Page 54

Charles Bingley could not believe how fortunate he was!

He had traveled to Longbourn alone this morning, as Darcy was waiting at Netherfield for his private physician, who was traveling from Town to attend to Mr. Collins. Miss Bingley, of course, did not care to accompany her brother since Darcy was trapped within the main rooms of the mansion waiting on the doctor. The master of Pemberley had been remarkably successful at avoiding Miss Bingley this last week, but today his luck had temporarily run out. Bingley hoped for Darcy’s sake that the doctor would not be late.

Bingley had arrived at Longbourn at the beginning of calling hours, and was welcomed most cordially by Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia. He had, after the conventional greetings, sat down next to Miss Bennet, who engaged him in conversation with her usual charm and good humor.

When next he looked up, they were alone in the parlor. Somehow, while he was busy gazing into Miss Bennet’s lovely face, Mrs. Bennet and her younger daughters had been called away. What an extraordinary and delightful circumstance! At last he could speak to Miss Bennet alone!

Miss Bennet too seemed startled to be without a chaperone, and she flushed in embarrassment as she stood up and took a step toward the door. He held out a hand to stay her movement.

“Please, Miss Bennet,” he requested. “May I speak to you privately?”

“Yes, Mr. Bingley?” the lady replied, her face growing even rosier as she sat back down.

He hesitated for a moment before continuing intently, “Miss Bennet, I believe that your cousin, Mr. Collins, is affecting my manners. I feel I must tell you this directly; I love and admire you. Do you feel that you can, that is, do you … do you love me as well?”

Jane Bennet briefly looked startled, but a moment later a delighted smile filled her face.

She leaned forward toward the handsome, ginger haired man. “Yes, Mr. Bingley, I do love you very much.”

He slid off the couch and onto one knee, his face looking up into her lovely visage. “Will you marry me, Miss Bennet? Will you join with me before God and man; will you bear my children and be my companion as long as we both shall live?”

“Yes, Mr. Bingley. Yes!”

***

“Thank you for journeying from Town today, Doctor Windham,” Darcy said, bowing slightly to the man. Windham was an excellent physician with a pleasant demeanor and had served the Darcy family with distinction for some five years.

“It was my honor, Mr. Darcy,” the physician replied. “I regret that I was unable to journey here for a full week after I received your letter. Mr. Collins seems like a riveting case.”

Darcy nodded as he gestured toward the stairwell, “He is in his bedchamber this morning, Doctor. He has been troubled with headaches of varying intensities, though he continues to be entirely rational and, dare I say, brilliant.”

“Is he reading a great deal?” Windham inquired.

“Constantly.”

The medical man shook his head disapprovingly, “He really ought not to read much after a head injury. It is regrettable that the apothecary did not forbid it.”

“It would not matter whether he was forbidden to read or not,” Darcy replied. “As I said in my letter, Collins appears to be a genius. He has said more than once that he must read or his brain grows frenetic.”

“And yet there was no sign of this genius before he fell and struck his head?”

“Yes.”

“Fascinating,” Doctor Windham said with enthusiasm. “Most fascinating, sir!”

***

“I hope you do not have early duty, Wickham,” Mr. Pratt commented, his grin barely visible in the light of the full moon.

Wickham chuckled, “I have nothing to do until after noon tomorrow — well, today actually. I will spend the entire morning in my bed, I assure you.”

Pratt slapped his fellow officer on the back, “And when evening comes, I will win all that money back from you, my friend. Be prepared!”

“Until then, Pratt,” Wickham agreed cheerfully. In fact, he was quite certain he would continue winning against Lieutenant Pratt, who combined a decent allowance with a sad inability to play cards. He was the very best kind of friend.

With a last inebriated smile, Pratt turned the corner while Wickham continued on toward his own quarters. It was very late and the wind was cold through his red coat, but the thrum of alcohol in his veins and the new coins in his pocket made him happy indeed.

Thus far Meryton was treating him well. There were plenty of attractive ladies who were inclined to swoon at the sight of his fine figure in its red coat. There were plenty of fellow militia officers willing to pay up when he won in their games of chance and to accept his vowels when he lost. Lastly, the militia was respected, and thus Wickham was finding it delightfully easy to purchase from the shopkeepers now with a promise to pay later. The regiment would move elsewhere in a few months, and Wickham would start afresh in a new city where his penchant for not paying his debts was unknown.

Yes, the militia had been an excellent career choice, and life had gifted him one last special fillip of pleasure; Darcy was in residence at the nearby estate of Netherfield and had managed to offend nearly the entire community with his arrogant ways. Wickham had thoroughly enjoyed defaming his former playmate to the local ladies, and especially the Bennet women. The eldest Miss Bennet was as lovely a creature as Wickham had ever beheld, though she was too placid for his tastes. The second, Miss Elizabeth, was a sparkling young woman with a fine wit (and figure) and it would be most enjoyable …

Well, time would tell if Miss Elizabeth was open to an intimate relationship that did not include marriage. If the girl had a good dowry, he might actually be interested in wedding her, but regrettably Longbourn was entailed away and the daughters’ dowries were reputedly pathetic.

Wickham turned right and plunged into the alleyway which ran between the main street and the smaller road where he lodged. The narrow passage was dark and noxious from garbage thrown from the upper windows of the adjacent buildings, but it cut off a substantial walk. He was tired and wanted his bed.

There was a sudden flare of a tallow candle and Wickham stopped in confusion, which was quickly followed by terror. There were four men hovering in the dim light and before he could move, before he could yell, two of them leaped forward and grabbed him, roughly pinioning his arms behind him and tying them together. Another man shoved a handkerchief in his mouth and tied it behind his head. Within a minute, he found himself being carried the rest of the way down the alleyway where he was quickly bundled into a carriage.

What was happening?

There was the sound of a cane rapping the top of the carriage and the vehicle jolted into motion. A minute later, the darkness was broken by the flare of another candle, this one made of wax, and Wickham observed, through dilating eyes of fury and terror, the familiar face of Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, second son of the Earl of Matlock and Darcy’s cousin.

“Good evening, Wickham,” the Colonel said cheerfully. “I am sure that I am the last person you wish to see and you can tell me all about it, but I will wait to remove the gag until we are well out of Meryton. I would not care to distress the inhabitants whose sleep would be disturbed by your screams.”

Wickham wiggled madly but his hands were firmly tied and the gag prevented him from doing anything more than grunting. After a minute, he subsided.

Ten minutes later, Fitzwilliam leaned forward and removed the gag, though he left Wickham’s hands bound.

“What is this?” Wickham snarled once he had worked some moisture into his dry mouth. “How dare you abduct me in this way?”

“Ah, but this is not an abduction, Wickham,” Fitzwilliam replied jovially. “This is, in fact, a noble effort towards protecting our fair lands from the French scourge. You, my old enemy, are going to sea.”

Wickham gazed at him with confusion, “Sea? What drivel is this? I am not going to sea!”

Fitzwilliam leaned back and crossed his legs. “Ah, but you are, Wickham,” the other man drawled. “Did you really think you could run up debts, ruin women across England, attempt to elope with Miss Darcy, and slander the Darcy name without any consequences? I have a friend who is a naval captain; he is very much in need of sailors for his ship, and I was most pleased to offer him your services. I realize, of course, that you are not used to the ways of the navy, but you are a smart fellow and will no doubt pick up the basics rapidly, especially if you are faced with a possible flogging if you should fail.”

Wickham listened to this with a sense of unreality. Was he merely in the midst of a drunken nightmare? It must be so. He had gone his own way for many years and Darcy had never curbed him; even after his foiled attempt to elope with Georgiana, Darcy had only sent him a nasty letter, which Wickham had thrown into the fire.

But no, the ropes cutting into his wrists were real enough as was the smell of the candle. No, this was truly happening.

“This … this is absurd,” he finally croaked. “You cannot kidnap me, Fitzwilliam. Even the Matlocks would not dare such a thing.”

“Nonsense, my dear fellow, of course we would! Press ganging is a respected method of filling one’s ship’s quota, after all. You are not the most useful of specimens since you have no experience, but my good friend, Captain Wolfe, is willing to take you on as a favor to the Matlocks.”

Wickham paled and swayed. “You cannot! I am a lieutenant in the militia, Fitzwilliam! More than that, I am the godson of George Darcy! You cannot treat me like a common drunken sailor!”

The other man shrugged. “That argument might work with Darcy, but it will not work with me. If I had come across you at Ramsgate, I would have thrust my sword through your soft, lazy, genteel body and been done with it. Darcy has been too lenient with you, but he finally decided that you needed to be dealt with in a more permanent fashion. I am most appreciative of his request for assistance, plus the information that you were here in Meryton. Once I knew that, I proceeded with my little plan to remove you from England’s shores.”

“I will destroy Georgiana’s reputation,” Wickham threatened, barely succeeding in keeping his tone firm.

“That is Miss Darcy to you, Wickham,” the Colonel replied, his tone icy. “My captain friend’s frigate, the Dominion , has orders to patrol the Caribbean Sea. I assure you that you will not return to England for several years, and I sincerely doubt your fellow sailors will care about your stories regarding a young lady. If you should be so foolish as to affect my cousin’s reputation, I promise you that you will leave the Dominion in a shroud. Is that entirely clear, Wickham?”

The steward’s son opened his mouth and closed it, too terrified, too horrified, too stunned to speak.

“Good,” Fitzwilliam replied with grim satisfaction. “I am glad we understand one another.”