Chapter Fourteen
Darcy refused to consider why he was desperately eager to return to Meryton.
He hurried through meetings with his lawyers, keeping them up late each night to prepare the settlement papers.
The third morning after he had left Netherfield, he waited in his lawyer’s office while the clerks who had worked all night finished their fair copy of the settlement. After that he started off directly by horse on the road to Hertfordshire.
Colonel Fitzwilliam accompanied him on the ride of nearly thirty miles without any complaints, though he smirked the whole way and several times referred to the eagerness of the lover.
Even though he in no way needed the approval of his relations for his marriage, Darcy desired that Colonel Fitzwilliam would like Elizabeth.
The colonel was his most sensible cousin—and the only one who had never liked Mary.
No. That was not quite correct.
His cousin had liked Mary well enough, but from the first he had spoken about her in a manner that showed that he thought Darcy to be ill matched with her.
For the last hour on the road the two spoke little, and Darcy’s mind was full of how Elizabeth might greet him.
He wanted to hear her voice.
He wanted to watch her play with Emily. He wanted to hear her talk about her father’s health, he wanted to admire the capable way in which she handled her difficult family, and, when the moment was precisely right, he wanted to kiss her.
Instead of the imagined joyous reception, he found the woman he would marry in conversation with Wickham.
George Wickham’s face had leered at him in the background of a hundred horrifying dreams since Mary fell to her death. That same face now leered at Elizabeth Bennet.
His enemy.
In front of him.
Darcy stalked up to Wickham.
The habits instilled in him by his father, who whipped him if he ever let his temper get the better of him, were all that kept Darcy from punching the man in the face, grabbing him by his coat, and hurling him through a window. “Why are you here?”
“I—”
“Why?”
Wickham’s eyes bulged.
Colonel Fitzwilliam stood next to Darcy, his form tense and ready.
The raised voices brought the people in the drawing room out.
Georgiana’s eyes were wide at seeing her brother glaring at the miscreant.
An officer whose name might have been Denny hurried to stand next to Wickham. He glared at Darcy. “Why are you shouting at my friend?”
Several other officers, dressed in their red uniforms, stood in a circle near Elizabeth. Her face was pale, and her eyes flickered between Wickham and Darcy.
At last, Darcy had found him.
Because Wickham had fled after Darcy discovered what he had done with Mary, and then again after Mary died; Darcy had never been able to issue his challenge.
“Wickham, you have insulted me sufficiently. You have behaved in a manner that displayed the worst sort of ingratitude for the kindness that my family showed you. I shall have satisfaction. By Jove, I will have my satisfaction. Will you meet me?”
“I—”
“Will you meet me?”
The officers watched.
Georgiana watched.
Elizabeth.
Even Mr. Bennet and Bingley watched, the latter supporting the former. Mrs. Bennet and the younger Bennet sisters crowded into the hall. The blind Miss Bennet stood in the doorway, her head tilted to listen.
Oh God. Emily also watched.
His daughter hid behind Miss Bennet and the door of the drawing room, only her little pale face visible.
“You must explain to me,” Wickham said slowly, his voice calm, “what you accuse me of.”
“You know. You know why I have no choice but to challenge you.”
“Darcy, you— I am a gentleman. If I am forced to fight, I shall. I am no coward. But I can think of no insult that I have offered you that would give you reason to kill me. Let us make peace. Perhaps we—”
“You want me to say it aloud? You want me to expose my shame to the whole world?”
Wickham held his hands out defensively and tried to look small. “Darcy, I do not want to fight you. Please, accept an apology for whatever you believe me to have done.”
“I can never forgive you.”
“Darcy, I shall not—”
“Good God, Wickham!” Captain Carter exclaimed. “You are a coward. How you behave as a gentleman and an officer reflects upon all of us. Denny, what sort of man have you introduced into our company?”
Wickham stood taller. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “It is no cowardice to refuse to fight about a trivial matter with a man who wishes to revenge himself upon me for a petty reason, and not to display honour, and I—”
“You cuckolded me!”
The air swam red in front of Darcy. He had announced it himself.
“I will kill you for it,” he added, baring his teeth. “By Jove, I will see you dead. I will put a bullet through your heart.”
Emily had left her secure vantage point by the door. She pulled at the back of his riding coat. “Papa, Papa.”
Darcy bent down and picked up his daughter.
She felt lighter than usual. His hands were tight. She giggled. “What’s cuckolded?”
It felt like a splash of cold water on the face.
Darcy hugged her against him. She asked again, “What is cuckold?”
Darcy handed Emily to Georgiana. “Take her away.”
Her sister’s face was white. She looked between Darcy and Wickham.
As soon as Darcy pushed her towards his sister, Emily started to cry with great sobs, and she reached for Darcy. “Papa, Papa! Hold me! Papa!”
Georgiana attempted to carry the struggling girl back into the drawing room.
“I never did it!” The statement seemed directed towards Georgiana more than anyone else.
Darcy’s sister froze in place and turned, Emily still in her arms, staring at Wickham with something in her eyes that suggested that she wished to listen to him with all her soul.
Wickham spoke clearly, loud enough to be heard over Emily’s sobbing.
“He is lying—Denny, Carter, he only wishes to kill me because I am a witness. The only witness. I saw Mr. Darcy throw Mrs. Darcy from the balcony. If he kills me, there will not be anyone who can swear to the truth. I will not meet him. I will not. But not because I am a coward. I am not a coward!”
Gasps went around the room.
“Mr. Wickham,” Darcy said, his voice ice cold, “if you wish to swear your lies as honest truth before a Justice of the Peace, I am prepared to wait to meet you until my name has been cleared at the assizes.”
“They never punish the rich for the evil they do,” Wickham cried out.
“Everyone knows that. You will bribe enough witnesses. Your servants will lie for you. I know that the great judge who is your friend will see you acquitted if a prosecution is brought against you. We all know that it is pointless to use the law to punish a man of great consequence. But I saw. And I shall tell everyone.”
“By God, if you do not mean to bring a prosecution, then meet him!” Captain Carter exclaimed. “If any of what you say is true—which I doubt—Mr. Darcy offered you enough of an insult that you are a worthless fellow if you will not fight him. By God, prove that you are not a stain on my regiment.”
Wickham wiped his hands on his breeches. “I must see justice done for Mary. Yes. I must. I stayed silent because of my love for your father and mother. But I must make it known what you did. I cannot fight you until everyone knows.”
“Then go to a deuced Justice of the Peace!” Darcy exclaimed. “But after the jury has cleared my name, will you let me shoot you? Or must I satisfy myself with bringing suit for slander and throwing you in gaol when you cannot pay the damages?”
“You always hated me because your father loved me more!” Wickham exclaimed. “And Mary loved me better as well. You wish to kill me for that jealousy.”
Emily began wailing again and reaching for Darcy. “Papa! Hold me, Papa!”
Georgiana started; her attention had been wholly absorbed in watching the proceedings, and she had not managed to carry her niece away. Emily threw herself from her aunt’s arms, hit her head on the floor, and ran sobbing to Darcy.
Darcy picked up his child, half mechanically.
He kissed her hair and bounced her, but she sobbed and sobbed.
Suddenly it was impossible for him to demand once more that Wickham meet him.
“The deuce!” Captain Carter exclaimed. He grabbed Wickham’s arm and dragged him towards the vestibule, saying, “Worthless, worthless, worthless fellow. Denny, by God, we were not so desperate for officers that you needed to entice this thing into the regiment.”
“I am not a coward,” Wickham repeated softly. “I am not. I must tell everyone.”
“Then accept the challenge,” the captain sneered, “and meet him like a man of honour.”
Wickham turned back to Darcy. He swallowed. His face was pale. “I…Mr. Darcy, you make it so that I have no choice. I will meet you. Tomorrow.”
“Good.” Darcy replied, feeling sick.
Emily clung tightly to him.
Did he really mean to kill his frightened old friend?
Would that not be murder?
Did Darcy really mean to risk his life, when he was about to marry Elizabeth?
What would Emily think if he died?
What would happen to Emily?
He had promised her that he would not fall from a balcony like her mama, but risking his life in a duel with Wickham was just as stupid as Mary deciding to meet the man by climbing down from her window with a rope twisted out of her bedsheets.
Darcy’s voice was completely steady when he said to his cousin, “Colonel Fitzwilliam, arrange matters with whichever gentleman Mr. Wickham selects to represent him.”
“With great pleasure,” his cousin said with sangfroid tinted by a thirst for blood.
“Denny will—” Wickham’s voice cracked. “Will you, ah, serve for me?”
Mr. Denny agreed, and the two seconds left with Wickham and the other officers.
A great silence fell.
Then Elizabeth suddenly ran to her father. “Papa, are you well? Are you?”
The gentleman’s legs were shaking, despite how he was supported by Bingley and Miss Bennet. Then the older man’s whole body started to tremble.
“Quickly,” Elizabeth said. “We must help him lie down.”
“My library,” Mr. Bennet said, stopping them from going to the drawing room. He pointed at the door with an unsteady arm.
Rather than arguing, Elizabeth took her blind sister’s place at her father’s side, and with Mr. Bingley’s help they quickly stepped Mr. Bennet into the library.
Darcy moved towards them, and he tried to put down Emily so that he could help, but the girl screeched, “No, no, no!” and clung onto him tighter.
The youngest two Bennet daughters turned to each other, then Miss Lydia giggled and said, “Will Mr. Darcy kill Lizzy too?”
Georgiana closed her eyes. She looked to be in pain.
And then Mrs. Bennet shrieked, “No, no! You cannot. You must marry my daughter before you can get yourself killed! You agreed to marry her! Oh, you will die. Mr. Bennet will die. And we shall all starve.”
“As a clergyman,” Mr. Collins said, “I can never approve of duelling—or bloodshed of any sort. Mr. Darcy, think of what your esteemed aunt would say if she advised you in this circumstance. But you must feel the disgrace of the awful character of your first wife. And it must speak to some deficiency in you as well. Are you certain, wholly certain, that the girl is yours? I shall write immediately to tell your aunt about all that I have learned.”
“You cannot!” Mrs. Bennet shouted at Darcy again. “You cannot fight him until you marry her! You promised. Do you hear me?”
“I do, madam. And you are right to be concerned upon this point,” Darcy replied. “The special licence and the settlement papers are in my saddlebags. I am quite prepared to marry your daughter this evening.”
This quieted Mrs. Bennet for half a minute. Then she exclaimed, “But there is so little time to prepare!”