Chapter 36 #2
He hushed her, not wanting her to give voice to fears that he could not truthfully deny. “One step at a time. I love you, Elizabeth Darcy, and you are mine.” He kissed her, at first softly but quickly becoming possessive.
She pulled him tight, with kisses equally possessive and greedy. “And you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, are mine, now and always, and I love you with all that I am.”
He gently pushed her to the rug, laying her back, desiring the comfort and security of loving her. “Always, Elizabeth. Forever and always.”
Fitzwilliam arrived early the next day, and Darcy wondered whether he had slept at all. His face was grim and tired, but he brightened when Mrs Hobbs arrived bearing strong, hot coffee and a heavily laden breakfast plate.
Darcy sat playing with his coffee cup as he watched his cousin eat. Fitzwilliam did not make his customary banter, leading Darcy to suppose there was bad news ahead.
When his plate was empty, Fitzwilliam leant back and quietly told Darcy, “The plan was, according to Wickham, to have the brothers meet in Crewe, which they did. I know not from whence Francis came, but he was there to see that his brother was properly eliminated.
“Wickham’s story changes every time he tells it.
He now claims he did not fire the shot that killed Lord Courtenay.
He insists that Lord Courtenay was ready with his own pistol and pulled his pistol on his brother.
His brother also had a gun and did his own shooting—everyone shot everyone else according to Wickham. ”
“In the smoke and confusion it may have been hard to know.”
Fitzwilliam shrugged. “Details were changed and interchanged so many times, it is difficult to know what is true and Wickham is always a liar in my experience. In any event, at the end of it all, Francis took one of the horses and rode off, leaving his brother on the ground—presumed dead—and his brother’s servants most definitely dead.
“It was left to Wickham to deal with the rest. He disposed of the outrider, or what remained of him, in the woods, leaving Lord Courtenay and the valet on the ground. When he returned, only the body of the valet remained. According to Wickham, Lord Courtenay’s body was not found although he searched the area diligently. ”
“Wickham has never been diligent a day in his life,” Darcy shot back with disgust. After a moment’s consideration, he asked, “What of the other two men? The coachmen and the outrider who went for assistance?”
“Wickham said he took care of them too.”
“What was buried then?”
Fitzwilliam shrugged. “Elizabeth was in London, which is four days’ travel from where Courtenay was shot and five or more days’ travel from the family plot.
In the heat of August, a quick burial was not questioned.
No one knows exactly who or what was buried save Mr Francis Warren, and he took his secrets with him to hell. ”
“No one attended Lord Courtenay’s body save his brother? It seems rather odd.”
Fitzwilliam shrugged again. “No one knows who was there. It would be a matter for investigation if one were inclined to do so.”
Darcy pushed back from the table, rising to look out the window. “How do we know that Mr Francis Warren did not return to the scene and take care of his brother’s body from there?”
“That is possible,” Fitzwilliam opined. “Or his lordship might have tried to go get help in his weakened state and collapsed somewhere. There are a thousand different possibilities that I can conjure, and none of them have Lord Courtenay remaining alive at the conclusion.”
Darcy’s worries congealed like a heavy mass within his gut. “Will the investigation be re-opened?”
Fitzwilliam shook his head. “No one sees any need. Wickham’s words are the desperate rambles of a man who knows he will be hanged—or worse. A man in that situation will say anything he thinks might spare him. I would not be surprised to learn it was all Wickham’s imagining, first to last.”
Darcy paced and said nothing.
“The investigation was thorough; I can attest to that. Nothing, not one thing, has ever suggested that Lord Courtenay lived.”
“Evidence was not found because it was not looked for,” Darcy shot back. “The death of Lord Courtenay was assumed.”
“Lord Courtenay is dead. Where would he have gone and why? He had no reason to run. He would have returned long ago for his wife and heir.”
“Unless he was ill or suffered some sort of debilitation.”
“In which case, whoever cared for him would have attempted to find his people or, at the least, put out word. Darcy, Lord Courtenay is gone.”
Darcy turned and looked into his cousin’s eyes. “I wish I could take your assurance.”
After a nearly sleepless night filled with distress, worry, and despair, Darcy hardly wished to deal with his sister, but he knew it must be done.
He went to Georgiana’s room, knocking and then entering when bidden.
Georgiana quickly dismissed her maid, who had been finishing her hair.
She was wide eyed and pale as she watched her brother sit.
Darcy did not immediately speak, looking around and clenching his jaw in anger. Finally, he said, “Would you care to offer me an explanation for George Wickham’s presence here last night?”
“I should have told you…Mrs Younge said it was not improper…”
“You are not out!” Darcy roared. “What would make you think it was permissible to entertain gentlemen callers? Callers who are not gentlemen, I should say!”
Georgiana looked down at her hands on her lap. “We…George and I are…he cares for me…and—”
Darcy laughed harshly. “Foolish girl. George Wickham loves no one. He is a murderer, Georgiana—a thief, a liar, and a murderer—and he is going to hang for it.
“My patience with you has reached its end. You have gone well beyond being ‘spirited’ or ‘difficult’—you are a disgrace. Now, tell me immediately, is there a possibility that you are with child?”
Georgiana gasped. “No! I…it did not go so far as that. Brother, please, I am so very, very sorry. I did not mean to disappoint—”
“Just how far did it go?”
“He has been calling since last autumn. He came to ask for a sponsor for his commission.”
“Last autumn!”
“When you were in Hertfordshire…I…he said our father wished him to be in the military.”
Darcy’s laugh was short and without humour. “So you paid for his one day in the militia.”
“I suppose I did. He visited every now and again after that. He was always proper—”
“Proper? I assure you, there is nothing proper in the behaviour of a man who sneaks into someone’s house to seduce a child of fifteen or sixteen, much less one with the sense of a twelve-year-old.”
Georgiana looked hurt.
“I am disappointed in you and in myself, Georgiana. Elizabeth and I expected better of you.”
Georgiana began to cry. “I know. I did not permit him liberties. He did try, just last night, he tried, but Jervis…Jervis came in and grabbed him.”
“Thank God for Jervis, else you would be ruined.” Darcy shook his head. “Needless to say, given the night’s events, we have not yet decided on the consequences of your actions, but I can assure you, you will feel them deeply.”
Georgiana continued to cry and stutter out apologies. “I told Mrs Younge I did not wish to see him but then he wrote me a note. He said he might die without me—”
“He will die regardless,” Darcy replied darkly. “Do you understand that? He committed treason. He killed Elizabeth’s late husband in a plot to overthrow the government. Does that seem like an honourable gentleman?”
Georgiana was now sobbing, apologising, vowing to change, and begging for forgiveness, but Darcy heard nothing. He walked out the door.