To Anne de Bourgh he was perfectly indifferent, for the woman was colorless, sickly and cross, and possessed of a body that resembled a washboard. Bedding her would give him no pleasure, though he would have done it to set the marriage in stone and perhaps get an heir from her. She was of such a disposition that he could keep five mistresses to satisfy his needs and she would likely not care so long as he left her alone.
No, Wickham was more inclined toward buxom beauties with ample assets, ladies that shared their favors and enjoyed the games he liked to play. Even Jane Bennet, the acknowledged beauty of the district, had stirred little in him, for whileshe had the assets to intrigue him, her innocence and purity provoked nothing but ennui. Of the Bennet ladies, Lydia had been the most intriguing, though she was the youngest, for he had thought her easily corrupted. Had Miss King not presented herself, Wickham might have explored what antics to which he could persuade her.
Miss Elizabeth, however, was both too small of stature and too slender to induce much interest in Wickham. Now, however, for the insult alone, he would bed her, willing or not, for the pleasure of avenging himself on her. Perhaps he should stay in the neighborhood for a few days and see if he could come upon her while she was engaged in one of her infamous walks. The notion pleased him immensely....
Yet his desperate situation denied any such notion. Wickham had not liked what Denny had said to him, but he was not foolish enough to discount it. Time was running out. If Wickham could not spirit Anne de Bourgh away from this place in short order, the failure of his plans was a certainty. Should Darcy or Fitzwilliam find him, he would most likely end up on a ship bound for Hades, if not at the end of a hangman’s noose.
Wickham could remember a time when all was not so desperate. Only five years earlier, he had left Pemberley for the last time, four thousand pounds weighing down his pocket, the world seemingly at his fingertips. How it had all gone astray, he could not quite understand, though he had learned in the process that four thousand pounds was a pittance in the world in which he yearned to live. To truly live as he coveted, he needed a ready income, a sum greater than that he had depleted in only two years. Anne de Bourgh and her inheritance of Rosings Park, an estate with an income of eight thousand a year if it was a farthing, solved his distress.
It had all turned to dross. The only way Wickham could conceive to regain his lost fortune was to sneak into Longbournafter dark, to abduct the chit somehow, steal a horse, and make for Gretna as quickly as the beast could carry them. How he could do it, Wickham could not say, for he knew the master of the estate would remain watchful, and the men who had defended her that day were more than capable.
Not for the first time, Wickham cursed her lack of funds. She had brought with her only the funds necessary to hire the carriage and see to their needs in a few rough inns on their way north rather than the money her mother kept, likely with little sense of what it would mean to a man in Wickham’s situation. Then it would have been a simple matter to visit any parish in London and present it to the parson to perform the ceremony, though Wickham knew he would have had to keep them hidden until he could procure the license. There would be nothing Darcy, Fitzwilliam, or the earl himself could have done once he was legally married to her.
If he could lay his hands on some funds... Perhaps if he should invade Longbourn, might he relieve Mr. Bennet of enough money to do as he wished? Wickham pursued the thought idly. It was no less foolhardy than trying to abduct her from an estate wary of anything he might attempt. Should he get the money, he might purchase the license and pay a priest to marry them even if Miss de Bourgh was now unwilling. It was something to consider.
As Wickham was considering his options, trying to refine his desperate plans, he happened to look out on the street, to which he had paid little attention, and noted the approach of a chaise and four. The blood turned cold in his veins, and he shrank back into the protective interior of the alley. That was a Darcy carriage!
Meryton was much as Darcy remembered, the dusty collection of buildings not even approaching the muted grandeur of thetown they had left behind less than two hours before. It was strange, however, that the place was so familiar to him, for he had paid little attention to the town, visiting only when occasion demanded it, or Bingley insisted.
“It is good to be back, is it not?”
Darcy turned to his friend, noting the shining eagerness in his eyes. “Yes, Bingley,” replied Darcy, reflecting how strange it truly was, “I am quite happy to be returned.”
“I cannot imagine why,” said Lady Catherine with a superior sniff. “This little collection of hovels cannot even compare to Hunsford, let alone Westerham or Lambton.”
There was nothing Darcy wished to do less than inform Lady Catherine that his pleasure was solely for the young lady who called this place her home. Bingley, however, did not misunderstand, and Fitzwilliam’s grin informed Darcy that he comprehended the connection as well.
“We should find my man here,” said Darcy, changing the subject. “He will have awaited our arrival rather than continuing to Luton.”
“It appears Howard has already seen him,” observed Fitzwilliam.
Darcy looked out the window, noting that his footman had ridden on ahead, and was now greeting another man in Darcy livery, Barnes by the look of him. As the driver was already making for them, Darcy waited as the coach slowed, until it stopped near the side of the road. Howard had dismounted and was speaking urgently with Barnes, who nodded his greeting when Darcy stepped down from the carriage. This time, even Lady Catherine appeared to be relieved to leave the conveyance behind if only for a short time.
“Mr. Darcy,” greeted Barnes. “Miss de Bourgh is in the neighborhood.”
“In the neighborhood, but not in Meryton?” asked Darcy,catching the man’s inference at once.
“It is a strange story, sir,” replied the footman. “Mr. Wickham and Miss de Bourgh stopped here some hours ago it seems. Thereafter, there was a bit of excitement.”
“Well, what happened?” barked Lady Catherine. “Out with it, man! I must retrieve my daughter!”
To his credit, Barnes did not allow so much as a twitch of his lips in response to Lady Catherine’s demand. Darcy nodded, prompting him to continue.
“The details are a little sparse, but it seems Wickham left the carriage to meet with some locals, and when he returned, she was gone.”
Fitzwilliam interjected: “Is it confirmed that it was Wickham?”
“It is,” said Barnes. “A few of the townsfolk recognized him. What happened after is difficult to piece together, but there are rumors of a young lady matching Miss de Bourgh’s description leaving town on foot thereafter. It is common knowledge that Wickham followed in his hired carriage, and then returned without her half an hour later.”
“Where did they go?” asked Darcy urgently.
Barnes turned and pointed north. “That road, sir.”
“The road leading to Longbourn,” said Bingley with no little wonder staining his voice.
“That is what the locals tell me,” agreed Barnes.
“Where is Wickham now?” asked Fitzwilliam.
