Page 73 of Mr. Darcy’s Forgotten Heir (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

JUSTICE SERVED

A se’ennight had passed since Elizabeth’s reconciliation with Darcy, seven blissful days of rediscovering what it meant to be a family.

The November frost had given way to the first tentative snowflakes of December, and Bellfield Grange hummed with the quiet contentment of a household finally at peace.

December third, her second wedding anniversary would be soon upon them, and Elizabeth looked forward to a quiet but private dinner with her husband.

Not that quiet was possible on a busy sheep farm preparing for winter.

“Mama! Mama!” William toddled in the morning room, pointing excitedly at the window where fat snowflakes drifted past the glass.

“Yes, darling, snow,” she agreed, marveling at how such simple moments could feel so precious. Across the room, Mary sat at the writing desk updating the household accounts while Graham sat nearby, ostensibly reviewing estate papers but spending far more time glancing at Mary than at his ledgers.

“The wool yields exceeded our projections by nearly twenty percent,” Graham was saying, though his attention remained fixed on Mary’s profile. “Your organizational methods have proved remarkably effective.”

“Mathematics has always been a source of satisfaction to me,” Mary replied, a becoming flush coloring her cheeks. “Unlike my sisters, I find comfort in numbers that remain constant.”

Elizabeth hid a smile behind her teacup. The growing attachment between her sister and Graham had been impossible to miss, though both parties maintained the sort of careful propriety that suggested deeper feelings carefully contained.

Darcy entered the room carrying a letter bearing official seals, his expression grave but satisfied.

“The authentication is complete,” he announced.

“Reverend Michaels’s superior has confirmed the validity of the registry pages.

William’s legitimacy is established beyond question, and our marriage is officially recognized by the Church. ”

“Thank God,” Elizabeth breathed, feeling the last knot of anxiety loosen in her chest. “Though I confess I had grown rather fond of our irregular status. There was something romantic about being secret rebels against propriety.”

“We can still shock society if you wish,” Darcy replied with that dry humor she adored. “I’m certain my aunt Catherine would be delighted to provide opportunities for scandal.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Vernon’s appearance, his expression troubled. “Mrs. Darcy, there is a gentleman requesting an immediate audience. The same gentleman who called a week ago.”

Elizabeth felt her stomach tighten, though the fear was tempered by steely determination. “Mr. Wickham has returned.”

“Indeed, madam. He appears quite insistent about seeing you.”

Darcy’s expression darkened. “Where is he?”

“The entrance hall, sir. I thought it inadvisable to admit him further.”

“Quite right.” Darcy set down the authentication papers. “Show him to the library. Elizabeth, perhaps you should?— ”

“I will see him,” Elizabeth interrupted firmly. “I want to watch his face when he realizes his scheme has completely unraveled.”

Graham stepped forward, his hand moving to the riding crop he’d left on the side table. “Shall I summon the stable lads, sir?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Darcy replied, though his voice carried the sort of cold authority that made Elizabeth’s pulse quicken. “But do remain close. And Mary, take William to the nursery.”

“Up! Up!” William demanded, reaching for his father with complete confidence. Elizabeth’s heart contracted as Darcy lifted their son, the easy affection between them still capable of reducing her to sentiment.

“Go with Aunt Mary, little man,” Darcy murmured, pressing a kiss to William’s dark curls. “We’ll read stories later.”

“Da-da story,” William agreed solemnly, allowing Mary to carry him away.

The short walk to the library felt like crossing a threshold—not just of space, but of time. For nearly two years, Wickham’s actions had shaped Elizabeth’s life, forcing her into exile and separating her from the man she loved. Now, finally, they would face him together.

Wickham stood before the fireplace, his posture suggesting the casual confidence of an honored guest rather than an unwelcome intruder. At their entrance, he turned with a practiced smile that faltered at the sight of Darcy.

“Mrs. Darcy! How delightful to see you again,” he exclaimed, recovering quickly. “And Mr. Darcy—what an unexpected pleasure. I had heard you were indisposed.”

“I am perfectly well,” Darcy replied with arctic politeness. “Though I cannot say the same for your prospects, Mr. Wickham.”

“I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning, old friend.”

“Old friend,” Darcy repeated thoughtfully. “How fascinating that you should use that particular phrase, given that old friends rarely leave each other bleeding by the roadside after stealing their worldly possessions. ”

The color drained from Wickham’s face with gratifying speed. Elizabeth found herself admiring her husband’s restraint—his voice remained level, almost conversational, despite the fury she could sense radiating from his rigid posture.

“I have not a clue what you are referring to.” Wickham’s demeanor had gone cold. “I merely wished to conclude our business arrangement. The documents I provided were of considerable value, as I’m sure you’ve realized. Lady Eleanor mentioned the remainder of my fee would be forthcoming.”

“Has she indeed?” Darcy stepped forward. “And what fee might that be, Wickham?”

“The agreed-upon sum for recovering the marriage documents,” Wickham replied, though his confidence was beginning to fray. “Surely Mrs. Darcy explained our arrangement?”

“She explained a great deal,” Darcy confirmed. “Including your fascinating account of discovering the documents in Mr. Collins’s possession. A most creative tale.”

“I hardly see?—”

“The difficulty,” Darcy continued conversationally, “is that I possess the receipt you signed, documenting your ‘recovery’ of documents that were, in fact, stolen from the parish registry at Barnet. The same documents you stole the morning after you left me bleeding by the roadside.”

The color drained from Wickham’s face with gratifying speed. “You remember.”

“Everything,” Darcy confirmed. “Including the special license receipt you took from my pocket—the document that would have proved my marriage even without the registry pages you later cut from the parish book.”

“My dear Mrs. Darcy,” Wickham began, his charm now edged with desperation, “surely we can discuss this like civilized people. I have rendered you a service by recovering those documents from Collins’s possession. Without my intervention, you would never have had proof of your marriage. ”

“Without your intervention,” Elizabeth said sweetly, “the documents would never have been stolen in the first place. Your logic, Mr. Wickham, has always been somewhat… creative.”

Darcy reached into his coat and withdrew a thick leather portfolio.

“Speaking of logic, Wickham, I believe we have financial matters to resolve.” He opened the portfolio.

“Let me see… debts to Waters the tailor, forty-three pounds. Johnson the bootmaker, twenty-seven pounds. Thompson’s haberdashery, fifteen pounds and six shillings.

The Star and Garter Inn, sixty-two pounds for accommodations and services. Shall I continue?”

Wickham’s face had gone ashen. “Those debts were incurred in good faith?—”

“They were incurred with no intention of payment,” Darcy corrected coldly. “Fortunately, I have purchased them all. Every last farthing. Which means, dear Wickham, that you now owe me rather a substantial sum.”

“I don’t have?—”

“No, I don’t imagine you do. Which is why I have taken the liberty of consulting with the local magistrate regarding debtor’s prison. King’s Bench, I believe, is considered the most suitable accommodation for gentlemen in your circumstances.”

Elizabeth watched Wickham’s collapse with a mixture of fascination and satisfaction. The man who had terrorized her with his smooth lies and veiled threats was crumbling like poorly constructed pastry.

“There must be some arrangement we can make,” Wickham said. “Some accommodation between gentlemen?—”

“Gentlemen,” Darcy repeated with devastating precision, “do not attack other gentlemen on lonely roads. They do not steal marriage documents that secure an infant’s inheritance.

They do not spread malicious lies about innocent women.

I fear, Wickham, that you forfeited any claim to that title long ago. ”

The sound of carriage wheels on gravel drew Elizabeth’s attention to the window. A plain black coach had drawn up before the entrance, and two uniformed men were climbing down from it with the purposeful movements of authority. They were followed by an official-looking man carrying a warrant.

“Ah,” Darcy said with satisfaction. “Right on time.”

Graham appeared in the doorway. “The magistrate has arrived with the officers, as requested.”

Wickham’s eyes widened with sudden panic. He lunged toward the side door, only to find it blocked by Graham’s solid frame.

“This is preposterous,” he shouted. “I have done nothing but render a service to this family!”

“You have stolen documents, spread malicious lies, and attempted extortion,” Elizabeth said calmly. “Your ‘service’ has been remarkably comprehensive.”

“Mr. George Wickham,” announced the magistrate as he entered with the stern-faced officers, “you are charged with theft, fraud, and conspiracy in highway robbery. There is also the matter of a stolen horse and curricle near Barnet in December of 1811.”

The men efficiently secured Wickham’s wrists with heavy manacles.

“You cannot prove any of these lies,” Wickham snarled, still looking for an escape. “It was Mr. Collins who committed these offenses. I suggest you look at the curate of Barnet.”

“On the contrary.” Darcy extended a folio to the magistrate. “These documents, along with sworn testimony from multiple witnesses, establish a clear pattern of criminal activity by Mr. Wickham.”

“I thank you, Mr. Darcy, for the thorough investigation,” the magistrate said. Turning to the officers, he ordered, “Take the prisoner to York Castle to await trial at the next Assizes.”

“What will happen to him?” Elizabeth asked.

“He can hang for the horse theft,” the magistrate replied. “But the most likely sentence for robbery and assault is transportation to a penal colony. Australia, hard labor camp.”

The constables led a protesting Wickham away. Elizabeth allowed Darcy to comfort her, folding her into his embrace. The shadow that had haunted their family for two years was finally dispelled.

“Well,” she said to Darcy once the sounds of departure had faded, “that was considerably more satisfying than I had anticipated.”

“Justice usually is,” Darcy replied, slipping his arm around her waist. “Though I confess I would have preferred to call him out.”

“My bloodthirsty husband,” Elizabeth said fondly. “I believe your restraint does you more credit.”

They returned to the morning room to find the family gathered around the fire, the official church documents spread across the table like a vindication of faith.

“So it is finished,” Lady Eleanor declared. “William’s inheritance is secure, your marriage is officially recognized, and Mr. Wickham faces the consequences of his crimes.”

“All that remains,” Georgiana added with a smile, “is to decide how to celebrate our first Christmas as a properly constituted family.”

“Shall we retreat to Pemberley or perhaps join your relations in London?” Lady Eleanor asked.

“I have a letter from Jane inviting us to Netherfield Park,” Mary mentioned. “Although I doubt we’d want to call at Longbourn.”

“Aunt Catherine prefers Rosings Park,” Georgiana said. “Cousin Anne wrote that she is quite reconciled to Brother’s marriage to that country lass. She would like to meet the little heir of Pemberley.”

Elizabeth glanced at everyone’s expectant eyes, but most of all, at her husband. “Fitzwilliam, where would you like to celebrate our first real Christmas together?”

“By your side,” he replied. “Although the fascinating descriptions from your journal suggest…”

“That we remain here at Bellfield for Christmas,” she finished his thought. “William adores the sheep, Mary has her interests, and I find myself reluctant to abandon our first true sanctuary.”

“A Yorkshire Christmas it is, then,” Lady Eleanor declared with satisfaction. “I shall write to the Gardiners immediately. And perhaps the Bingleys might be persuaded to join us?”

“Mr. Bingley is from Yorkshire,” Darcy said. “He shall feel straight at home, although I don’t suppose Aunt Catherine would find traveling difficult at this time of year.”

“She would be delighted with the rustic charm,” Lady Eleanor remarked. “Why, Georgiana could teach Anne the traditional Yorkshire Christmas pudding dance.”

“There is no such thing as a Yorkshire Christmas pudding dance,” Georgiana protested, though she was laughing.

“There is now.” Mary laughed, swinging William around the room as he called, “Eep, eep, eep,” to his beloved sheep.

Elizabeth collapsed into laughter, delighting in the image of Lady Catherine contemplating a rustic Yorkshire Christmas. “You are thoroughly wicked, Lady Eleanor.”

“And you, my dear, have thoroughly charmed my nephew with those wickedly fine and memorable eyes.”