Chapter 18 #2
“Time is up, Caroline,” he demanded. “You and I shall be married at once, or I’ll tell all of London what a wanton you are.”
That ought to sound like a threat, but the rasp of desire lacing his words turned it into flirtation. Into seduction.
He liked her lustful nature. Couldn’t get enough of it. He was as much her pawn as she was his.
“Please, not yet.” She ran a finger down the lapel of his uniform. “My friend in Cornwall is willing to marry you—”
“That won’t do.” He pulled her against him, his warmth rushing over her.
Desire fogged her brain, and she could make no sense of his words. For so long, she’d striven to devise a solution acceptable to them both. Her mind was overwhelmed with exhaustion and frustration. “What objection could you have?”
“I don’t want another woman, Caroline. I want you. After sampling the goods, I’ve found them to my liking.” He pressed a hand to her cheek and kissed her, weakening her knees.
His voice grew rough. “We’re a match not only in bed, but in intellect—in disposition. Why are you fighting this?”
His lips burned a trail from her temple to the hollow behind her ear, turning her thoughts to porridge. His hands skimmed along her curves until she ached for him. But it wasn’t enough.
“Can you not see the advantage of having me at Pemberley?” she said, breaking away from his embrace. “I can get you more money once I marry Darcy.”
He looked at her warily, hesitating a moment. Finally, he said, “I need money now. I can’t put off my creditors any longer.”
She rolled her eyes, then took off a gold bracelet and gave it to him. It was studded with rubies and pearls. “This should be enough to satisfy your creditors for a few more days.”
Wickham eyed it, then stashed it in a pocket. “Twenty-four hours, and then I go to your brother.”
She wanted to argue—but then, Wickham’s eyes widened with alarm as he looked over her shoulder. The sound of a gun cocking made her whirl around. A hunting rifle was aimed at Wickham’s chest.
Her mouth grew dry, and terror pulsed through her. She couldn’t let this happen. No matter what Wickham had done, she couldn’t let her brother kill him.
“Give her back the bracelet,” Charles said. “The magistrate is on his way. It appears we can add extortion to your crimes.”
Her mind reeling, she stepped in front of Wickham, between him and the gun barrel. If he went to prison, it would ruin all her plans.
“Charles, stop this nonsense. No crime has been committed. This is not what it seems.”
He fixed his blue eyes fully on her face. They were dark with rage. “I know exactly what it is. Darcy found Minnie—she told us everything. Including the fact that you are expecting Wickham’s child.”
Minnie! How was that possible? She turned to Wickham, fury rising inside her. “You said you sent Minnie to Derbyshire!”
He looked at her in bewilderment, then shook his head. “I lied, Caro. Really, you must stop believing the things I say to you.”
Somehow, she couldn’t fault him for those words. He was right. She should have known better.
Wickham raised his eyes to Charles. “My dear Bingley, that gun is unnecessary. I’m perfectly willing to make an honest woman of your sister.”
Charles gave him a cold smile. The expression was eerie—like nothing she’d seen before on her brother’s normally cheerful face. “You will,” he replied to Wickham’s offer. “On my terms.”
“I shall not marry him!” Caroline declared, panic rising. “He’s a rogue.”
Charles looked at her, his eyes round and searching. “After what you did to Jane, and what you tried to do to Darcy, you call him a rogue? That’s rich, Caro. You will marry him if you ever want to see another penny from me.”
She narrowed her eyes, defiance hardening the muscles of her jaw. “Do not threaten me. My dowry—”
“Cannot be distributed without my signature. My father set it up that way to protect you from fortune hunters.”
Her lips parted. She’d heard nothing of this before. “And yet you want to turn it over to the most despicable fortune hunter of them all?”
“Caroline, I repeat, you’re expecting his child.”
She waved her hand. That was no more than a minor inconvenience—she would come up with something.
“Besides,” Charles continued. “I shan’t turn over your dowry to him. I’ll set up a trust for you, which he has no access to, and give you a quarterly allowance from the interest.”
“What?” Caroline stiffened. Would Charles truly deny her the money her father had intended for her?
“The principle will remain under my control,” her brother reiterated. “If you like, you can provide your husband with pin money from your portion.”
Wickham let out a growl. “That’s outrageous!” he cried. “I shall not agree to that.”
“Then you can sit in debtors’ prison,” Charles said, “whilst a criminal case is prepared against you. While searching for Minnie, Darcy hired an investigator to look into your dealings. The man uncovered some…irregularities, shall we say?”
The fight went out of Wickham. With his jaw tight, he remained silent a long time. At last, he said, “Fine. Have a marriage contract drawn up.”
Caroline gasped, her bile rising. She would never consent to this travesty.
Charles said to Wickham, “Mr. Philips is working on the contract as we speak. And Colonel Fitzwilliam will arrange your transfer to the regulars under his command. Colonel Forster says you will make a fine addition to the cavalry.”
Horror broke over Wickham’s features. He paled but did not protest. Caroline wanted to sink to the ground—how had she lost control of her life?
Angry tears pricked her eyes. And yet…a strange sort of relief settled on her. She wouldn’t have to marry Darcy. She could marry Wickham—and her fortune would remain safe. Her friends from Mrs. Buttercup’s school wouldn’t think him a catch. But she loved him.
Damn it, she did. She loved him. And he seemed to want her as well—not only for her fortune but for her. Even the prospect of Darcy raising Wickham’s bastard had not swayed him to marry another.
Through the tall grass, a footman approached with the magistrate, Mr. Long, by his side. Charles spoke with Mr. Long a moment, then the magistrate and footman took Wickham away.
“No!” Caroline cried, fear rising inside her. “Charles, you can’t let this happen. He’s to be my husband.”
“A little extra persuasion will make sure he goes through with the wedding.”
Caroline blinked back tears, too stunned to speak. She’d never imagined her brother capable of such high-handedness. “Do you intend to bring him up on charges?”
“I mean to convince the magistrate to remand him to my custody—until the two of you are safely wed. Then I’ll drop the charges.”
The fight went out of her as she resigned herself to her fate. “You’ve ruined me.”
Charles shook his head, looking more tired than angry. “You’ve done a fine job of that yourself. Why did you not come to me when Wickham dishonoured you? Did you think I wouldn’t protect you?”
“I didn’t want your protection. I wanted Darcy. If you hadn’t interfered, I might still have had him.”
“By Zeus, listen to yourself!” Fury flashed in his eyes. “Darcy wants nothing to do with you. No machinations you employ will create the illusion that he has compromised you. Not when you’re expecting another man’s child. It’s over, Caroline.”
She paced, seeking her bearings now that her life had taken this new direction. “You said I’ll have an allowance?”
“A thousand a year, paid quarterly. A house will be purchased for your use, though the deed will remain in my name. And I’ll establish trusts for your children. To educate them, provide dowries for your daughters, and set up your sons in a profession.”
She nodded. It was more than she was due under the terms of her father’s will. She couldn’t fault her brother’s generosity.
Still, it wasn’t the sort of life she’d imagined for herself. A dove let out a mournful cry. “It’s barely enough to live respectably.”
“Don’t forget Wickham’s income,” Charles reminded her. “A cavalry officer’s salary is hardly a pittance. You won’t be able to live lavishly, but it will be enough to keep a carriage. And if you’re kind to Jane, we might invite you to stay at Netherfield from time to time.”
A tear fell onto her cheek. “Jane will hate me once she learns the truth.”
His expression softened, but there was regret in it. “I don’t believe Jane capable of hating anyone. If you show remorse and make amends, she’ll forgive you. Thinking ill of another person is so painful to her, she could hardly bear to do otherwise.”
Emotion gathered in Caroline’s throat: gratitude, and perhaps a bit of shame.
Charles stepped closer, gun pointed towards the ground. “But if you do anything that could hurt Jane or our children, I’ll never see you again. We’re giving you a second chance, Caroline. There won’t be a third.”
She nodded, unmoved. Of course she wouldn’t hurt her brother’s wife or children. After all, Caroline liked Jane. Plus, she would have her own child to think of, soon enough.
A house in Richmond might be just the thing. She and Wickham could stay with the Hursts at Grosvenor Street during the season—with little trips to Richmond to escape the city from time to time. Then they could all spend the shooting season and Christmastide at Netherfield.
Charles offered his arm—a sort of olive branch, she supposed—and they walked to the house, mostly in silence. Things hadn’t turned out the way she’d wanted. And yet, she was content. A weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The sky looked bluer than before, the sun brighter.
Marriage to Wickham wouldn’t be smooth. She had no illusions that he would give up his gambling and womanising. But in time, marriage and fatherhood might settle him.
That, and the discipline of military life. She prayed he wouldn’t be sent to the Continent. If he was, perhaps he would rise to the occasion. He was a clever man—he might even excel there.
Once she and Charles reached the house, Darcy departed. He didn’t meet Caroline’s eye. Didn’t even look in her direction. While Jane might forgive her, he surely would not.
After devoting seven years of her life to winning his heart, now she wouldn’t even have his friendship. She felt the loss acutely. But she certainly couldn’t blame him. She could blame no one but herself.
Charles joined Mr. Long in the study, where Wickham was being held whilst they decided what to do with him. Her fiancé’s gaze locked with hers, and a wry smile curved his lips.
Her heart did a little somersault. Then, the elation grew into something deeper, a clenching in her solar plexus. She realised, with sudden warmth, that Wickham was grateful to her—that she was his salvation.
And maybe, for all his wicked ways, he would be hers as well.