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Chapter Twenty-Two

“G entlemen,” Mr. Bennet began after a long period of troubled silence, his voice carrying none of its habitual dryness, “I find myself in the unenviable position of requiring counsel on a matter I scarcely know how to address.” He paused, clearing his throat. “My understanding of legal proceedings is largely academic, drawn from books rather than experience. You, however,” he said, inclining his head toward Colonel Fitzwilliam, “have practical knowledge of military law, and you, Mr. Darcy, move in circles where discretion in difficult matters is an art form.”

Darcy exchanged a glance with his cousin, a silent communication formed through years of mutual understanding. In that brief look, he recognised Fitzwilliam’s deference to him on this particular matter. Though the colonel possessed more worldly experience in many respects, they both knew that when it came to George Wickham, Darcy carried the heavier burden of knowledge.

Before responding, Darcy’s eyes sought Elizabeth. She met his gaze with quiet intensity, her expression a complex blend of anxiety and something else – perhaps trust? The thought that she might place her family’s welfare in his hands both humbled and fortified him. Her sister’s predicament had clearly shaken her, yet she faced it with characteristic courage. Darcy found himself wishing to be worthy of that courage.

“Mr. Bennet,” Darcy said, breaking the tense silence at last, “having considered the circumstances most thoroughly, I must express my conviction that involving either the magistrate or the militia would not serve the cause of true justice.”

The older gentleman’s expression tightened. “Even with the... finality of the situation?”

“Especially because of it,” Darcy replied firmly. “The law, while necessary for civil society, sometimes fails to accommodate the complexities of human circumstance. In this instance, I believe its application would be unduly harsh.”

“They would hang her,” Elizabeth whispered, her voice barely audible.

Darcy nodded gravely. “I fear Miss Elizabeth is correct. The courts would likely show little mercy, despite the clear evidence of self-defence.” He gestured toward Lydia, whose slender neck bore unmistakable evidence of violence in the bruises left behind by Wickham’s cruel fingers. “Those marks tell a tale that cannot be misinterpreted. Whatever transpired, your daughter clearly feared for her life.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned forward. “Unfortunately, my experience suggests that even with such evidence, the militia would be primarily concerned with the loss of an officer. They would press for the severest penalty, though considering the, ah, delicacy of Miss Lydia’s condition, they might settle for transportation rather than hanging.”

Darcy watched as Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, absorbing this terrible possibility. When she opened them again, he saw in them not disgust or condemnation for her sister, but profound concern. It strengthened his resolve to assist this family, regardless of propriety’s dictates.

“I have known George Wickham since childhood,” Darcy continued, turning back to Mr. Bennet. “While I hesitate to speak ill of the deceased, truth compels me to acknowledge his particular talent for identifying and exploiting vulnerability, especially in young women of gentle upbringing.”

He paused, aware that even now, even posthumously, discussing Wickham’s character felt like opening an old wound. The memory of his own sister’s near ruin surfaced unbidden, but he contained it quickly. This was not the time for his personal grievances.

“His charm was considerable, his appearance deceptive in its suggestion of honour, and his methods practiced,” Darcy elaborated, choosing his words with care. “I have had occasion to... intervene in similar circumstances previously. I can attest that his pattern of behaviour was consistent and deliberate.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam shifted beside him, clearly understanding the reference to Georgiana. “Indeed,” the colonel added, “certain men develop strategies for manipulation that become nearly infallible against those without experience of the world’s darker aspects.”

Darcy glanced at Lydia, who continued sobbing quietly, oblivious to the gentle way they were attempting to mitigate her culpability. She was so very young, younger in temperament and worldliness even than her years would suggest. He recalled Elizabeth once describing her as “untamed,” and the description seemed apt. She was precisely the sort of spirited, na?ve girl Wickham preferred: old enough to be desirable, too young and na?ve to recognise his predatory nature.

“I believe,” Darcy said, “that Miss Lydia’s actions, while tragic, were the desperate measures of a frightened girl facing violation and violence. Her current condition further confirms the nature of Wickham’s intentions toward her.”

Mr. Bennet nodded slowly, his countenance shadowed with regret. “I should have been more vigilant.” The rare admission of failure from the typically detached patriarch revealed the depth of his distress.

“Regret serves little purpose now,” Darcy replied, not unkindly. “Our present concern must be protection; of Miss Lydia, of your family’s reputation, and of the innocent life she now carries.”

“I concur with Darcy’s assessment,” Colonel Fitzwilliam stated firmly. “Justice and legal penalty are not always aligned. In this case, justice would be served by protecting Miss Lydia from further harm, not by subjecting her to public condemnation.”

“Then we are agreed, and I thank you sincerely for your compassionate understanding,” Mr. Bennet said quietly. “But what is to be done?”

Darcy looked again at Elizabeth, drawing strength from her steady gaze. “If I may, I have a suggestion to offer.”

Elizabeth leaned slightly forward, her attention focused entirely on him, and Darcy found himself momentarily distracted by the trust implicit in that simple gesture. It was a responsibility he did not take lightly.

Lydia, meanwhile, continued weeping, unaware of the significant exchange passing between her sister and the gentleman from Derbyshire, unaware that the man proposing to save her knew all too well what George Wickham was capable of, unaware that she was not the first young woman to require rescue from his machinations. Her ignorance of Georgiana’s similar peril was a blessing, Darcy thought. Let her believe herself unique in victimhood; the knowledge that others had suffered similarly would bring no comfort at this moment.

“I believe,” Darcy said after gathering his thoughts, “that I can offer a solution that will protect Miss Lydia while preserving both truth and mercy.”

Darcy rose from his chair, suddenly unable to remain still under the weight of the attention directed at him. The carpet beneath his feet had faded patterns that seemed to mirror the circular nature of his thoughts as he began to pace. What he was about to propose felt both necessary and improper, a solution born of genuine concern yet tainted by his own desires. He had imagined proposing marriage to Elizabeth Bennet a hundred times over the past months, but never once in circumstances such as these. To leverage a family tragedy for his own happiness seemed unconscionable; yet not to offer the protection his position could provide seemed equally wrong.

Darcy cleared his throat. “I believe I have a suggestion that might resolve our most pressing concerns, though I acknowledge its unorthodox nature.” He paused, gathering his composure. “If Miss Elizabeth were to agree to marry me by special license once my solicitor has it in hand, we could depart for Pemberley within a matter of days.”

The words hung in the air like visible breath on a winter morning. Darcy kept his eyes fixed on a point just above Mr. Bennet’s shoulder, unwilling yet to look at Elizabeth herself. He had not intended to propose again in such a manner, with none of the privacy or sentiment the occasion deserved. Yet circumstances had forced his hand, and he could only hope she would understand the necessity behind his apparent presumption.

Mr. Bennet’s expression remained carefully neutral, though a slight narrowing of his eyes suggested he was rapidly assessing multiple implications. “And how, sir, would this arrangement assist with our current predicament?”

“It would create a natural circumstance,” Darcy continued, forcing himself to maintain an even tone, “for Miss Elizabeth to invite one of her sisters to accompany her to her new home. A common enough practice when a lady marries and relocates some distance from her family.”

Now he allowed himself to glance at Elizabeth, finding her face pale but composed, her eyes wide with something he could not quite interpret. Was it shock? Consideration? Offense at his presumption? The uncertainty was nearly unbearable, but he pressed on.

“However, Miss Lydia would not, in fact, come to Pemberley with us.” Here Darcy resumed his pacing, finding movement easier than stillness under the scrutiny of so many eyes. “Instead, she would travel to Leicester, where my former nurse resides.”

“Your nurse?” Jane inquired, her soft voice breaking the stunned silence.

Darcy nodded. “Mrs. Wilkins raised me from infancy, and my sister after me. She is now retired and lives comfortably on the pension my father established for her. She is discreet, kind, and utterly trustworthy.” He paused, memories of the sturdy, warm-hearted woman momentarily softening his expression. “She has assisted other young women in... similar circumstances.”

He did not elaborate on how Mrs. Wilkins came to develop such expertise, nor that one of those young women had been a distant cousin on his father’s side whose indiscretion had nearly resulted in family disgrace. Some details were better left unspoken.

“Miss Lydia could remain with Mrs. Wilkins until after her confinement,” Darcy continued. “During that time, she would be presented to the small community there as a recently widowed relative. Her condition would raise no eyebrows under such a pretence.”

Lydia had stopped crying and was staring at him with red-rimmed eyes. “You mean I should pretend to be a widow?” she asked, her voice small and uncertain.

“It would be the simplest explanation,” Darcy replied, not unkindly. “And closest to the truth, in a manner of speaking.”

“It is a common enough story, particularly in wartime. No one would question it deeply,” Colonel Fitzwilliam pointed out.

Darcy resumed his explanation, addressing Mr. Bennet directly. “As for the child, there are several tenant families on my estate who have expressed desire for more children but have been unable to have them. I am confident we could arrange for the infant to be adopted into a good home, with the promise of education and opportunity appropriate to its parentage.”

He observed the flicker of relief that passed over the older gentleman’s features. This was perhaps the most delicate aspect of the arrangement, the permanent separation of mother and child. Yet in their society, there were few alternatives that would allow Lydia any hope of a normal future.

“The child would never want for anything,” Darcy assured them. “I would personally ensure its welfare while maintaining complete discretion regarding its origins.”

“And what of Lydia herself, after the child is born?” Elizabeth asked, speaking for the first time since this, by his count his fourth proposal to her. Her voice was steady, thoughtful rather than emotional.

Meeting her gaze directly, Darcy felt a surge of admiration for her practical concern in the midst of what must be an overwhelming situation. “She would return home,” he replied. “Everyone in Derbyshire would assume she never left Hertfordshire, while those here would believe she enjoys her visit with her newly married sister. By the time she returns, sufficient months will have passed that the... incident with Wickham will have faded somewhat from local memory.”

Mr. Bennet frowned thoughtfully. “But what of her future prospects? No gentleman would marry a girl who has... who has...”

“Killed a man?” Lydia supplied shakily.

“I was thinking of your condition, child,” her father replied with uncharacteristic gentleness. Lydia pressed her hands to her stomach, but nodded in understanding.

Darcy frowned slightly, considering his words carefully. “Should Miss Lydia wish to marry in the future, it may be necessary to confide a portion of the truth to her prospective husband. Not the entirety, perhaps, but enough to ensure there are no... unexpected discoveries later.” He looked at Lydia directly. “It would require finding a man of particular understanding and discretion.”

“Not impossible,” Colonel Fitzwilliam observed, “especially with the support of connections such as ours. Many men of good character might overlook a youthful indiscretion in a wife who comes with the backing of families like the Darcys and Fitzwilliams.”

Darcy nodded in agreement, though privately he thought it more complex than his cousin suggested. A man willing to marry a young woman with Lydia’s particular history would indeed be unusual. Yet he had encountered enough complexity in human nature to know such men existed.

“This plan,” Mr. Bennet said slowly, “hinges entirely upon your marriage to Elizabeth.”

“Yes,” Darcy acknowledged, feeling a flush of discomfort. “It was not my intention to...” He paused, struggling to find words that would not further compromise Elizabeth’s dignity. “That is to say, I had hoped for a more conventional approach to the matter, and to give Elizabeth time to consider. However, time is now of the essence, if we are to remove Miss Lydia from the neighbourhood before her condition becomes apparent.”

Elizabeth’s expression remained unreadable, though her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, betrayed her inner tension. Darcy wished desperately that they might speak privately, that he could assure her that his proposal, though precipitated by crisis, was nonetheless genuine.

“What of...” Jane began delicately, “that is, the investigation?”

“I would suggest,” Colonel Fitzwilliam interjected, “that we allow the investigation to peter out in due course. Colonel Forster and Mr. Burnley are already more than half-convinced it is a creditor from Wickham’s past who caught up with him. If we continue to allow them to believe that...”

“Yes,” Darcy agreed. “The investigation must inevitably fall by the wayside when no suspect is found.”

Silence fell over the room as each person absorbed the implications of what Darcy had proposed. He resumed his pacing, unable to remain still while Elizabeth’s answer hung in the balance. Every aspect of his plan depended upon her willingness to become his wife, yet he could offer her nothing like the courtship she deserved. The thought pained him deeply.

“Why?” Lydia’s voice, though scarcely above a whisper, cut through the silence that had fallen after Darcy’s proposal. Her face, still blotched from crying, wore an expression of genuine bewilderment as she looked directly at him. “Why would you help cover up that I... that I killed him?” Her words trembled on the edge of fresh tears, her hands unconsciously moving to her stomach in a protective gesture that belied her youth and the gravity of her situation. Darcy found himself struck by how very young she appeared in that moment, hardly more than a child herself, soon to be burdened with a child of her own.

The question hung in the air, artless in its directness yet profound in its implication. Darcy felt the weight of every gaze in the room, particularly Elizabeth’s, whose dark eyes studied him with an intensity that both unsettled and strengthened him. He considered his answer carefully, aware that his response would reveal much about his character to the woman whose opinion mattered most to him.

“Because, Miss Lydia,” he said finally, his voice gentle, “you do not deserve the consequences that would befall you if I did not.” He moved closer to her chair, though not so near as to cause impropriety. “What happened was a tragedy, to be certain, but not a crime in the moral sense. You defended yourself against a man who meant you harm. That the law might not make such distinctions does not obligate us to surrender you to its blind mechanics.”

Lydia blinked up at him, clearly unprepared for such a thoughtful response. “But it will be a great deal of trouble for you,” she persisted. “And expense. And you hardly know me at all.”

“I know enough,” Darcy replied, his expression softening further with pity for her plight. “I know that you are Elizabeth’s sister, which alone would compel my assistance. I know that you are in circumstances no young woman should face without support. And I know, perhaps better than anyone present, exactly the kind of man George Wickham was.”

He straightened then, allowing a touch of his natural dry humour to surface as he addressed the room at large. “Indeed, I must confess I find myself guiltily relieved, and I doubt I am the only one. Would anyone here care to admit they have never, not once, considered the world might be improved by Wickham’s absence from it?”

The unexpected question produced a startled silence, followed by a moment of shared recognition so palpable Darcy could almost feel it in the air. Mr. Bennet’s lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of his former sardonic smile. Elizabeth gave a small but definite nod. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s countenance broke into a knowing grimace.

It was Jane Bennet, however, whose response proved most unexpected. The eldest Miss Bennet, whose sweet disposition and unfailing kindness were renowned throughout the county, glanced down at her folded hands before raising her clear blue eyes to meet Darcy’s directly.

“I confess I entertained such thoughts,” she said softly, her gentle voice carrying clearly in the silent room. “When I learned he had deliberately compromised Lizzy. The idea that my sister might be forced to marry such a man...” She paused, colour rising in her cheeks. “I found myself contemplating what accidents might befall a man on a dark country road.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s laugh broke the tension, a warm, genuine sound of appreciation rather than mockery. “I knew I liked you, Miss Bennet,” he declared, regarding Jane with new respect. “Beneath that angelic exterior beats a warrior’s heart.”

Jane’s blush deepened, but she did not look away from the colonel’s admiring gaze. “I doubt that, sir,” she replied with quiet dignity. “But I have discovered that when those we love are threatened, we may find ourselves capable of thoughts we never before entertained.”

“Well said,” Fitzwilliam affirmed, his expression soft as he continued to regard her.

Watching this exchange with interest, Darcy found himself speculating on an unexpected possibility. His cousin, though a second son with modest prospects, was nonetheless a gentleman of excellent character and significant connections. Jane Bennet, with her serene beauty and gentle manner, seemed to have captured Fitzwilliam’s attention in a way Darcy had not previously observed. If Bingley should decide to return to Netherfield, he might find he had serious competition for the affections of the eldest Miss Bennet.

The thought brought Darcy a curious mixture of amusement and discomfort. He had played a significant role in separating Bingley from Jane, convinced the lady’s affections were not engaged. Now, observing the delicate colour in her cheeks as she exchanged glances with his cousin, he wondered if he had misinterpreted her reserve. Perhaps there was more depth of feeling beneath her composed exterior than he had credited.

These reflections, however, were secondary to his primary concern. Throughout the conversation, the only person who had not expressed any opinion regarding his proposed plan was Elizabeth. She sat quietly, her expression thoughtful but unreadable, offering neither encouragement nor rejection. Her silence unsettled him more than any objection might have done.

Darcy turned to face her fully, feeling his heart begin to quicken. Everything depended on her answer. He found himself holding his breath as he awaited her response, searching her face for some indication of her thoughts.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said when she remained silent, his voice lower than he had intended, betraying more emotion than he typically allowed himself to display. “I realise this is far from the ideal circumstance for such a proposal. Were it within my power to offer you a proper courtship, with all the attention and consideration you deserve, I would do so without hesitation. However, the urgency of the situation requires more immediate action.”

Elizabeth met his gaze steadily, her expression softening somewhat though still revealing little of her thoughts. “You would bind yourself to me, to my family and all our... complications,” she said carefully. “It is a considerable sacrifice, Mr. Darcy.”

“I do not view it as such,” he replied with complete honesty. “On the contrary, I would consider your acceptance the greatest blessing of my life.” He paused, aware that the entire room was listening, yet unable to restrain the depth of feeling in his voice. “My admiration and regard for you have only strengthened with each encounter. That I might now be of service to your family gives me satisfaction, but it is not my primary motivation.”

From the corner of his eye, Darcy noticed his cousin nodding slightly in approval, while Mr. Bennet regarded him with an expression of thoughtful assessment.

“The situation is far from ideal,” Darcy continued, “but my feelings are entirely genuine. I would not have you doubt that, regardless of your decision.”

Elizabeth’s eyes, those expressive dark eyes that had captivated him from their first meeting, searched his face as though seeking confirmation of his sincerity. What she found there seemed to satisfy her somewhat, for her shoulders relaxed slightly, and Darcy waited with bated breath for her answer.