B00CO8L910 EBOK (29 page)

“I swear, I did not mean to kill the girl.” Now Wickham was scared. “I only wanted to, you know, get rid of the babe.”

The men were even more revolted by him. Darcy could see that his cousin really was going to call the magistrate next. He could see Wickham was sweating bullets, too. As much as it went against every fiber of his being, he needed to stop it. He called his cousin to follow him out the door again.

“What is it Darcy?”

“You cannot call the magistrate, Richard,” Darcy said softly.

“What? I know that I said you had to get hold of yourself, Cousin, but you cannot be thinking of letting him get away again.”

“No, he cannot get away. But I cannot have you call the magistrate either.”

Richard leaned against the wall and began to run his hands through his hair then, realizing the grime they had accumulated in the dirty boarding house, thought better of it.

“Then what do you propose we do with the devil?”

“Ship him to Australia.” He raised his hand to stop his cousin’s near outburst by adding, “Richard, I cannot let Elizabeth’s family go through the humiliation of a trial. I cannot let Lydia’s previously untainted reputation be challenged. I cannot do that to them. It would break them. It would break her.” He was not just thinking of Elizabeth then but of the relief he saw in Mr. Bennet’s eyes when he had assured him there was nothing to worry about.

Richard sighed heavily. “I suppose there is no chance of keeping it quiet with a trial.”

“No, there is not. And besides, I gave my word to Elizabeth not to allow Lydia’s ruination to become known.”

“Then she does not even know that Wickham killed — ”

Darcy shook his head. Richard nodded in understanding.

“We have a problem then, Darcy. As a colonel in the army, I am duty bound to bring about a trial in one form or another — either a civilian trial for murder or his court-martial for desertion from the militia.”

“Then court-martial him. These things can be quiet affairs. Certainly you can see to that.”

Richard paced as he considered his options, looking grave but satisfied when he finally realized a solution. “A field general court-martial — it requires less than a general court-martial. It can be done quietly. Transportation is usually the sentence, though it is an automatic death penalty if he returns to England. All right, Australia it is. I do not like it; indeed, it is far better than he deserves.”

It tasted bitter to Darcy too, and he said as much. “Perhaps we will get lucky, and Wickham will not survive the passage.”

The two men reentered the room, and Darcy addressed Wickham. “You have two options, Wickham: the noose or Australia.” The tone of his voice suggested that the noose would be fitted personally — and that evening — if he did not choose Australia. Besides, Wickham was too smart not to see this for what it was: another slip of the coin and a chance to get away, even if he had to go to God-forsaken Australia.

“Australia,” he grumbled.

“Good choice.” Darcy turned to his cousin. “What do you want to do with that one?” He pointed towards Perkins.

Richard smiled at his cousin and winked. “I have been considering that one for a little while. He is a downy cove even if he is slick as a stick. I think the army could use the likes of him. I have a buddy bound for the continent next week who could take on a new plebe and teach him some discipline.”

Perkins gulped but nodded his head vigorously, recognizing his own option at avoiding a more serious punishment. “King ’n’ count’ry, gov,” he said as he tipped his hat.

Richard acknowledged his compliance and ordered two of the men to take him to the recruiting office and to ask for Colonel Masters. His lip twitched in amusement when he saw Wickham swallow at the mention of the man’s name.

When the two men left, dragging Perkins along, Darcy turned towards his cousin again. He looked at him only briefly before stepping forward and dimming Wickham’s lights again with another swing of his fist. He shrugged at his cousin’s raised eyebrow. “One for the road, you know.”

Richard laughed and patted his cousin’s back. “Of course.” He was still laughing when he instructed the last of his men to send another message in a different direction.

Wickham was still out when the man returned with Major George Whitman. The army officer took one look around the dirty room, noting the bleeding knuckles of his friend’s cousin and the slumped body of Wickham, and cursed. “I do not suppose you could have waited for me before having all the fun?”

After he had spent the evening with Wickham in that vile pub, pretending to get drunk and hearing all of his sordid tales, Major Whitman had asked that Richard allow him to partake in bringing him down. Now he was informed that he was to watch over Wickham, personally escort him to the major general’s office for his court-martial, and then escort him to a ship was bound for Australia as soon as may be.

Richard smiled. “You have my permission to have all the fun you want after we leave,” he said to his now-smirking friend. “If he is a little worse for wear for the journey, so be it.”

Darcy stood to leave, feeling all the weight of the day come upon him in full force. Now that he had defeated Wickham, he was left with only the threads of his broken heart. He did not even have enough energy to hold onto his anger anymore. The embers had burned out, leaving ashes inside.

He motioned to his cousin that he wished to leave. Richard said he would meet him at the waiting carriage. Darcy slowly walked down the stairs of the boarding house. He hailed the coach and climbed in. Now that he had washed his hands of Wickham, he was left to think about the events of the day. Had he really seen Elizabeth only that morning? Seen her lovely face darkened by pain and scandal? The day seemed one long nightmare.

Richard climbed into the coach and looked at his cousin with a satisfied grin on his face. “It feels good to be rid of the man, does it not?”

Darcy nodded and turned his head to look out the window.

* * *

“Somebody had better tell me what the blazes is going on!” Georgiana shouted to her cousin.

“Georgiana! A lady does not speak in that manner.”

“A lady! You have the nerve to tell me how to comport myself as a lady when my brother has not been seen for three days?”

“What are you talking about, Georgie? I brought him here myself a few days ago.” Richard was becoming concerned, though he would not show Georgiana as much. He had worried about his cousin when he dropped him off after returning from Wickham’s. Darcy had said nothing the entire ride home, and Richard had not had a word from him since then. He was actually at Darcy House to inquire about his cousin when Georgiana had accosted him in the entryway and nearly dragged him through the closed parlor doors.

“He refuses to see anyone. He has not left his rooms since he came home that evening he was with you, and all of his food trays come back barely touched. Three days, Richard!”

“I will go see him.” Richard sighed as he walked toward the door.

“No you will not, Richard. You are not going anywhere until you tell me what is going on. My brother can wait, but I cannot.”

Her voice faltered, and her lip quivered, causing her cousin to stop in his tracks. He turned to her then and opened his arms. Georgiana walked into his embrace and began to cry.

“Shh, sprite, all will be well. I will see to it; I promise you.”

Georgiana pushed away. “I am not a child, you clutch. Tell me now.”

Richard sighed. He did not think she needed to know about Wickham, but he could explain something of Elizabeth. Nevertheless, he was sure that was the real reason for Darcy’s current behavior.

“He is a man disappointed, my dear.”

“Then she refused him after all,” Georgiana mumbled as she sank slowly into a nearby chair.

“No. At least, I do not think he even got that far.”

Georgiana looked up, encouraged by his words. If he had not proposed and been refused, then things could be fixed; she was sure of it. They loved each other; what could come between that?

Richard sat next to her and took her hand, deciding an explanation about Wickham was unavoidable after all. “What I am going to tell you may make you upset, my dear. Do you still wish to hear it?”

The look she gave him indicated she did.

“Your brother found out that Wickham compromised Elizabeth’s sister before she died. Wickham told her he was going to marry her, but of course, you know he had no such intentions.”

“Oh.” Georgiana’s eyes watered again as she thought of the pain Elizabeth must have felt on finding out such news. “But what has that to do with William?”

“She blames him for it — believes he should have exposed Wickham for who he was in Hertfordshire last autumn.”

“Elizabeth could not think that! I know her. She loves him.”

Richard merely shrugged his shoulders. “That is what your brother believes.”

Georgiana looked at her cousin. He was not telling all; she could tell by the way he was eager to get away. She narrowed her eyes. “Richard Fitzwilliam, you may be my guardian and a good deal my senior” — she did not laugh when he protested her reference to his age — “but do not think for a moment that I will tolerate your being anything less than honest with me. I know Elizabeth, and this simply does not make sense to me. Why did my brother leave in such haste for London? Where were you both until late that evening, and what are you not telling me?”

She crossed her arms across her chest, and for a moment, Richard thought she looked a lot like her brother, only more like an adorable, angry kitten. But he could not deny that she had grown up, and considering the state of her brother upstairs, perhaps she needed to know the whole sorry tale after all.

He sighed and acknowledged there was more to the story. He related how Darcy had learned of Wickham’s deeds with Lydia, encountering Elizabeth on the walk as Georgiana had suspected. He told his young cousin about how Wickham’s behavior after Lydia’s fall had been suspicious and how they had tracked him down and found him in London — nor did not spare her from Wickham’s confession about how Lydia really died. He ended with Wickham’s court-martial and exile to Australia and Darcy’s hand in it.

“He did not want to put Elizabeth or her family through the pain of a trial, so we arranged to have him deported. I am glad to say, I personally saw him leave on a ship yesterday.”

Georgiana was saddened by the news, especially when she considered her own past with Wickham. She knew her brother had not exposed Wickham to save her the possible humiliation of having her name bandied about. She considered her cousin’s account of Lydia’s death. She knew that would be the most difficult part for Elizabeth. Georgiana ached to comfort her friend. The only way she could think to do so would be painful. She thanked her cousin and dismissed him to deal with her brother. After another few minutes gathering her thoughts, she stood up and went to her room where she spent the rest of the evening penning probably the most important letter she would ever write. She hoped it would make a difference to the two people she loved most in this world.

Chapter 18

Her fingers paused, the shears ready to clip another bloom for her basket. As had often occurred since returning home from her encounter with Mr. Darcy and the discovery of Lydia’s secret, Elizabeth’s mind seized, and she was left reviewing their meeting.

Long after the sound of his horse’s hoofbeats no longer reached her ears, Elizabeth had remained sitting on the rock where Mr. Darcy had left her. Numbly she sat there absorbing what had occurred. Her heart could not connect with any emotion for some time, protecting itself from further sorrow. Absentmindedly, she retrieved Lydia’s diary from the seat beside her, resting her hand in the place it had laid, where moments before Mr. Darcy had sat. The cool, hard rock seemed apt to describe her new understanding.

Standing slowly, she had unconsciously smoothed the wrinkles from her dress. A flash of white caught the corner of her eye. She looked down to see the handkerchief Mr. Darcy had given her earlier. She looked at it almost incredulously. Then a small gust of wind picked it up, and it tossed, danced and rolled across the ground to tangle itself on a low fern. It seemed to mock her — a symbol of her fleeting hold on the man, only to have him pulled from her grasp and tossed away from her. Elizabeth rushed to seize the linen, feeling a sudden wish to hold on to the only thing she could possess that once was his. She knew he would not be coming back for it. She had to claim it as her own.

Pulling the soft fabric to her face, she had dried her cheeks, only to have them wet again when his scent from the fabric reached her senses. She lowered her hands and looked at the freshly laundered linen. It was damp from her tears. She rotated it to study the embroidered initials on the corner: ‘
FD
’. Sighing, she ran her finger delicately across the script — his initials, simply stitched, with no other adornment. It suited him, she thought. His classical, distinguished, unaffected demeanor matched the fine texture and simplicity of the expert stitching.

Elizabeth had laughed at herself without humor for spending so much time contemplating the handkerchief and comparing it to its owner. It was not as if any of that mattered any longer. She had returned all of his others. This one she could not part with. Reverently, she had folded the square, placed it in her pocket and begun her slow, solemn walk back home.