“My dear Miss Elizabeth,” Wickham said with what he probably imagined was touching sincerity, “I could not bear to see an innocent woman suffer for another man’s vindictive jealousy. I fear your reputation may have suffered from Mr. Collins’s dishonesty, and I confess to feeling somewhat responsible in not investigating the scandal associated with my name earlier.”
“You are too hard upon yourself,” Elizabeth assured him warmly. “Your friendship was one of the few bright spots during those difficult months. Indeed, you were the only person who seemed to understand the impossible position I found myself in.”
“I did attempt to provide what comfort I could,” Wickham agreed with a contrived modesty. “Though I fear my efforts were inadequate to shield you from the worst consequences.”
Lady Eleanor had been observing this exchange with growing shrewdness. “Mr. Wickham, these documents you have recovered—might we examine them to verify their authenticity?”
“Of course!” Wickham reached into his coat and withdrew a leather portfolio with an air of triumph. “I believe you will find everything in order. The marriage registry clearly shows the union between Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, performed by Reverend Michaels on the third of December, 1811.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught as she recognized the very pages that had been missing for nearly two years. The familiar handwriting of the officiating clergyman, the careful record of witnesses, her signature alongside Darcy’s—all of it precisely as she remembered from that wet December morning.
“They appear authentic,” Lady Eleanor said slowly, though her eyes remained fixed on Wickham’s face rather than the documents. “I wonder… Having discovered these documents, you immediately thought to bring them to Bellfield Grange, rather than to Mr. Darcy in London?”
“Mrs. Darcy has always been kind to me,” Wickham replied. “However, I have also heard that Mr. Darcy is not quite in control of his faculties.”
“I assure you, Mr. Darcy is quite well,” Elizabeth’s fingers tightened over the missing registry pages. “Your discretion, however, does you credit. I am overwhelmed by your generosity in this matter. Surely you must have incurred considerable expense in your investigation?”
Wickham’s eyes brightened at this opening. “I have indeed invested significant resources in this endeavor, Miss Elizabeth. Travel, research, the various… incentives… required to secure cooperation from reluctant witnesses. The pursuit of justice is rarely without cost.”
“Of course,” Lady Eleanor said smoothly. “And naturally, you would expect to be compensated for such expenses. What sum would represent fair payment for your efforts?”
The figure Wickham named was substantial but not impossible—clearly calculated to appear reasonable while providing him with funds sufficient to escape his creditors. Elizabeth noted every detail for future reference, including his obvious relief at Lady Eleanor’s apparent willingness to negotiate.
“I believe we can accommodate such a sum,” Lady Eleanor said after appropriate consideration. “Though I would prefer to have the documents examined by legal counsel before finalizing any payment. A mere formality, you understand, but necessary for such an important transaction.”
Wickham’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “Naturally, Lady Eleanor. Though I hope the examination can be conducted expeditiously. My own circumstances require that I depart Bellfield rather quickly.”
“Pressing business elsewhere?” Elizabeth inquired with innocent interest.
“Unfortunately, yes. I have received word of other cases requiring my investigative services. It seems that scandals involving missing documents are more common than one might expect.”
The casual mention of other “cases” provided yet another piece of evidence regarding Wickham’s systematic criminal activities. Elizabeth filed the information away while maintaining her expression of grateful admiration.
“How fortunate for those other unfortunate ladies,” she said warmly. “To think that there is someone willing to right such terrible wrongs.”
“I do what I can,” Wickham replied with false humility. “Though I confess I am particularly gratified to have been of service to you, Miss Elizabeth. Your situation has weighed heavily upon my conscience these many months.”
“And your efforts have lifted a burden I feared might never beresolved,” Elizabeth assured him. “When Mr. Darcy returns from London, he will be astounded to learn that our marriage can be legally recognized at last.”
Wickham’s smile grew slightly strained at the mention of Darcy’s return. “I assure you these documents are authentic, Mrs. Darcy; however, I would be in need of accommodations. Might I… indeed… presume upon you?”
“Do not despair, Mr. Wickham.” Elizabeth rose. “Mr. Darcy has provided me a modest purse. I shall fetch it immediately.”
“And I shall call for refreshments while we wait.” Lady Eleanor rose to ring the bell. “The journey from London is tiresome, I imagine.”
“Most kind,” Wickham replied with a slight bow of his head.
Once Elizabeth was in her bedchamber, she took more detailed notice of the documents. The pages had been cut out of the book with a knife. Reverend Michaels’s precise handwriting, Darcy’s bold signature, her own more delicate script beside it, the signatures of the innkeeper and his wife, Thomas and Martha Hadley, as witnesses. A small tear in the corner of the page, the jagged knife marks, and a smudge of ink beside the reverend’s signature—all appeared authentic. The physical evidence of their marriage, thought lost forever, now rested in her hands.
She dug through her dresser until she found the small purse Darcy had given her the morning of their wedding. Ten pounds. It was all there, as the Honywoods had refused to allow her to share expenses. She also retrieved pen and paper to document the entire account—a statement acknowledging Wickham’s delivery of the registry pages, his account of discovering them in Mr. Collins’s possession, and the payment of three hundred pounds for their recovery. Every detail of his fabricated story was included, each lie preserved in ink for future examination.
She locked the registry papers inside her trunk and returned to the drawing room with the sack of coins and the written statement,finding Wickham sitting in uncomfortable silence under Lady Eleanor’s coolly assessing gaze.
“I have brought the funds,” Elizabeth announced, presenting a small pouch that clinked promisingly with coins. “And a receipt for you to sign, documenting our transaction. For both our protection, naturally.”
Wickham’s eyebrows rose slightly. “A receipt seems rather formal for what is essentially a private arrangement between old acquaintances.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth agreed pleasantly. “But Lady Eleanor insists upon proper documentation for all financial transactions at Bellfield Grange. Estate management requires meticulous record-keeping, as I’m sure you understand.”
