Chapter Twenty-One
LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, ONCE MORE SHIFTED INTO THE IMAGE OF Colonel Forster, Wickham released the knocker on the Gardiners’ Town house door, and a maid admitted him immediately.
“Ah, Colonel,” Mr. Gardiner extended a greeting as Wickham stepped into the drawing room.
“Prompt, as predicted. Join me, Sir. May I offer you refreshments?”
“Thank you, Mr. Gardiner. If you do not object, I would retrieve your niece and be on my way. I left Mrs. Forster at the hotel to freshen herself up for supper, and I am eager to do the same.”
“Of course, Colonel. Permit me to send for Lydia. We did not unpack my niece’s trunks in anticipation of your arrival.” Mr. Gardiner rose from his seat to ring for a servant.
Wickham remained standing, anxiety claiming his stance.
“I hired a coach to transport your niece, but as it would not be proper for us to travel together, I have a boy holding the reins of my horse. I should check on him. The animal is not accustomed to Town traffic.” Wickham bowed and stepped into the hallway.
“Lydia will be out in a moment, Sir.” Mr. Gardiner followed, shook hands once again and disappeared into the recesses of the house.
Outside, Wickham, as the colonel, instructed the servants in storing Lydia’s baggage.
When the girl in question appeared, along with her aunt and uncle, he assisted her into the back of the hired carriage before mounting his horse.
The girl waved farewell to her family. His plans nearly complete, Wickham felt the expectation of destroying the Darcys at the same time.
“Colonel!” Mr. Gardiner called as the coach began to edge into traffic, and Wickham reined in the animal to hear the man’s parting words.
“Mrs. Gardiner and I wish to escort our niece shopping tomorrow. We will come by the Whitmore at noon. Please tell Mrs. Forster we would be honored if she could join us.”
“I am assured my wife would take great delight in relieving me of my purse, Mr. Gardiner. I will inform Mrs. Forster of your plans.” With a tap of his crop to his hat as a parting salute, Wickham nudged the steed forward to catch the rapidly vanishing coach.
“Mr. Wickham!” Miss Lydia called as she lowered the coach’s window. “How pleasant, but where is the colonel?”
Wickham offered up his most seductive smile.
“Colonel Forster wished to find a special gift for his wife before returning to the hotel. I believe the good colonel plans to woo his lovely bride this evening.” He edged the horse closer to the coach.
“I assured the colonel I would happily see you to your destination.”
The girl dropped her eyes as if demure. “That is most kind of you, Lieutenant.”
Wickham said cryptically, “I am not kind, Miss Lydia. I did so for very selfish reasons.”
“What selfish reasons, Mr. Wickham?”
“If you permit me to ride with you, Miss Lydia, I would express my deepest regard to a beautiful woman.”
“That would be a great break with propriety, Sir.”
“I promise I have only the highest opinion of you. I would wish to express my plans for my future and my ardent admiration for one of God’s most beautiful creatures.”
The girl bit her bottom lip, debating the sensibility of permitting a man to share her carriage. However, he had presented her with a good reason to hope for a proposal of marriage. “As you wish, Mr. Wickham.”
He called up to the coachman and reined in his horse. Dismounting, he tied the animal to the back of the coach and climbed in, seating himself across from her. She smoothed the creases of her dress before shooting him a quick glance filled with anticipation.
Once the coach rolled again, he reached for her hands.
As he made small circles with his fingertips along her wrists, he beckoned her to look at him.
His gaze would solidify his control over the girl.
“Miss Lydia,” he said slowly, giving her time to succumb, “I wish to keep you with me through eternity. I would present you with a love like no other. I would welcome you into my arms nightly. We would be partners in the oldest game known to man. Instead of following the Forsters, please say you will permit me to escort you to Scotland, where we may be joined forever. I have a home of which you will be mistress in your own right.”
She simply nodded her agreement. His eyes held hers, and she could no longer generate an independent thought.
Wickham enjoyed this moment, the one when his whims became his victim’s actions.
Whatever he wanted would occur. He could manipulate Lydia Bennet as he chose.
He knew better than anyone how all humanity fed on the power of one over another.
Every minute of every day, people bested their neighbors, sucking the life from those less fortunate and leaving the weakest drained and ruined.
With a flick of his wrist, darkness filled the windows as he moved to the seat beside her.
“You will adorn my house,” he whispered close to her ear before tracing light kisses down her neck.
Using his thumb against her chin, Wickham tilted Lydia’s head to permit him access to the veins in her neck.
His would be an unnatural kiss of eternal life.
When he sank his teeth into the spot, she flinched but then relaxed into his arms. This moment always amazed him, because as the victim’s life became his to use as he saw fit, the stranger’s life moved through him: All her memories were now his.
Lydia left him with stolen kisses behind the stable from a knock-kneed storekeeper, with games of hide-and-seek with her sisters, with the frustrations of useless music lessons, and with boisterous laughter to hide her own insecurities.
He did not drink enough to kill her outright, just enough to change Lydia Bennet forever.
He did not break her neck but instead gently released her to lie along the seat.
He absentmindedly stroked her leg from ankle to knee.
Being given such liberties would sexually arouse a man, but Wickham was more interested in the texture of her skin, knowing confidence it retained its softness.
He would exchange fluids with her several more times on their way to Northumberland.
The lights of London faded into the distance.
The coach isolated them from the outside world.
He no longer heard the click and the clack of the wheels on the roadway.
He sprinkled some of his home earth on the opposite seat and settled in for a long rest. The coachman was one of his followers.
There would be no need to stop for food or drink.
Changing horses would be the only delays.
They would return to his home and wait for what Fitzwilliam Darcy would do next.
By noon tomorrow, when her aunt and uncle discovered Lydia missing, there would be no turning back.
He had instigated a last stand—a final battle with Darcy—one from which only one of them could walk away.
“What does it say, William?”
He tossed the paper on the desk with disgust. The information brought his reprieve to a close.
He had enjoyed being the master of Pemberley, overseeing his properties, scouring the newspapers for political pieces that would affect his tenants or his business holdings, treating Georgiana in an attentive way, and stealing romantic moments with his wife.
This could be his life if not for an ancient hex.
“We have news from one of Bramwell’s agents. He has located Wickham’s home.”
Elizabeth moved quickly to grab the letter. “Where?” Her eyes searched the words for the answer.
“Near Chillingham.” Darcy crossed the room, putting space between him and the damnable missive. Hands resting on the sill, he took up a sentry position at the window overlooking the south lawn, where he had wrestled in the snow with Elizabeth only a week prior.
From behind, she encircled his waist with her arms and rested her head against his back. “What causes your grief? Did not Bramwell’s men do a thorough job?”
Darcy sighed. “On the contrary. They were very professional.”
“Then I do not understand. Are you not happy to know where we might find Wickham?”
Darcy clasped her hands tightly. He did not answer for several moments, choosing instead to keep up his vigil and to enjoy the warmth of Elizabeth’s body along his back. “I cannot in all honesty say I find the report fortuitous.”
Elizabeth released her hold and came to stand before him. “Will you not search Wickham out?”
“For what purpose? The chance to die or have you die?” He looked away, not wishing to see the censure in her eyes. “I will not put you in danger again, Elizabeth. I will not risk it. You are too precious to me.”
Elizabeth’s hands balled into fists at her sides, her frustration evident. “But we must stop him!”
He frowned. “Why is it my duty to protect everyone from Wickham?” Darcy, at a loss to explain why things had changed, stalked away from her, horribly and disturbingly uncomfortable.
“I willingly accept the obligation of safeguarding my family and my tenants. I would even defend the village. But who named me the caretaker of all of England?”
Elizabeth stormed after him. “You sound like those weak-willed members of Parliament who are eager to forgive the French just for the sake of peace!”
“Even England cannot protect the world, Elizabeth. It can only effectively protect its own borders. That is what I want. I want to preserve what we have. Do you not understand? Am I not defeating Wickham simply by doing that very thing? By not permitting his evil to overtake me?”
“We have devoted ourselves to learning more of the curse simply to permit Wickham his freedom?” she demanded before bursting into sobs.
Seeing her so distraught, Darcy scooped her into his arms. “Have not the past days been glorious? Just you and I and the hope springing from every wall of Pemberley? We can have that every day, Elizabeth. Wickham cannot reach us here.”