Chapter Thirty-One
Darcy
Darkness had settled over the countryside as Darcy sat on the stone wall that bordered Longbourn’s eastern fields, his gaze fixed upon the distant lights of Netherfield.
Somewhere within that grand house, Elizabeth moved through rooms he would likely never see again.
He wondered which window belonged to her chamber, whether she slept peacefully or lay awake as tormented as he.
The evening air carried the scent of woodsmoke and dying leaves, reminders that winter approached swiftly.
Soon, the roads would become treacherous with ice and snow, making travel difficult.
If Elizabeth truly sought an annulment, he would need to make arrangements for his departure before the season turned completely.
The sound of approaching footsteps made him turn, expecting perhaps a groundskeeper making evening rounds. Instead, he saw a slight figure stumbling along the path, the sound of muffled sobs carrying on the night air.
“Lady Lydia?”
She looked up at his voice, her face streaked with tears that glinted in the moonlight.
“Mr Darcy.” Her voice came out weak and shaky.
“What has happened? Has someone hurt you?”
“Yes,” she said, then shook her head quickly. “But not in the way you think.”
Darcy studied her tear-stained face with growing concern. “Tell me what troubles you.”
Lydia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving streaks of dirt across her cheeks. “Is it true what you said? That Wickham tried to force a kiss upon Elizabeth?”
“Yes.”
“But is it not possible that Elizabeth misunderstood? That perhaps he merely wished to express his feelings and she took it wrongly?”
The questions struck Darcy as odd, given Lydia’s earlier vehement defence of Wickham. “Why do you ask?”
“You knew George when he was young. Was he always truthful?”
Suspicion began to coil in Darcy’s chest like a serpent. She had called him George. Was it possible that he had broken his word and had never left? Or that he returned? “Lady Lydia, do you know where Wickham is?”
She looked away, her hands twisting in her skirts. “I… I cannot say.”
“You can and you will. If you know his whereabouts, you must tell me immediately.”
The authority in his voice seemed to break through her resistance. “He is hiding in the old hunting cabin on the far side of the estate. He arrived several weeks ago, saying he had gone to London but could find no employment as tale of his supposed actions had spread.”
Darcy’s blood ran cold. Another lie. None had spoken of him after he and Elizabeth wed. None wasted a thought on him. “You have been helping him?”
“He asked for my assistance, and I… I felt badly for him. He told me that Elizabeth had lied about what happened, that he had done nothing wrong. He said he had fallen in love with her and hoped she might accept his suit, but when he tried to express his feelings, she misunderstood and created this terrible story about him.”
“And you believed him?”
“He was so convincing,” Lydia whispered. “He said that you were the real villain—that you had stolen his father’s affection and spread lies about him out of jealousy.”
Darcy closed his eyes, feeling the weight of Wickham’s manipulations settling over him like a shroud. “What else did he tell you?”
“That he had none left in his life, that you abandoned him, that is father did the same. He was so lonesome.”
“Did he ask you for coin?”
“Yes, but I only receive modest pin money. I have been bringing him food, books, and other assortments.” She looked up at Darcy with dawning horror in her eyes. “He promised he would take me away with him.”
There it was. She had fallen for the rogue. He closed his eyes. Lady Lydia was scarcely older than Georgiana. And unlike his sister, she was a na?ve girl. Impressionable. Sheltered.
“Give him nothing. He will gamble it away in London’s rookeries or worse. Pray, this morning you were determined that I was horrid and wrong. Why come here now?”
Lydia’s face crumpled. “I suspected something was not right when I spoke with Elizabeth tonight. When I accused her of those terrible things, I could see the truth in her eyes. So I went to George and asked him to take me away with him, to prove his intentions were honourable.”
“What did he say?”
“He made grand promises, but something in his voice told me he was lying. He told him I could take things from the house and we could sell them. He said I should bring him anything I could. Jewellery, candle sticks—that he would go ahead to London and sell it all, then he would send for me.” She looked up at Darcy with desperate eyes. “He thinks me a fool.”
Perhaps she was not as na?ve as he had thought.
“Show me where this cabin is.”
They made their way through the darkness, Lydia leading him along overgrown paths that wound deep into the estate’s wooded areas until they found a cabin. Netherfield could be seen in the distance, not five minutes away. How reckless of Wickham. And how typical.
“Wait here,” Darcy instructed.
Darcy pushed open the cabin door without ceremony, revealing a scene that confirmed his worst suspicions. Wickham reclined on a shabby chaise, surrounded by empty wine bottles and the remnants of elaborate meals. Books lay scattered about alongside a silver candlestick.
“Well, well,” Wickham drawled, not bothering to rise. “If it is not my dear almost brother come to visit.”
“I told you never to return here. That was the condition for my silence.”
“Ah, but circumstances change, do they not? The pittance you gave me barely lasted a month in London. A man must eat, after all.”
“And to achieve that you have been taking advantage of a seventeen-year-old girl’s naivety.”
Wickham laughed, the sound harsh and without warmth.
“Taking advantage? I would hardly call it that. Young Lady Lydia has been most… generous with her assistance. Foolish, vapid girl. She thinks I will take her away and marry her, can you believe it? She does not have her sister’s wit or smarts, that is certain. ”
Behind him, Darcy heard Lady Lydia gasp and her footsteps retreating rapidly into the night. Wickham, too deep in his cups to notice, continued his lazy smile. Darcy could only hope Lady Lydia would have the sense to rush to her father and bring him here.
“Why can you never act with decency?” Darcy demanded. “You had everything given to you—a living, an education, a comfortable future. Why was that never enough?”
“Because it was never truly mine,” Wickham snarled, his genial mask slipping away.
“I had a father who loved me until you and Georgiana arrived and became the preferred children. Oh, I understood why he favoured her—a sweet little girl. But you? You were always surly and boring. Yet he always preferred you.”
“That is not true, and you know it.”
“Is it not? Every conversation became about your accomplishments, your future, your potential. I became an afterthought in my own father’s house.”
“Your father was disappointed in you because you consistently chose wrongly,” Darcy shot back. “It was as though two paths lay before you—one right, one wrong, both clearly marked—and you deliberately chose the wrong one every time.”
“How observant of you. Have you ever considered that when you are second best, every path is the wrong path?”
“Stop blaming others for your own decisions. The only thing your father wants before he dies is to know that his son has chosen the right path at last. That he can be proud of you.”
Wickham’s face went pale. “What do you mean, before he dies?”
“Your father is gravely ill. The physician believes he has only months left.”
The words hung in the air between them like a death knell. Wickham stared at Darcy as though seeing him for the first time, all his casual arrogance evaporating.
“Do you speak the truth?” he whispered.
“Yes. I am sorry to be the bearer of such news, but you had to know. He asks for you.”
For the next few minutes, Darcy made a full report on Mr Wickham’s ill health. He wanted to buy time, enough for Lydia to make the short walk back to Netherfield, summon aid, and then for aid to arrive. But he also wanted to tell George the truth. Perhaps, he though, he might yet show remorse.
Alas, when he finished, he sat there in silence. For a moment, Wickham’s mask slipped entirely, revealing the frightened boy beneath. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the vulnerability vanished, replaced by the familiar sneer.
“How convenient for you,” he said. “Another weapon to use against me.”
“Do not turn this into a battle about you and I. You should see him. Turn yourself in and you may have some goodwill for them to allow you to visit him, or for him to visit you.”
“Have my father see me jailed? I think not. You would love that though, I know you would. It would cement you once and for all as the good son.”
“George, I do not wish to quarrel. But do tell me this: Why did you come back?” Darcy demanded.
Wickham gestured lazily with his wine glass.
“I told you already. I needed somewhere to hide, and lovely Lydia was kind enough to shelter me. I noticed the way she looked at me at the Netherfield Ball and took a gamble. It paid off. Although I imagine it is at an end now. You’ll finish my father off by turning me in. ”
“I risked everything for you,” Darcy said, his jaw clenched. “My reputation, my honour—”
“Oh, but it turned out well for you, didn’t it?” Wickham interrupted with a mocking laugh. “You got yourself a fancy estate, you are still the perfect gentleman, and being married to Lady Elizabeth cannot be all that disagreeable either. Quite a prize you have won there.”
Darcy’s hands fisted at his sides. “Being married to her would be wonderful—if I had not been forced to lie to her about you. But I had to, and now she has discovered the truth.”
Wickham’s laughter rang out harsh and cold in the dim cabin. “Oh yes, Lydia told me all about that. So golden Darcy does not get it all after all. How delicious.”
“You bring ruin and pain everywhere you go,” Darcy said. “I love Elizabeth—truly love her, regardless of her standing or fortune. I have struggled for months with the lies I had to tell to protect you and your father.”
“I cannot help it if you have such an overdeveloped sense of duty,” Wickham sneered. “Though I suppose you’re both so insufferably proper, you would have made a perfect pair.”
“Thanks to you, she will never look at me the same way again,” Darcy said quietly.
Wickham glanced past Darcy’s shoulder and rolled his eyes. “I should not be so certain of that if I were you.”
Darcy turned, following Wickham’s gaze, and felt his heart stop.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway of the cabin, her face pale in the candlelight, her dark eyes wide with shock at the scene before her.
But she was not alone. Behind her stood Lord Hartford, his expression thunderous, flanked by two burly footmen from Longbourn.
Lydia hovered at the edge of the group, tears streaming down her face.
“Elizabeth,” Darcy breathed, though no words followed.