Page 19 of The Rogue’s Widow (Sweet Escapes Collection #3)

D arcy wasted not a minute of that afternoon. Immediately upon seeing Elizabeth comforted and returned to the solace of her room, Darcy called Bingley and Fitzwilliam into his study.

“We have been approaching this badly,” he announced. “I am going to the inn for a drink.”

Bingley looked blankly at Fitzwilliam, then back to Darcy. “What, are you giving up so soon? You would not try to help Jane’s sister? By heaven, I will go search for her myself!”

Fitzwilliam crossed his arms and pointed with his chin. “That is precisely what he means for us to do, Bingley. Where shall we go?”

“Anywhere you like. One of the few places that I do not believe we have inspected is Jameson’s poultry shed.”

“And I presume that you will order an ale at the inn? Not quite your usual drink.”

Darcy nodded. “No, but I expect I will be ordering more than one.”

T hree ales later, Darcy set his empty glass back on the table with a bit more force than he had intended. His stomach was uneasy, and not only because of the assault he had just inflicted upon its lining. Mr Jameson himself came to the table when he saw the empty glass and offered another.

Darcy winced and shook his head. “Not at present, thank you,” he declined.

“Of course, Mr Darcy.” Jameson turned away, but hesitated. “If I may, Mr Darcy, it is a pleasure to have you as a guest. Are you sure I may not offer you a private room?”

“That will not be necessary. This entire half of the establishment is vacant at present.”

The innkeeper’s thick brow showed disappointment. “As you wish, sir. May I ask the name of the man you are waiting for, so I may direct him to you?”

“You know him already. George Wickham.”

Jameson’s countenance grew sallow and cold. “He’s gone from these parts, and good riddance to the beggar. With all due respect, sir,” he amended quickly.

“Nevertheless, I expect he will arrive shortly. I have changed my mind, Jameson—two more ales, if you please.”

Jameson bowed his deference and shuffled away. Darcy watched him go, searching for any symptoms of a burdened conscience. The innkeeper whispered to a dustboy, but neither disappeared shortly afterward and none of the other customers suddenly got up to leave the room. The ales arrived in due course, and Darcy let them sit untouched for another quarter of an hour.

So idle and dull was the entire atmosphere that it was a struggle to keep his eyes open after the drinks. His gaze drifted to the clock and fixed there without truly seeing anything until the chair opposite him thumped and a body dropped into it.

“There is a remarkably fine hunter standing in the stable out back,” Wickham remarked casually. He lifted the ale on his side of the table and took a long draught. “I thought you would have brought your carriage.”

“As well as a lady to plead with you?” Darcy countered. “What I had to say to you could be said without inflicting your lies on another’s ears.”

Wickham made a sour face as he set the glass down. “You do delight in being a difficult bastard.”

“On the contrary, my parentage is not suspect.”

Wickham snorted. “As you bring the matter up, let us have it. You know I have proof of Bernard’s birth. That is why you came so quickly back from London, is it not? The earl heard of my case, I presume.”

Darcy lifted his shoulders. “What of it?”

“What will you give me to keep it quiet?”

“Nothing whatsoever.”

Wickham stared, then laughed. “I see how it is! You expect me to tip my hand, but I will not do it. I have Lydia Bennet, and the wench thinks I mean to marry her. By challenging Bernard’s legitimacy or by marriage to the sister, I will have what ought to have been mine. So, all that remains is for you to tell me which it shall be.”

Darcy slowly sipped his drink and pretended to consider. “What I do not understand, Wickham, is why you would settle for Corbett when you could have had Pemberley.”

Wickham blinked. “Come again?”

“Why, if you have legally valid proof of Bernard’s true parentage, as you claim, then you would know by now that his widow could not, in fact, inherit Corbett. His claims were far higher, had he only known—the poor devil. And if, indeed, Bernard’s widow is not your legal sister-in-law, why… but I am sure you had already thought of this.”

Wickham’s eyes were wide, and he coughed slightly but made an effort at recovering himself.

“It is a pity you fell for the wrong Bennet sister,” Darcy informed him casually. “The youngest sister has no claims at all, but Elizabeth could be worth ten thousand a year, if your evidence is found to be compelling in court. There is no entail, as you are aware.”

“Now, wait a minute, Darcy.” Wickham wiped his mouth and held up a hand. “I never touched Lydia Bennet. I could have—the chit is as loose and silly as they come—but there was no time.”

Darcy frowned and shook his head. “Too late for such a claim, I am afraid. If your demands succeed in court, Miss Lydia’s sister will be a very powerful woman indeed, and you do know what they say about a woman’s wrath.”

“But I did nothing to her! She came searching for me! I only put her up somewhere safe—”

“Oh.” Darcy shrugged again. “Then, I suppose there is no harm done. I will bid you a good day, then.” He stood, tossed a few coins on the table, and started for the door.

“Wait a minute, Darcy!” came a half-petulant cry behind him. “I have not yet done. I have complaints—proofs!”

Darcy turned round and stared at the man who had been a bane to his adult years. “You have nothing. And, as you were so eager to believe the commonly held myth that my father sired Bernard—which is false, and even if it were true, he was still illegitimate—I know now that any ‘proof’ you claim to have is nothing more than a fabrication meant to divert me.”

Wickham sputtered, then hastened to catch up with Darcy, kicking a few chairs from his path. “But I do have Miss Lydia! What have you to say to that, Darcy?”

Darcy opened the door leading out into the street, nodded to the man who stood just outside, and called for his horse. Wickham followed, pushing aside the door that nearly closed in his face, until he stumbled into the very man waiting on the step.

“George Wickham,” Colonel Fitzwilliam growled. “I bring you greetings from my wife.”

T he round valley rang with the scraping of steel upon steel. Darcy stood beside the horses, who placidly flicked their tails as they gazed disinterestedly at the two struggling men at the centre of the valley.

“You have grown old and fat, Fitzwilliam!” Wickham taunted—yet it was he who appeared to be battling the most for breath. Sweat beaded his forehead in the cool air, but he was too distracted to wipe it away.

“Try me and see if your blade will sink,” Richard shot back. “You will find me a more difficult mark than the one whose honour I am here to avenge.”

Wickham turned his head and spat as he bent forward, leaning his palms over his thighs in a momentary respite. “You do not even like the woman! Why all this fuss and bother over a spoilt heiress who—”

Wickham never finished his insult, for an enraged Richard Fitzwilliam barrelled down upon him and knocked him asunder with the brass hand guard of his sword hilt. Wickham lay back, dazed and bleeding from a missing tooth and a split lip, while Richard calmly cleaned his sword. Darcy remained where he was, leaning one arm against the mane of the nearest horse and examining his pocket watch.

“Do you submit?” Fitzwilliam demanded.

Wickham felt his jaw and visibly winced as he sat up. “Submit to what?”

Richard’s blade caught the sun as he carefully turned it over—a bit of intentional theatrics, Darcy thought, but effective, nonetheless. Wickham closed his mouth.

“These are my terms, Wickham. Either you sign up at once with the next regiment to be deployed on the Continent, or I test the sharpness of my steel against the skill of your tailor. How well do you like the weave of your coat?”

Wickham swiped the blood from his chin and glared—first at Fitzwilliam, then at Darcy. “Are you in accord with this, Darcy? You would truly send a man to his death on the battlefield?”

Darcy replaced his pocket watch. “No. I would send you to prison, as soon as I had gathered your debts.”

Wickham stared, as if expecting Darcy to recant his resolve, then tossed his sword on the ground at Fitzwilliam’s feet. The oaths he uttered as he marched from the field of honour were scarcely fit even to be heard, much less repeated, so Darcy turned a deaf ear and merely prepared to mount his horse.

“I thought you meant to run him through.” Darcy passed his cousin the reins to his chestnut as Richard walked back from the field.

Richard mounted with a grim expression. “No sport in slicing rodents. My dignity would suffer too greatly. Besides, I believe my second would object to cleaning up the body.”

“I would have, yes. Better to let Napoleon teach our old friend a thing or two about valour.”

Fitzwilliam settled into his saddle with a heavy groan. “If he even enlists, rather than leaving the country. What do you think, will he run to America instead?”

Darcy shook his head and turned his mount. “If he does, I hope he takes his mother. So long as he never troubles my family or yours again, I no longer care. What will Anne say?”

“Oh! She would not speak to me for a month if I told her. Remember, ‘nothing ever happened,’ so I will avenge the insult without her knowledge, thank you. Mayhap now, I will be able to look at her without hating myself for failing to do as I wished I had done before.” He glanced thoughtfully up at the sky. “I could… you know, I just might.”

“Might what?”

“Make a decent enough husband. I am not fooling myself into thinking we will develop any romantic feelings—such a thing is rarely to be found, though…” he gave Darcy a peculiar grin. “I have seen it once. Nevertheless, I expect we will rub along well enough. Who knows, I might even have a son one day. But I do think it time I took certain measures to ensure better harmony, and I shall begin by removing my wife and sister to Matlock on the morrow.”

“To Matlock? I hope you know that you are still, and always shall be, most welcome at Pemberley.”

“And I am most grateful, but it is time we began behaving as man and wife, not bickering cousins. Moreover, I expect your life might be simpler without Sophia about, am I right? My father and mother ought to have come away from London by now, anyway. And what do you mean to do?”

“To catch up to Bingley and Miss Lydia, of course. You said they departed for Corbett at once after the two of you found her? And he did send for the apothecary to keep up the illusion of her illness, did he not?”

“That is not what I was asking, Darcy. Wickham is dispatched, and if I have anything to do with it, Mrs Younge will be imprisoned on charges of ‘lewd conduct’ for her part in kidnapping Miss Lydia. Your fair lady and her family are safe.”

Darcy refused to look at his cousin. “She is not ‘my fair lady,’ and never can be.”

“What, because of your misguided sense of righteousness? To the world, she is Elizabeth Wickham, a handsome young widow in possession of a neighbouring estate whose mourning is soon to come to an end.”

“And to me, she is the widow of my mother’s son, and the property she holds ought never to belong to the Darcy name on the grounds of decency and honour.”

Richard snorted. “I suppose you would have to work out your qualms about the property, but the bit about her being your brother’s widow is a ridiculous law. Bernard is dead, for pity’s sake, and that makes her no more your sister than I am. Moreover, she was never truly his wife, was she?”

Darcy’s hands were rigid on the reins as he gritted his teeth and stared at the road. “Not in the way you mean, but in the eyes of the law she was.”

“And in the eyes of the law, Bernard was not your brother. Come, Darcy, you cannot hide behind legal proceedings in one instance and not the other. I know bloody well that you fancy the woman. You can scarce tear your eyes from her, and she was nearly green with envy when I dropped a hint that you might marry—I let her believe you meant to wed my sister.”

Darcy turned slowly. “She was?” He furrowed his brow and shook his head. “No, she could not have been. She informed me often… She was? Truly?”

“Green as grass, and almost ill to her stomach if I am any judge. You cannot truly confess now that you would stand on a flimsy excuse when the woman you admire returns your feelings, would you?”

Darcy’s brow was sweating despite the chill air, and all his muscles were quivering. “That would be insupportable,” he breathed.

“O h, my sweetest child! My dearest Lydia, how silly of you to fall ill when you were out walking,” Mrs Bennet scolded her youngest. “Why, you look well enough to me, but you always did mend the fastest of anyone. How clever of Mr Darcy to let you recover in a neighbour’s home, so you needn’t have endured a cold ride when you were ill. Millie, some hot bricks for Miss Lydia’s bed, and an extra cup of tea for Mr Darcy!”

Darcy shook his head as he backed from the room. “That will not be necessary, Mrs Bennet. I only came to see that Miss Lydia was recovering from her ordeal.”

The girl herself raised a sullen pout to Darcy. She still smelt of a poultry house, but not a hair had been ruffled on her head, save for what she had done herself when Bingley had tried to pull her from Jameson’s shed where she and Mrs Younge had been hiding. Her mouth opened to make some ill-tempered retort, but Darcy saw Elizabeth’s chin lift and her eyes flash in warning to the younger girl. Miss Lydia frowned and mumbled a half-hearted gratitude.

“Think nothing of it,” he replied. “Oh, Mrs Wickham, did I mention to you that I had the name of an excellent young lady’s academy in Devonshire? The headmistress’s letter assured me that she enforces the strictest order. I understand that the young ladies there spend four hours each day memorising Fordyce, four at their needlework or the pianoforte and the remaining four exercising humility by boiling the linens and scrubbing the floors.”

Elizabeth slitted her eyes at him, as if trying to determine whether he was in earnest.

“Of course,” he continued, “young ladies of good character and honourable station may be more comfortable remaining with their families under the instruction of a private tutor. I say, Mrs Wickham, my sister has been planning a trip to Town soon to be fitted for a winter wardrobe. She most particularly wished for one or two of your sisters to accompany her—if you have determined they have need of ball gowns, that is.”

A curl appeared at the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth. “We will consider these things, Mr Darcy. Lydia, dear, you look dreadfully pale! You ought to be in bed recovering, as the apothecary has said.”

The girl was still staring gap-mouthed at Darcy but collected herself without a word and with little reluctance when her mother draped a heavy cloak round her shoulders and bundled her off up the stairs.

Elizabeth sighed as her mother and sister left. “I appreciate your threats and bribery, sir. Time will tell if Lydia heeds the warning not to speak another word of Mr Wickham. I have cautioned her, and so has Jane, but she seems not to understand the gravity of her error or the character of the man in whom she trusted.”

“I have no doubts that you will prove the more obstinate and determined of the two of you.” For the first time, Darcy let his gaze rest on her with unconcealed tenderness. “I will, of course, aid you in any way possible.”

“First—” She turned up to him with an earnest look and stopped just short of touching his forearm. “I wish to know the truth of what happened—how you discovered her, and where Mr Wickham is.”

He held out his hand towards the door. “If you will permit me to escort you on a short walk?”

She nodded and caught her shawl from a hook. He held the door for her, and then extended his elbow for her to take. She looked up at him doubtfully, but with a small smile she wove her arm through his.

“It is Richard and Bingley you have to thank for discovering her whereabouts. It seems that Mrs Younge had only appeared to leave the area, for she was securing the door of the poultry house when they arrived. After finding your sister safe, Richard met me as I was departing the inn with Wickham. A challenge was issued, fought, and Wickham has pledged on his rather dubious honour to join the Regulars.”

She shivered, and he paused to adjust the wrap over her shoulders. “Do you think he will do it?”

“I think he would rather take his chances with Bonaparte’s cannons than Richard’s blade. Yes, I believe he will. I also believe we will not see ‘Mrs Godfrey’ again, as she can no longer expect anything from her son. I spoke with her brother Jameson at the inn after your sister was found in his poultry shed, and he was outraged that she had deceived and used him so badly. He has washed his hands of her and sent her away to some distant aunt.”

“Then that is the end of it.” She was gazing distantly over the fields, then turned her eyes back up to him. “And there is no longer any question of the disposition of Corbett Lodge?”

“None. It is yours for as long as you choose to live in it.”

“Then I intend to give it to my mother. I cannot—I do not wish to call it my own. I hope that does not make me ungrateful.”

He watched her profile in the fading light, but she held fixedly, not looking at him. “The decision is yours, but it is a wise one. I will assist with any legal matters you require.”

She nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

They said nothing more. There was so much Darcy longed to ask of her, to understand, but for the moment, it was enough simply to walk beside her in the gathering dark of evening. Each step, each breath carried meaning and perception, and the weight of her small hand on his arm was more to him than a hundred words.

By the time he brought her back to her door, it was too dark in the entry to determine if she was blushing, but the soft twist to her mouth and the teasing shift of her eyes assured him that she was. “Does Miss Darcy wish for my return on the morrow?” she asked.

He pretended to frown. “No. As a matter of fact, Mrs Wickham, your services shall no longer be required, and I must inform you that I have decided to terminate your employment.”

Her eyebrows twitched. Once, she would have paled and stepped away, thinking only of how she had failed her family. Or, perhaps she might have argued with him, debating him into surrender on the grounds of justice and the virtue of keeping his word. Now, however, she only smiled.

“Excellent. I was going to give my notice anyway.”

“Were you, now?”

She nodded once, allowing her gaze to rove over his face. “But if you wish to call as a neighbour, we are always happy to receive you, Mr Darcy.”

He tipped his hat and bowed gallantly. “It is not impossible that you may see me tomorrow. Good evening, madam.”