Chapter XIX
Several moments passed before there was any response.
“Go away!”
The response came without any warning, a male voice that Darcy knew all too well.
Fitzwilliam glanced at him, and Darcy nodded, though he knew his cousin recognized the voice as well.
Given Thompson’s baring of his teeth, Darcy knew his footman also recognized it.
Fitzwilliam waited a moment longer, then rapped on the door once again. This time, the answer came at once.
“Go away, Younge! We do not need you at the moment!”
“It seems we must annoy him until he opens the door,” muttered Fitzwilliam before raising his hand to the door again.
This time, the knocking produced heavy steps approaching from the other side. Though Fitzwilliam and Thompson were both in front of him, Darcy tensed as he heard the rattling of the handle.
When the door opened, Thompson sprang into action at once, hitting the door with his shoulder the moment the handle turned.
There was a sharp cry and the sound of a body hitting the floor.
Darcy caught a glimpse of Wickham, wide-eyed, lying sprawled before a bed in an untidy room, but then Fitzwilliam and Thompson moving forward obscured his view.
“On your feet, Wickham!” snarled Thompson.
Within moments, Thompson had grasped Wickham by the collar and hauled him to his feet, Wickham gone deathly pale at the sight of the three men in the world he most feared.
Darcy looked on with grim satisfaction as he entered the room, Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner following behind.
For a moment, no one spoke, as all five men were engaged in glaring at the cowering Wickham.
A door on the far side of the room opened, and Miss Lydia stepped within, stopping when she caught sight of them, her expression going slack.
For the briefest of moments, Darcy understood two points he had never considered before.
The first was that Miss Lydia was an uncommonly pretty girl, her lustrous dark hair contrasting with her pale features, slightly upturned nose, and beautiful dark eyes.
The second was that of all her sisters, she resembled Miss Elizabeth most, though she was a little taller and, though Darcy could confess to bias, she was not as handsome.
She lacked Miss Elizabeth’s adorable mannerisms, the intelligence that shone from her eyes, and the elegant arch of her brow when she made some fine point. But she was still an attractive girl.
“Papa?” whispered she, though it was audible throughout the room.
That broke the spell that had fallen over them all. Mr. Bennet, recapturing his wits, turned his attention to his daughter, crossing the room in a few steps.
“Lydia!” said he, in a voice of tightly controlled anger. “What have you done, child?”
“Papa!” exclaimed Miss Lydia, color returning to her cheeks. “Why, I have caught myself a husband.”
“A husband,” snorted Mr. Bennet with disdain. “A scoundrel such as this Wickham, who keeps you in squalor and does not even approach your father for permission? Where did you get such a silly notion?”
When Miss Lydia opened her mouth, Mr. Bennet leaned in close. “Not another word, Lydia! Be silent while we deal with this cur.”
By this time, Wickham was in Thompson and Fitzwilliam’s control, and though he appeared none the worse for wear after his encounter with the door, then the floor, he looked about himself sullenly, but with no true fear.
Now that they had Miss Lydia, it was clear that Wickham thought they would go—it did not seem to occur to him that he was absent from his regiment without leave—and that a colonel of the regulars stood before him.
“Well, Wickham?” demanded Fitzwilliam. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“Nothing,” retorted Wickham, falling back on bravado. “You have Miss Lydia—given Mr. Bennet’s presence, I must assume you came to retrieve her. Well, now you have her, so you may take her and go.”
“But Wicky, we are supposed to be married!” exclaimed Miss Lydia.
“Not if I have anything to say on the matter,” interrupted Mr. Bennet. “No, Lydia. You are fifteen years old and still under my authority. I shall not consent to your marrying this man.”
“But Papa—!” exclaimed she.
Mr. Bennet was implacable. “No, Lydia, for once in your life you will be silent and listen to me. You have thrown yourself away on this unworthy cur, yet you do not seem to understand the predicament in which you have placed yourself.”
The girl pouted, but Darcy glanced back and forth between Wickham and Miss Lydia, and he had an idea. Miss Lydia did not seem capable of understanding the truth of the situation—she needed proof of Wickham’s conduct. There was a way for her to get that.
“Mr. Bennet,” said Darcy, “why do you not take Miss Lydia into the other room? I believe we must negotiate with Wickham here—that is not something a young girl on the cusp of marriage needs to hear.”
While Mr. Bennet fixed him with a sharp glare, Darcy only returned his gaze impassively. An intelligent man, Mr. Bennet seemed to understand something of what Darcy was planning, as he nodded and turned to his daughter.
“Come, Lydia,” said he, directing her to the door she had come through moments before. “Darcy is right. This is better handled without our presence.”
Miss Lydia offered a beatific smile, then turned to Wickham.
“When I return, perhaps our betrothal will be settled. I cannot wait!”
Wickham’s sickly smile suggested he did not agree with her, but he did not protest. When Mr. Bennet led his daughter from the room, Darcy turned back to the man who had plagued him since he was a boy.
As was his wont, Wickham affected more confidence than he felt.
Darcy allowed himself a cold smile. Wickham was not about to escape this time.
“Well, Wickham,” said Darcy, “it appears you have stepped in it this time.”
“What is it to you?” demanded Wickham. “I cannot imagine what you have to do with the Bennets, of all people. Do you not know how much they detest you?”
“Watch your tongue,” snapped Thompson, cuffing Wickham. “Don’t talk back to your betters.”
“They are friends, are they not?” asked Fitzwilliam agreeably. “Why, I met Miss Elizabeth in Kent in the spring—delightful woman, indeed. Though my acquaintance with her relations is of a newer variety, I am already disposed to approve of them.”
“Do you mean to make her your mistress?” asked Wickham in a tone designed to offend. “Excellent choice, Fitzwilliam—Miss Elizabeth is delectable.”
This time Thompson’s blow was harder, snapping Wickham’s head back and dazing him for a moment. “You’d best watch yourself, Wickham. I’m happy to keep slapping you all day if you mean to keep insulting the miss.”
“No, Wickham,” said Fitzwilliam, enjoying the sight of Wickham trying to focus again, “I am not you. Miss Elizabeth is too fine a woman to consider in that way, and her sister is too fine for you to treat as you have.”
It was an advantage, Darcy realized. Wickham knew nothing of Darcy’s interest in Miss Elizabeth, and might have scoffed at the notion, given his estimation of Darcy’s character. It was an advantage Darcy meant to exploit.
“Fitzwilliam is correct, Wickham,” said Darcy. “The Bennets are Bingley’s neighbors and well known to me. Of course, I stepped forward to assist when I heard of your misbehavior.”
“That is rich, Darcy,” scoffed Wickham, “for I have it on good authority the family considers you proud and disagreeable. Miss Elizabeth cannot stand the sight of you.”
Wickham cringed and closed his mouth when Thompson raised his hand, but his glare of defiance did not alter.
“It appears you are not familiar with recent events,” replied Darcy. “Miss Elizabeth and I came to a better understanding while we were in Kent.”
It was not the absolute truth, but Wickham did not know that. Something about Darcy’s claim appeared to startle him, for he stared at Darcy as if something had occurred to him. Darcy did not know what he was thinking, and if he was truthful, he did not concern himself much.
“I must own that I am curious, Wickham,” continued Darcy, speaking before Wickham could spew more of his poison.
“The notion of you fleeing a situation that became untenable is not unusual—I have seen its like so often that I can predict the exact sequence of events. What I cannot comprehend is why you agreed to take Miss Lydia with you.”
“Why not?” asked Wickham with a shrug. “Company is always welcome.”
“In this instance, company would require additional funds and make finding you more likely.” Darcy considered how best to induce him to reveal himself, then said: “You do not even appear to enjoy the girl’s company much.”
“If I am not mistaken,” said Fitzwilliam, “it was because our Wickham here lacked the funds to retreat on his own.”
“A spot of bad luck, nothing more,” said Wickham, shrugging as if it did not signify. “I had thought to retreat alone, but Miss Lydia began making comments designed to induce me to offer for her. If I must flee from Brighton, why not do so using her money?”
Darcy heard the muffled gasp from the other side of the door and knew he had Wickham. Even better, Wickham did not appear to notice it himself.
“Then you did not intend to marry her,” clarified Darcy.
Wickham glared at him. “Would you marry such an empty-headed little flirt as Miss Lydia Bennet?”
The sneer that came to his lips was one Darcy had seen many times. “Of course you would not. The high and mighty Darcy would never marry any woman of less prominence than a duchess.”
“You truly are a piece of work, Wickham,” said Fitzwilliam, shaking his head in fury. “After leading the girl around by the nose, taking her away from your own colonel’s house and ruining her reputation, you claim you have no intention of taking the honorable path and marrying her.”
“‘Tis no surprise, Colonel,” said Thompson, his voice laced with contempt. “Wickham here has no concept of honor.”