Page 39 of Mr. Darcy’s Honor (Darcy and Elizabeth Forever: Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
She had almost reached him when a shot cracked through the air. Horses reared in panic, travelers ducked for cover, and Elizabeth stumbled as mud sucked at her half-boots.
Wickham advanced, pistol raised. “Stop right there, Miss Bennet.” His handsome features twisted in rage. “This touching reunion is premature.”
Darcy pushed Elizabeth behind him, positioning himself between her and Wickham despite his injury. “Lower your weapon, Wickham.”
“Always the hero, aren’t you, Darcy?” Wickham’s laugh held no humor. “Even with one arm useless. Step aside. The lady and I have an appointment in Scotland.”
“The lady,” Darcy replied coldly, “goes nowhere with you.”
Elizabeth, sheltered by Darcy’s taller frame, felt a peculiar calm settle over her. The worst had happened—she had been taken, her reputation compromised—yet here stood Darcy, protecting her without hesitation.
“I warn you, Darcy,” Wickham continued, advancing through the mud. “I will not be thwarted this time. Lady Catherine has assured me?—”
“Lady Catherine has assured you of nothing that she can deliver,” Darcy interrupted. “Do you truly believe she would risk her own reputation by openly supporting your schemes?”
Uncertainty flickered across Wickham’s face, quickly replaced by determination. “It matters little what she delivers, so long as I am compensated. Now, step aside.”
“No.”
The standoff stretched between them, rain sheeting down, horses whinnying nervously in their traces. Elizabeth felt rather than saw Bingley emerge from the carriage behind them, taking a position at Darcy’s side.
“Two against one, Wickham,” Bingley observed conversationally, as if they were discussing cricket rather than facing a loaded pistol. “And I suspect the ostlers would happily join our side. They’re a protective lot when it comes to young ladies in distress.”
Indeed, several burly men had begun moving cautiously toward the confrontation, drawn by the commotion and the sight of Wickham’s weapon.
“This isn’t over,” Wickham snarled, his eyes darting between the advancing men and his increasingly precarious position.
“On the contrary,” Darcy replied, shifting his walking stick to a more offensive grip, “it is entirely over.”
What happened next occurred so swiftly that Elizabeth could barely follow the sequence. Wickham, perhaps sensing the tide turning against him, lunged forward as if to seize her arm. Darcy’s walking stick whipped through the air, catching Wickham around the neck and yanking him off-balance.
Wickham’s pistol discharged as he fell, the bullet flying harmlessly into the air but causing already nervous horses to rear and bolt in panic. Lady Catherine’s carriage lurched forward as the horses broke free of Jenkins’s control.
The elegant vehicle careened wildly through the mud with Jenkins and Hobbs clinging desperately to the box as it slid toward the rain-swollen ditch beside the road.
The impact when it hit was spectacular—a spray of muddy water, the crack of wood, and the ignominious sight of both men tumbling into the mire.
Wickham scrambled to his feet and bolted toward a gap between the carriages. But a particularly agitated dapple gray horse reared up. Its hooves caught Wickham squarely in the chest, sending him flying backward into a particularly deep puddle.
He lay gasping and mud-covered as two ostlers seized his arms, hauling him unceremoniously to his feet.
“Seems the horse has better sense than the man,” Bingley remarked, his usual good humor resurfacing as the danger passed.
A shout from the direction of the bridge interrupted their exchange. The crossing had been declared safe enough for limited passage, and carriages were allowed forward one by one.
“We should get you out of this rain,” Darcy told Elizabeth.
But Elizabeth wasn’t finished with Wickham. She was still wearing his coat, the one where he’d stowed Lady Catherine’s money.
“One moment,” she said, crossing to where Wickham stood subdued between the ostlers. She extracted the bulging envelope from the coat pocket. “Hey, Georgie, missing something?”
Wickham’s expression darkened. “That is my payment for services rendered.”
“Services?” Darcy’s voice was dangerously rough. “Is that what you call abduction and threats?”
“Her ladyship knew precisely what she was paying for,” Wickham insisted, a hint of desperation in his tone.
Then, perhaps seeing an opportunity to sow discord, he added with vindictive satisfaction, “That money was to be Miss Bennet’s dowry.
Lady Catherine was most specific—a suitable sum to ensure I would take a bride whose reputation was beyond repair. ”
Elizabeth felt color flood her cheeks, partly from anger and partly from mortification at having her value so coldly calculated.
“How thoughtful of her ladyship,” she said, examining the envelope to count the bills. “To provide so generously for my future security.”
“Give me my money,” Wickham said, struggling between the two ostlers.
But Darcy tapped his chest with his cane. “How generous of my aunt to provide you with suitable reparations for cheating in a duel.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth agreed, tucking the envelope securely into the pocket and not giving Wickham his coat back. “Though in this one instance, I cannot fault her generosity.”