Chapter 27 Once and For All #2
Fitzwilliam looked up from the letter with a half-grin. “Well, that settles it. I would not ordinarily have thought my conversations with the youngest Misses Bennet of any particular use, but it seems their chatter may serve me after all. I know precisely which officers to choose.”
He crossed to the writing table and began to fill in the names with brisk, unhurried strokes.
“Once my batman delivers this to Colonel Forster, I shall meet the men on the road to London. The wording makes it sound like a commendation rather than a summons which will doubtless please them. Their vanity will make them march willingly enough.”
Darcy’s gaze followed the movement of his cousin’s pen. “You are certain none will attempt to flee? Wickham, especially?” he asked quietly.
“Not a chance,” Fitzwilliam replied. “The despatch mentions a detachment of regulars following close behind—ten men, perhaps half an hour from here. They will meet us on the London road at the same time I meet the chosen officers. Only Wickham will know who I am, and even he will not risk defiance when he sees my face and the men who will accompany me. My men are disciplined enough to prevent any wandering—or desertion—before we reach the city. He will have no opportunity to slip away.”
Darcy inclined his head, a sudden tightness in his throat.
The plan was sound—perhaps too sound. There would be no chance for Wickham to wriggle free, nor to plead for another’s mercy.
For an instant, Darcy could almost see him—pale beneath his bravado, a sneer failing on his lips as he realised there was no escape.
Fitzwilliam’s men would not hesitate to act. If Wickham tried to run, he would be dragged back in chains—or shot in the back before he managed ten paces.
The image unsettled Darcy more than he wished to admit. He had wanted justice, not blood. Yet the difference between the two seemed to grow thinner by the moment.
Fitzwilliam blotted the page, sanded it, and sealed it with the efficiency of a man long used to command.
“There,” he said with satisfaction. “By nightfall it will be done. Wickham will be on the road to London, and within days he will be bound for the Continent to face real fighting. What becomes of the others I neither know nor care.”
Darcy nodded once; the words had left a bitter taste.
He knew Wickham could not be allowed his freedom any longer, yet there was little satisfaction in such justice.
Perhaps, with diligence and a miracle of discipline, Wickham might yet make something of himself—but Darcy doubted it.
Hard work had never suited him. Far more likely, the first hardship would send him fleeing, and he would end as he had lived—reckless, deceitful, and too proud to learn.
Slipping the sealed order into his coat, Fitzwilliam turned towards the door. “Do not look so grave, Darcy,” he said lightly. “You will thank me before long.”
When the door closed behind him, Darcy remained where he stood, staring into the dull red embers of the fire. He would indeed be thankful—if only it did not feel so very much like vengeance. Justice demanded action, yet it seemed to him that mercy had no place in it now.
He stood unmoving for several minutes, the events of the morning—in truth, the whole of his dealings with Wickham— rang through his mind like the tolling of a bell.
For the first time, he wondered what his father would have thought—whether the elder Mr Darcy would have judged him for this cold resolve, or quietly approved the necessity of it.
Perhaps it was vengeance, but it was also necessary—to prevent further ruin, to protect others from suffering as Georgiana nearly had.
He drew a steadying breath, but the room felt close and airless. The scrape of boots in the corridor broke the stillness.
“Darcy, there you are,” Bingley said cheerfully as he entered, giving his friend a companionable slap on the shoulder.
“Are you not longing to visit your intended? You have but a few days before you must return to London, and since Mr Bennet has forbidden me from visiting as frequently while you are gone, I mean to make the most of my liberty while I may.”
Darcy turned, welcoming the interruption though his mind remained elsewhere. “What have you done about your sister, Bingley?”
“My sister?” Bingley repeated, startled. “What of Caroline?”
“The letters she has written to Miss Bennet,” Darcy said curtly, his tone sharper than he intended.
Bingley paled. “What do you know?”
“Elizabeth told me what her sister confided,” Darcy replied.
“I promised her I would allow Miss Bennet to speak to you herself, but I warned Elizabeth that if she delayed too long, I would speak for her. If your sister has written similar nonsense to others in the neighbourhood, and if any word of it reaches London to harm Georgiana’s reputation, I shall not hesitate to make public her instability—and my aunt will do the same with considerably less restraint. ”
Bingley let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl, surprising Darcy by its vehemence.
“Miss Bennet told me,” he said tightly, “though not entirely by choice. Her father mentioned the letters first, and I demanded the truth when we spoke yesterday afternoon. She was honest with me—and it explains a great deal about her hesitation since Caroline left Netherfield.”
Darcy studied him, noting the flush of anger that coloured Bingley’s usually cheerful countenance and the stiffness in his jaw.
For all his good humour, Bingley’s affection for his sister clearly ran deep—and his sense of betrayal was deeper still.
Darcy felt a flicker of remorse for his friend and, in that same instant, gratitude for Georgiana’s quiet disposition.
How fortunate he was that his sister’s nature was mild and her conduct generally sensible; he could not imagine enduring what Bingley must now face.
“I have written to my uncle, asking him to restrict Caroline’s letter writing,” Bingley admitted after a moment.
“Her dowry will soon be turned over to her, and the solicitor must meet with her and my uncle so she can determine where she wishes to live. She knows that I will not subsidise her life in any way and that she must learn to be careful with what she has. From my uncle’s last letter—which, I confess, I had not read as carefully as I ought—I am convinced they will be pleased enough to see her settled elsewhere.
Still, it seems I will have to hire her companion myself, someone who can act as a minder of sorts, to ensure her loyalty lies with me.
I may have to do the same with all her servants—save, perhaps, her maid. ”
“The interest on her dowry will not be enough to allow her to travel? Or to live in London?” Darcy asked.
“Not when she must also pay for a home and everything else she will require,” Bingley replied grimly.
“She is fortunate that I have not demanded repayment of the overages she has spent these past several years. I let them pass because I could afford to—but now that I am looking at my accounts more closely, I can see just how indulgent I have been. I am glad, for my own peace of mind, that I will no longer be responsible for her.”
“That is quite a change, Bingley,” Darcy said, keeping his tone deliberately light, watching his friend with quiet concern. “Tell me, do you mean to remain here after my wedding? Will you continue learning how to manage the estate?”
Bingley released a slow breath. “I intend to,” he said after a moment’s thought.
“As you know, I have asked to call on Miss Bennet, and I believe we understand each other well enough. I will not say I am in love with her—not yet—but she has held my attention longer than any lady before her. Even when I was in London before the Bennet ladies joined us there, and I attended a few of the events to which I was invited, my thoughts did not stray far from her. I noticed some of the ladies, of course, but I did not seek them out. You would not have seen, for you did not attend any of those gatherings, but I did not dance even once.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly, hiding a smile. That, from Bingley, was a confession indeed.
“Then perhaps,” Darcy said, “as you and Miss Bennet come to know each other better, you may decide by spring whether you wish to continue your pursuit. My aunt will expect Elizabeth and me to attend part of the Season, and I daresay she would enjoy having her sister join us for a time. If so, you would have the opportunity to observe Miss Bennet in London society and see whether she continues to hold your interest—even when surrounded by all your angels.”
Bingley laughed at his jest, the tension appearing to ease ever so slightly from his shoulders.
“Ah, Darcy, you will never let me forget that foolish phrase,” he said with good humour.
“I assure you, Miss Bennet is no angel in the sense I once meant. She is gentle, yes, but not insipid. Her sweetness is quite real—she makes goodness look effortless. We still have much to speak to each other about, but I refuse to see her as merely an ‘angel’ any longer. Instead, I am determined to learn the type of lady she truly is.”
Darcy smiled faintly. “Then she will suit you very well.”
He meant it sincerely. For all his teasing, he wished his friend nothing but happiness—he and Miss Bennet were well-matched.
Yet even as he spoke, his thoughts drifted to Elizabeth.
Her liveliness, her wit, her courage in every situation—all the qualities that had first undone him—were of quite a different nature.
While he might sometimes wish she were a trifle more cautious or reserved, he would not trade a single spark of her spirit for all the gentleness in the world.
Still, watching Bingley now, Darcy felt a stirring of something like pride.
His friend was changing. Perhaps, Darcy thought, they were both learning much the same lesson: that love, when rightly placed, demanded more than admiration.
It required constancy, humility, and the courage to face one’s own failings.
He rose suddenly, a rare smile breaking through his composure.
“Come, Bingley,” he said, a touch of eagerness colouring his voice.
“Let us ride to Longbourn. I cannot wait another hour to see Elizabeth. We have less than a month until our wedding, and I must return to London within a se’nnight.
Duty will keep me there for a fortnight, leaving me to return only a handful of days before the ceremony.
I mean to spend every moment I can in her company before I must be parted from her. ”
Bingley looked up in mild astonishment, but Darcy was already striding for the door, laughter catching in his throat as he called for his horse. For once, propriety and patience were forgotten—there was only the thought of Elizabeth, and the warmth that awaited him at Longbourn.