Page 37 of Unwillingly Mrs. Darcy

Darcy

Darcy made his way down the stairs and took a steadying breath at the parlour door before stepping inside. At once, Mrs Younge and Wickham looked up, their conversation ceasing abruptly.

For a long moment, neither man spoke. The silence stretched between them, heavy as lead, until Wickham, ever the performer, broke it with a sardonic laugh. His smirk curled at the edges as he leaned back with feigned ease.

“Ah, Darcy,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “How very predictable. I wondered how long it would take you to find me. It seems you never disappoint.”

Darcy did not respond immediately. Instead, he met Wickham’s gaze, steady and unyielding. The animosity was undeniable, but Darcy had long since learned not to rise to Wickham’s bait. When he finally spoke, his voice was crisp, firm, and left no room for debate.

“Mrs Younge,” he said, his tone commanding, “leave us. I would speak with Mr Wickham alone.”

Mrs Younge hesitated, glancing at Wickham as if seeking direction. But seeing the implacable resolve in Darcy’s expression, she huffed in irritation and swept towards the door, her skirts rustling in agitation. The door clicked softly behind her, leaving the room thick with tension.

Wickham folded his arms across his chest, still affecting nonchalance, though a flicker of unease betrayed him. “Well, then,” he mused, “what is it to be, Darcy? Have you come to steal away my bride again?”

Darcy’s jaw tightened. “You are quite sure of yourself, Wickham.”

“Oh, but I am. I only seek Mary’s happiness, as do you. She would be rather upset to hear you are trying to stop our wedding.”

“You played upon her insecurities, her loneliness,” Darcy said, shaking his head in quiet disdain. “You are a vile creature.”

Wickham feigned hurt. “Do you not think it possible she loves me for me?”

“No one who truly knows you could love you.”

Wickham’s smirk wavered for the briefest moment before he rallied. “How rude, Darcy. How very ungentlemanly. Your father would be most disappointed. If I recall, he loved me rather dearly.”

It was a low blow, even for Wickham, but Darcy remained unmoved. “What do you want, Wickham? Shall I pay you off so you’ll leave, as I did with Georgiana? Or do you expect my blessing so you might extort me endlessly as a member of the family?”

“Oh, nothing so crass,” Wickham said lightly, though his eyes gleamed with calculation. “I only ask that Mary have the wedding she deserves—a proper affair befitting the sister-in-law of the great Mr Darcy.”

“And had you not intended to see her wed respectably otherwise?” Darcy asked sharply.

Wickham chuckled. “Respectably? Ah, Darcy, you know well I am no Darcy. A man of my station can scarcely afford such extravagance. Indeed, I fear we shall be forced to flee to Gretna Green—unless, of course, you see fit to assist. Naturally, we would much appreciate a proper home, a small cottage perhaps, near Longbourn with a modest income so Mary can be near her family. Otherwise, I may have to seek employment elsewhere. I hear they are looking for miners in Wales, but that would prevent poor Mary from being near her family.”

Darcy’s expression remained unreadable. “I want Mary to be happy, Wickham. If that happiness lies with you, so be it. But do not imagine for a moment you will have a single penny from me.”

Wickham’s confidence faltered, his smile tightening. “Oh, Darcy,” he murmured, affecting a wounded air, “I do not wish to break Mary’s heart. But if you refuse to aid us, I see no way to proceed with this wedding. And at this stage, it might be talked about. It would be such a shame for the scandal to reach the newspapers. Lord Matlock and Lady Catherine de Bourgh would loathe the family being the subject of gossip.”

“You mean you will attempt to sell the story? And what would the headline read?” Darcy’s tone was ice. “Let me tell you. If you attempt such a thing, I will ensure the full truth is made known. ‘Redcoat on the Run Kidnaps Gentleman’s Sister-in-Law.’ Ah, and speaking of the militia, I do believe they would be most interested in your activities since leaving their ranks.”

Wickham blanched. Before he could formulate a retort, the door opened once more, and Elizabeth entered, her expression sharp with purpose. Behind her, Mary followed, her hands clasped tightly before her, but her face set with determination.

Wickham’s surprise was poorly concealed as he turned to Mary, quickly adopting a sorrowful expression. “My dear, I regret to say—”

“Spare me your false regret, sir,” Mary interrupted, her voice steady. “I know everything. I heard you and Mrs Younge speaking over breakfast. I know the truth of your schemes.”

Wickham stiffened, his mask slipping further. “Mary, whatever you think you heard—”

“I was a fool,” she pressed on, her voice growing stronger. “I allowed myself to be deceived. But you, sir, are nothing more than a blackguard. And I am fortunate—so very fortunate—to have escaped your clutches.”

Wickham’s mouth opened, then closed. For once, he was bereft of words. His usual glib defences failed him under the weight of her quiet certainty. He shifted uncomfortably, glancing towards the door as if seeking an escape.

Mary held her head high. “You are a disgrace, sir. And I shall waste not one more thought upon you.”

Wickham could withstand the censure of many, but to be dismissed—utterly discarded—by one he had sought to manipulate was a blow to his pride. He had nothing to say. He turned sharply on his heel and exited the room without another word.

Silence filled the space he left behind. Then, Mary let out a slow breath, her hands trembling slightly. Elizabeth stepped forward and took her hand in quiet support.

Darcy inclined his head towards Mary. “You have shown great strength, Miss Bennet.”

She exhaled, nodding once. “Thank you, Mr Darcy. I only wish I had seen clearly sooner.”

Elizabeth gave her sister’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Come, Mary. Let us leave this place behind.”

Together, they stepped out of the parlour, leaving Wickham’s shadow firmly in the past.