He had barely stepped into the hallway when a figure materialised before him with alarming suddenness. Mrs. Bennet stood blocking his path, her face flushed with excitement and her hands clasped before her ample bosom. She must have been waiting just outside the study door for the interview to end.
“Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed, her voice rising to a pitch that made Darcy wince. “Oh, Mr. Darcy! What happy news! My Lizzy engaged to a man with ten thousand a year! I knew from the moment I met you that you were destined for one of my girls. Such a fine figure of a man!”
“Mrs. Bennet,” Darcy managed, attempting to edge around her. “You are very kind.”
“Kind!” Mrs. Bennet laughed with enough volume to rattle the pictures on the hallway walls. “I am practical, sir. Ten thousand a year and Pemberley in Derbyshire! My Lizzy will have such gowns, such jewels! And the wedding! We shall be off to London tomorrow!”
“I have look forward to seeing you there,” Darcy said, desperation creeping into his voice. He took another step toward the front door, but Mrs. Bennet moved with surprising agility to block his retreat.
“And carriages! You must promise me that Lizzy will have a carriage of her own.”
“I assure you, madam, Mrs. Darcy will want for nothing,” Darcy said, finally managing to sidestep her and reach the front door. The maid appeared with his hat and gloves, and he seized them gratefully.
“Mrs. Darcy, oh, how well that sounds! You must dine with us!” Mrs. Bennet called after him as he stepped through the door. “In London, before the wedding, at my brother Gardiner’s house!”
“I will send word,” Darcy replied, executing a hasty bow before descending the steps to his waiting carriage with what dignity he could maintain while essentially fleeing. He heard Mrs. Bennet’s continuing exclamations even as the carriage door closed.
The carriage lurched into motion. Darcy collapsed against the cushions and pressed one hand to his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache. He had secured Mr. Bennet’s permission. Had satisfied the formal requirements. But instead of relief or happiness, he felt only increasing unease.
Mrs. Bennet’s voice still echoed in his ears, pronouncing his income with reverence.Ten thousand a year. She had said it at least a half-dozen times. Through the window, hedgerows gave way to the first cottages marking Meryton’s outskirts.
The high street appeared ahead, modest shops lining both sides. A few pedestrians moved between establishments. The carriage slowed to navigate around a farm wagon, and Darcy’s attention drifted across the familiar scene.
Then he saw Wickham.
The man stood outside a milliner’s shop, his red coat bright in the afternoon sun, leaning close to a young woman whose dark curls escaped from beneath a chip-straw bonnet. Wickham said something that made the girl laugh, her hand rising to cover her mouth. He tipped his hat with a flourish that managed to be both respectful and somehow suggestive.
Darcy’s jaw tightened as old fury stirred. Wickham had not changed. Still played the charming officer, still preyed on young women. The girl looked barely older than Georgiana, her dress marking her as respectable but not wealthy. Exactly the sort Wickham preferred.
The carriage rolled past, and Darcy twisted in his seat to keep Wickham in view. The man laughed at something the girl said, his head thrown back.
And then Darcy recognised the girl.
It was Elizabeth’s youngest sister, Lydia Bennet.
Realisation struck Darcy with the force of a blow.
Once he married Elizabeth, he would also be bringing her sisters into his sphere of responsibility. The younger Bennets, Lydia and Catherine, were precisely the sort of silly, flirtatious girls Wickham excelled at manipulating. And Meryton was their home, where they walked without proper supervision. Where Wickham could work his poison. Wickham would not hesitate once the news of Darcy and Elizabeth’s engagement became public, and considering that Mrs. Bennet was likely even now hastening to tell her friends, time was of the essence.
The thought of Wickham compromising one of Elizabeth’s sisters, of the scandal and pain such an event would cause, made cold rage settle in Darcy’s stomach. He could not allow it. Could not stand by and watch Wickham destroy another family. Not when he had the power to prevent it.
Darcy rapped sharply on the carriage roof with his walking stick. The vehicle slowed immediately, and his driver’s face appeared in the small opening.
“Sir?”
“Take me to the militia’s headquarters,” Darcy commanded, his voice emerging harder than he had intended. “I have business with Colonel Forster that cannot wait.”
The driver nodded. The carriage turned down a side street, heading toward the building that housed the regiment’s local command. Darcy sat back and forced his breathing to slow, to calm the fury that threatened to cloud his judgement. He needed to approach this carefully, to present facts rather than personal grievances.
Darcy descended from the carriage and strode into the command building with purpose, his boots striking the wooden floor with sharp reports.
“I am here to see Colonel Forster,” Darcy said, presenting his card to a clerk sitting at a desk. “It is a matter of some urgency regarding one of his officers.”
The clerk’s eyes widened slightly as he read the name on the card. “Of course, Mr. Darcy. Please wait here. I will inform the Colonel immediately.”
Minutes passed while Darcy stood in the modest reception area, his mind turning over the words he would use. He must be careful. Must present his concerns in a way that would prompt investigation without revealing the personal history that made his accusations suspect.
The clerk reappeared and gestured toward a hallway. “Colonel Forster will see you now, sir.”
