The words hung in the air between them like a death knell. Wickham stared at Darcy as though seeing him for the first time, all his casual arrogance evaporating.
“Do you speak the truth?” he whispered.
“Yes. I am sorry to be the bearer of such news, but you had to know. He asks for you.”
For the next few minutes, Darcy made a full report on Mr Wickham’s ill health. He wanted to buy time, enough for Lydia to make the short walk back to Netherfield, summon aid, and then for aid to arrive. But he also wanted to tell George the truth. Perhaps, he though, he might yet show remorse.
Alas, when he finished, he sat there in silence. For a moment, Wickham’s mask slipped entirely, revealing the frightened boy beneath. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the vulnerability vanished, replaced by the familiar sneer.
“How convenient for you,” he said. “Another weapon to use against me.”
“Do not turn this into a battle about you and I. You should see him. Turn yourself in and you may have some goodwill for them to allow you to visit him, or for him to visit you.”
“Have my father see me jailed? I think not. You would love that though, I know you would. It would cement you once and for all as the good son.”
“George, I do not wish to quarrel. But do tell me this: Why did you come back?” Darcy demanded.
Wickham gestured lazily with his wine glass. “I told you already. I needed somewhere to hide, and lovely Lydia was kind enough to shelter me. I noticed the way she looked at me at the Netherfield Ball and took a gamble. It paid off. Although I imagine it is at an end now. You’ll finish my father off by turning me in.”
“I risked everything for you,” Darcy said, his jaw clenched. “My reputation, my honour—”
“Oh, but it turned out well for you, didn’t it?” Wickham interrupted with a mocking laugh. “You got yourself a fancy estate, you are still the perfect gentleman, and being married to Lady Elizabeth cannot be all that disagreeable either. Quite a prize you have won there.”
Darcy’s hands fisted at his sides. “Being married to her would be wonderful—if I had not been forced to lie to her about you. But I had to, and now she has discovered the truth.”
Wickham’s laughter rang out harsh and cold in the dim cabin. “Oh yes, Lydia told me all about that. So golden Darcy does not get it all after all. How delicious.”
“You bring ruin and pain everywhere you go,” Darcy said. “I love Elizabeth—truly love her, regardless of her standing or fortune. I have struggled for months with the lies I had to tell to protect you and your father.”
“I cannot help it if you have such an overdeveloped sense of duty,” Wickham sneered. “Though I suppose you’re both so insufferably proper, you would have made a perfect pair.”
“Thanks to you, she will never look at me the same way again,” Darcy said quietly.
Wickham glanced past Darcy’s shoulder and rolled his eyes. “I should not be so certain of that if I were you.”
Darcy turned, following Wickham’s gaze, and felt his heart stop.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway of the cabin, her face pale in the candlelight, her dark eyes wide with shock at the scene before her. But she was not alone. Behind her stood Lord Hartford, his expression thunderous, flanked by two burly footmen from Longbourn. Lydia hovered at the edge of the group, tears streaming down her face.
“Elizabeth,” Darcy breathed, though no words followed.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Elizabeth
Elizabeth stood in the doorway of the cabin, her dark eyes wide with shock at the scene before her. But she was not alone. Behind her stood Lord Hartford, his expression thunderous, flanked by two burly footmen from Longbourn. Lady Lydia hovered at the edge of the group, tears streaming down her face.
“Elizabeth,” Darcy breathed, her name a prayer on his lips.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she took in the scene before her—the squalid cabin, the empty wine bottles, the silver candlesticks she recognised from their own dining room. Lydia really had looked after Wickham here as she’d hastily told them on the ride. What had he wanted from her? Had he attempted to compromise her also? No, he could not be that foolish. He had to have planned to take her for all he could, like her father assumed.
What a scoundrel. What a blackguard.
But it was not Wickham she looked at, not him her gaze lingered on. It was Darcy’s face, from the raw pain etched in every line of his features. She had heard his words to Wickham, heard him speak of loving her truly, heard him confess the torment her absence had caused him.
“Mr Wickham,” Lord Hartford’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “You will come with us immediately.”
Wickham struggled to his feet, swaying slightly from the wine. “Now see here, Lord Hartford. I have done nothing wrong—”
