Darcy in Want of a Wife

Chapter 42

Drawing Room

Rosings

After Dinner

The ladies stepped into the drawing room and made their way over to a cluster of chairs near the fire, which had been lit. The evening was cooling rapidly, and Anne, while far healthier than she had been, still preferred a fire at night.

“Elizabeth,” Charlotte said eagerly, “I wish to confess to you once again how very happy I am that you are married to Mr. Darcy. Happy and astonished. You are such a sly thing. You did not even hint at an engagement.”

Elizabeth looked at Anne, who nodded gravely, and said, “We married on short notice, Charlotte, and we want to tell you why, but with all due respect to Mr. Collins, we do not think it safe for him to know any of the delicate details.”

Charlotte glanced at the door, which was reassuringly closed. “On my honor, I will tell my husband nothing.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said and sighed. “Fitzwilliam asked me to marry him only a week ago, and…”

She explained the ensuing events concisely, and Charlotte listened with bated breath of the news of Mary’s disappearance, only to cry out in wonder when Elizabeth revealed the culprit to be George Wickham.

“Wickham?” Charlotte exclaimed. “I saw him only yesterday!”

Anne, who had been sitting quietly, jerked in surprise. “Where?”

“Here! Well, that is to say, a carriage passed the parsonage around noon when Mr. Collins and I were in the garden, and it returned the same way a few minutes later. I distinctly saw George Wickham’s face in the window of the carriage. I was bewildered at the time, as my mother had written to me that Wickham was imprisoned in Marshalsea. When was he released, and why was he attempting to call on Lady Catherine?”

Elizabeth looked at Anne, who grimaced and said, “Because my mother was behind the abduction of Mary Bennet.”

/

Elizabeth’s Bedchamber

Eleven o’clock

Elizabeth Darcy lay on her side in her bedchambers, her eyes half-lidded as she gazed out the window and into the starlit sky. It was a cool night, which had prompted them to have a fire lit in the hearth, but now that fire had burned down to its embers and left the room quiet and dimly lit. Husband and wife, dressed comfortably in night attire, were entangled in one another’s arms, momentarily silent as they enjoyed each other’s company.

“Fitzwilliam?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I did not have a chance to tell you this earlier, what with the Collinses staying late, followed by your meeting with Anne and the steward, but Charlotte saw Mr. Wickham in a carriage yesterday.”

Sleepy content gave way to astonishment. “What!?”

“Yes, he apparently tried to call on Lady Catherine, who was obviously not here, and Charlotte saw him in the window of a yellow bounder as he left. Mary was abducted in such a carriage.”

“Mrs. Collins is absolutely certain that she saw Wickham?” Darcy asked.

“Yes, and Charlotte is very sensible, and would never say that she recognized Wickham if she did not. I have no doubt it was Wickham, nor, after thinking it over, am I surprised at him showing up here.”

“Why do you think he did?”

She rolled over to face him and lifted a hand to stroke his cheek in the near darkness. “While I can imagine Lady Catherine paying to release Wickham from prison and to kidnap Mary, she does not strike me as the sort of woman to be overly generous with her funds. Wickham is a spendthrift and likely has spent all she gave him. He is also a rogue of the first order, and having lost his prey, he must have immediately turned his attention toward extracting money from wherever he could.”

Darcy huffed and said, “He intends to blackmail my aunt.”

“Exactly. His debts were paid. He is a free man, and he knows that the sister of an earl hired him to abduct a gentleman’s daughter. I daresay he thinks that he can extract quite a bit from your aunt.”

“True enough,” Darcy said, his eyes fluttering shut. It had been a tiring day.

A minute went by and he managed to wake up sufficiently to say, “We need to send out servants to the nearby villages to see if Wickham and Mrs. Younge are in a…”

He yawned.

“An inn or boarding house,” Elizabeth murmured back. “I quite agree. Now go to sleep, darling.”

He did.

Elizabeth stayed awake for some time longer, listening to the soft breathing of her dear husband, and the crackle of the fire, and the sounds of a distant dog baying at the moon.

Eventually, her own fatigue won out, and she slipped peacefully into sleep.

/

Rosings

The Next Morning

The yellow bounder rolled down the lane which led to the impressive fa?ade of Rosings, and Mrs. Younge smoothed her skirt with one gloved hand while staring anxiously at the mansion approaching rapidly.

She was not happy at being here, not in the least, but Wickham had insisted that she come along this time.

“I do not think I should be here,” she said once again.

Wickham had moved past charm and on to irritation.

“You have said that at least ten times,” he riposted. “I need you to distract…”

“The butler, I know! At least do not try to steal anything too large, Wickham! Promise me that!”

Wickham waved a casual hand and said, “I doubt it will be an issue at all, my dear. Lady Catherine is rarely gone from her kingdom for more than a few days. She will almost certainly be here, and we can make our demands known. But yes, if she is still away, I will pocket a few of the smaller treasures scattered extravagantly around. She owes it to us, after all; she promised five hundred pounds to capture Mary Bennet!”

Given that the abduction had been an embarrassing failure, Mrs. Younge was confident that Lady Catherine would not look at it that way.

“I think it far more likely that she will wash her hands of us and have us arrested!” she said in a shrill tone.

“Nonsense!” Wickham said irritably. “We know of her part in the plot, and she will not wish to allow such knowledge to escape into the world. We have her in our power, Dorothea!”

Mrs. Younge was not convinced of this, not at all. As the daughter of an impecunious gentleman, whose own husband had died, leaving her in poverty, she did not think it wise to toy with such a wealthy and powerful lady. But Wickham was right about one thing; since Mary Bennet had escaped their grasp, they could not expect to receive funds from Lady Catherine without applying pressure. Moreover, since she had foolishly given her name to Miss Bennet, assuming the girl would be too tainted by scandal to cause trouble, she could hardly return to her boarding house in London to scratch out a living there.

No, they needed to flee this part of England, perhaps flee England entirely, maybe even for America! And to do that, they needed money, and Lady Catherine was the only person who could help them.

The carriage came to a gentle halt, and Wickham opened the door and helped his companion out to the ground. Dorothea looked up at her brother, Josiah, whose own fortunes had taken a turn for the worse in the last decade thanks to their father’s spendthrift ways, which had left only debts for his heir. Josiah was acting as solicitor to Mr. Quinton, whose primary estate was in Cambridgeshire, though Quinton far preferred London and rarely bothered to visit his estate.

He smiled at her, or rather grimaced, and she grimaced back.

“Shall we?” Wickham asked, gallantly holding out an arm toward her.

She accepted and took a deep breath, praying that she would not end up in a prison cell by the end of the day.

/

Madame La Clerc’s Dressmaker shop

London

“But Jane, it will be far too expensive.” Mary protested.

“You need not worry about the expense, my dear,” Jane replied. “My husband and Elizabeth’s are very wealthy, after all.”

Mary looked around in alarm and shook her head. “But Jane, I am not … that is, I am not handsome like you and Elizabeth. To spend such money is foolishness.”

Jane leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Mary, you know why we are doing this. The Matlocks intend to show all of society that you are an esteemed member of the extended family, and if you are to appear at operas and soirees and dinners and visits to Hyde Park, you must have elegant attire.”

Mary gulped and nodded meekly. She felt very out of place here, surrounded by tall mirrors and fine furniture, and was confident that she would look even more like an ugly duckling than normal if she were dressed in the sort of garments which Jane and Elizabeth wore so well.

A side door opened, and a middle-aged woman entered the room, elegantly dressed, whose identity as a French woman was obvious in her accent. A younger woman, clad more plainly, followed her in.

“Mrs. Bingley!” the woman cried out. “It is so good to see you again this morning. Is this your sister, Miss Bennet?”

“Yes,” Jane said, turning a fond look on her sister. “She has been living in Hertfordshire until recently, but now that she is in Town, she needs a new wardrobe.”

Madame Le Clerc’s eyes brightened at this promise of a good sale, and she tilted her head and studied Mary carefully.

“You have different coloring from your sister, Miss Bennet, and while your current dress is well enough, I am confident we could do better with alternates … hmmm, perhaps a primrose muslin for a day dress? And for an evening dress, I think light green with a lace overdress? Let me ... Phoebe! We need to look at swathes of fabric to see what would best compliment Miss Bennet. Quickly now!”

/

Sitting Room

Rosings

“Mrs. Younge, Mr. Wickham,” the butler announced and gestured for the visitors to step into a small sitting room, whose window faced out toward a charming wilderness, and whose furniture was an ornate mix of golds and reds. An open door led into an adjacent room. A study, perhaps?

A young, rather plain woman, richly dressed, looked up from her book and set it aside, but did not rise. An older woman, dressed in simpler clothing, sat near the window knitting some kind of random garment, and she did not even look at the visitors. Lastly, a tall footman, wearing livery, stood like a statue against the wall.

“Mrs. Younge? Mr. Wickham?” the younger woman asked, her brow lifted in bewilderment. “Excuse me; are you acquaintances of my mother, Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”

Mrs. Younge sucked in an anxious breath and glanced at Wickham, who bowed dramatically and said in his most charming tone, “Miss de Bourgh? I do apologize, most profoundly, for intruding in this way. Yes, we are indeed acquainted with your esteemed mother, and we were hoping to see her today?”

“Oh! I am so very sorry,” Miss de Bourgh said. “My mother is ill and currently residing in London.”

“It is distressing to hear that,” Wickham said with a sorrowful look on his face. “I hope it is not a serious illness?”

Miss de Bourgh sighed deeply. “We simply do not yet know; my mother has always been a strong and robust individual, unlike myself, but yes, we are quite concerned about her and are not sure when she will...”

Two powerful, liveried arms abruptly wrapped themselves around Mrs. Younge’s upper body, and she cried out in astonishment and, yes, fear, as the formerly motionless footman shoved her onto a nearby couch just as two other manservants, who had been concealed in the room next door, rushed in and threw Wickham onto the ground.

Wickham yelped in amazement and attempted to struggle, but the two men were tall and strong, and while one of the men kneeled on his chest, the other secured his hands in front of him with rope. They then yanked him to his feet and turned him toward the door, and Mrs. Younge thought she really might faint.

“Darcy!” Wickham cried out at the sight of the tall master of Pemberley, and his face was suddenly white as a sheet.

“Wickham,” Darcy replied and strode forward, lifted one powerful fist, and punched the man so hard in the face that Mrs. Younge heard the sound of Wickham’s nose breaking. “ That is for what you did to Mary Bennet!”