Page 67 of These Dreams (Heart to Heart Collection #1)

Chapter sixty-seven

D arcy carried Elizabeth below. She was more than capable of walking, but he would not release her for a second, nor did she seem inclined to be put down. He had almost lost her through that dark window, and he did not think he would soon erase that horror from his mind.

Behind them, Richard followed with Amália—shaken and pale from her ordeal, but determined to move. Darcy wondered if it had yet occurred to either that she was now a widow, and therefore free. Certainly Richard had already taken note of the fact, but what could come of it, he would not venture to guess.

Gardiner’s butler and housekeeper had been roused, and someone had already gone for Darcy’s own doctor. Mrs Gardiner was fully conscious now, and laboured in both medical aid and prayer at her husband’s bedside. Elizabeth went instantly to her aunt.

“It is bad, Lizzy,” she choked through her tears. “He was wounded in both his head and his chest, and has lost a deal of blood!”

Richard nudged Elizabeth aside. “Madam, I am no medic, but I have treated wounds on the field. May I assist until the surgeon arrives?”

She nodded with a wordless sob, and turned to weep into her niece’s arms. Darcy watched as Richard peeled back the makeshift dressing and poked gently about the wound. “It is deep,” he mused, “but not in his lung. I believe the knife slipped instead along his rib, but I cannot be certain.”

He looked up. “You have good reason to hope, Madam. He is bleeding as much from the wound to his head as to his chest. I expect Vasconcelos came upon him in his sleep, and your husband wakened just in time to fight back some little.”

Mrs Gardiner nodded, her hand over her mouth and tears clouding her eyes. “Edward was protecting me!”

Darcy glanced at the side of the bed and saw a second pillow, still rumpled from the lady’s presence. He then gazed at Elizabeth, imagining Mr Gardiner’s righteous fury and impotent terror as he tried to defend the woman he loved. He also decided in that instant that he would rather be there than not. His wife would never sleep elsewhere than at his own side, if the matter were left to him.

“Just so. Your husband is a noble man,” Richard was answering. “Has he responded to you, Madam?”

“Yes, he groaned when I first came in, but since then nothing. I do not think it an accident, for it happened when I spoke his name.”

“That is well,” Richard assured her kindly. “It speaks for the severity of his head wound. Madam, if you will, please keep speaking while we wait.”

Darcy longed to tear Elizabeth away, but Mrs Gardiner clung to her hands. It was Amália who stood in the corner, shivering and alone, and he stepped from the room to summon a maid. When he returned, he moved quietly to her.

“Madam, fresh garments are being brought below for you. Perhaps you would like to retire to the study in the next room, and it will be made ready for your purpose. Are you well enough to manage?”

She bit her upper lip and nodded. “What of the…” she hesitated, then pointed to the door. “In the street?”

“I have already had the body collected, and I have sent word to the ship on which Senhor Vasconcelos intended to sail, to inform the father of his son’s actions. We will be required to speak with Bow Street Runners, but there will be no question of guilt assigned to any but the dead man. His attack on Mr Gardiner will vouch for his intentions in this house.”

She was staring at the floor, in the attitude of one who can scarce comprehend all that she was hearing. Nevertheless, she nodded when he had finished, drew her shoulders back in a show of courage, and followed the maid.

He returned to Elizabeth’s side to convey the same message to her, but the doctor arrived and was shown in before he could speak. “Ah, Mr Darcy, sir, I am glad to see you! I have just come from your own house.”

“Mine? For what reason?”

“You have not heard? Oh, sir, several messengers were sent in search of you. It seems a number of men, at least ten, had been hired to attack you in the night. They were repelled after some trouble, but there were quite a few hurt.”

“Attack… my house?” he repeated incredulously. “You say there were wounded?”

“Yes, sir, a number of your footmen were knocked about. One broke an arm, another had his ribs cracked. They captured several of their attackers, and all those men were somewhat the worse for the affair. The most grievously wounded, however, was Mrs Wickham. There’s a noble lady and no mistake, sir, but I fear it may go badly for her.”

“What is this?” Richard demanded, loudly enough for Elizabeth to overhear. “A lady was wounded?”

“Yes, Colonel, Mrs Wickham has been shot in the shoulder,” the doctor answered matter-of-factly. “I’ve removed the bullet and dressed the wound, but I fear infection, particularly in her condition.”

Elizabeth pushed to Darcy’s side and grasped his hand. There was nothing she needed to say. “Richard,” Darcy kept his eyes on Elizabeth as he spoke. “See what can be done here. Elizabeth and I must return home.”

Darcy House, London

T he house looked like a military encampment when they arrived. Task forces of maids had been deployed to set right the house, a neat line of footmen stood before table moved from the dining room, bandaging the last of their wounds, and two officers from the nearest militia questioned four bound men in the drawing room. Orchestrating all of it, with eagle eyes and quick remonstrations, was Georgiana.

“Fitzwilliam!” she cried at his entry. “Oh, I am so relieved, we feared someone else had got to you! Where have you been?”

“Another time, Georgie. What happened here?”

Georgiana proceeded to tell of the attack on the house, not failing to mention that she herself had been barred in her room, and did not see all. “But Lydia!” she cried and grasped Elizabeth’s hand. “Oh, she was so brave! Elizabeth, you must go to her, she was asking for you earlier.”

“Georgiana, how badly is she hurt?”

“Oh, well, that I do not know. She was asleep when I last looked in on her. The doctor operated on her, but he said very little to me. He feared using laudanum because of her child, but Mr Wickham suggested that she take a little brandy—“

“Wickham!” Darcy interrupted. “I should have thought he would escape in the mêlée.”

“Why, no,” Georgiana sighed impatiently. “Mr Wickham tried to defend us. He is sitting with Lydia now.”

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth. “He is? Who granted permission for him to be out of his chamber?”

“You did, of course, that was why he was out earlier. Permitting him to remain with Lydia,” she crossed her arms and stared at her brother, “that was my idea.”

Darcy arched his brows at the mild scolding by his younger sister. “Indeed. Elizabeth, I believe I will attend you. Georgie…” he glanced about the orderly arrangements she had set into motion. “You look to have matters well in hand.”

She beamed softly, smiling at the confidence he placed in her. “I am glad you are returned, Brother.”

He stepped near to caress her cheek briefly, as their father had done so many times, and then followed Elizabeth as she raced up the stairs to her own sister.

Lydia Wickham may have suffered for wound and drink, but there was a dazed sort of contentment gracing her youthful features. Her eyes slitted at Elizabeth’s entry, and she groggily lifted her head from the pillow to extend her right hand. Her left, with its bandaged shoulder, remained firmly twined with her husband’s. Darcy noted that Wickham was looking anywhere but at him as he fetched another chair for Elizabeth.

Lydia slurred a cheery greeting to her sister. “Lizzy, I think I shall need a red coat now! George promised to teach me to shoot back. What do you think, shall I not be an excellent officer?”

“The very bravest,” Elizabeth assured her with a chuckle.

“Mrs Wickham,” Darcy interrupted quietly, “how do you feel?”

“I wish I could sit up,” she confessed, “but I have been forbidden to move, for I’ve the most abominable ache in my shoulder, and my head is throbbing something fierce. I am hungry as well, but George says I’m not to have more soup just yet,” she pouted.

“That is wise,” he concurred. “Madam, I must borrow Mr Wickham for a moment. I trust you will be comfortable?”

A drunken alarm widened the girl’s eyes, and she tightened her hand in her husband’s.

“Never fear, my dear,” Wickham soothed, “I shall return to you as swiftly as ever I may.”

She relented, after a few words from Elizabeth, as Darcy locked eyes with Wickham. Without another word, he turned and walked to his study. A few paces behind, Wickham followed. The last time they had sat thus—Darcy behind the desk, Wickham just before it—was the day Darcy had given him a bank note to sever their acquaintance. Much good it had done.

Darcy laced his hands before him and tapped his thumbs together. “I understand you attempted to shield my sister,” he began.

“You needn’t sound so stunned. You used me as a decoy,” muttered Wickham.

“If you mean to imply that I expected a full invasion of my house and departed, leaving two ladies defenceless, your assumption is incorrect. I did have twice the footmen on duty as a precaution, but I had not foreseen tonight’s events.”

“Then why place me in gentleman’s attire in the study?”

“I had intended that you and Colonel Fitzwilliam and I would pay a call on the Earl of Matlock after learning what we could from Senhor Vasconcelos. His testimony and yours would have provided sufficient evidence against my cousin the viscount to compel my uncle to take some action. I did not anticipate that I would be delayed in my return.”

“So, the wine was merely to loosen my tongue?”

Darcy smiled.

Wickham stirred with agitation, straightening his jacket front with a jerk. “You nearly got me killed, Darcy.”

“A pity,” Darcy commented drily, leaving Wickham to wonder what was the pity—his accidental endangerment, or the fact that he had survived. “I would have a full account of the night’s events, if you please. Were there any faces you recognised?”

“Contrary to your opinion, I do not associate with such rabble. I prefer gamers with something to show, but those men must have been at their last farthing to have taken employment invading this house.”

“And they were looking specifically for me?”

Wickham snorted. “They had a miniature of you, likely from someone’s personal collection. Here it is,” he drew it from a pocket. “It is fortunate for me that I am fair where you are dark, or they would have slain me without a moment’s hesitation. As it was, they thought little enough of my life.”

“That is interesting about the miniature. Please, do go on.”

Wickham sighed and related all the events in which he was involved, until he stumbled at the point when the young girl, heavy with his child, had thrown herself before a loaded pistol on his account. He halted there, and seemed to have developed a mild cough.

“And afterward?” Darcy probed.

“Well,” Wickham cleared his throat, “that Irish footman cornered the last two in the drawing room with the sword from above your chair there,” he flicked his eyes over Darcy’s head. “Don’t be angry with the lad, Darce, for you ought to have seen how swiftly he replaced it. After that, I know little else, for I was carrying my dear Lydia to a bed. I thought her dead at first, until I tried to lay her down and she held my neck.” He fell silent then, staring at the desk, then unconsciously brushing a red stain on his shirt.

Darcy permitted the moment of silence, gazing thoughtfully. “Wickham,” he resumed after a moment, “after we speak to the earl in the morning, I am to deliver you to the nearest regiment.”

Wickham’s eyes raised, then lowered in defeat. “I understand.”

“Of course,” Darcy continued casually, “my attention will be diverted somewhat. There are any number of ships waiting in harbour at this very moment; some bound for the Continent, some for Africa, some for Canada or the West Indies.”

Wickham narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What are you offering, Darcy?”

Darcy leaned forward. “Three thousand pounds. You board a ship and tell no one where you are going and you never return. So long as I am quite rid of you, I shall be content.”

“And my wife? What of her?”

“Assuming she recovers, she and the child will be looked after. In a few years, you will be presumed dead, and she will be free. That is my condition—you never trouble her again.”

Wickham swallowed and drew a shaky breath. He blinked rapidly, then resolve formed in his eyes. “No,” he whispered.

“I beg your pardon?”

Wickham’s shoulders raised. “No,” he repeated, in a firmer voice. “I cannot… cannot just leave her.”

“It is likely death if you are delivered to a regiment. How does she profit from that?”

“I will not have abandoned her a second time. No, Darcy,” he gulped another draught of air, closed his eyes, and repeated himself. “I shall not leave. You are not rid of me quite so easily this time.”

“You will accept the judgment of a court-martial rather than freedom and independence?”

Wickham gazed at his hands. “Darcy, what she did this night… no one has ever cared enough for George Wickham to risk their own life. I should have died tonight, but she, who of all people in the world has the most reason to despise me, would have given herself for me. How could I betray her again? No, I never shall, and I have cheated death already. You may place me before the firing squad, Darcy, and I will die if I must, but my last words will be of devotion to her. She deserves no less.”

“You think my betrothal to her sister will purchase you favour in this house? Remember, Wickham, that I hold all your debts, or enough of them to condemn you. A near relationship to me will bring you under closer scrutiny, not the reverse. I will see you in debtor’s prison at the first infraction, should you survive your court-martial.”

“I have made my pledge, and I shall stand by it,” he vowed. “I am not afraid of you, Darcy. Should I be granted a second chance at life, I intend to spend it proving myself worthy of a woman such as she.”

“Many vows are made in the passion of the moment,” Darcy scoffed. “A year from now, when the babe is squalling for bread and your wife is heavy with a second child, the bloom will fall from this heady romance you have conceived. The first moment an empty-headed miss happens upon your path, or you see an opportunity to cheat someone out of a hundred pounds, you will fall back to your old ways.”

“Care to wager on it, Darcy?” the other countered.

Darcy lifted a brow. “Upon what stakes?”

Wickham smiled. “Nothing. I expect nothing from you ever again. If I am still alive after the army has had its way with me, I will seek employment as a shopkeeper, if I must, to repay my debts and care for my wife. That would be a nasty blow to your pride, would it not? A brother-in-law in trade?”

“Mr Gardiner is in trade, and somehow I have survived my acquaintance with him. What do you offer if you should fail in this scheme?”

Wickham spread his hands. “As you say, Darcy, you hold my debts. What is the worst prison you can think of? Of course, you will have to shelter my family, for I know you would not condemn your own wife’s sister and her gentle babes there. I think I should like five daughters. Does not that sound a lovely number?”

Darcy’s mouth quirked. “I fail to see what I gain in that circumstance.”

“Why, the honour of victory, of being right about my failures. Is that not sufficient?”

“No, but it is likely all I can hope for. Very well, Wickham.”

“Does this mean,” Wickham asked with a hopeful expression, “that I passed your little test, Darcy? You will support me against the army’s charges?”

“It is Fitzwilliam you must convince. I will support whatever he deems fitting.”

Wickham sagged. “Then I am a dead man.”