Chapter Twelve
GEORGE WICKHAM CLUTCHED AT HIS CHEST. SOMEHOW, HE HAD REACHED London.
Edward Street. The home of Mrs. Younge. She let rooms to some of London’s least upstanding citizens.
Since succumbing to his seduction, she “selected” her renters carefully.
Edward Street offered her a plethora of individuals from whom to choose, and the lady picked only those who would not be missed when they disappeared.
At one time, she had served as Georgiana Darcy’s companion, a respectable means for an educated lady to earn a living, but that was before he had shown her the dark side.
Wickham rapped sharply upon the door. Barely able to stand, his patience wore thin when no one responded, so he pounded with his fist.
“Enough!” A sharp voice demanded on the other side. Someone unbolted the locks and cracked the opening. “What may I do for you?” A syrupy sweet voice spoke from the darkness.
“I require your assistance,” Wickham hissed.
The door swung open immediately. “My lord? What is amiss?” Mrs. Younge slid his arm around her shoulder to brace his weight.
“An encounter with your former employer, Mr. Darcy.” He reached for the door frame for support. He noted his skin had greyed.
She assisted him to the nearest chaise. “What may I do?” She lifted his legs so he might recline.
“I have a silver shaft festering in my abdomen. You must remove it so I may heal.”
“A silver …?” she asked, shocked. However, she retrieved a knife and a razor along with bandages. “I thought a silver stake would eliminate you.”
“The idiot missed my heart,” he gasped, “although Darcy came close last evening to achieving his goal of destroying me.” Wickham ripped open his shirt. “I will heal quickly once the silver is removed. Now be about it.”
Darcy sent word to the Gardiners that his cousin Colonel Edward Fitzwilliam would join the party for supper.
Fitzwilliam would stand up with Darcy at the church.
The colonel proved himself quite amiable to Elizabeth’s family.
His stories of boisterous childhoods went a long way in bringing around Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle.
That had been nearly a week prior. Now it was his wedding day, and he stood at the front of the church.
At the sound of a noise near the door, Darcy turned to see his aunt and uncle, Lord and Lady Matlock.
Darcy met them and shook his uncle’s hand after a bow of respect.
“Uncle, I am so pleased you came. I feared you would not.”
“You gave your aunt and me very little notice,” the Earl of Matlock declared, “but her ladyship would have no peace until we were on the road.” The earl pulled Darcy to the side, assuring some privacy. He motioned for his son to join them. “Why the haste? Is the lady compromised?”
“Miss Elizabeth is the woman I wish to marry, Sir,” Darcy replied testily.
“We shared no more than a few kisses. Unfortunately, on one of those occasions, her father and some of his servants discovered us in an embrace. Although her father would be discreet and permit a proper courtship, both Mr. Bennet and I feared the servants would show less discretion.”
“Then it is a match based on love?”
Calmer now, Darcy replied, “It is.”
“Excellent. Her ladyship will be pleased to hear it. Your parents knew a deep devotion. I hope you and Miss Elizabeth will be equally suited.”
The colonel touched Darcy’s arm. “Darcy, the cleric indicates it is time to take our places. Miss Elizabeth is in the alcove with Mr. Gardiner.”
“Then let us commence!” The earl claimed his seat.
Darcy took a deep breath. For a brief moment, he considered telling Elizabeth he had made a mistake.
Then she stepped around the corner, holding on to her uncle’s arm, and Darcy’s world shifted.
Elizabeth’s eyes locked with his. In that moment, nothing else mattered except making her his wife.
She would spend the rest of her days with him.
He would protect her from George Wickham and the rest of the world, and Darcy would provide for her.
She would never want for anything, and he would love Elizabeth above all others.
Upon the vicar’s prompting, Mr. Gardiner placed Elizabeth’s hand in Darcy’s, and their fingertips entwined. He squeezed her hand in reassurance, but Elizabeth’s eyes held a calmness he had not expected. She had chosen to pledge her life to him. Elizabeth would be his present and his future.
Wickham staggered to a second-floor bedroom after Mrs. Younge removed the broken shaft of a sword lodged within his abdomen.
“Thank you, Amelia,” he rasped. Theirs was an odd connection.
He chose her because she served as a companion to Georgiana Darcy.
The intense intimacy he often felt with his victims did not exist between them.
Unlike Elizabeth Bennet, Mrs.Younge believed every lie he spoke against Darcy.
He used her, and she succumbed to his scheme.
Now, she existed as one of his followers.
At one time, he desired only one woman: Ellender D’Arcy.
Now, many followed him into hell. Like the others, Mrs.Younge did his bidding.
The memory of the cleverness and the fierceness of Elizabeth Bennet brought forth a blasphemous oath.
Obviously, Darcy cared for the woman. Except for the time he had attempted to seduce Georgiana, he had never viewed Darcy so incensed.
Their confrontation had turned personal at last. He had enjoyed stripping Elizabeth Bennet down to her chemise and binding her to the bed.
Having Darcy find her in such a state was even more pleasing.
Sadly, he failed to place Miss Elizabeth fully under his spell, which was quite perplexing to him.
It had been more than the insipid iron crucifix Darcy presented her.
If that were all, he would have simply ripped it from her neck.
No, it was something more than the old wives’ tale of iron being his bane.
He suspected the woman did not completely believe in the power of the necklace.
Instead, she believed in the power of the man who presented her with the jewelry.
Its magic rested in their connection, and Wickham found such was enough to foil his plans.
It kept him from making Miss Elizabeth his.
He had toyed with her, but he was not confident he could control Elizabeth Bennet.
She fascinated him because of her steely determination to thwart him.
She presented an extraordinary challenge.
He did not know if he could win with her at Darcy’s side.
“What else do you require, my lord?” Mrs. Younge stood by the bed, gazing down at him.
“Two things.” His voice was stronger. “Take this pouch.” He removed a folded leather bag strapped to his leg and handed it to her.
“What is this?”
He offered a wicked grin. “It is home. At least, it is the earth I call home. Sprinkle some of it over the blanket so I might rest. Without it, my soul roams the underworld at night.”
“The second thing?” she prompted as she did as he commanded.
He reached inside his jacket. “These are the ashes of my father. The village hunted my parents as if they were animals once the baobhan síth turned me. They burned my parents alive in the bedroom of our house. Spread a paste of these ashes over my wound. It will heal me by the morrow. My father’s life will seal the wounds in my body.
” Again, Mrs. Younge followed his instructions.
“Now leave me to rest. Close the door and lock it, my dear. I will trust you to guard me as I regain my strength.”
The wedding breakfast took place at the Gardiners’ home.
Although Gracechurch Street was not the most fashionable of addresses, no one who had ever met the Gardiners would judge them to be anything less than the finest and most respectable people.
“Thank you, William,” Elizabeth whispered close to his ear.
Darcy smiled at her, happy in his own right. “I will take your gratitude freely, but for what do you offer it?”
“For inviting my aunt and uncle to Pemberley this summer,” Elizabeth explained. “Aunt Madelyn will renew old acquaintances and perhaps come to a better understanding of our regard.”
“And mayhap finally recognize my innocence.” He traced circles on the back of her hand as they shared a settle in the Gardiners’ drawing room.
Elizabeth laughed. “You are fortunate, my husband, I hold only your highest good in my heart.”
He smiled. “I do not deserve you, Elizabeth Darcy.”
As no one paid them much attention, Elizabeth slid her hand into his. “Whether you deserve me or not, Fitzwilliam Darcy, you must suffer my heartfelt attention.”
“Willingly.” He squeezed her hand before turning it over to kiss the inside of her wrist, then he suggested, “We should make our farewells.”
Elizabeth blushed. “As you wish.”
Darcy assisted her to her feet. They bid their families a good day and thanked the Gardiners for their generosity and his family for standing as witness to his marriage. While Elizabeth hugged Jane for the third time, Darcy turned to his cousin. “You will see Georgiana home?”
“With pleasure.” He shot a furtive glance to Elizabeth, who spoke to the Matlocks. “I am happy for you, Cousin. Mrs. Darcy appears to be a sensible sort.”
Darcy’s eyes rested on his bride. “Mrs. Darcy suits me well.”
The colonel maneuvered Darcy to the privacy of a secluded corner. “Then she knows?”
“My wife knows everything.” Even though it was his cousin, Darcy preferred not to be reminded of his situation. “You, of all people, should realize I would not involve an innocent in this.”
The colonel nodded. “If you are satisfied, Darcy, I will speak no more of the matter.”
In the carriage, Elizabeth asked, “Why did Mr. Bingley not attend our wedding? I thought him to be your closest friend.”
“Bingley is not in the City.”
“Then he knows not of our joining?”