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When Darcy awoke the next morning, his thoughts turned to Lydia and Elizabeth.

His mind must have been working as he slept, for he knew what he must do.

Finding Lydia and untangling this fiasco that Wickham had created was his way to undo some of the damage he’d done the Bennets as a whole.

He’d injured Jane with his interference regarding Bingley, but now he would restore Lydia to her family, and if circumstances with Wickham had progressed beyond that point, at least deliver her back to them a married woman.

Sipping his coffee and loitering over his two soft-boiled eggs, he pressed the waiter for information about the crew, trying not to arouse suspicion.

He discovered a good deal more about how the ship was run than he really needed to know, but he let the crewman speak.

During his detailed ramblings, Darcy discovered that Lydia would be somewhere in first class where she worked as a stewardess.

During the morning hours he must have walked ten miles through the corridors of first class.

He met several young women carrying elegant lady’s clothing in or empty food trays out.

None of them looked remotely like Jane or Elizabeth, but he asked them their names, nonetheless.

Most of the time, he got a severe look for his trouble.

Sometimes he was greeted with more enthusiasm for his inquiry than he required.

He conjured a scenario in which he was inquiring in one hallway while Lydia was bustling down another.

She also could have been one of the girls who refused to answer him. In any case, the search was fruitless.

At half past eleven, the ship docked off the coast of Ireland.

Darcy emerged on the first-class promenade deck and stared out of the enclosed space towards the shore.

Small boats were chugging their way to the Titanic , no doubt to deliver the last passengers they would take on before they set out for the open ocean tomorrow.

There was only one thing left for him to do.

Before they were too far out to sea to receive cables from home, he spent the rest of the afternoon sending inquiries and orders to his solicitor.

Arrangements must be made to settle a sizable sum on Wickham to induce him to marry Lydia, and he needed the evidence that such arrangements had been made to show the scoundrel in case he doubted Darcy’s word.

His time was better spent with such an endeavour.

He had the entire voyage to locate the two of them and see to it that the deed was done.

By the time dinner was served, all was in readiness. Tomorrow, after a good meal, a walk about in the open air, and a good night’s sleep, Darcy would set things to rights for Lydia.

***

“Oh… oh, it’s you. Hello, Elizabeth.” Wickham stood on deck, hatless, his waiter’s uniform gone and a celluloid collar, tie, woollen suit, and overcoat replacing it.

“Hello, George. Expecting someone else?” She’d spied him just as she exited the double doors of the second-class dining room and breathed in the fresh air on deck.

A fleeting look of dread passed over him, but brashness soon replaced it. “Perhaps I am… Walk with me.”

Elizabeth had to admire his coolness. Rather than fumbling for words explaining himself, defending himself, or any normal reaction from a man knocked on his back foot, George brazened it out.

He sauntered along, and Elizabeth walked beside him.

“So, taking an ocean voyage, are we?”

“I’m looking for my sister,” Lizzy said coolly. “She’s run off, and I believe she is aboard this ship… with you.” She awaited his reply, anticipating lies either way if Lydia had found a way to let George know her sister was onboard.

He opened his mouth to no doubt start on the lies, hinting Lydia hadn’t managed to get a message to him, but he must have thought better of it.

A moment later, he regained his footing.

“You know very well that she is aboard, don’t you?

You’ve already spoken to her.” His eyes narrowed for a moment, and then his face took on that affable expression that he usually wore.

“She is in love with me. Can I help it?”

She wanted to slap that smile from his face. “You can help what you do about it.” He leaned back into the railing and looked out into the black and starry night. She stepped beside him but he continued to gaze at the sea. “Do you intend to marry her when we reach New York?”

He faced her now. His smile was gone, and he sighed. “Why don’t we see what happens when we reach New York.”

Elizabeth had no means to cajole or insist that he do the right thing by Lydia.

He could do as he pleased, and she could do nothing to change the situation.

Her father was an ocean away, Lydia was enamoured of him, and George knew it would be her sister’s reputation that would be sullied by their liaison, not his.

Men could do as they pleased, and women bore the consequences.

She bit her lower lip and glared at him. He dismissed her disapproval.

“This has been a very pleasant chat, Elizabeth. We must do it more often. As for now, I have an appointment and I am already late.” He inclined his head in her direction and sprang to the stairwell where he leapt like a gazelle up the spiral towards the boat deck.

Elizabeth watched him go, defeated for the second time in one day.

She was stymied at every turn, and this voyage was slowly sinking into catastrophe.

***

Darcy climbed the grand staircase, towards the boat deck, like a water creature swimming against the tide.

Most of the other passengers passed him heading in the opposite direction.

Having taken their evening constitutional, they retreated from the chilly night air into the first-class surroundings no doubt seeking some evening entertainment.

Grateful to be alone on deck with his thoughts; the rhythmic churning of the engines was just loud enough to allow him to empty his mind of his cares.

The sea air grew colder by the minute and he blew into his hands against it.

They were well into the North Atlantic, and he shrugged inside the warmth of his woollen overcoat, the velvet collar brushing his cheek.

He secured his homburg against the wind and began a brisk stroll around the deck.

Secured all around the edge of the deck, lifeboats hung on gigantic cradles. On his second circuit around the empty space, he stopped to listen. He was sure he heard voices but, swivelling his head this way and that, could see no one near him. Perhaps it was just the wind and his imagination.

After completing the third circuit, tiredness crept in and he began making his way towards the entrance of the grand staircase.

Upon passing one of the lifeboats, he heard the voices again, more distinctly this time, and giggling.

Yes, that’s what it was… giggling. Quietly approaching each lifeboat, he listened attentively.

Whispers came from boat number 6, and occasionally it moved against the breeze.

Definitely something untoward was happening under that canvas cover, and he decided to ignore his discovery when a familiar voice came through.

“Alone at last, my little dove.”

Wickham. He’d know that voice anywhere.

“I don’t know…” The other voice was definitely female.

Lydia? Darcy couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t spoken to her much.

Whoever it was, Wickham had her in a compromising position, and Darcy would put a stop to the proceedings at once.

Mr Wickham would soon to be a married man if he had anything to say about it.

Summoning determination, he stepped up on one of the cradles to where the canvas was no longer secured. With one quick and powerful movement, he tossed back the canvas to expose Wickham and his paramour.

A high-pitched scream erupted from the lower recesses of the boat, and the sound of jostling in the darkness.

Wickham bolted upright, clutching his open trousers, vainly trying to do them up while scrambling upwards.

He needn’t have made the effort. Darcy seized him by the lapels and dragged him over the seats towards him.

The two of them fell to the deck. Wickham shuffled to his feet, trying to arrange his clothing, as a young girl peeked over the gunnel.

“Go back to your quarters, Lydia. Right now,” Darcy barked, instantly seeing Elizabeth in her young features.

Lydia’s eyes grew wide as she clutched her coat.

While Wickham tried to recover himself and his dishevelled clothing, Darcy lifted Lydia over the edge of the lifeboat and set her on her feet.

As soon as she touched the deck, she was off like a frightened hare.

Wickham started buttoning his coat and then made the mistake of opening his mouth.

“I say, old man, that was rather rude.”

The scene in which Darcy discovered Wickham with Georgiana played instantly in his mind, and Darcy lunged at him in a fury.

They landed on the deck, and he dragged Wickham to his feet by his lapels.

With a snarl, Wickham twisted from Darcy’s grasp and ran towards the stern.

Waves crashed in Darcy’s ears as he pursued Wickham, sometimes within an inch or two of catching hold of him again.

Within seconds, they were at the stern, and Darcy threw himself at Wickham, nearly tipping them both over the side.

Trying to prevent himself from flying backwards off the ship, Wickham clutched the railing as Darcy grabbed him around the throat and lifted him off his feet.

The water roiled below, and the propellers of the behemoth churned through the icy black depths.

Wickham held on to the railing, gurgling and trying to twist free.

Pitch this blackguard into the sea, and no one would be the wiser. In the moonlight, terror shone in Wickham’s eyes. Darcy held him there a moment longer, breathing hard. Then he yanked Wickham forward and set him on the deck.

Wickham rubbed at his throat as he began to cough. When he could regain his speech, he looked at Darcy and balled his fists. “You nearly killed me.”

“Nearly.” Darcy was calm now, his fury spent.

“I should report you to the captain.” Wickham sneered.

Darcy shrugged. “I wish you would. I could then explain to your superiors how it is I came upon you and your dreadful treatment of Lydia Bennet.”

Wickham scoffed. “Lydia Bennet. I have had a dozen ‘Lydia Bennets’. What is she to me?”

The fury that had subsided in Darcy began to rise in his throat, but he choked it down. It wouldn’t serve Elizabeth and the Bennet family at all were he to throw this scoundrel to the sharks or beat him within an inch of his life, however satisfying that might be.

“She’ll be your wife.”

Wickham looked like he’d laugh, but then drew back his head and that scornful smile that Darcy hated so much returned.

“That is going to be an expensive proposition.”

Darcy nodded. “Come to my cabin, room two sixteen, at three o’clock, fifteen hundred hours in your jargon. I have a proposition for you that you will appreciate.”

Wickham nodded slightly, then turned on his heel to go, but stopped and faced Darcy. “Why are you doing this? What does this little girl mean to you?”

Darcy stared at him for a minute. “Three o’clock tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

Wickham rubbed his neck again, hesitated, and then walked away.

Darcy returned to his stateroom and strode immediately to the small cabinet to pour himself a brandy.

As liquid spilled over the sides, he swore softly and tried to will his hands to stop shaking.

They wouldn’t obey him, and he abandoned the effort and sat on the edge of the bed.

Still in his coat, he cradled his head in his hands and realised he’d lost his hat… probably on deck.

On deck.

Where he nearly killed Wickham.

He had wanted to kill Wickham.

A knock came at the door. “Do you require my services, sir?” The valet who had been assigned to him when they embarked cleared his throat.

“No, thank you, Montgomery.” He raised his voice to be heard through the door. He hadn’t even the energy to rise from the bed and open it.

“Very good, sir.”

“My God, my God.” He repeated the phrase over and over to himself.

He’d nearly killed a man tonight. It was as if there was someone else in charge of his body.

Someone made of years and years of pent-up rage and wrath.

Darcy dealt with the incident of Wickham and his sister with the manners of a gentleman.

Wickham’s disparaging remarks about his character he met with forbearance.

Wickham’s squandering of the legacy Darcy’s own father bestowed on him he bore with quiet dignity.

Tonight, though, over a girl he hardly knew, a beast arose inside of him created from unexpressed anger, of swallowed rage.

And yet… and yet, something stopped him from strangling Wickham with his bare hands.

Was it his honour as a gentleman? No. Honour hadn’t crossed his mind in that moment.

Was it fear of punishment? He hadn’t thought of that either.

Perhaps it was the visceral fear in Wickham’s eyes…

his helplessness. Even as the overwhelming anger and indignation possessed him, that look…

that fear… it evoked just enough sympathy in Darcy that enabled him to gain control of himself.

Now he was exhausted. Tomorrow, he would deal with Wickham again. Then there would be legal arrangements, papers to be signed, and witnesses. Tomorrow, there would be a wedding.