Page 19 of Penned by Mr Darcy (…By Mr Darcy #3)

When I arrived in Ramsgate, ostensively to enjoy a pleasure trip with my sister but really to ensure that she was not being mistreated by her companion, I found her at the lodgings I had arranged for them.

What I had not expected was to find Wickham sitting on the settee alongside Georgiana, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as he whispered into her ear.

I have never seen a sight so repulsive; my stomach turns just to think of it.

Georgiana leapt from her seat as soon as she saw me, rushing forward to tell me her happy news.

It seems my arrival was just in time, for ‘George’, as she so casually called him, had asked her to marry him and they were to elope the very next day.

Wickham, the coward, tried to move unseen from the room as she spoke, for he knew that everything about this situation was wrong.

I am sure he had not anticipated Georgiana’s honesty, for she has never been capable of telling a lie in all of her fifteen years.

I am grateful for her honesty.

I cannot recall with any great clarity what happened next, for my blood roared in my ears and I felt rage that I did not think possible.

I know that he protested, of course, as I pressed him to the wall, saying that Georgiana was confused.

For one who lies so often, he is exceptionally poor at it.

I could tell by the twitch in his eyebrow that he was lying, and it was at that moment that Mrs Younge intervened.

The deceitful woman had the audacity to defend him.

She claimed that Georgiana was in perfect command of her faculties and that her affections were freely given.

As though a girl of fifteen, barely out of the schoolroom, could possibly comprehend the implications of such a decision.

I turned on her with such vehemence that she paled and withdrew from the room at once, muttering about a headache. Cowardice cloaked as delicacy.

Georgiana burst into tears at once, the whole story pouring from her at once.

I had never seen her so distraught - not from punishment, nor illness, nor grief.

But it was not the tears of a wounded innocent.

It was shame. Even then, she understood what Wickham truly was.

I saw it in the way she would not meet my eyes, in how she clutched at my hand, begging me not to hate her.

I could never hate her. I would see the world burn, if only it meant that she would be safe.

As for Wickham, he tried his very best to place the blame for his despicable actions on my shoulders.

Pleading innocence. Accusing me of jealousy.

Suggesting that I had long desired him to fail.

He presented himself a victim. A victim!

Of my father's generosity, of my own! He has seldom had to work for anything, but he loses every penny he has ever had within his possession.

I confess, here in the privacy of these pages, that I struck him.

I did not anticipate such brutality. My hand moved before my reason.

He stumbled backward, more from surprise than force, I think.

He did not retaliate. No, he simply laughed.

That soft, oily laugh that I shall remember until my dying breath.

“I suppose this means the wedding is off,” he said, as though this were a farce, a jest to be shared later with his fellow scoundrels over cards and stolen wine.

He cares less for Georgiana than he does money, and of course he found his way to blackmailing me for more.

Never mind that he had what was due to him last year – I knew long ago that it would not last him long.

Lost to the gambling halls of London, and the houses of Covent Garden in particular.

How my father would weep to see him squander what he was left – how he has shunned God and all that is moral to live a life of sin.

And now, Georgiana, my most precious sister, is his newest victim.

I demanded he leave Ramsgate by nightfall.

I gave him enough money for passage, though I believe it to be a mistake I shall regret to the end of my days.

I should have left him penniless. No, I should have ensured he was carted back to London under guard, exposed for what he is.

Debtors prison would be too good for him – transportation, banishing him from England and from our lives forever would have been the ideal outcome.

I could not risk Georgiana’s reputation, even in whispers, with such a public punishment.

Wickham would find a way to ensure the story became public.

Society would devour her over a rumour – if anyone suspected the truth, I could not bear to think of her pain.

She is safe now. I will take her at once to Pemberley, where she will remain until she is herself again. She cannot speak of him – she can barely speak at all. I do not ask her to.

I will never forget the crime Wickham has committed against my sister. He has ruined her innocence – perhaps not in the physical sense (and I thank God for that, though I would love her no less), but he has broken her heart and destroyed her faith that there is good in all people.

I have written to Colonel Fitzwilliam to make inquiries into Wickham’s debts and movements. I shall ensure that wherever he turns next, doors remain closed to him.

Elizabeth snapped the diary shut, her breath catching in her throat.

What she had read defied comprehension. It was no mere scandal - it was a disgrace of the highest order.

To think that Mr Wickham had sought to steal away a young girl from her own family…

The thought of Miss Darcy’s suffering made Elizabeth’s chest tighten, and the image of Mr Darcy enduring such anguish stirred something raw and unexpected within her.

She had been so very wrong.

And yet, despite the guilt that now gnawed at her, she couldn’t stop herself. She needed to read more. She needed to understand the man who had so utterly unsettled her - and who now, in this moment, inspired something dangerously close to sympathy.