Elizabeth came forward beside him, followed closely by Mrs Gardiner. “More unexpected still, to find you in London, when your regiment is quartered in Meryton, sir.”
Denny’s gaze flickered to the packet beneath his arm. “I am on leave.”
“Indeed?” Darcy said coolly. “We had understood that such leave requires formal approval from one’s superior officers.”
Denny’s smile tightened. “I should hardly think my movements require explanation, sir.”
Elizabeth’s temper flared. “When those movements include the delivery of slander, I believe they do.”
His eyes narrowed. “Slander? My, what an accusation, Miss Elizabeth.”
Mr Darcy gestured toward the printer’s door. “We know what you have been bringing here. Scandal, lies, and rumours calculated to destroy reputations.”
For a moment, Denny looked ready to brazen it out. Then Elizabeth spoke his name again, quietly but firmly.
“Mr Denny. We recognise you, and we know why you are here. There is no point in pretending otherwise.”
She watched the defiance drain from his face, replaced by calculation.
“You should not be here,” Elizabeth continued. “And if we inform your commanding officer that you have obtained leave under false pretences, if you have indeed obtained leave at all, you may find your career in serious jeopardy.”
Darcy’s voice was colder still. “Or worse.”
Silence stretched as each regarded the other. At last, Denny exhaled sharply. “Very well. You have caught me. What of it?”
Elizabeth stepped closer, ignoring the gentle tug of Mrs Gardiner on her elbow. “Tell us who hired you.”
A humourless laugh escaped him. “You know already.”
“Conform it, then, sir,” Darcy demanded.
“Wickham,” Denny said bluntly. “George Wickham.”
A sickening mixture of vindication and disgust churned in Elizabeth’s stomach.
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “Why? To what end does he seek to destroy the reputations of the Bennets?”
Denny shrugged, attempting bravado that rang hollow. “Revenge. Profit. A bit of both.”
“Explain yourself,” said Mrs Gardiner, her voice devoid of her usual geniality. Now that the rogue had confessed, she had no qualms in making her ill-feelings known.
Denny glanced at the printer’s door, then back at them. “Wickham had a grievance. He said Darcy had ruined his prospects, kept him short of money, and blocked every opportunity that might have set him up comfortably. He wanted to strike back.”
“And you agreed to help him?” Elizabeth asked.
“I needed funds of my own,” Denny replied. “An officer’s pay does not stretch far. Wickham promised a fortune, or at least enough to make it worth lying to secure leave.”
Darcy’s expression was thunderous. “A fortune for lies.”
“For influence and pressure,” Denny corrected.
Elizabeth folded her arms. “And what, precisely, were you meant to accomplish?”
He hesitated, eyeing Darcy’s dark expression and the clench of his jaw. He fiddled nervously with the packet of papers. “Wickham believed you would pay handsomely to stop certain rumours, sir.”
“About Georgiana,” Elizabeth said.
Denny nodded. “He said Darcy would do anything to keep his sister’s name clean. Anything to avoid a scandal touching her.”
