Page 51 of Heiress of Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variations)

“The League of what?” Colonel Fitzwilliam questioned, bewildered.

Lady Catherine glared at him imperiously. “Patience, Richard. I intend to explain it all now.”

She swept a glance over her audience and then gestured at the portrait behind the desk. “Miss Bennet, I assume you observed the painting?”

“Yes, Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth acknowledged. “It is a fine portrait. Was it painted by Lawrence?”

“It was indeed,” the lady responded, her face stretching into a fond smile. It was a most unaccustomed expression for the arrogant mistress of Rosings, and it improved her looks substantially. “Sir Lewis was a most devoted husband and a loyal companion. He was not, however, my daughter Anne’s true father.”

There was a strangled gasp from Darcy at these incredible words. Elizabeth gazed in wide-eyed horror at the noblewoman before shifting her attention to Anne de Bourgh, who stared back with challenge in her eyes.

“What are you saying, Aunt?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked harshly.

“I am saying, Richard, that some six and twenty years ago, a young nobleman, whose name I will not provide you, managed to trick me into entering a room alone with him, whereupon he turned the key on the door and attacked me. Anne was the result of that assault. Sir Lewis de Bourgh was a friend of the family, a widower whose wife had died a few years previously without bearing children, and he graciously married me to protect my own reputation so that I would not have to wed my assailant.”

Elizabeth knew she was trembling, and when she spoke, her voice was shaky with horror. “Lady Catherine, I am so grieved by what you endured.”

The lady smiled kindly at her. “It was indeed a travesty, but I was blessed with my only child, and I would not trade Anne for anything.”

“What happened to the man who dared do such a thing to you?” Darcy asked, his face taut with fury.

Lady Catherine chuckled softly and replied, “My dear Darcy, I appreciate your concern on my behalf, but I assure you that the matter was dealt with when you were but a child. He died in a duel when Anne was two years of age.”

“A duel?” Colonel Fitzwilliam repeated.

“Yes, with a member of the League. But come, I am speaking out of order. My dreadful experience opened my eyes to the dangers for young women – nobles, gentlewomen, and lower classes alike – and with Sir Lewis’s encouragement and financial support, I created the League of the Golden Daffodil, a group of men and women who seek to punish those men who harm the innocent, and provide refuge and assistance for women ruined by such men. You may think that Georgiana’s experience was dreadful, but I assure you, Darcy, it could have been far, far worse.”

“Indeed, if Wickham is a ravager, you are fortunate that my young cousin did agree to the elopement,” Anne suggested with fire in her eyes. “No doubt the miscreant wished for a willing bride, but if she had spurned him, he might well have turned to force.”

Elizabeth’s eyes were on Darcy now and she observed the pallor in his cheeks, the restless moving of his hands. Whatever else could be said about Mr. Darcy, he was definitely a devoted, kindly, and protective brother.

“Is Wickham prone to violence?” Lady Catherine queried.

“There were rumors that he assaulted a maid at Pemberley,” the colonel said, his brow furrowed. “She was found to be pregnant and named Wickham as the father, but it is unclear whether their ... relationship was a willing one or no.”

“Wickham is a charming man,” Elizabeth confessed, “though it is hard for me to imagine a woman being so foolish as to ... as to...”

“Whether he did or not, he is clearly a danger to women,” Anne de Bourgh declared. “A young man, a handsome one, raised at Darcy's expense, might well persuade a foolish girl to give up her virtue. He attempted to elope with the fifteen-year-old daughter of his godfather, and now I gather he is laying siege to an heiress in Meryton?”

“Miss King, yes,” Elizabeth said faintly.

“It will not do,” Anne averred. “He must be stopped and brought to justice before he harms another woman. What are his weaknesses?”

“Debts,” the Colonel said. “He leaves debts wherever he goes, and Darcy bought up many of them in Lambton, at any rate.”

“Well, there you have it,” Lady Catherine announced. “You must have him arrested for debt and thrown into Marshalsea or the King’s Bench prison.”

Darcy bit his lip and looked down at the carpet, a fine oriental one patterned in greens and blues. “I cannot do that.”

“Why in all of England not?” his male cousin demanded in exasperation. “Come now, man! The time for foolish sentiment is past! I know your father loved Wickham, but he was...”

“It is not that,” Darcy interrupted, a cleft between his eyes, his face grim. “I did not tell you this, Richard, because I knew it would greatly distress you, and you were on your way to a battlefield on the Continent – in any case, I did not tell you that Georgiana wrote Wickham four love letters, and he has threatened to have them published in the London papers if I move against him in any way.”

There was a horrified intake of breath from Lady Catherine, and Anne leaned forward in distress. “Letters! Oh, Darcy!”

“Mrs. Younge encouraged her to write them,” Darcy explained, his hands clenched so hard that the bones showed white through the skin. “She knew, as did Wickham, that those letters would increase their hold on Georgiana. I dare not move against Wickham openly or the entire family will be plunged into scandal.”

There was a somber moment as all contemplated the sad truth of Darcy’s words, and then Anne sat up, her posture so determined, so strong, that Elizabeth once again stared in disbelief. It seemed quite impossible that the frail, dull creature who had sat silently through more than one evening at Rosings was this vital, vibrant woman.

“We will find a way,” Anne proclaimed. “We will retrieve those letters, and we will deal with Wickham.”

Richard Fitzwilliam gazed in awe at his cousin. “You sound quite fierce, Anne. Has your League ever resorted to murder?”

“We have not, Richard,” Lady Catherine riposted indignantly. “We are all sons and daughters of God above. But that does not mean we will refrain from using any moral means to stop such men, even if our methods are considered indelicate and, in some cases, illegal.”

“Illegal?” the Colonel repeated in concern.

“On occasion,” his aunt returned, her face hard as flint. “We will obey God, not man, in saving women and girls from being mistreated. What, after all, is moral about the privilege of peerage, which allows an earl or a marquis or a duke to harm another without legal recourse? I am certain such practices are disgusting to the Lord Almighty, who cares for the poor and the weak.”

“What do you suggest?” Darcy asked uneasily. He did wish to stop Wickham, of course, but he loved Georgiana more than his own life, and he could not bear to have her blackballed and derided and scorned. She was already shy; even a whisper of the near elopement would devastate her. If the letters were made known to the ton, she would never hold up her head again.

Lady Catherine and her daughter exchanged thoughtful glances and then Anne said, “We will discuss the matter and determine a plan. For now, Darcy, I need you to tell me everything you know about George Wickham. Richard, escort Miss Bennet back to the parsonage, if you will.”

Elizabeth blinked at the lady and then turned to the Colonel, who smiled as he shook his head in bemusement. “Miss Bennet, I do believe we have our marching orders.”