Chapter 22 Re
The carriage door opened, and Darcy stepped down onto the pavement before Darcy House, Richard close behind him. Two footmen began unloading the trunks as the men entered through the front door. Darcy had just handed his greatcoat and hat to the butler when he heard a small shriek.
“Brother! You are here. Richard!”
He looked up to see Georgiana hurrying down the stairs. She ran straight into Darcy's arms and burst into tears.
He led her into the drawing room while Richard quietly closed the door behind them.
Darcy held her as she wept without restraint. Over her head, his eyes met Richard's. Both men looked grave.
After several minutes, Georgiana drew back and accepted the handkerchief Darcy held out. He led her to a couch and the two men settled on either side of her.
“I beg your pardon. I am really quite well, considering.” She dabbed at her eyes.
“That monster might have beaten me. He was in such a rage.
But Mrs. Younge hurried me upstairs, and we each packed a bag, then slipped down the servants' stairs and escaped through the back door. She used my money to hire a post chaise. We reached London in the evening, and she left me.” Georgiana dried her eyes and blew her nose.
“But you were not here, and I did not know what to do. When I learned you were on your way to Ramsgate, I sent an express and prayed Mr. Wickham would not intercept it.” She raised her large blue eyes to her brother.
“It was all so horrible, Fitzwilliam.” Her voice trembled.
“We married at a chapel in a village near Ramsgate. It was such a charming building, the weather was fine, and Mr. Wickham was everything amiable and loving.” She began to weep again, her face buried in her brother's handkerchief.
Richard wiped at his eyes, while Darcy sat motionless as tears slipped silently down his cheeks.
“But it was not three days later that we were fleeing from him.
He had been drinking, and he was violent and enraged.
And now I am ruined, and perhaps I even carry his child.
I had never seen him in his cups. It was disgusting.
Terrifying. He pushed me so hard that I struck the sideboard and fell to the floor.
That was when Mrs. Younge helped me to my feet, and we fled up the servants' stairs, though we did so quietly lest we draw his attention. I feared he would come after me and drag me back.” She sniffed, then stifled another sob.
“And to think, I believed myself bound to that monster for the rest of my days. But when we arrived here, I read Mrs. Younge’s letter to you and learned the full depravity of what he had done to me. Instead of being shackled to him, I am ruined and condemned to a life of shame and disgrace.”
She broke down again and sobbed into the handkerchief for several minutes. The two men were helpless. Darcy placed an arm around her shoulders, while Richard sat beside her and gently rubbed her arm.
At last, she spoke.
“I do not know how I shall ever look anyone in the eye again. And we all know he will soon be hounding you for my dowry as the price of keeping his mouth shut. He is a horrible, despicable monster.”
She dissolved into tears once more.
Darcy looked at Richard and raised an eyebrow. Richard gave a slight nod.
Darcy spoke quietly.
“Georgiana, there is one matter that need not trouble you any longer. I hope this news does not shock you too greatly, but Richard and I buried Wickham today. At Ramsgate.”
Though he had spoken softly, the words struck the room like a pistol shot.
Georgiana's sobbing ceased. She lifted her head and stared at her brother.
“You buried him? He is dead? Did you risk your life meeting him on the field of honor?”
Darcy met her gaze, his own filled with sorrow.
“No, my dear girl. He drank himself to death. We found him lying upon a couch in the drawing room. We summoned the local physician, and after examining him, he declared that Wickham had died from excessive drink.”
Georgiana sat in stunned silence. For several moments she looked from her brother to Richard without speaking.
“So... I can never be forced to marry him?”
“Never.” Darcy's answer came without hesitation.
“Neither Richard nor I, as your guardians, would ever compel you to marry such a reprobate, even had he lived. Nor will I ever force you to marry any man. We shall find a way through this, Georgiana.” Richard offered her his handkerchief, for Darcy's was damp with tears and no longer fit for use.
“If you are not expecting a child, you may remain with me and my family for the rest of your life. And if you are with child, we shall travel to America, to Boston. I will purchase a house, and we shall remain there for two or three years. Then we shall return home, or if you prefer, to Braemuir in Scotland. We will say your husband fell in the war. In time, we will put this behind us, and you and your child will make your home there with me and my family.”
The young girl sat very still, considering all her brother had said. At length she looked to him.
“Thank you, Fitzwilliam, for not casting me off. I deserve no better.”
“Georgiana, enough of that. You are but a child. You are not yet sixteen. Your companion was complicit. We all trusted her. How were you to know she would behave in so treacherous a manner? And Wickham was a practiced liar. He even deceived our father, who was otherwise an excellent judge of character. I should have taken better care of you. If anyone is to blame, it is I.”
Richard spoke before Georgiana could answer.
“No. Just as Georgiana is not to blame, neither are you or I, Darcy. Mrs. Younge came with references from respectable families in Derbyshire. She was a modest, well-spoken, educated woman who appeared to have been well brought up. We had no reason to suspect her treachery. Let us not dwell on blame. Let us look instead to the future and determine how best to meet it.”
Georgiana, utterly exhausted, retired to her room. The two cousins remained in the drawing room until the early hours of the morning, making plans before they too retired.
All things considered, the future was not without hope. Georgiana would recover from this betrayal. If Providence were kind, she would not be with child. And if she was, at least Wickham would not be there to extort them, nor would Darcy ever again be forced to contend with the reprobate.
For the first time since this tragedy began, Darcy felt a measure of hope. They would survive this.
Then his thoughts turned to the beautiful Miss Ramsbury, and grief pierced him anew.
He thought of her lovely eyes and lustrous hair.
He remembered with fondness her lively manner and quick wit.
She was altogether charming, but now she could never be his.
He had lost any hope of winning her. Would she think him indifferent when he abandoned his pursuit of her?
Would his sudden withdrawal hurt her? He slipped beneath the covers, mourning the life he had imagined living with her at his side.