergeant Henderson has arranged a room upstairs for you. There is hot water, but even he was not able to provide a bath, though he did ensure that it has a clean bed. If you would like to refresh yourself and perhaps catch up on a little sleep, now would be a good time. Wickham is in the pub across the street, but nothing is expected until after sundown.”

“That sounds heavenly,” said Elizabeth, conscious of her dishevelled appearance and the grit in her hair, on her skin, and under her clothing. “I will certainly take advantage of your kind offer, and thank you.”

“It be the room at the top of the stair, Mrs. Darcy,” said Henderson. “All the lads are down here, so ye will have yer privacy.” Elizabeth thanked him, but, as she started to leave, she saw a look of regret in Darcy’s eyes and knew that he would have liked to come up with her and share the bed. But they both knew that she needed to sleep and recover from the rigours of the journey, both for herself and the new life growing within her.

But she could not ignore that look, so she first went over to give him a kiss on the cheek before she left, taking the opportunity to whisper into his ear, “Wait until Netherfield, William.” He nodded in agreement, but his eyes followed her as she quickly embraced her uncle before leaving the room.

* * * * *

Saturday, August 1, 1812

Elizabeth woke to the touch of a hand on her shoulder. “Elizabeth,” whispered Darcy, “it is almost dusk. Ready yourself, but we do not want to show a light to avoid even the possibility of alerting Wickham.”

“I understand,” she whispered back. “Give me a few minutes, and I shall be down to join you.” She saw his teeth flash whitely in the gathering gloom, and she felt a quick kiss on her forehead and a squeeze of her shoulder, then he was gone.

When she descended the stairs about fifteen minutes later, it was almost full dark, and she had to feel her way down. The men in the room were mere shadows, and she was only able to discern her husband by his height.

“There be a seat over here for ye, Mrs. Darcy,” whispered the voice of Sergeant Henderson. She took his arm as he guided her over to a chair beside Colonel Fitzwilliam. Thanking her escort, she gratefully sat down. Even after her nap, her joints and muscles ached from the journey, and it felt good to be off her feet. Darcy came to stand behind her, and when she felt his hand on her shoulder, she reached up to squeeze it, comforted by his presence and protection.

The hours slipped by, and still they waited. Traffic continued into and out of the establishment across the street, but Wickham did not show himself. “Are you sure he is even in there?” she whispered.

“He was still there a quarter hour ago, Mrs. Darcy,” whispered Sergeant Henderson. “It be an establishment for officers, not common soldiers as it were, so I just poked me head in and saw him there a’drinkin’ with his cronies. There were only one other door, and a pair of the lads are watchin’ it.”

Eventually, the hour grew late, and clusters of officers and other customers began to leave. One of the last was Wickham with several other officers; Elizabeth recognized Denny among them but none of the others. The group stood talking for a short time; then Wickham’s companions went away up the street, leaving him alone. He turned and sauntered off in the other direction as if he had not a care in the world. If the drink had affected him, it did not show in his walk.

After he disappeared around the corner, the men in the room rose and began to leave by the front door. Darcy held her arm to guide her as they exited into the street. She saw the sudden flash of a lantern from a doorway, and Fitzwilliam said softly, “There is the signal from Private Smith. It is safe to follow now. Others are tracking Wickham and will show the way.

In this manner the group followed Wickham through the darkened streets of the town, always just out of sight and around the corner so there was no chance that he might hear the sound of their muffled footsteps on the cobblestones.

Eventually, they came to one last corner where all the streets of the town came together in an open, paved area. Looking carefully around the corner, Elizabeth saw Wickham talking to the driver of a chaise. After several minutes, they evidently reached an agreement, for Wickham handed up several coins then walked to the far side of the square.

Elizabeth missed a signal, but she heard the sharp sigh of satisfaction from Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“Right,” he whispered. “He has gone to Forster’s house.” She did not miss the next — the long flash of a lantern from an upstairs window, followed by two more quick flashes. “He is on his way back, lads,” continued Fitzwilliam, “and he has a companion. Stand by but be prepared to step lively at my command.”

There were shuffling footsteps all around Elizabeth as she stood beside Colonel Fitzwilliam with Darcy standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders. They waited in the darkness of a covered entry right at the corner, invisible from more than a few feet away. She heard the sound of boots on cobblestones before she saw Wickham, and when he appeared, Elizabeth easily recognized the exuberant bouncing of Lydia in the moonlight next to him.

Wickham had just handed Lydia up into the chaise when Colonel Fitzwilliam called out, “Now, lads! Surround them!”

Four soldiers bolted from behind Elizabeth and covered the thirty paces to the chaise in no more than a few seconds. Wickham stood frozen in confusion as one man went to the front of the team and seized the reins while another pointed a pistol at the driver’s head, harshly commanding him to stand easy or eat a pistol ball. The other two positioned themselves a dozen feet away from Wickham, blocking his escape.

Fitzwilliam, followed by Darcy and Elizabeth, ran to the chaise. By the time they reached it, Wickham had recovered his composure.

“Well, well, it is Colonel Fitzwilliam, is it not? What brings you to the seashore, Colonel?” he asked in a voice as amiable as it ever had been. Elizabeth could not believe that he showed no sign of shame or mortification at being caught in the act.

At that moment, Colonel Forster made an appearance from the direction that Wickham had come. As Wickham saw him, the first indications of panic showed in his face, and Elizabeth heard the sudden rasp of steel on leather as Colonel Fitzwilliam drew his sword with the smoothness and speed of a striking cobra. Before she was even aware of the motion, the sword was out and extended, the tip mere inches from Wickham’s throat.

“Do resist arrest, Wickham,” said Fitzwilliam pleasantly. “I would be highly obliged to you if you would.”

The barely controlled hunger in Fitzwilliam’s voice made Elizabeth shiver as she looked at him, and she hardly heard Lydia’s shriek of outrage and fear. His sword was pointed at Wickham’s throat, his body turned into a fencer’s stance, right elbow slightly crooked, wrist firm, and right knee flexed and ready to thrust. She realized that she was looking on a man who had had seen fierce action against Bonaparte on the continent, who had killed in the name of his King and dearly wished to act right now on his own behalf. She remembered what Darcy had told her of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s service — that he was a fair-spoken man and a gentleman, but that he was also a seasoned professional who performed his duty with ruthless efficiency.

Wickham also knew Fitzwilliam’s history, and he saw his death in the shadowed eyes of the man across from him. He could see the white gleam of Fitzwilliam’s teeth and knew one wrong move on his part would result in that sword buried to the hilt in his throat or chest. Though Wickham also wore a sword and was not inexperienced in its use, he made not a single move as Colonel Forster angrily placed him under arrest and ordered guards to take him away and lock him up. Wickham’s eyes remained on Fitzwilliam, and he did not resist as his own weapon was unbuckled from his waist. The sudden noise of metal and boots sounded as four musket-bearing soldiers came clattering into the square to march him away.

Lydia had screamed when she saw her Wickham threatened, and she cried out again as he was marched away, claiming that she absolutely would not leave the chaise until her precious Wickham was released. It took two soldiers to pry her from the vehicle.

Mr. Gardiner stepped forward to Colonel Forster and introduced himself.

“I am the young lady’s uncle. I want to thank you for your help in thwarting Mr. Wickham and preserving my niece’s reputation.”

“It was my pleasure, Mr. Gardiner,” said Colonel Forster. “I am only sorry it took this long to discover his true colours. It is highly mortifying that such a man was in my regiment in any case, but I can assure you that Ensign Wickham will face a court martial within the week. And, while I have no doubt as to the outcome of the court, I shall see that his debts are brought to the attention of the civil authorities, which should land him in debtor’s prison as sure as sunrise.”

Darcy had always been opposed to the concept of debtor’s prison in principle, but, in Wickham’s case, he was inclined to make an exception.

“I also thank you, Colonel,” Darcy said, offering his hand. “It was certainly smartly done.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Darcy,” answered Colonel Forster, shaking Darcy’s hand, angry but also embarrassed. Wickham had been most effective in destroying Darcy’s character, and Colonel Forster felt more than a little foolish for having believed him.

“We have a coach, Colonel Forster,” continued Mr. Gardiner, “and we plan to bring Miss Lydia to her father’s house as soon as her belongings may be packed.”

“Certainly, sir,” agreed the colonel.

Within the hour, Lydia and her trunks were loaded in the coach, and all preparations were complete for the journey to Longbourn. Before they left, Darcy and Elizabeth thanked Colonel Fitzwilliam for his help, but he declined all their gratitude.

“I should thank you for the chance to finally see him meet his just fate,” he responded. He took Darcy’s extended hand and held it firmly.

“I wanted to kill him, you know,” he said thoughtfully, and Darcy nodded. “Hardest thing I have ever done,” he continued. “Wickham has no idea just how close he came.”

“I think he did, Colonel,” said Elizabeth. “I saw his eyes. I saw him just crumple into himself. He must have always been a hollow man with only his pleasing manners and amiable exterior to disguise that fact from the world. I truly believe, even if he were not on his way to prison, he would have difficulty now in ever again assuming a convincing attitude. That kind of disguise requires a great deal of confidence, and Wickham just had his confidence shattered. I do not think he shall easily recover it.”

Fitzwilliam looked at Elizabeth closely, then nodded. “Perhaps you are correct. I admit I was so focused on not giving in to my impulses that I did not look. But, in any case, it is done and done well.”

Darcy turned to Sergeant Henderson and extended his hand. “You have done my family an inestimable service tonight, Sergeant. If you ever have reason to take off the King’s uniform, rest assured that there will be a place for you at Pemberley.”

Sergeant Henderson shuffled and ducked his head in embarrassment, thanking Darcy for his offer. “I have me heart set on serving a general before I takes the coat off, sir. But I shall certainly remember the offer; indeed I shall.”

Both Fitzwilliam and Darcy laughed agreeably, then Fitzwilliam shook hands once more with his cousin and Mr. Gardiner, and the coach rattled away into the night.

Chapter 32

Early morning hours, Sunday, August 2, 1812

“How could you allow such beastly treatment of poor Wickham, Uncle?” Lydia whined, as Darcy’s coach started out of town. She had ceased her shouting, at least, but her complaining had begun immediately and had not stopped. She sat beside Mr. Gardiner while Darcy and Elizabeth sat on the other side of the coach. Elizabeth was not at all pleased that the singular events of the night had apparently not affected her sister in the slightest. She remained the same wild, unrestrained, and fearless creature that she had always been, and she appeared to be completely unconcerned with the consequences of her actions.

“I am sure I have never seen such ungentlemanly behaviour in my entire life,” Lydia continued, “and I am of a mind to report it to the authorities.”

“Lydia, hush!” her uncle commanded. “It is the authorities who have taken Wickham into custody and saved you from ruin! You have put all of us to a great deal of trouble by your thoughtless actions. How could you have considered going off with that man? Did you not even think of how the embarrassment would affect your father and the rest of your family?”

“Oh, I care nothing for what Papa says,” Lydia said carelessly. “If he had brought us all to Brighton, I might listen to him. But all he ever does is talk, talk, talk, and then he disappears into his library.”

“Your father has raised you and protected you and provided for you for your whole life! You owe him a debt of gratitude for what he has done, and you are under the obligation to behave as a proper daughter!” Mr. Gardiner said sternly. Though he tried to keep his anger under control, he was unable to prevent his voice from growing louder and angrier as he continued, “You do
not,
for example, simply accept the casual assurances of a penniless opportunist and plan to run away without even a word to your father! Had you even given a thought to how that man was going to support you? Or how your elopement would adversely affect your sisters? Now be silent, Lydia, for your rescuers need their rest!”