Chapter 10
Georgiana Wanders the Grounds of Netherfield Park the Following Morning
“Please inform my brother I am in the gardens, should he ask after me,” Georgiana said to the Netherfield housekeeper.
“Of course, Miss Darcy,” Mrs. Nicholls said. “Some find the gardens on the eastern side preferable in the mornings because the sun has reached them.”
“Thank you,” Georgiana said, then readied herself in her heavier cloak, gloves, and bonnet.
Before leaving the house, she placed her hand on the pocket now sewn into all her gowns. She found comfort in the certainty that the small gun she had begun to carry on her person soon after her encounter with Wickham at Ramsgate was on her person.
Why did he have to be here? Is it not bad enough that I must live with the fear of his speaking of my folly? That he made a fool of me? He made me think myself in love because of a few pretty compliments.
Georgiana’s pace picked up with her increasing agitation.
“Oh, Richard, do come. I need you now more than ever. I cannot let him kill William.”
As she walked through Mr. Bingley’s gardens, a withered red rose reminded her of her cousin’s military uniform. I wonder if the red conceals blood. ’Tis near the same color. Georgiana touched the petals, imagining all kinds of danger.
The rustling of leaves startled her. When she whirled around, George Wickham rushed toward her.
Georgiana held up a hand. “You cannot be here.”
“Oh, but I must. And it seems fortune has put us together again. Did you come into the gardens seeking me, Georgiana?”
“Quite the opposite. I have dreaded the day I might meet you again.”
“You have not missed me with the same desperation I have missed you?”
Mr. Wickham closed in on her, the look she once believed roguish she now knew to be malevolent.
“Do not come any closer, Mr. Wickham. There is nothing you might say I want to hear. Leave this property at once, or my brother—”
“It is Lieutenant Wickham now, though not for long. Your brother would do nothing but give me more money and ask me to leave in the politest of terms. Yet your dowry is far greater than any sum he would pay. This time, I will not be thwarted from claiming it, Georgiana.”
Wickham reached out. Terrified, Georgiana was quick to retreat. His eyes narrowing in anger, Mr. Wickham lunged.
“Help!” Georgiana called out, though she felt like something was lodged in her throat.
“Be silent,” Mr. Wickham demanded, gripping her arm tight.
“I will not go with you. Now, let me go, Mr. Wickham!”
“Mr. Wickham now and not George? That will soon change.”
“Help!” Georgiana yelled with a force from deep within. “Help!”
“Come, your father would have taken joy from our union: me, the favored youth named George after him. Me and his precious Georgie. Now, be silent, little Georgie.” Lieutenant Wickham’s sinister laugh echoed through the garden.
“I will not marry you.” Georgiana slapped Wickham with all her might.
“You will, and I will have at last what the Darcys owe me,” Mr. Wickham said, dragging Georgiana from the walled garden.
“Help!” Georgiana screamed.
Charlotte and Elizabeth Make an Early Visit to Netherfield Park
Charlotte and Elizabeth walked down the drive of Netherfield to see their friend. The ordeal of the previous day had given them both cause for concern, one that had only increased with every passing hour. As they neared the house, they heard a woman scream. The two ran toward the gardens.
“Wickham!” Mr. Darcy bellowed, rushing from a side door of the house.
“Wickham!” yelled a soldier on a large horse, leaping over a hedge onto the scene, the hooves near to drowning out the sound of a gunshot.
Charlotte, Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy, and the soldier found Miss Darcy on her knees next to the same man she and Elizabeth had seen the previous day speaking to Miss King. Blood bloomed across his jacket at an alarming rate.
“I will never let you touch me again,” cried Miss Darcy, pounding on his chest.
Elizabeth dropped to her knees, pulling Miss Darcy back from the wounded man. Footmen came running, as did another servant wielding a pistol. Bingley ran out of the house, struggling into his jacket.
“I will finish you myself, Wickham!” The soldier leapt from his horse.
“Richard,” Georgiana screamed when the wounded man picked up the gun Miss Darcy had dropped.
Charlotte snatched the servant’s gun, aimed at the seducer, and discharged it just as the soldier’s gun fired. George Wickham had two more bullet wounds in his jacket near his heart.
Charlotte startled when the tall soldier was before her. Her eyes locked on his, though the world, for her, was silent. She did not flinch when his hand enveloped hers; somehow, this unknown man brought her comfort.
Feeling a tug, Charlotte blinked, unable to understand why. She felt him tug her hand again and realized she yet held a gun. When he pulled again, Charlotte saw, more than felt, the gun slipping from her numb fingers.
Forcing her fingers to spread, Charlotte could not comprehend how the gun was no longer in her hand.
But his touch? That echoed through her body in waves.
When Charlotte gasped, the soldier cupped her face in a hand, raising her chin.
He did not let her pull away but held her thus for what could have been a second or an eternity. Time had lost all meaning.
“Are you well, madam? Can you see and hear me? I would not hold a swoon against you. I am on the verge of doing so myself,” the soldier said, searching Charlotte’s eyes.
“She was yelling ‘no,’ and ‘to stop.’ He deserved…he deserved…”
“In that, we are wholly agreed, madam,” the avenger said, his thumb caressing her cheek before he let her go. Still, she was fixed in place by the way his eyes possessed her.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and he wiped something from her face. He then pulled out his flask to spill some on the handkerchief before pressing the opening to her lips. When the burn from the alcohol hit her tongue, her senses returned to her in a rush.
Swallowing, Charlotte managed a strangled, “Thank you.”
The damp cloth showed blood removed from her cheek. It was when his eyes shifted to the others that she remembered they were not alone. She whipped her head around, pressing a hand over her heart from a sudden onslaught of fear.
Charlotte saw that Mr. Darcy had pulled Elizabeth and Miss Darcy into his arms. Holding them to him, Mr. Darcy stared at the dead body of George Wickham.
“He will haunt the Darcys no more,” Colonel Fitzwilliam whispered.
“I have seen the results of women taken against their will. I assure you, sir, Eliza and I will speak in her defense. We see no evil in your sister having protected herself, Mr. Darcy. Rather, I commend her. It was I who ended his life when he turned her gun on you.” Charlotte’s eyes then returned to the man before her.
“I did not kill him?” Miss Darcy asked in a broken sob, lifting her head from Elizabeth’s shoulder to look at Charlotte. “Oh, Richard, you have come.”
“You sent for me. I was racing to the stables before I had finished reading your note. I am glad to have arrived in time.”
“But I did not kill him?”
“I did,” Charlotte said, her eyes fixed on Colonel Fitzwilliam. “It was me.”
“No, poppet, you did not. It was me,” Fitzwilliam said, his voice stern. The last was said once his eyes returned to Charlotte to verify she understood his expectation of taking the blame on his shoulders.
Mr. Darcy sagged in relief and understanding, pressing a kiss to Elizabeth’s lips before thanking her for her care of his sister. He then pressed his cheek to the top of his sister’s head, rocking them both in his arms. When he lifted his face, he rested his forehead against Elizabeth’s.
“How do you have a gun, dearest?” Mr. Darcy asked his sister.
“Richard made certain I could use one after Ramsgate,” Miss Darcy sobbed, turning her face to her cousin.
“Of course,” Mr. Darcy murmured.
“Colonel,” Mr. Bingley said, “Ana informed the housekeeper she intended to walk in the gardens. Darcy and I planned to join her once we broke our fast. When we heard her scream, we came running. There was a gunshot, and that dastard was…”
“Near death, Mr. Bingley. Mr. Wickham was near death when you came running out. You saw him grab Miss Darcy’s gun, but I…I could not let him harm you.” Charlotte’s gaze remained on the handsome colonel.
“We could not let him harm another.” Fitzwilliam picked up both of Charlotte’s hands to kiss them. “I am Colonel Fitzwilliam, and I am in your debt, madam.”
“Right, yes.” Mr. Bingley said, “Colonel, this is Miss Lucas. And this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” His hand rested on Darcy’s shoulder as if to steady himself.
Colonel Fitzwilliam clasped Miss Darcy to his chest, demanding to know if she was harmed. Assuring him she was well, Miss Darcy took Charlotte’s hand and hugged it between herself and the colonel. With her other hand, Charlotte ran long, soothing strokes down Miss Darcy’s back.
“I did what I was supposed to do, Richard. He grabbed me, threatened me by saying he would not be thwarted this time. I refused, but he would not let go,” Miss Darcy said, clutching both of them to her. “I did what I was supposed to do.”
“I know, poppet,” Fitzwilliam said, kissing her brow.
“You came,” Miss Darcy said, pulling back enough to see his face.
“Of course. My favorite lady in the whole of England needed me. It would have taken an act of God to delay me. Bingley, we require the magistrate, and as quick as can be done.”
“My father, Sir William Lucas, is the magistrate, sir. You can send a footman to Lucas Lodge. The apothecary, Mr. Mason Jars, is likely to be found at his shop in Meryton,” Charlotte supplied.
“I think, perhaps, you can let me go, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said gently.
“I apologize, Miss Elizabeth, but I find that impossible just this moment.”