Page 29 of Done for the Best (Engaged to Mr Darcy #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

THE CAVALRY

W hen Mr Wickham leant over her, eyes half closed, appearing to intend to kiss her, Elizabeth acted by instinct, an instinct that was fuelled by rage. She was mightily tired of being the helpless, hapless female, chasing forgotten memories and dissolving into tears. Enough with all of that. Mr Wickham would not take that which she had not given him.

She drove the heel of her palm up into his nose. He yelped and reared backwards, even as his nose became a veritable geyser of blood. He recovered from his shock quickly, beginning to curse her and call her vile names while reaching into his pocket to withdraw a handkerchief that he pressed to his nose to stanch the flow of blood.

As he did, she noticed a glint of metal and, while he was distracted, snatched it, happy to see it was a blade. Her cousin Philips had once taught her how to stab, using a reverse grip so it was more difficult to take away from her. She did not think she would have the courage to actually stab Mr Wickham, but she would certainly try her best if he attempted to take further liberties.

“Give me that.” Mr Wickham’s voice was stuffy and much less assured than it had been before.

“No. Let me out of this carriage.”

He called her a name, and Elizabeth replied by leaning over and pressing the blade against his bottom eyelid. Her hand shook a little, but she supposed that might add to the effect. In any case, Mr Wickham froze, barely breathing.

“Let me out of this carriage,” she said, proud of the steadiness of her voice, “or I will cut your eye out.”

She pressed just slightly, horrified and yet somehow pleased with herself to see a small dot of blood appear. Mr Wickham cried out, then grew mean, cursing her and calling her an unthinkable name that made it easy to press a bit more.

“Let me out,” she repeated, not letting up on the pressure against his eye. “A one-eyed man does not appeal to many ladies, does he?”

What his reply to that might have been, they would not know, for they were interrupted by the sound of a man yelling some sort of order from a distance. Very strangely, the sound brought a smile to Mr Wickham’s lips. “Your cavalry has arrived, it seems.”

She had no idea what he meant by her ‘cavalry’, but the carriage slowed and then came to a halt. Elizabeth waited for nothing, simply flung the door open and leapt out, falling onto the ground just as a horse came thundering abreast of them, stopping just short of trampling her.

It was Darcy, looking rather mad himself, his hair wild beneath his hat and his countenance grim as he ordered the coachman to stay where he was. Nevertheless, he was gentle as he leapt from his horse and bent to help her rise to her feet. She dusted herself off, trembling with relief.

“Was this Wickham?” he asked quietly. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “A bruise or two, nothing serious.”

“You are certain?”

She nodded.

Mr Wickham stepped out of the carriage, holding a handkerchief to his eye. “I wondered when you would get here, Darcy. Took you long enough. You have my money?”

Elizabeth, baffled, looked between the two men. “Go over there,” Darcy whispered to her and used his chin to indicate a tree at some short distance. She obeyed unquestioningly. As she went, she heard Darcy say, “Some. Not all. I wish to ensure she is unharmed before you see the whole of it.”

“Let me have it, then,” said Mr Wickham, “or I will make sure every man in Brighton knows I had a bite of Darcy’s pie.”

Elizabeth arrived at the tree and turned to look at the two men. Darcy stood between herself and Mr Wickham, but a step to the side showed her that Mr Wickham had a pistol aimed at Darcy. As she watched, Darcy reached into his greatcoat and removed a small pouch. He tossed it at Mr Wickham who lowered the gun as he caught it, a smile on his face which now, she reflected, was actually quite ugly.

Mr Wickham’s smile grew as he pulled bank notes, a great many of them, from the pouch. From her position, she could not see how much it was exactly…but it looked like a lot. I was kidnapped , she thought numbly. Mr Wickham abducted me, and here is Darcy to ransom me.

A wave of shame at her own foolishness crashed over her. She had come to Brighton to keep Lydia from mischief and had instead landed in her own massive heap of trouble. Foolish, foolish girl! And now Darcy was forced to pay a sum to save her reputation. You will have to marry him now , she told herself. One cannot be so obligated to a man and continue to refuse him.

She had very little time to consider it as just then two more men came round the bend on horses. Mr Wickham nonchalantly tucked the gun away and seemed unconcerned, but his countenance did grow wary as the other men stopped.

The first, an enormous broad-faced man, said, “This him?”

Darcy nodded, and Mr Wickham, his countenance changing from curious to alarmed, said, “What is this, now?”

“George Wickham,” Darcy said, pointing towards him, “abducted and assaulted this young lady, and sought ransom from me for her safety. I mean to see him swing for it.”

Mr Wickham gave a little yelp, then took off running, but he did not go far before the two men apprehended him. There was a scuffle—Mr Wickham cursing Darcy and yelling out that he had abducted no one, that Elizabeth had come willingly with him—until one of the men reminded him it was hard to talk with a noose around your neck. Then he grew silent as they tied him and shoved him back into the carriage. He made a pitiable sight, still covered in his own blood, but Elizabeth thought he was despicable.

To her very great relief, Darcy’s purse was returned to him, and the two men were off, riding beside the carriage, after having instructed the coachman that he now transported a prisoner. The coachman did not appear to have any great feelings on the matter and was only really interested in the coins Darcy handed to him.

Then they were all gone, leaving only Darcy, Darcy’s horse, and Elizabeth to determine the way back to Brighton.