Chapter 17 #2
Elizabeth turned toward the ha-ha, and by the fence was Mr Wickham.
Despite the shock of seeing him, she kept her composure before the others while her wounded heart swelled again with injury.
She could never forgive that man for what he had done to Georgiana, for what he tried to do to Lydia, and for all the heartache Darcy suffered because of him.
“Do you know him, ma’am?”
She exhaled a long breath. “Yes, I know him. He must have business with Mr Darcy, and I am going to send him away.”
“Shall I come with you?”
“No, thank you. I will deal with him myself.”
She did not want anyone to listen to what Wickham might say. He could say nothing she would want a respectable person to overhear. She told her footman to wait by the public road and parted from Mrs Ballston.
“I do not mind walking back, I promise,” she assured her friend. “I enjoy walking. I will see you at Sir Thomas and Lady Charlton’s card party.”
It was quiet near to where Wickham stood, but there were still people promenading and walking toward their carriages. Hopefully, with her parasol and him not being of Darcy’s intimate circle, no one would recognise them.
Elizabeth tried to affect Darcy’s haughty composure as she cut across the grass to meet with Wickham. He touched his hat as she neared, and she scarcely inclined her head.
“What do you want, Mr Wickham?”
“Is that how I am to be greeted?” he asked, sounding wounded. “I was such a favourite with your family in Ramsgate.”
“Your actions since then have lessened you in my eyes.”
Wickham smiled. “I would have thought my value to you increased, given the result, Mrs Darcy.”
He had realised the truth of what happened in Scotland. “What do you intend to say about my marriage?”
“About how you were forced to marry to save your good names?” he said with a dark look. “And how your supposed love match is a farce? Not a thing!” he cried brightly. “Your marriage benefits me, too, as shown from your kindness to your sister-in-law.”
He wanted more money. Darcy had been right. Any kindness of money or gifts through her hands only made Wickham greedier. “There will be no more money from me. You may take your chances with the court and sue Mr Darcy for Georgiana’s share of Lady Anne’s marriage articles.”
“The attorneys say I am not likely to win, I am afraid. But I am likely to gain something from you.”
“From me?” she said, surprised. “I have given your wife about five pounds and a trinket box. Hardly a fortune, but you ought to have finer rooms and a servant by now. You will get nothing more; I have done quite enough.”
She turned away, but he put out a hand. “Wait. I want to return your letters.”
“My letters?” she repeated.
He held out a few folded pages. “Georgiana took them when she retrieved her belongings.”
Elizabeth took them back in confusion. They were only a few invitations and a letter to her aunt that she meant to finish. “Why? Did she mistake them for hers?”
“No,” he said cheerfully. “I asked her to take what correspondence she could find. And also to see if she could steal anything of value that would fit in her reticule.”
An item to sell made sense, but why her letters? “You are a despicable man, and you have incited your wife into thievery. What could you have hoped to find in my letters?”
“I was certain to find a letter to a friend or sister that shared your true thoughts on your husband. I expected a few humiliating words about how tiresome you found Mr Darcy or perhaps how you deeply regretted your marriage. Or if you tolerated your marriage because he was rich. Anything along those lines.”
She shoved the letters into her reticule, eager to be away from him. “You must have been dreadfully disappointed, for I am exceedingly fond of him.”
“Oh, yes.” He laughed. “That is abundantly clear. Much to my surprise, I might add.”
His tone kept her by his side. He was delighted, but there was a sharp look in his eyes.
Nothing at all made sense. Wickham then drew out her small journal, and the sight of it took her back.
The letters had been on the table with it; Georgiana must have taken them all.
She had been preoccupied with activities—and missing Darcy—and had not noticed.
Wickham thumbed to the last page, grinning, and she knew what he would find there. “This is very frank, Mrs Darcy. ‘Who knew such raptures awaited me? His embrace in the library left me eager and unsatisfied, and when he returns I fully expect to—’”
“Stop,” she hissed, feeling tears in her eyes. “If you came here to humiliate me, consider it done.”
“I do not wish to shame you, Mrs Darcy,” he said earnestly. “No, no, reading it aloud was only a little amusement for me. I am here to demand fifty pounds for the return of this journal.”
Elizabeth exhaled shakily and dashed away her tears. “There is nothing there that is indecent. Embarrassing, certainly, but Mr Darcy is my husband and—”
“Is that whom you are speaking of in this lewd entry?”
Everything about this encounter piled confusion upon confusion. “Of course it is. I use his name!”
Wickham peered closer at the journal. “Hmm, you do on the previous page.” She saw his eyes move to the top of the next, and he pointed. “But here it is all ‘his’ lips, ‘his’ arms and what you want ‘him’ to do. Why, you might have been writing about anyone, like me.”
Her heart sank, and her stomach clenched. “Why would I write about you when I am married to him?”
“Because you are unfulfilled. You do not love your husband. You prefer me to all other men.”
She shook her head, unable to speak.
“Oh no? I think this would be enough to convince anyone otherwise. No date on this page, no name, and it is in my possession. Why, if I tore out this page, it might be taken as an expression of longing for your secret lover. A billet-doux. My word and society’s appreciation of a scandal could do you a great deal of damage. ”
“And I will say I was writing about my new husband and that will be the end of it—and you will look like the resentful fool that you are,” she said with affected unconcern.
Wickham glanced at her with smug confidence. “I think it will look like you and I have had a long-standing affair.”
“Affair?” she repeated dumbly. How was this happening? “An affair with you?”
“It began while we were in Ramsgate,” he said, smiling.
“And why would I have married Mr Darcy if I loved you?”
“Because you have cold-hearted ambition,” he said, his smile falling from his lips. “You married him for his money. I married his sister for hers, and was cruelly disappointed there, and then you and I resumed our affaire de coeur.”
“No one would believe it,” she insisted. “No one would even believe I even associate with you. Everyone knows Mr Darcy cut you off and—”
“Look around, Mrs Darcy,” he interrupted with irritating calm.
“Someone is bound to see you, that pretty parasol notwithstanding, and they will remember having seen you with me when the scandal breaks. I am your brother-in-law, after all, and we were friends in Ramsgate. I made quite a nuisance of myself at your house, as well.”
He must have done it to cause a distraction, to draw her attention and give Georgiana time alone to sneak and steal.
And now the servants knew he was there, and that she had seen him here today.
She knew not how to feel, nor where to look.
But surely, the gossip would all come to nothing?
A journal entry would not undo all her claims to reputation.
It could not ruin her marriage. “I am happily married; why would I be unfaithful?”
“The most virtuous matron has often more lust than the greatest prostitute who is simply earning a living.” He waved the journal. “From these words, you were desperate for it.”
“Not for you,” she whispered. “And Mr Darcy would never believe it.” He knew she had grown to care for him, even if he did not know the extent, the depth of her feelings. Society’s scorn would matter not a whit to her, so long as Darcy trusted her.
“Not even if you gave me a token of your esteem?” From another pocket, he drew out her diamond aigrette.
Elizabeth brought a hand to her mouth with a gasp.
Georgiana must have taken it from its box when she was in her room.
“This is a well-known article. A gift from the ‘lovestruck’ new husband, I remember the newspaper saying. And how generous of you to give it to your lover. If I recall, you left it on my bedside table after a particularly rousing evening together.”
She could be sick right here outside Kensington Gardens.
Being seen with Wickham, along with the explicit words and the jewellery, might cause a whirlwind of gossip.
Even if Darcy believed her and did not divorce her, the talk would mortify him.
After all their efforts to make their marriage seem conducted on purpose, to not disgrace his family name, this would undo everything.
This was her fault. Darcy had told her not to help Georgiana because Wickham would take advantage of it, and she thought she knew better.
She thought she could help and all the while persuade Georgiana to leave him.
All she had wanted was to bring Darcy some happiness by helping his sister come home.
But Darcy had been right, and now he would suffer the consequences of her foolishness.
Her hands shook and she knew not where to look. “What do you want?”
“Fifty pounds.”
She exhaled shakily. That could feed a family of five. Pay a coachman’s salary. Provide all the medicine and doctoring her family would need in a year. “Just sell the diamonds. You could live well off what it will bring.”
“No,” he said calmly. “This, along with the journal, is proof of our intimate acquaintance.”
She only received fifty pounds a quarter. It was beyond her needs and wants, but how was she to come up with such a sum all at once? “I cannot pay that.”
“I am sure Darcy has you in high keeping.”
“I have little actual money!” Did he think Darcy poured out a bag of fifty guineas on each quarter day? “I have accounts wherever I go, and Mr Darcy settles the bill every quarter. It is up to me to record it and be sure I do not exceed my income.”
“Mrs Darcy,” he said, with a chuckle, “I do not think you understand how this works. I set the terms, and you pay for my discretion.”
“And you must understand that I have no money of my own, a situation you can relate to.”
She held his gaze, willing him to concede as she shook with rage and fear.
He appeared to be considering, and then he smiled and said, “In deference to our friendship, my dear Mrs Darcy, I will accept twenty-five pounds.” He waved the journal and leered.
“Surely you can think of some way to persuade him to give you a bank note.”
Sick feelings washed over her at his innuendo. She could never do that. How could she even look at Darcy when Wickham held this threat over her? To kiss him or more, to tell him she loved him and yet know she had done this to him was impossible.
Wickham carefully put the aigrette and the journal back into his pocket. “When does your husband return?”
“Tuesday,” she whispered.
“Meet me in Berkeley Square on Wednesday, half one, with twenty-five pounds.”
He tipped his hat and walked toward the Serpentine across the park as though without a care in the world.
Sickness and sorrow oppressed her as she made her way toward the footman to accompany her home. How she put one foot in front of the other, she could not say.
Wickham would imply an awful sexual misconduct on her part if she did not pay him. Darcy would surely resent her for being entrapped like this. Her single goal in coming to town was to act above reproach, to do the Darcy name credit, and she had destroyed all of her efforts by her foolhardiness.
Darcy had told her not to get involved, and that was exactly what she had done.
There was no way she could ask Darcy for money that would go right into Wickham’s hands.
She could scarcely breathe from shame, but she had to pay to protect Darcy’s good name, and protect her dear husband from any further pain.