Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Wickham was in Meryton. Darcy learnt this unfortunate fact at dinner from Mrs Bennet, who had heard it from Mrs Hill, who had heard it from the butcher's boy. She shared the news with the tremendous enthusiasm of a woman who had no idea of its true significance.
“Mr Wickham has been quite out of sorts since you left, Lizzy.
His debts, you know. And that business with the shopkeeper's daughter, though Mrs Long says the girl was willing enough, and I do not see why the whole town must make such a fuss, for the girl is nothing to look at and Mr Wickham is so very charming—”
“Mrs Bennet,” Darcy said.
Mrs Bennet stopped instantly. Darcy's voice held a quiet, chilling authority that immediately silenced her, commanding the deference of ten thousand a year.
“Mr Wickham's debts and his conduct are matters I will address,” Darcy said. “I would be grateful if the subject were not raised again at this table.”
Mrs Bennet blinked, looking to Elizabeth. Elizabeth returned her mother's gaze with steady, unwavering calm, silently confirming her husband's authority.
Darcy addressed the matter on a Tuesday morning. It required methodical preparation, executed with the cold precision of a man who had spent months imagining this exact confrontation.
He had written to his solicitor from Valletta.
Kensington had responded swiftly, producing a comprehensive accounting of Wickham's local debts by the time Darcy reached Hertfordshire: a tailor, a bookseller, two public houses, a wine merchant, and a farmer whose sixteen-year-old daughter Wickham had been inappropriately courting.
The debts totalled one hundred and forty pounds.
It was a trivial amount for Darcy, but insurmountable for Wickham.
Wickham had already squandered the thousand pounds Darcy's father had left him, along with the three thousand pounds Darcy had given him in lieu of the living.
He had produced nothing but debts, lies, and a deep trail of damage for others to repair.
Darcy paid the debts quietly through Kensington, anonymously. His action was not born of generosity, but of cold necessity; he had to remove every obstacle that kept George Wickham near the Bennet family.
Then he went to see Wickham.
Wickham was lodging above the draper's shop on the high street.
Darcy climbed the narrow stairs and knocked sharply.
The door opened, and George Wickham stood before him in a soiled shirt.
His face registered rapid surprise, then shrewd calculation, before finally settling into his practised, deceitful charm.
“Darcy,” Wickham said, his smile failing to reach his eyes. “I had heard you were returned from the dead.”
“I am very much alive,” Darcy replied coldly.
“And married, I understand, to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I must offer my congratulations.”
“You will offer me nothing. You will listen,” Darcy commanded, his voice like iron.
Wickham's pleasant surface instantly thinned, revealing the sharp, calculating gaze of a man reckoning his disadvantage.
“Come in, then,” Wickham said, stepping back.
“No.” Darcy remained deliberately on the threshold, refusing the informality of entering.
“Your debts in this neighbourhood have been settled,” Darcy said. “The settlement was anonymous and will remain so. You owe nothing to anyone in Meryton.”
Wickham's face shifted with genuine surprise, quickly followed by shrewd recalculation.
“That is remarkably generous.”
“It is not generous; it is a necessity. With your debts cleared, you have no reason to remain in Hertfordshire. You will leave immediately.”
“And if I choose not to leave?” Wickham asked softly.
“Then I will ruin you. I hold a sworn letter from Mrs Younge detailing your vicious scheme at Ramsgate regarding my sister. If you remain in Hertfordshire, or if you ever approach any member of my family or my wife's family, I will publish it.”
A heavy, dangerous silence fell between them.
“That is blackmail,” Wickham said, his eyes darkening.
“It is justice,” Darcy replied. “You attempted to elope with a girl of fifteen. You escaped the consequences then, but if you defy me now, I will see you utterly destroyed.”
“Your sister's reputation would suffer.”
“My sister's reputation is my concern,” Darcy countered coldly. “The letter describes your villainy, not hers. You will never be received or employed again. You will be universally despised.”
Wickham stared at him, all pleasantness gone. What remained was the selfish, ruthless face Darcy had known since boyhood—a man who took whatever he could and felt no remorse.
“How much?” Wickham demanded quietly.
“A commission in the regulars, purchased in your name. It will be effective upon your immediate departure from Hertfordshire. It is far more than you deserve. Take it and leave, or face the letter.”
“You have planned this carefully.”
“I have,” Darcy said simply.
Wickham fell quiet, rapidly calculating his self-interest. A commission offered money and escape; the letter offered utter ruin.
“When?” Wickham asked tightly.
“Tomorrow. Kensington will have the paperwork at the inn by noon. You will sign it, and you will leave Hertfordshire by the following morning. You will not return, nor will you ever contact the Bennet or Darcy families again. The terms are final.”
“They always are, with you,” Wickham sneered.
“Yes.”
Darcy turned and walked down the stairs without looking back. The brutal conversation was finished. He felt the cold, hard satisfaction of a dangerous threat permanently removed.
He had wanted to break the face of the man who had tried to ruin Georgiana and brought such distress to Elizabeth. But the island had taught him restraint. He had extracted Wickham from their lives without a single raised voice.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh arrived on Saturday. Her enormous carriage, drawn by four massive black horses and attended by servants in grand livery, swept up to Longbourn with terrifying speed. Her fury was visible through the glass before the carriage door even opened.
Darcy was in the garden when the thunderous knock struck the door. The sheer violence of the sound communicated Lady Catherine's outrage.
Mrs Hill opened the door, and Lady Catherine swept in. Elizabeth stood to meet her. Darcy remained in the garden, just outside the open window. Elizabeth had expressly asked him not to intervene, facing the confrontation with unwavering calm.
“You must not intervene, Fitzwilliam,” she had told him that morning. “She is coming to demand answers from the woman who dared marry her nephew, and I will be the one to answer her.”
“She is my aunt, Elizabeth. It is my duty to protect you from her insults.”
“I survived a shipwreck,” she had said, touching his face gently. “I am not afraid of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
He had reluctantly conceded. His every instinct was to stand between Elizabeth and any threat, but he respected her fierce independence.
Through the window, he heard Lady Catherine's shrill, commanding voice delivering furious pronouncements.
“—married without my knowledge, without my consent, without the slightest regard for the honour of my family!”
Then came Elizabeth's voice. It was lower and perfectly steady. Darcy could not hear every word, but the measured, unhurried cadence was a formidable power of its own.
Lady Catherine's voice rose sharply. “—compromised, ruined, the scandalous talk of every drawing room in London!”
Elizabeth's reply remained measured and devastatingly polite.
A sudden pause followed. Lady Catherine was uncharacteristically silenced for a moment, clearly shocked by a woman who refused to be intimidated.
Elizabeth's voice rang clearly through the open window.
“I chose your nephew, Lady Catherine. I chose him on a deserted island where no one could judge us. I was not compromised, and I was not rescued out of pity. I fell deeply in love with a good, honourable man, and I chose him with my eyes open. I will not apologise to you, or to anyone, for my marriage.”
The drawing room fell silent.
“Your nephew loves me,” Elizabeth continued fiercely. “Our trials have made us both better than we were before. This marriage is not a scandal; it is a blessing. I say this with full respect for your position, Lady Catherine, which is far more courtesy than you have shown me this morning.”
There was no further argument. The truth of her words hung in the air.
Lady Catherine left shortly thereafter. The grand carriage departed, but the great lady's fury had been extinguished by a woman who refused to yield.
Elizabeth appeared in the garden a moment later. Her face was flushed and her dark eyes were brilliantly bright.
“Well?” she asked, catching her breath.
Darcy looked at his wife. She had just faced down Lady Catherine de Bourgh with courage, requiring no protection or assistance. He was prouder of her in that moment than of anything he possessed in the world.
“You are magnificent,” he said softly.
She smiled, stepping into his arms. “Take me home to Pemberley, Fitzwilliam.”