“Surely that won’t matter. Once we have Wickham, he will confess. If he does not, we have Lizzy and Darcy’s account. Nobody will believe that our poor Lizzy was out here carrying on with the steward. It is ridiculous,” Jane said.
“If we can make Wickham confess and prove Darcy’s innocent intervention, this scandal dies before it can take root,” Lord Hartford said. “But first, we must find the blackguard.”
Chapter Eleven
Darcy
The sound of hoofbeats faded as Bingley disappeared down the lane towards Meryton, leaving Darcy alone with his mounting dread. An hour of searching had yielded nothing—no trace of Wickham at the inn, no reports along the London Road, no evidence the man had ever existed beyond the chaos he had left in his wake.
Darcy’s horse picked its way carefully through the darkness, but his mind raced ahead to the cottage and the reckoning that awaited. What would Lord Hartford believe come morning? That his steward had heroically protected his daughter, or that the same steward had compromised her himself? Without Wickham to confirm Lady Elizabeth’s account, who would believe such a convenient tale?
The scenarios played through his mind like scenes from a nightmare. Lady Elizabeth’s reputation destroyed because he could not produce her attacker. His own position forfeit because appearances suggested he had taken advantage of his master’s daughter. Lord Hartford’s trust shattered, his employment terminated, his future—and Georgiana’s—left in ruins.
The cottage came into view, and Darcy’s heart lurched. The front door stood ajar—a detail that sent ice through his veins. He had left it securely latched when departing for the search. Had Wickham returned?
He dismounted quickly, tethering his horse to the garden gate. Every nerve alert, he approached the threshold and peeredthrough the gap. His sitting room lay cast in shadows, the dying embers providing meagre light. Nothing appeared obviously disturbed, yet something felt profoundly wrong.
Darcy stepped inside, the floorboard creaking beneath his boot. A twig snapped somewhere behind the cottage—odd to hear such a sound when he was clearly alone inside.
Then he noticed what he had missed—the back door, which led to the small garden and tool shed, stood open as well. A faint rustling came from that direction, followed by what sounded distinctly like a stifled curse.
“You always were terrible at hide and seek, George,” he called out, moving towards the back door. “Even as children, you had no patience for staying hidden.”
The rustling stopped abruptly.
“The garden shed, really?” Darcy stepped into the moonlit space behind his cottage. “That was your first hiding place at Pemberley too.”
The shed door creaked open, and Wickham emerged into the moonlight. His evening clothes were torn from his tumble into the garden, and a darkening bruise marked his jaw where Darcy’s fist had connected.
“You always knew how to leave your mark, Fitzwilliam,” he said as he rubbed his face where Darcy had planted a facer on him.
“What is it you want, George?” Darcy asked without preamble.
“Money,” Wickham replied bluntly. “So I can get away for a time.”
“So you admit what you did. What were you thinking?”
“I admit I miscalculated badly.” Wickham’s jaw tightened. “I thought Lady Elizabeth might be persuaded to see the advantages of marriage to me. When she proved unreceptive, the situation became… regrettable.”
“You attempted to force her into a compromising situation. I saw you. You followed her into the garden and attempted to make her kiss you.” Indeed, he had followed them into the garden, knowing a man like Wickham could not be trusted. Still, he had been shaken to see him actually attempt to force a kiss on her.
“Yes, yes. I did. I attempted to compromise her enough that marriage would be necessary, I would have told all who had listened that we had kissed—although I hoped more people would come onto the balcony to see it,” Wickham corrected. “A common enough strategy. I simply underestimated her reaction—and yours. Why could you not let me be?”
“Let you be? Let you shame my employer’s daughter? You are fit for bedlam, George. Or rather, Newgate.” Darcy stared at him, disgusted by the casual admission.
“That is my point. I would much rather not head for Newgate. Hence why I am here. I need your aid. For the sake of our shared childhood.”
“I would never abate a man like you. I shall turn you in. You will come with me to the main house and present yourself to Lord Hartford who will call the constable. And then you will answer to the magistrate.”
Wickham shook his head. “I cannot believe you would do this to me. I am like a brother to you.”
Darcy scoffed. “We are no brothers. You have resented me ever since I came into your lives.”
“And so what if I have? You have always been my father’s favourite. Do not deny it.”
Darcy waved a hand. “I will not squabble with you. I cannot believe you would come back here after I told you to leave Lady Elizabeth be. To let the family be. And now you expect me to finance your escape?”
“I expect you to recognise that my arrest serves no one.” Wickham began pacing the small garden. “Lady Elizabeth will be dragged through a public trial, her reputation shredded by courtroom testimony. You will be questioned about your own role in events. And my father…”
