Their conversation was interrupted by Vernon’s appearance, his expression troubled. “Mrs. Darcy, there is a gentleman requesting an immediate audience. The same gentleman who called a week ago.”
Elizabeth felt her stomach tighten, though the fear was tempered by steely determination. “Mr. Wickham has returned.”
“Indeed, madam. He appears quite insistent about seeing you.”
Darcy’s expression darkened. “Where is he?”
“The entrance hall, sir. I thought it inadvisable to admit him further.”
“Quite right.” Darcy set down the authentication papers. “Show him to the library. Elizabeth, perhaps you should?—”
“I will see him,” Elizabeth interrupted firmly. “I want to watch his face when he realizes his scheme has completely unraveled.”
Graham stepped forward, his hand moving to the riding crop he’d left on the side table. “Shall I summon the stable lads, sir?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Darcy replied, though his voice carried the sort of cold authority that made Elizabeth’s pulse quicken. “But do remain close. And Mary, take William to the nursery.”
“Up! Up!” William demanded, reaching for his father with complete confidence. Elizabeth’s heart contracted as Darcy lifted their son, the easy affection between them still capable of reducing her to sentiment.
“Go with Aunt Mary, little man,” Darcy murmured, pressing a kiss to William’s dark curls. “We’ll read stories later.”
“Da-da story,” William agreed solemnly, allowing Mary to carry him away.
The short walk to the library felt like crossing a threshold—not just of space, but of time. For nearly two years, Wickham’s actions had shaped Elizabeth’s life, forcing her into exile and separating her from the man she loved. Now, finally, they would face him together.
Wickham stood before the fireplace, his posture suggesting the casual confidence of an honored guest rather than an unwelcome intruder. At their entrance, he turned with a practiced smile that faltered at the sight of Darcy.
“Mrs. Darcy! How delightful to see you again,” he exclaimed, recovering quickly. “And Mr. Darcy—what an unexpected pleasure. I had heard you were indisposed.”
“I am perfectly well,” Darcy replied with arctic politeness. “Though I cannot say the same for your prospects, Mr. Wickham.”
“I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning, old friend.”
“Old friend,” Darcy repeated thoughtfully. “How fascinating that you should use that particular phrase, given that old friends rarely leave each other bleeding by the roadside after stealing their worldly possessions.”
The color drained from Wickham’s face with gratifying speed. Elizabeth found herself admiring her husband’s restraint—his voice remained level, almost conversational, despite the fury she could sense radiating from his rigid posture.
“I have not a clue what you are referring to.” Wickham’s demeanor had gone cold. “I merely wished to conclude our business arrangement. The documents I provided were of considerable value, as I’m sure you’ve realized. Lady Eleanor mentioned the remainder of my fee would be forthcoming.”
“Has she indeed?” Darcy stepped forward. “And what fee might that be, Wickham?”
“The agreed-upon sum for recovering the marriage documents,” Wickham replied, though his confidence was beginning to fray. “Surely Mrs. Darcy explained our arrangement?”
“She explained a great deal,” Darcy confirmed. “Including your fascinating account of discovering the documents in Mr. Collins’s possession. A most creative tale.”
“I hardly see?—”
“The difficulty,” Darcy continued conversationally, “is that I possess the receipt you signed, documenting your ‘recovery’ of documents that were, in fact, stolen from the parish registry at Barnet. The same documents you stole the morning after you left me bleeding by the roadside.”
The color drained from Wickham’s face with gratifying speed. “You remember.”
“Everything,” Darcy confirmed. “Including the special license receipt you took from my pocket—the document that would have proved my marriage even without the registry pages you later cut from the parish book.”
“My dear Mrs. Darcy,” Wickham began, his charm now edged with desperation, “surely we can discuss this like civilized people. I have rendered you a service by recovering those documents from Collins’s possession. Without my intervention, you would never have had proof of your marriage.”
“Without your intervention,” Elizabeth said sweetly, “the documents would never have been stolen in the first place. Your logic, Mr. Wickham, has always been somewhat… creative.”
Darcy reached into his coat and withdrew a thick leather portfolio. “Speaking of logic, Wickham, I believe we have financial matters to resolve.” He opened the portfolio. “Let me see… debts to Waters the tailor, forty-three pounds. Johnson the bootmaker, twenty-seven pounds. Thompson’s haberdashery, fifteen pounds and six shillings. The Star and Garter Inn, sixty-two pounds for accommodations and services. Shall I continue?”
