Page 9 of Under Such Circumstances (Desperately Seeking Elizabeth #1)

MR. DARCY COULD not believe that he had been so soundly beaten by Wickham. Certainly, Wickham had been unsportsmanlike about it, striking when Darcy was distracted, things of that nature, but… it was mortifying.

He was trying to ascertain what, exactly, had happened to Miss Bennet here, but he had to admit that he’d had little success with this sort of thing.

When he’d tried to speak to Georgiana about it, she’d had very little to say about it either, and he’d wavered between fearing the worst and then being certain that nothing at all had happened to Georgiana, that Wickham had not so much as kissed her.

This was difficult to say, of course.

He’d tried to question her, but she only collapsed into tears, begging him not to be cross with her, not to hate her, not to disown her, and he had said that he would not, of course he would not.

She was his only living family. She was his dear, precious sister.

He would never abandon her, no matter what she had done.

He would have had Mrs. Younge question her, but that was impossible, for she had been duplicitous and had been part of the entire scheme.

So, he got various answers from Georgiana.

Had Wickham touched her?

No, of course not, she claimed. But in the next breath, she would say that he had assured her she was quite ruined and she knew it must be true.

Eventually, he’d just left it. She begged him to do so, saying she didn’t wish to speak of it, that she wanted to pretend it had never happened.

And he waited breathlessly for news of his own very young sister’s bleeding, which came, only two weeks hence, and he…

Tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, not at all. She was all right. She could forget it had happened. He would not force her to endure the touch of a man ever if she had been ravaged. It did not matter .

Except he knew it did.

He and his cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam were both guardians of Georgiana, and he and Richard discussed it. Richard was of the opinion that they should simply do away with Wickham.

Darcy had pragmatically offered a duel instead.

Richard had said that you did not duel men like Wickham, because they weren’t gentlemen.

But Darcy knew things that Richard didn’t know. He’d been told on his deathbed that the elder Wickham, Mr. Samuel Wickham, the steward of Pemberley, was—in fact—his grandfather’s by-blow, and Wickham was his cousin.

Perhaps it made the idea of Wickham wanting to marry into the Darcy family, marrying Georgiana, make a certain sort of sense… except Wickham didn’t know. The elder Wickham, the steward, said that it would do the boy no good to know, that he would only make him more entitled than he already was.

Wickham’s father actually disapproved of the things that Darcy’s father had done for his son—or maybe it made him feel inadequate?

Darcy could not say, but the elder Wickham did not think it made any sense to give his son ideas.

He was not ever going to be a gentleman, and he should make his peace with it, that was the way of thinking to Wickham’s father.

Darcy’s father, however, had said to his son that blood was blood.

And Darcy himself knew it was more than that.

It wasn’t simply that the Wickhams were tied to them by blood, it was a responsibility, and it was the weight of an inherited sin.

They could not help but bear it, either him or his father.

Though neither of them had done the deed, they bore the guilt in some ephemeral way.

Anyway, a duel, Darcy said, even though Richard said it was not the way.

If a gentleman had besmirched his sister’s honor, he would challenge him to a duel, said Darcy.

And Richard countered that no he would not, because it would only serve to ensconce the damage to his sister, destroying her reputation forever. Certainly, if the besmirchment had been public and everyone had seen, Darcy would demand satisfaction.

But if Wickham had been a gentleman, and it had been secret, as this had been, Richard pointed out that Darcy would have made Georgiana marry him.

Darcy knew it was true, with a sort of sinking sensation deep in his gut.

This is how you know he doesn’t deserve the dignity of a duel, Richard pronounced. Because you have never considered having them marry.

No, that wasn’t it at all. Darcy would never force Georgiana to marry a man who had done her violence, no matter how respectable that man was, no matter the damage to the family’s good name. No.

Anyway, then he did nothing at all.

Just let it all go. He didn’t seek Wickham out. He didn’t demand any kind of satisfaction nor did he attempt any kind of punitive measures.

Left him free, to hurt poor innocents like Miss Bennet, he thought, and he was ashamed of himself.

Well, he’d have to remedy the situation now, he realized, and he didn’t know quite how.

It likely depended on Elizabeth herself.

She had said she wanted it, whatever Wickham had done to her, and it wasn’t out of the range of reasonableness to think he had taken her virtue.

They had been out of sight when Darcy broke that bridge, off in the woods there.

She didn’t look as if her clothes had been removed, but maybe all Wickham did was lift her skirts.

Lord, don’t think about that in any detail, he scolded himself. The idea of Wickham doing that to the poor woman, picturing it, it was likely to make him gag.

Yesterday, he had thought this woman was going to be his wife.

He fixed her with a look. All right, here was the truth of it. She was not fifteen, not like his very young and very innocent sister had been. Elizabeth Bennet was twenty years of age, self-possessed, sharp-tongued, capable of taking him apart where he stood, capable of destroying him coldly.

He was not saying it was entirely her own fault if Wickham had ruined her, of course.

Wickham had the lion’s share of the blame.

But she should have put up a fight or something, he thought, looking her over.

She should have at least attempted to stop him.

Maybe she would not have been able to do so, but she should have tried.

Yes, easy for you to say, he thought, countering himself. You are not a full four inches shorter than him, slighter in frame, and you are not a woman.

She might have felt it was foolish to fight him. She might have given in because she thought it was safer to go along with him.

None of this mattered, he didn’t suppose.

Wickham was dangerous to women. This was clear. He must be stopped.

After the rain stopped, when they got back across the bridge, he would challenge Wickham to a duel. He wouldn’t do it over Miss Bennet. He had no right to do so, no reason to be connected to her or to protect her honor. He would not do it over Georgiana either.

He would need to manufacture some slight against his honor, and it shouldn’t be difficult. Duels were sometimes fought over trifles, some real or imagined insult. Wickham would likely provide it himself if Darcy simply waited.

Once the rain stopped.

Except the rain did not stop.

The rain went on and on, and the thunder crashed and the lightning split the sky and the rain poured down on them, pounding on the roof like an incessant drum beat, and he began to think that the gully was going to fill with rainwater if this kept up and it might take a day or two to go down, and it would make it materially more difficult to cross.

They were going to have to go round, he thought.

It was miles, but they could walk it. The gully joined a stream that cut through the wood, and that stream joined a river, and there was a bridge.

It was in Westerham, well, the outskirts, but they could cross there and then send word to Rosings to have someone bring them a carriage.

He began to express these sentiments aloud.

“We’re not going to walk all the way down there in the rain, Darcy,” said Wickham. “We’ve come here for shelter for a reason. I know. You go. You can bring back help, over that bridge, don’t you think? I shall stay here with my future bride.”

Elizabeth flinched at the words.

Darcy saw it. “I don’t think she really wants to be your wife,” he muttered.

Elizabeth bowed her head.

“Tell Mr. Darcy how much you are eager to be wed, darling,” said Mr. Wickham, his mouth curving into an indulgent smile.

Elizabeth glanced at him, ducked her head down, and only shook her head.

“Tell him that you know it must happen, at the very least.”

She bit down on her lip and met Mr. Darcy’s gaze for a moment. “What you must think of me,” she breathed.

“Yes, indeed, just a very eager little hussy in the end,” said Mr. Wickham with a chuckle. “You should have tried just a bit harder, Fitzie, maybe she’d have given over for you just as easily.”

Elizabeth grimaced, hunching up her shoulders. “I didn’t… it all happened so fast.”

“Did it, then.” Darcy was grave. He turned to Wickham. “I think, you know, Wickham, when there is a convergence of women saying you talk them into things they don’t rightly wish to do—”

“Oh, who has said that?”

“Mrs. Younge,” said Darcy. “When I let her go, she cried, saying something rather similar. You just talked her into circles, she said. You were already doing things before she had a chance to know how to get out of it, and then—when she thought to tell someone—you said she was already too involved and that she’d be blamed.

Which was true. I terminated her without a reference. ”

“That’s one person,” said Wickham.

“My sister,” said Darcy.

“What?” said Elizabeth.

“It’s the reason I have that letter,” he said to her. “I wrote you a letter, explaining everything there is to explain about Georgie Wickham, but then I decided to get it back, that I was foolish telling you all of my family’s damning secrets—”

“Wait, what did you do to Mr. Darcy’s sister?” said Elizabeth, turning to Wickham.

“Miss Darcy always had a girlish fascination with me,” said Mr. Wickham. “She made things up, and he believed them. She wished for it, I suppose, because she was just a girl pretending—”

“That’s not at all the way it went,” interrupted Mr. Darcy. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Wickham. When we get back to civilization, I am going to challenge you to a duel.”

“What?” said Wickham.

“Oh,” said Elizabeth.

“Not over you, Miss Bennet,” he said to her, gentle. “I shall keep you entirely out of it. I would not damage your family’s name in that way. I would not wish to harm your reputation.”

“Thank you,” she said faintly.

“Perhaps I shall refuse to meet you,” said Wickham.

“Perhaps you will,” said Darcy. “If you wish to be a coward—”

“Or perhaps we should have it out now,” said Wickham.

Darcy sighed heavily.

“If you challenge me, I get to choose the weapons.”

“We have no weapons,” said Darcy evenly.

Wickham tugged two knives of roughly the same size out of each of his boots. He set them both on the warped mantle over the fireplace. “Blades,” he said.

Darcy blinked at him. Well, then. Now, Wickham was going to expect him to withdraw the challenge, because this was not at all what he had in mind.

A duel with knives was nothing like a civilized duel with pistols.

Damnation, he could probably do better with swords.

He did fence from time to time, after all.

With foils, though, not with real blades.

He’d never been in a knife fight in his life.

If I do this, I shall get myself killed, or at the very least badly wounded, and I shall be no good to Elizabeth, who’ll be left with this blackguard anyway.

“You need seconds,” spoke up Elizabeth, her voice high-pitched. “Don’t you? You can’t duel without seconds!”

“Is that how you’ll weasel out of it, Darcy?” said Wickham. “Now, who will be the coward?”

Darcy sighed heavily. “Fine. We duel to first blood or satisfaction, then?”

“Fine,” said Wickham.

This was going to be embarrassing, because Wickham was going to nick him on the knuckle or something within the first three moments of the stupid fight. But if he lost because of some kind of ridiculous bit of first blood, then it would be over, anyway.

Of course, after this, he’d have no way to get any satisfaction from Wickham.

Why had he said anything at all?

“Don’t,” said Elizabeth, looking at him, her expression worried. “Please, don’t.”

She thinks I’m going to lose, too, he realized grimly. What an absolute paragon of protection he was to this poor woman. Lord. He was embarrassed and ashamed.

But in a way, it only made him more intent on proving himself.

“It’s still raining,” said Elizabeth, her voice getting higher-pitched. “You can’t duel in the rain. You’ll have to wait until it stops.”

Wickham came over to the mantle and picked up the other knife. “We could just do it inside here. Shouldn’t take long.”

“It’s dark in here,” said Mr. Darcy. “And also, Miss Bennet would be in danger of getting between us.” He sighed heavily. “I can bear the rain if you can.”

Wickham chuckled. “Oh, I can bear the rain.”

“Fine,” said Darcy.

“Fine,” said Wickham.