Chapter 11 #2
“No.” Elizabeth sat beside Georgiana on the bed, taking her hands. “Wickham’s actions are his responsibility alone. You were deliberately deceived by someone skilled in manipulation.”
“But he mentions it,” Georgiana protested. “Previous indiscretions within the family. He wants me to feel responsible, so I’ll pressure Fitzwilliam to pay him.”
The insight, delivered with surprising clarity, caught Darcy off guard. His sister was pale, weak from fever—but her mind remained sharp.
“That’s exactly his strategy,” Elizabeth confirmed. “Which means the most effective counter is to refuse him that satisfaction. To recognize his manipulation and deny him the response he seeks.”
Georgiana straightened against her pillows, color rising in her wan cheeks. “What will you do about his threats?”
Darcy exchanged a glance with Elizabeth, remembering their agreement to include Georgiana rather than shield her entirely. “Colonel Fitzwilliam will confront Wickham with the legal consequences of blackmail. We’re also working to undermine his credibility with those he might approach.”
“I wish to help.” Georgiana’s voice gained strength. “Not because I feel responsible, but because I’m tired of being protected from unpleasant realities. I’m nearly seventeen, not a child to be kept in ignorance.”
The maturity in this declaration impressed Darcy. When had his timid sister developed such resolve?
“Your health must remain the priority,” he began, old protective instincts rising.
“I believe what Georgiana means,” Elizabeth interjected gently, “is that she wishes to be informed rather than sheltered. To know what’s happening so she’s prepared, not surprised.”
“Yes.” Georgiana shot Elizabeth a grateful look. “Exactly that. I won’t take active part—I’m still too weak. But I’d rather know than be left wondering.”
Put that way, the request seemed reasonable. Darcy nodded slowly. “Very well. We’ll keep you informed of developments. But you must focus on recovery. Worry delays healing.”
“I promise.” Relief flooded Georgiana’s face. “Truly, knowing you’re addressing this together will ease my mind more than ignorance would.”
After settling Georgiana back into rest, Darcy returned to his study where Colonel Fitzwilliam waited, already dressed for riding.
“I’ll leave for Lambton immediately,” the Colonel said. “Better to confront Wickham before he implements his threats.”
“Be careful,” Darcy cautioned. “Desperate men are unpredictable.”
“I’ve faced worse than George Wickham.” The Colonel’s grim smile held no humor. “I’ll return with news by evening.”
The library at dusk held its usual comfort—leather and woodsmoke, books lining walls floor to ceiling. Darcy stood by the window, watching shadows lengthen across Pemberley’s grounds, when Colonel Fitzwilliam returned.
“He received me with false charm,” the Colonel reported, accepting brandy. “Which rapidly deteriorated when I made clear no money would be forthcoming.”
Elizabeth, who had joined them after ensuring Georgiana slept peacefully, leaned forward. “How did he respond to warnings about legal consequences?”
“With initial bravado. Claimed he possessed actual evidence, not mere threats. But when I challenged him to produce it, his confidence wavered.”
“Because no such evidence exists,” Darcy said.
“Precisely. When I detailed exactly what prosecution for blackmail would entail—public proceedings, his past exposed, possible transportation—he grew considerably less assertive.”
“So he’s abandoned his plan?” Elizabeth asked.
“Not entirely.” The Colonel’s expression darkened. “He attempted to negotiate. Two thousand instead of five, framed as a ‘loan’ rather than blackmail. Suggested family feeling might persuade you to assist him one final time.”
Darcy made a sound of disgust.
“I made abundantly clear that no money would be forthcoming under any circumstances,” the Colonel continued. “That any attempt to spread falsehoods would result in immediate legal action, regardless of temporary discomfort to the family.”
“How did he leave it?” Elizabeth pressed.
“With his usual attempt at dignity. Claimed he’d never truly intended to act on his threats, merely to test Darcy’s family loyalty. Said he’d seek assistance elsewhere from those who understood gratitude better.”
“So we cannot be certain he’s truly abandoned his scheme.” Darcy stated it flatly. “Only that he recognizes its weaknesses when directly confronted.”
“Unfortunately, yes. Wickham excels at strategic retreat when challenged openly, only to resume through indirect channels when opportunity arises.”
“Then we ensure those channels are closed.” Elizabeth’s voice carried quiet determination. “Have you written to my uncle yet, Fitzwilliam?”
“The letter is ready for your review.”
They discussed the Gardiners’ role—discreet observations about Wickham’s Meryton behavior shared with key Lambton figures—until a footman interrupted with news that sent tension crackling through the room.
“Mr. Harry Blackburn has called, sir. He says the matter is urgent and concerns the gentleman you inquired about.”
Harry Blackburn was a prominent Lambton merchant with whom Pemberley had long-standing business relations. That he would come personally rather than send word suggested serious concern.
Darcy received him in the entrance hall. “Mr. Blackburn. What has happened?”
“Your man Wickham is at the Bull and Crown, sir.” Mr. Blackburn kept his voice low. “Has been there since midday, drinking heavily and making certain statements about your family that I thought you should know of immediately.”
The blood drained from Darcy’s face. “What manner of statements?”
“Initially mere implications about your marriage resulting from compromise rather than choice. But as the drink progressed, he became more specific. Suggesting prior meetings before the storm, arrangements deliberately made to secure Miss Elizabeth’s position through scandal.”
Direct lies, then. Delivered to witnesses who might spread them further. Darcy’s hands clenched. “Who is present?”
“Sir William Holbrook, Mr. James from the bank, Mr. Gray’s son, Peter, among others. Most appear skeptical—your wife’s uncle made certain observations yesterday about Wickham’s character in Meryton. But the allegations are specific enough to raise questions if not directly addressed.”
The Gardiners’ preliminary work had helped, but not enough. Wickham’s public campaign demanded public response.
“Is he armed?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, military pragmatism cutting through.
“I saw no weapons. Though in his current state, physical confrontation seems possible.”
Darcy made his decision. “We leave immediately. Elizabeth—”
“I’ll remain with Georgiana,” she finished, understanding without explanation that his presence there would be more effective than hers. “Send word when it’s resolved.”
The ride to Lambton took twenty minutes, Mr. Darcy and the Colonel maintaining grim silence. Mr. Blackburn had preceded them on his own mount, awaiting them outside the Bull and Crown.
The inn’s common room fell silent when Mr. Darcy entered.
Wickham occupied a corner table, surrounded by several local gentlemen whose expressions ranged from skepticism to uncomfortable fascination.
The man himself looked disheveled, his cravat askew, a flush in his cheeks that spoke of considerable drink already consumed.
“...not the first time a gentleman has been trapped by a clever girl with ambitions beyond her station,” Wickham was saying as Darcy approached.
“Though I confess even I was surprised by the boldness of the strategy. To deliberately ensure they were alone when dawn broke, knowing his honor would force an offer regardless of his true—”
“You might wish to reconsider completing that statement, Wickham,” Colonel Fitzwilliam interrupted, his voice carrying military authority despite civilian dress. “Unless you’re prepared to defend such slander in court.”
Every head turned. Wickham’s expression shifted rapidly—shock to calculation to false bonhomie.
“Darcy! Colonel Fitzwilliam! What an unexpected pleasure.” He attempted to rise, balance compromised by liquor. “We were merely discussing mutual acquaintances from Hertfordshire. Nothing of consequence.”
“Indeed?” Darcy’s voice could have frozen summer air. “It sounded remarkably like false allegations regarding my marriage, delivered to an audience you believed might credit such malice.”
The directness clearly unbalanced Wickham, who had expected anger or denial, not calm confrontation. He glanced at his audience—several of whom now looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Merely observations, old friend,” Wickham recovered. “No malice intended. I was commenting on your good fortune in securing such a charming bride, regardless of the... circumstances.”
The emphasis made his meaning plain. Before Darcy could respond, Sir William Holbrook rose from another table.
“Mr. Darcy,” he acknowledged with a slight bow. “I believe this conversation has taken a turn that benefits none of us. Perhaps we might all retire to our separate pursuits.”
The diplomatic suggestion offered face-saving withdrawal. But allowing Wickham’s lies to stand unchallenged would be worse than the scene required to refute them.
“I appreciate your consideration, Sir William,” Darcy replied. “But when false allegations are made regarding my wife’s character, allowing them to stand would be a greater breach of propriety than addressing them directly.”
Several observers nodded. Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward.
“Perhaps clarification is needed rather than retreat,” he suggested. “Mr. Wickham has shared certain perspectives on events in Hertfordshire. As someone familiar with all parties, I might offer additional context.”