“I will not end my marriage, regardless of what Wickham does,” he murmured.
“But she lied. So does she love you and want to stay married because ofyou, or because of what your good name and your money can do for her?”
“The journal entry implies she loves me.”
“Desire is not love. And she kept a damaging secret from you.”
“She lied because she was afraid she would lose me, and that hurts the most. That when she was in trouble, rather than turn to me, shekept it all from me.” They had come to town purely for society’s approval, but had she really thought he would divorce her just to keep his reputation if she had done nothing wrong? She must have, and that pained him.
“There is nothing of so great importance as the good qualities of the person we join ourselves to for life,” Fitzwilliam said. “Is Mrs Darcy at her core someone who will lie when it suits her purposes, who will not tell you the truth when you ask?”
His heart told him no, but did the facts before him say otherwise? Were his feelings lying to him, or were they right? She always took care of everyone around her. Whether it was making his shirts or racing after Lydia, she cared deeply for others. Whom had she ever been able to rely on before he married her?
“I feel like she was so preoccupied with protecting me from any further harm Wickham could do, and was so fearful of my not believing her that she acted hastily. That as she fell deeper into despair and into Wickham’s scheme, she did not know how to get out, and it truly never occurred to her that she could depend on me for such a substantial thing.”
“It looks very bad, Darcy.” Fitzwilliam’s face was sombre. “It is enough to sue him for a criminal conversation with your wife and get a divorce.”
His heart revolted. He did not know if Elizabeth loved him, but shaming her publicly, divorcing her, and losing her forever were impossible. He would not end his marriage, and he would not allow Wickham to ruin his reputation. He would take Wickham to ground and end this.
“I must find Wickham.”
“And do what? Call him out? Appeal to his honour? Give him the thirty thousand pounds?”
“None of those. Well, the first is tempting, but no.” Neither Wickham nor Elizabeth had thought this through. Wickham was too selfish and stupid, and Elizabeth too afraid to consider the situation properly.
“You will have to pay him something to stay quiet, I suspect. And he will always be after you for more.”
“No, he won’t,” Darcy said, heaving himself out of his chair and out of his stupor. “Once I find him, I am leaving with the diamonds and the journal. What Edward Street do you think he is in?”
Fitzwilliam went to a shelf and brought out a map of London. There were six Edward Streets. “He must be near enough to you that Georgiana easily walked to Berkeley Square with a box. He would not waste money on a hackney that could be spent on cards or women.”
They looked at the map together. “That rules out Stepney, Limehouse, and Southwark. Bethnal Green is a possibility.”
His cousin frowned. “That is still rather far.”
“Then he is in Mayfair or Marylebone,” Darcy said, pointing at each Edward Street, “which makes sense if Melrose saw him in a fine private brothel.” Wickham would go as far east as he needed to for prostitutes and dice, but he would always prefer to be in a superior neighbourhood even if he could not afford it.
A thought struck him. “Melrose saw him in a new brothel. Do you think he is living there?” That was vile. He kept his sister in cramped rooms while he used the prostitutes down one flight of stairs.
The look of distaste on Fitzwilliam’s face showed he had the same feelings. “Where did Melrose see him?”
“He said near Cavendish Square.” That was in Marylebone. “Edward Street is close, and not a long street,” he said, tapping the map with his finger. “I can talk to the grooms in the nearby mews. Someone will know if there is a man and his wife living in the brothel.”
Fitzwilliam swore. “You cannot walk into a brothel now.”
Darcy looked at the clock. It was early Saturday evening. He had been at his cousin’s for a few hours. “He is likely there now. If we are right, his favourite vices are all down a flight of stairs.”
“Iwill check,” Fitzwilliam insisted, “and you can confront him in the morning. It will be Sunday, they will be abed, and in the unlikely event anyone sees you there that early, they will not assume you are a customer. You have made such a great deal out of your good name, and entering a brothel on a Saturday evening, even an elegant, disguised one, will not do you any favours if Wickham comes forward.”
He believed he could prevent that from happening, but his cousinwas right, and Darcy nodded. Fitzwilliam went for the door, but Darcy stopped him. After a rough swallow he said, hating how vulnerable he sounded, “I cannot go home yet.”
“Of course not,” he said plainly. “You must stay here tonight, and when I confirm the scoundrel is in Edward Street, you can hunt the rat tomorrow when he is in his hole.”
Fitzwilliam left, and Darcy paced the empty parlour, feeling both too anxious to sit and completely exhausted.
He was too angry with Elizabeth to see her now, and angry at himself for being so concerned with his good name that his wife was afraid to confide in him. How did he show Elizabeth he was trustworthy? Could his affection ever be met with reciprocal sincerity and ardour?
He supposed the latter was possible, if the journal entry was provocative enough for Wickham to think his scheme would work. But he wanted more than just desire from Elizabeth, even though trust and esteem seemed out of reach in this moment amidst his feelings of betrayal and anger.
