Chapter 25
T he silence was deafening. Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her chest as she look around the room, the expressions of shock, anger, and disbelief on every face telling her that no, she had not misheard.
Louisa’s hand flew to her chest, her eyes wide with horror. Bingley looked utterly flabbergasted, while Jane pressed a hand to her mouth, her serene composure visibly shaken. Darcy’s gaze darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Roberts, call for the constable immediately.”
He then turned his attention back to his childhood friend. “Wickham,” he said, his voice cold as ice. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”
Wickham’s grin widened, his eyes glittering with triumph. “Why, my dear brother, I’ve simply come to introduce my wife to her new relations. Surely you wouldn’t begrudge us the opportunity to share in this… joyous occasion?”
Elizabeth’s stomach churned at the venomous mockery in his tone. She looked at Caroline, who stood rigid beside him, her chin tilted upward in defiance. She radiated a cold arrogance, and her eyes swept around the room. When her gaze fell upon Jane and Elizabeth, rage briefly flitted across her face before it smoothed into a smirk.
“Oh my, what have we here?” Caroline said, her tone dripping with false pity. “I suppose I cannot be too surprised to find you two chits here. After all, the Bennet sisters have always been quite… shameless.”
Elizabeth stiffened as Caroline’s lips curled into a vicious smile. “It seems quite fitting that women of your low breeding and questionable morals should make yourselves so… indispensable to Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley. With a mother like yours and those wild younger sisters, it was only a matter of time before you brought disgrace to this household.”
Bingley’s face flamed crimson with his fury, and he took a step forward, his fists clenched at his sides. “How dare you—” he began, his voice trembling with anger.
Darcy growled low in his throat, a sound so primal and threatening it sent a shiver through the room. His body tensed as though ready to pounce, his gaze fixed on Caroline with a look that promised retribution.
Before either man could act, both Elizabeth and Jane reached out instinctively, their hands finding their husbands’ arms. Elizabeth’s voice was firm but quiet as she said, “Fitzwilliam, no.”
Jane mirrored her sister, gently pulling on Bingley’s sleeve. “Please, Charles,” she whispered.
The men froze, their anger still crackling in the air, but the steady touch of their wives held them back.
The silence was broken by a trembling but resolute voice that was filled simultaneously with fear and anger. “You are not welcome here.”
All eyes turned to Georgiana, who had risen from her seat, her hands tightly clasped in front of her. Her pale cheeks were flushed with anger, and though her voice quivered, her words rang clear. “You… you dare insult my brother in such a way? You have no right to be here.”
Wickham’s expression turned mockingly wounded. “Ah, my dear Georgiana, such harsh words. Is that any way to greet your new sister?”
Caroline smirked, stepping closer to Georgiana. “You should be grateful to have someone like me in your family. I could teach you so much—how to carry yourself, how to rise above the vulgarity you’ve been surrounded by.
“Enough,” Darcy interrupted, his tone commanding as he stepped forward to block his sister from the couple, his towering presence silencing the room. His gaze bore into that of his childhood friend, the fury in his eyes barely restrained. “You will not speak to her— you speak to me. Explain yourselves. Now.”
Wickham’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment, but he quickly recovered, his voice dripping with feigned charm. “We’ve nothing to explain, Brother . We are married, and as such, we have every right to be here.”
Darcy’s voice was low and lethal. “You are no brother of mine, Wickham, and you will find no hospitality here.”
“Ah, but that is no longer the truth, is it? You are, indeed, my brother,” Wickham drawled, savoring the word. “We are connected, now, are we not? Through this delightful union of mine with dear Caroline,” He gestured with exaggerated flourish to the woman beside him, “you and I are both brothers to Bingley.”
Caroline tilted her chin with pride, her voice cutting and imperious. “I am Mrs. Wickham now, and I expect to be treated with the respect due to my position.”
Elizabeth’s anger surged. She rose from her seat, her pulse thrumming in her ears. “Respect?” she said sharply, her voice slicing through the room like a whip. “After everything you’ve done? The harm you’ve caused? How dare you—”
Her words broke off suddenly, and suddenly, she began to laugh—a sharp, incredulous sound that filled the room. Everyone gaped at her, their expressions a mix of confusion and disbelief. Caroline’s eyes narrowed, suspicion darkening her features. “What is so funny, Miss Eliza?”
Elizabeth turned to her, her expression mocking. “You. You, Caroline Bingley, the ever-so-aspirational, ever-so-superior, ever-so-eager to become Mrs. Darcy… and yet here you stand, married to a servant’s son.” She laughed again, shaking her head. “The irony is simply too delicious.”
Caroline’s face flushed deep crimson, her lips tightening into a thin line. “You’re mistaken,” she said coldly, lifting her chin higher. “My husband is no mere servant’s son. He is the rightful heir to Pemberley.”
The room fell into stunned silence. Darcy’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as his gaze locked onto Wickham. “What nonsense are you spouting now?” he demanded.
Caroline looked directly at Darcy, her tone haughty and triumphant. “George Wickham is the eldest son of George Darcy. And as he is now married while you remain single, he is the new master of Pemberley. The clause in your father’s will makes it clear.”
Elizabeth blinked, stunned by the audacity of the claim, but then turned to Darcy, who remained stoic. A flicker of confusion crossed his face—the first crack in his otherwise impenetrable demeanor— but it was soon replaced with understanding and tinge of amusement.
“Really, George, is that the best you could do?” Darcy asked, his voice cold and even. He turned to Wickham, his gaze piercing. “Is this truly the lie you wove to ensnare her? I always thought Caroline was more cunning, but it seems she’s no better than the milkmaids and shopkeepers’ daughters you’ve duped in the past.”
Caroline gasped, her face flushing with indignation. “How dare you!” she snapped. “You know it’s true! Why else would he tell me something like that?”
Darcy’s lips curled into a grim smile. “Please, produce evidence, then. If such a clause exists, it will be in my father’s will, which resides with his solicitors in London. Or perhaps you have a copy of it yourself, in my father’s hand?”
Wickham shrugged nonchalantly, though his smirk wavered slightly. “Ah, yes, the tedious matter of wills and legal battles. It could be resolved in the courts sometime in the next several years— but that is no matter, we have plenty of time. And in the meantime,” he said smoothly, turning to Bingley, “Caroline’s dowry will suffice to sustain us until the matter is resolved.”
Bingley, who had been silent until now, took a step forward. His expression was cold, his voice firm. “You will not have it.”
Wickham’s head snapped toward him, his expression darkening. “By law, her dowry is mine. I am entitled to it as her husband!”
Bingley crossed his arms. “You may be entitled to something, but you’ll find the funds less accessible than you’d hoped. The day after you poisoned us with laudanum, I went to London and placed Caroline’s dowry in trust.”
“What?” Caroline shrieked, her face twisting with fury. “You had no right! That money is mine!”
“Actually, it wasn’t. It never was,” Bingley replied coolly, his composure remaining intact. “Father’s will gave me complete discretion over your dowry. The principal is now in an untouchable trust for your future children. You may enjoy the quarterly interest, but you cannot touch the principal— and only Caroline is allowed to withdraw the interest when she presents herself in person at the bank.”
Wickham’s confidence faltered, and he sputtered, “That’s fraud! Illegal!”
“It’s entirely legal,” Bingley said with infuriating calm. “The changes were made the day after your treacherous plot played out. Gretna Green is a three-day journey, so you couldn’t have been married when the trust was established. No fraud was committed.”
Wickham’s mask of charm slipped, replaced by cold fury. “You’ll regret this, Bingley.”
“You’ve already lost,” Bingley retorted. “And you have only yourself to blame.”
Caroline’s gaze darted between the two men, panic rising. “Then we’ll live on the interest until the matter of Pemberley is settled,” she said desperately, turning to Wickham. “We’ll manage. Won’t we, my love?”
Darcy let out a humorless laugh. “You’re a fool if you believed him, Caroline,” he said bitterly. “There is no such clause, no secret inheritance, no path for you to claim what was never yours. Pemberley is mine and will remain so. You’ve gambled everything on a liar.”
“George?” she asked in a small voice, turning towards her husband.
At this, Wickham’s smirk turned sour. “Fine!” he spat. “There’s no secret clause, and I’m not the illegitimate son of George Darcy. But what does it matter? The lie served its purpose— I’ve won! It was enough to get what I wanted.”
“And what was that?” Darcy demanded, his voice like steel.
Wickham’s eyes glittered with malice. “To ruin you. To force you into living a miserable existence. To take your precious name and drag it through the mud. And to use Caroline’s dowry to live well while doing it.”
Caroline stared at him, horror dawning on her face. “You… you lied to me. You never loved me.”
Wickham’s sneer deepened. “Love? Don’t be ridiculous. You were a means to an end.”
Her hand flew out, slapping him hard across the face. Wickham recoiled, his eyes blazing with fury. His response was swift and brutal— without hesitation, he backhanded her as hard as he could, sending her sprawling to the floor with a cry.
“Wickham!” Darcy roared, lunging forward. He grabbed Wickham by the collar, the force of his grip lifting the other man off his feet. “You dare strike a woman in my presence? Your wife, at that?”
The room erupted into chaos as Wickham struggled in Darcy’s iron grip, his fingers like a vise against his throat. Elizabeth rushed to Caroline’s side as Darcy and Wickham grappled, their movements wild and brutal. “Mr. Roberts!” Bingley shouted, his voice cutting through the commotion. “Fetch some footmen! Now!”
Wickham twisted in Darcy’s grip, managing to drive a fist into Darcy’s stomach. The force of the blow caused Darcy to grunt and loosen his hold. Wickham stumbled back, shaking his collar free, and smirked again, his confidence returning.
“Ah, Fitzwilliam,” Wickham sneered, flexing his hands. “You forget. I was always stronger, always the better fighter.”
Darcy straightened, his eyes blazing, and rolled his shoulders as if Wickham’s punch had been nothing more than a minor annoyance. “That was true,” Darcy said evenly, “when we were boys.”
Wickham’s smirk widened. “Then let’s see if you’ve learned anything since.”
Wickham lunged again, his fist aiming for Darcy’s jaw, but Darcy ducked with ease, his movements fluid and practiced. In one swift motion, Darcy retaliated, his fist slamming into Wickham’s ribs with a resounding thud. Wickham staggered back, gasping for breath, only to be met with another solid punch to his cheek. Blood spattered from Wickham’s split lip as he stumbled further.
Darcy’s lips curled into a grim smile. “You’ll find I’ve spent the last decade as my cousin Richard’s sparring partner at Gentleman Jack’s,” he said, his voice calm and lethal. “Do you remember him, Georgie-boy? Colonel Fitzwilliam of Her Majesty’s Royal Dragoons has taught me far more than you ever could.”
Wickham’s face paled, but his desperation drove him forward. He lunged again, this time aiming a wild punch below Darcy’s belt. Darcy sidestepped effortlessly, his movements sharp and controlled, and delivered a punishing right hook that sent Wickham reeling. Wickham lashed out wildly, his fists swinging erratically, but Darcy evaded each blow with ease, his experience and composure far outmatching Wickham’s crude attempts.
Darcy’s next punch connected squarely with Wickham’s jaw, sending him crashing against a nearby table. Wickham let out a strangled groan, clutching at the edge of the table for support. His eyes were glazed, his breath ragged, but he wasn’t finished yet. With a feral snarl, he pushed himself off the table and lunged once more.
Darcy anticipated the move and stepped forward to meet him, delivering a brutal uppercut that snapped Wickham’s head back. Wickham crumpled to his knees, blood trickling from his mouth and nose, his once-arrogant smirk now replaced by dazed defeat.
The door burst open, and the footmen surged into the room, followed by Mr. Roberts. The butler’s eyes widened at the scene before him—Darcy standing tall and composed, Wickham nearly unconscious on the floor. The footmen hesitated for a moment, awed by Darcy’s commanding presence, before moving quickly to subdue Wickham.
Darcy stepped back, breathing heavily but still in control. As the footmen hauled Wickham to his feet and began binding his hands, Wickham let out a string of curses, his struggles half-hearted as his strength ebbed.
“Take him to the cellar,” Darcy ordered, his voice cold and unyielding. “And send for Sir William and Colonel Forster.”
“Already done so, sir, as soon as they arrived,” the butler informed him. “Mr. Bennet and the constable were informed as well. I imagine they’re both on their way and will arrive shortly.”
“Good man, Mr. Roberts,” Darcy said, putting his arm around off Elizabeth, who had rushed to his side to check on him.
The footmen dragged Wickham from the room, his protests and curses fading as they disappeared down the corridor.
“You’re fools!” he bellowed faintly from the hallway, his voice growing weaker. “This isn’t over!”
Darcy ignored the fading sound of Wickham’s threats, his gaze narrowing as he turned back to the room, where the silence was thick and heavy. All eyes were on him, and he let out a slow breath, the fire in his veins finally beginning to cool.
Elizabeth, having reassured herself that her husband was not seriously injured, sent a maid to fetch some ice for his hands. Darcy straightened his coat, then his eyes settled on Caroline, still crumpled on the floor, her hand pressed to her bruised cheek. Elizabeth followed his gaze to glare at the caterwauling woman.
“What are you staring at, Eliza Bennet?” Caroline spat, her voice trembling with rage. She struggled to push herself upright, her disheveled hair falling over her shoulders. Her cheek was red and swelling, her lip split, and her once-polished appearance was now a picture of humiliation.
Elizabeth met Caroline’s venomous glare with steady composure. “I am simply marveling,” she said coolly, “at the lengths you will go to disgrace yourself and your family.”
“Disgrace? Do you know who I am? I am the mistress of this house and—”
“You absolutely are not! ” Louisa hissed, speaking for the first time. “You are the daughter of a tradesman, the wife of a servant’s son, and a murderer .”
Caroline faltered, her bluster wavering. “Louisa,” she began, her tone shifting to pleading, “surely you understand—”
Her voice broke off as the whole of her sister’s statement processed in her frantic brain. She turned so white, Elizabeth thought she might genuinely lose consciousness. “What do you mean, a murderer?”
Louisa’s lip curled with contempt, her tone laced with icy fury. “I mean exactly what I said. You murdered my husband.”
Caroline staggered, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly as she groped for the arm of a nearby chair. “That’s absurd,” she finally croaked. “I did no such thing.”
“My husband died when he drank the laudanum you put in his tea,” Louisa bellowed, tears streaming down her face. “The combination of the drug with the wine he’d drunk at dinner cause his heart to stop beating, his lungs to stop breathing.”
“That’s… that’s not my fault!” Caroline shrieked. “I didn’t know he would… How could I know— it was George’s idea to—”
“It is entirely your fault,” Louisa snapped, her voice rising. “You poisoned him, Caroline. You poisoned us all with that cursed tea. If you hadn’t been so obsessed with your schemes, he would still be alive.”
“But I never had any intention of— I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t care !” Louisa shouted, her composure breaking entirely. Tears streamed down her face as she pointed a trembling finger at her sister. “You didn’t care who got hurt as long as you got what you wanted. And now your selfish actions mean my child will grow up without a father.”
Caroline’s jaw dropped, and for a moment, she seemed too stunned to speak. “Your child?” she whispered, her eyes darting to Louisa’s midsection. “You’re… you’re pregnant?”
Louisa drew herself up, her hand resting protectively over her abdomen. “Yes. And because of you, my child will never know its father.”
Caroline took a step back, her eyes wide with disbelief. “But it wasn’t my fault,” she repeatedly weakly, her voice trembling. “I didn’t force him to drink. He was a drunkard—a useless, oafish sot! You should be grateful, Louisa, free of the burden of him.”
Louisa’s hand lashed out with a sharp crack, her palm connecting with Caroline’s already bruised cheek. “Grateful?” she hissed, her voice shaking with rage. “You think I should be grateful for losing my husband? For losing the father of my child?”
Caroline reeled from the blow, her hand flying to her injured face. Her eyes welled with tears, but her expression hardened almost instantly. “Fine,” she spat. “You want to blame me for everything? Go ahead. But don’t pretend that you didn’t resent him just as much as I did. He was an embarrassment to this family.”
Louisa’s face twisted with grief and fury. “You are the embarrassment,” she hissed. “You’ve destroyed everything, Caroline. Our family, our reputation—everything.”
Caroline’s composure crumbled, and she sank to the floor in a fit of sobs. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” she wailed, her hands clutching at her hair. “I was supposed to marry Darcy.”
“That was never going to happen,” Darcy added. “From the very moment I met you, your arrogance, your conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others convinced me that you were the last woman in the world whom I could be prevailed upon to marry.”
“No!” Caroline shrieked. “I was supposed to be the mistress of Pemberley!”
“And instead,” Louisa wiped away her tears as she straightened her shoulders, “you are the wife of a liar and a criminal. And you will answer for what you’ve done.”
Caroline’s sobs turned frantic, her voice rising hysterically and she reached out for her sister. “Louisa, please! You’re my sister. You have to help me. You can’t let them—”
“I have no sister,” Louisa said icily, turning her back on the wailing woman. “My sister died the day you killed my husband.”
Caroline stared at her in open-mouthed horror, her face pale and stricken. “Louisa,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You don’t mean that.”
“I mean every word,” Louisa said, refusing to look back. “I never want to see you again.”
The footmen moved forward at Darcy’s nod, lifting Caroline to her feet as she thrashed and screamed. “No! Get your hands off of me! Louisa— Louisa! You can’t send me away! Louisa, please!”
“Mr. Roberts,” Darcy said, his voice steady but firm, “Please ask Mrs. Nicholls to see that Mrs. Wickham is sedated if necessary.”
As the footmen began dragging Caroline toward the door, her desperation boiled over. “No! You can’t do this!” she shrieked, twisting and clawing at their grip. Her wild gaze darted around the room before landing on Darcy. Her voice broke into a pleading wail. “Darcy! Fitzwilliam, darling! Please! Marry me!”
“I regret to inform you, madam, that it would be impossible—bigamy is illegal.”
“I’ll deny the marriage in Scotland! It can all be undone!”
Elizabeth stepped forward, her voice clear and steady despite the tumultuous emotions swirling in the room. “He would never do that,” she declared, her gaze fierce and unwavering. “Because he is already married—to me.”
A collective gasp rippled through the room, Caroline’s sobs halting abruptly as her head whipped around to face Elizabeth. “Married?” she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief. “To you? That’s not possible.”
Elizabeth took another step forward, her composure unshaken. “It is not only possible, Mrs. Wickham—it is fact.” She glanced at Darcy, who stood tall and unyielding beside her, before turning her full attention back to Caroline. “The scandal caused by your drugged tea forced action. Darcy and I were married the same day Jane wed Mr. Bingley—about the same time you would have been getting married in Scotland.”
Caroline’s face twisted in horror, her voice rising into a hysterical pitch. “No, no, no! It can’t be! He would never lower himself to… to you! This can be annulled. Surely, Darcy, you’ll see reason! You can’t mean to stay tied to her.”
Darcy grinned, flashing heretofore unseen dimples that caused even Jane and Louisa to gasp. “I’m afraid, Mrs. Wickham , that there is no possibility of an annulment.” He turned to give Elizabeth a wicked smirk. “I have made quite sure of that,” he finished with a satisfied smile, his eyes never leaving his wife’s.
Elizabeth’s lips curved into a small, triumphant smile of her own. “And I assure you, I have no intention of letting him go,” she said, her tone crisp and resolute. “I really must thank you, Mrs. Wickham, for the part you played in bringing us together. Truly, it has turned out to be the greatest satisfaction of my life to be the wife of Mr. Darcy.”
She turned to her sister, sobbing. “Louisa, please! Help me! For the love of a sister—”
Louisa Hurst, her expression cold and resolute, looked down at Caroline with disdain. “I hope they hang you for it,” Louisa said coldly, turning her back as the footmen dragged Caroline from the room.
Caroline’s wails echoed down the corridor as the footmen carried her away, fading into silence. The room remained still, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on those who remained. Darcy stepped closer to Elizabeth, his hand brushing against hers in a brief, grounding touch.
“She is gone. It’s over,” he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with exhaustion. “For now.”
Elizabeth nodded, drawing a deep breath as she met his gaze. “And we are still here. Together.”
Darcy’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, a flicker of warmth breaking through the storm. “Yes, Elizabeth,” he said softly. “Together.”