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In spite of her inappropriate attire, Elizabeth was covered from neck to toe. She tried to let that reassure her as she reentered the main room of the cottage, which was filled with men and sunlight. She wished the sun hadn’t come up yet, or that the cottage wasn’t so pleasantly situated. With so much light, standing before four men, she felt undressed. They sat at a table, bread and cheese before them. They must have been eating, but now they were all staring at her. Elizabeth tilted her chin up.
She turned to the one she assumed was Mr. Wickham. He was the only one dressed as a gentleman. Gentleman he was not, though. Not by her standards, at least.
“How is she?” he asked, standing. “We could hear the cries, earlier.”
“Charlie is fine,” Elizabeth said, “and would be better if you hadn’t kidnapped us.”
“You came willingly and I had a wet nurse waiting to feed her,” Mr. Wickham said. “What more could a babe require?”
“His mother, for one,” Elizabeth said, glaring at him.
“I thought a newborn wouldn’t know her mother yet,” Mr. Wickham said, astonishing her with how little he knew about babies, considering he had taken it upon himself to steal one. “What’s this Charlie nonsense? Did Georgiana change her mind and name her Charlotte? The midwife said she was named Emily.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Bingley named their son Charles,” Elizabeth said pointedly.
“There was a baby with Mrs. Bingley,” Mr. Wickham said, sounding a bit alarmed. “I made sure of it. I heard him when you were carrying Emily.”
“Thomas Bingley. The other twin.” Elizabeth couldn’t help the vindictive edge to her voice. Let him feel alarm. He should be alarmed by what he’d done.
Wickham dashed past her into the next room. Elizabeth hurried after, finding Mrs. Clay getting up from her chair, looking startled. Before Elizabeth could intervene, Wickham ripped the covers off Charlie. He pulled up Charlie’s gown and yanked open his diaper. Charlie started to cry. The other three men crowded into the doorway.
“As you can see, this baby is a boy,” Nancy Clay said, coming over to take the blanket from Wickham’s hand. “He’s also more than a week old. The belly button has healed.”
Wickham stood there, a stunned look on his face, as Mrs. Clay put Charlie’s clothes to rights. She picked him up and started to rock him.
“You kidnapped Charlie,” Elizabeth said, glaring at Mr. Wickham. “And me.”
“You came willingly,” Wickham protested again, alarm in his tone.
“Not out of the house. You threatened to kill me,” Elizabeth said. She shouldn’t be surprised he would add lying to his other crimes.
“I didn’t. I wouldn’t.” He held out his hands, palms up, a beseeching look on his handsome face.
“You said you would break my neck,” she reminded him, her anger building.
“I wouldn’t have. Besides, it was your idea to enter the carriage.”
“Yes, because I couldn’t abandon Charlie.”
“Why didn’t you tell me who he was?” Wickham asked, his gaze going to a still crying Charlie. Turning form the baby, Wickham looked around the room. Elizabeth followed his gaze. It was clear he wasn’t getting any sympathy. Even his coachman looked like he wanted to distance himself from the kidnapping.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” Elizabeth countered. “All I knew was that you were kidnapping Mr. and Mrs. Bingley’s first-born son. Not to mention, you put a gag in my mouth.”
“I let you take it out once we were in the carriage.”
“You’re too kind,” Elizabeth said, allowing her sarcasm to show.
Wickham cast another frantic look about the room. “Can we get him back before they notice he’s gone?”
“They would have noticed he was gone within half an hour of our leaving,” Elizabeth said. “When my sister finished feeding Thomas, someone would have checked on Charlie.”
Wickham’s expression became panicked. Elizabeth realized her worry that the people there would support him was unfounded. The hard looks on the faces of all three Clays clearly said they wouldn’t. She glanced at the coachman.
“I’ll harness the horses so you can take him back,” he said quietly. Elizabeth was pleased he put a slight emphasis on the word you. He gave her a nod before turning and leaving.
Wickham craned his neck to follow the coachman’s progress before turning back to Elizabeth. “I can’t go there,” he said.
“You must. Otherwise, they’ll only come looking for you. At least, if you go willingly, it will show remorse.” Elizabeth wanted him to come with her. Whatever the outcome, this needed to be resolved. Mr. Darcy couldn’t spend the rest of his money and time hunting down Mr. Wickham. That he surely would after this incident, with Bingley’s full assistance, went without question, unless Wickham turned himself in. Likewise, Georgiana shouldn’t be asked to live in fear that her husband might sneak in and steal their child.
“I’ll pay you to take him back and say you took him,” Wickham said. “I’m sure you can come up with some excusable reason. Ten pounds. No, twenty pounds.”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“Forty pounds. With that kind of money, you could marry where you pleased and wouldn’t have to work as a nursemaid. You could have your own household.”
Elizabeth shook her head again, astonished at his dullness. She’d come to care for Georgiana, but she was at a loss to understand what anyone could see in the fool before her. Yes, she’d seen some glimmer of his reputed charm and she could observe that he had a pleasing face, or would if he didn’t look so frantic, but there were plenty of similarly endowed men who weren’t so senseless.
“Can’t you tell she’s quality?” Mrs. Clay asked, looking over from where she walked Charlie. She was holding him up on her shoulder now, like Elizabeth did, and he’d become much quieter.
“Quality?” Wickham asked. “What makes you say that?”
“Look at her clothes. There’s embroidery and lace on them. What poor woman would have time to do that? Look at her hands. She hasn’t seen any hard work.”
“Mrs. Bingley is my sister,” Elizabeth said, glaring at him.
Wickham put his hands over his face. “He’ll see me hang.”
“Mr. Bingley is an equitable man,” Elizabeth said, trying to modulate her tone. “It was a reasonable mistake.” In truth, she had no idea how Bingley would react to his home being invaded and his son being kidnapped. Even he couldn’t be that forgiving. She had to get Wickham to return with her, though. They had to put an end to this bizarre situation before Mr. Darcy and Bingley began a manhunt that would end in Georgiana’s husband in the stockade, or worse.
“You don’t need me to take him back,” Wickham said.
She looked over his shoulder, where Mr. Clay and his son stood in the doorway watching the situation unfold, before turning back to Wickham. “If I were your coachman, I wouldn’t be willing to go back without you.”
“I can’t do it,” Wickham said. “Georgiana is there, and Darcy. Even if Bingley is willing to be reasonable, I can’t face her, and you don’t know what Darcy’s like. He’s implacable.”
Elizabeth took a step closer to him, lowering her voice to a gentle level, like someone talking to a nervous horse. “We’ll all do this. The Clays will come too, all three of them. They’ll support your story. You didn’t mean to take Charlie. The only hope of fixing things is to return him and apologize.”
“I’ll not go,” said Mr. Clay, frowning.
Elizabeth met his eyes, over Mr. Wickham’s shoulder. “Mr. Wickham offered me forty pounds. If he divided it among his coachman and the three of you, not for lying, but for telling the truth, would you come?”
The son looked to his father, who kept frowning at Elizabeth. Wickham turned to look at Mr. Clay as well. His back to Elizabeth now, she couldn’t tell what sort of expression was on his face. Finally, his gaze going to his wife, Mr. Clay nodded.
“I’ll go help Sam with the horses,” he said. “It’ll be slow going. They haven’t had much rest.”
As soon as the horses were harnessed, they were on the road. Elizabeth and Mrs. Clay sat facing backward, with a stoic Mr. Clay and a miserable looking Mr. Wickham across from them. Young Walter Clay rode with the coachman, which he didn’t mind at all as he’d never been so far from home before and wanted to look about.
Halfway through the journey, when Charlie fussed, Mrs. Clay fed him again, expertly covering him with a blanket to preserve her modesty. After eating a second time, he wasn’t ready to sleep, but accepted being held by Elizabeth. She held him facing outward, and he was content, though she wasn’t as pleased by their view across the carriage: Mr. Wickham.
Elizabeth eyed him as he stared out the window, looking like a sulking child. She felt safe enough, but wasn’t sure she would have if they were alone. She was glad she’d thought to insist the Clays accompany them. The Clays were good people and wouldn’t let Mr. Wickham harm her or Charlie. Georgiana’s husband or no, she couldn’t bring herself to trust the man. The Clays must not either, for they’d insisted on getting their money in advance.
“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Mr. Wickham said, sighing. “I still say Bingley will see me hang.”
“Mr. Bingley is a kind man,” Elizabeth said, though this would be a sore testing of that.
“Darcy isn’t,” Wickham muttered. He looked at her. “I suppose you know him as Mr. Harvey.”
“No,” Elizabeth said. “My sister and I, and of course Mr. Bingley, have been quite aware of who he and his sister really are.”
“You can hardly trust a man who goes by another name.”
“He was concerned for his sister,” she said. She was surprised at the strength she put into those words. She realized that while she still thought it was wrong to go by a false name, she would vehemently defend Mr. Darcy’s right to do so under the circumstances, especially to this man.
“His sister is my wife. It’s my job to be concerned about her.”
“You weren’t doing your job. She had no money to pay the rent and was kicked out of her house. She was left alone on the streets.”
Wickham gaped at her. He closed his mouth, looking suitably distressed. Elizabeth could see the Clays exchange a startled look.
“Darcy must have kicked her out, then. It was his house,” Wickham finally muttered.
“No. He’d rented it. He assumed you were continuing to do likewise.”
“What? That’s impossible. I thought he owned it.”
Elizabeth eyed him for a moment, assessing. He seemed genuinely surprised. Though that mitigated his culpability in leaving Georgiana with insufficient funds for rent, it also meant he was perfectly willing to live off of Mr. Darcy, which wasn’t right. Still, at least he’d had no idea his wife could be cast from her home. Elizabeth felt herself start to soften slightly. “Even had Mr. Darcy owned it, she still needed money to pay the servants and to buy food. You didn’t leave her enough.”
“I did. She had plenty.” He crossed his arms over his chest, once again looking like a pouting child.
“No, she didn’t. She had to sell some of her jewelry.”
“The jewelry should have given her enough,” he said, “and I left her with more than enough. Perhaps one of the servants stole some of it.”
Elizabeth hadn’t thought of that. Yet, Wickham should have considered the possibility. Georgiana had been only fifteen and he’d left her alone with servants that had only been recently hired. “The jewelry would probably have given her enough if she knew where to sell it. She didn’t, and was almost certainly cheated.” She glared at him over Charlie’s head, wondering again what this man had ever done to win Georgiana’s love.
“I didn’t think I would be gone that long,” he said sullenly. “I had no idea she was pregnant.”
“Were you sick? Arrested? Kidnapped?” Elizabeth asked sarcastically.
“Of course not. I forgot about her.”
“You forgot you were married?” Elizabeth was outraged.
“You don’t understand. For the first time ever, I was winning. I wasn’t even playing to win, only not to lose. You don’t know what it’s like. I’d never won before, not consistently. I kept saying I would leave when my luck turned, and I kept being careful not to lose.”
“So you came out ahead?” she asked. Was that how he’d come by the money to pay these people to help him? Gambling? No, it was probably from Georgiana’s dowry, though he likely wouldn’t appreciate the irony of using her dowry to find her.
“Not once I’d paid for my room and the rounds of drinks I’d bought, but I left with only twenty pounds less than I came with. That’s never happened to me before.”
“And how much have you lost since then?” Elizabeth asked, thoroughly disgusted with him. How could he abandon Georgiana so that he could drink and gamble away their money? She refrained from pointing out that many families lived on less than twenty pounds a month.
“Nothing. I haven’t gambled. All I’ve done is search for Georgiana.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him. “Did that search start before or after you bribed a coachman to kidnap her?”
“I paid Darcy’s servants because I wanted them to be on my side. Even then, the first time I asked one of them if she was there, he lied to me. I believed him and spent weeks looking elsewhere.”
Elizabeth was oddly glad that at least one of Darcy’s servants was loyal in spite of the bribes.
“I couldn’t find her anywhere, so I returned. That time, I got lucky and one of his tenants told me she’d been there all along. The coachman was bringing her to me, when he took her. I simply wanted to talk to her.”
“Would you have accepted it if she’d refused to go with you?” she asked.
His silence was enough of an answer. She let it hang there, stretching between them. He glanced around the coach, obviously recalling they weren’t unobserved.
“I wouldn’t have imprisoned her,” he finally said, his voice soft. “I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I might have taken her with me, but she would have been allowed to leave.”
Elizabeth searched his eyes. He had a knack for seeming sincere, but she wasn’t sure how much she should trust it. “Do you blame Mr. Darcy for fearing for her? She went through a very harrowing experience. She was thrown out of her home and robbed of everything she had.”
“Robbed?”
“She met some ruffians shortly after she left the house. They took everything, even her wedding ring. You’re lucky you even have a wife and child at all.” Elizabeth let her anger fill her tone.
Mr. Wickham stared at her, clearly upset by the news. “I never wanted anything bad to happen to Georgiana,” he said. “I do love her.”
“You have a strange way of expressing it,” Elizabeth snapped.
He cast his gaze out the window for a long moment before turning back. “When Lady Catherine de Bourgh wrote me and told me where Georgiana was, she warned me I wouldn’t be allowed to see her. I wanted her back. I want her to be my wife. What else could I have done?”
You could have written to her, Elizabeth thought. She didn’t voice the suggestion, though, knowing his answer would be that he didn’t think Georgiana would receive the letters. With how highhanded Darcy was with his sister, Elizabeth wasn’t sure the letters would have reached Georgiana either. Still, Mr. Wickham could have come by. He could have tried some sort of honest means, instead of sinking lower and lower, from attempting to abduct Georgiana to actually abducting Elizabeth and Charlie.
She sighed. It was obvious the man was incapable of moral behavior. Unfortunately, he was Georgiana’s husband and Georgiana still loved him. “Mr. Darcy has talked about setting up a house for his sister. Would you let him?”
“I wouldn’t be able to stop him,” he said, sounding sullen again. “He would keep me away. He wouldn’t tell me where it is.”
“What if he did tell you,” she said. “Suppose he’d let you come and go as you please, so long as he pays her expenses. He would manage her money, so he knew she was cared for. You wouldn’t be able to touch it, but you would be able to see her, and Emily. Would that be satisfactory?” Darcy had already decided to set up a house for his sister, after all. Although Elizabeth was already worried it would bankrupt a man of his means, allowing Mr. Wickham access to Georgiana and Emily wouldn’t increase the expenses much. It would, however, give everyone peace of mind.
“He would never consent to that,” Mr. Wickham said bitterly.
“He might, especially if he selected the location,” she said, already working out the arguments she would present Darcy with, if needed. Though he didn’t know it, Mr. Wickham held a trump card, his wife’s love. “He won’t want it near anywhere you can gamble or you might end up selling her possessions.”
“I’m a reformed man,” Wickham said. He leaned forward, an earnest expression on his face. “I’ll never gamble again.”
“Have you ever told Mr. Darcy anything like that before?” she asked gently. “Have you kept your word?”
This time, Wickham’s silence lasted until they reached Netherfield.
When they arrived, Elizabeth marched into the house carrying Charlie. Mr. and Mrs. Clay followed, herding Wickham, while their son stayed outside with the coachman. The situation was worse than Elizabeth had imagined. The whole house was filled with a frantic air. Both of her parents were there, along with Bingley, Jane, and Mr. Darcy.
They all rose when Elizabeth entered the room. Her gaze went to Mr. Darcy. His eyes were dark with emotion, but his face gave her no indication as to what kind.
With a cry, Jane rushed forward, reaching for Charlie, Bingley on her heels. Elizabeth handed Charlie to her sister, who clutched him close, tears streaming down her cheeks. Bingley, looking similarly affected, put his arms about them both. Elizabeth opened her mouth to reassure Jane and Bingley that Charlie was well, but a shrieking wail preempted her.
Mrs. Bennet waited until all heads turned her way before collapsing backward onto a sofa. “She is ruined! My sweet Elizabeth is ruined! He must marry her.”
Elizabeth was surprised by the anger that flashed across Mr. Darcy’s face, unsure who it was aimed at.
“Sorry, Madam,” Mr. Wickham said. “I’m already married.”
“You,” Darcy said, taking a step closer to Wickham.
Elizabeth moved to intercept him. She could read murder in his eyes.
“George,” a voice exclaimed.
Elizabeth turned to see Georgiana pushing her way between the Clays, who moved a bit farther into the room, looking hesitant. She was carrying Emily, and she was smiling an open, gloriously happy smile, her attention on Wickham’s face. Elizabeth looked back at Darcy, seeing his anger melt into despair.
“Georgiana,” Wickham exclaimed. Gone was the nervous, sulking man he’d been in the carriage. He rushed to her side. “You don’t know how worried I’ve been. Is this our daughter? I was told you named her Emily. Thank you so much for naming her after my mother. She’s so beautiful. You are so beautiful. You don’t know how sorry I am that I didn’t take care of you. It will never happen again.”
“Oh George,” Georgiana whispered, happiness and apprehension warring in her tone.
Charlie started fussing. Jane murmured something to Bingley, who kissed her on the forehead before turning to glare at Mr. Wickham. Jane hurried from the room with their son as Mr. Darcy moved forward to stand beside Bingley.
Elizabeth saw her father looking at her from where he still stood, off to the side. His face wore more concern than she’d ever before seen on it. He caught her eyes and gave her a worried shake of his head. She realized she was still in a state of undress and dropped her gaze, slipping from the room.
She took more time washing and dressing than was strictly needed, though she paid her appearance little mind. She was too awash in her thoughts and feelings to care how she looked. What she really wished was that she didn’t have to go back down and face everyone. For once, her mother was right. Elizabeth was ruined.
Unlike Mr. Wickham, who surely regretted his decisions and would try to weasel out of the consequences, Elizabeth wasn’t sorry she’d acted as she had. She didn’t think Charlie would have been killed, but who knew if he would ever have been returned. Perhaps clear heads and honest intentions would have prevailed and Charlie would have been brought back to his parents, but it was far from a certainty.
On some levels, she didn’t fear for her future. In ordinary circumstances, the Bingleys were the most generous of people. As it was, she knew they would see she didn’t want for anything. They’d always given her the impression she could stay with them as long as she liked, and now that would be doubly certain. She would always have a home with them.
Still, she’d recently come to long for so much more than a spinsterhood as her sister’s companion. As much as she already loved Charlie and Thomas, loving them only showed her how much she wanted her own children. Not only children, but a husband. A certain husband, no matter how poor he planned to make himself to help his sister. Had that flash of anger in Mr. Darcy’s eyes been directed at her, for allowing herself to be ruined? She couldn’t believe that, yet the fear that she was no longer suitable to be a gentleman’s wife gnawed at her.
Finally, Elizabeth could think of nothing more to do to prepare herself. She made her way back downstairs. Jane had already returned, and sat beside Bingley, each of them holding one of their twin boys. Darcy stood by Bingley’s shoulder, like some sort of guardian. Indeed, his eyes were still dark with wrath, affirming the role.
Mr. Wickham stood across from them, his hands resting on Georgiana’s slender shoulders. She appeared to shield him from her brother with herself and baby Emily. Elizabeth was struck anew by how much Georgiana cared for her husband, and what a coward he was.
Her father sat on one side of the room and the Clays on the other. Her mother was gone, probably having succumbed to her nerves. Elizabeth gave thanks for that small blessing.
Darcy looked over when she entered, his anger softening. “Miss Bennet,” he said, taking a step forward. “Are you well enough to tell us what happened?”
She nodded, but suddenly didn’t trust herself to speak. Was it regard she saw in his eyes, or was it pity? Would the dreams she’d allowed herself to have for him come to fruition now that she was a pitiable, ruined woman?
“We’ve heard two versions of what happened. Why don’t you give us yours?” he asked, his tone still gentle.
Elizabeth cleared her throat and began to recount what had happened. She tried not to look directly at anyone, knowing they all stared at her. She didn’t want to see their emotions. She knew they would reveal horror, sympathy and indignation, all of which would only emphasize her shame. When she reached the part where Wickham had threatened to break her neck, he said, “I wouldn’t have. I couldn’t have.”
“But you did threaten?” Darcy asked.
Elizabeth brought her attention to his face, startled by the harsh ferocity in his tone. She’d never seen him look so near to losing control. Not even when she’d told him that Georgiana still loved Wickham.
“I didn’t mean it,” Wickham said.
“You know George wouldn’t really have done it,” Georgiana protested, looking anguished. She hugged Emily tighter, backing up a half step closer to Wickham. He smiled at her gratefully.
“Let Elizabeth finish without interruption,” Darcy said firmly.
Elizabeth resumed her story, trying not to read anything into his use of her Christian name. Wickham interrupted again, when she spoke of getting into the carriage, saying, “I told you she came voluntarily.”
“Mr. Wickham,” her father said, sounding exasperated. “Let my daughter speak.”
Elizabeth was allowed to go through the rest of the telling without interruption, though Wickham looked sullen. When she finished, he muttered, “I didn’t hurt her.”
Mr. Darcy stared at him until Wickham dropped his gaze to the floor, creating the impression of an errant schoolboy. “Her face is red and swollen,” Darcy said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if bruises show up.”
Elizabeth had only glanced at her reflection and only enough to put up her hair. She moved to stand before a mirror which hung over a small table. Turning her head from side to side, she could see the angry red marks along her neck. Finger marks. She suppressed a shudder. Her face, too, looked reddened and puffier than usual. Even through the murmurs of fear and outrage this evidence of Wickham’s manhandling stirred in her gut, she felt a purely silly surge of embarrassment that Mr. Darcy should see her in such an unbecoming state.
Her father came over to take her hand. He led her to the couch he’d been sitting on, gesturing for her to sit beside him. Mr. Darcy retrieved a chair from the other side of the room for Georgiana and another for himself, sitting beside Bingley. Now, only Mr. Wickham stood, behind his seated wife, confronted by a semicircle of accusers.
“The question before us is, do we go to the magistrate and ask him to arrest Mr. Wickham for kidnapping Charlie Bingley and Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said.
He’d fully regained his self-control, Elizabeth saw. His tone was neutral and his posture impeccable.
“Miss Bennet came voluntarily and I thought the baby was mine,” Wickham protested.
“In truth, we don’t even need to bring up kidnapping,” Darcy said, acting as if Wickham hadn’t spoken. Indeed, as if he didn’t exist. “Housebreaking would be a sufficient charge.”
Elizabeth hadn’t thought of that. Housebreaking carried the penalty of death. Everyone looked around the semicircle at each other. She could tell Jane, of course, didn’t want anyone to be put to death, even someone who had taken her son, though Jane might not be so forgiving if harm had come to Charlie. Elizabeth couldn’t read Bingley’s face. Her father and the Clays looked interested, but not as if they cared strongly in any one direction.
“Miss Bennet made an interesting suggestion as we rode back,” Wickham said, a hint of desperation in his voice. He took Georgiana by the arm, helping her up and pulling her and the baby forward with him to stand before Darcy. He waited, fidgeting, until Mr. Darcy acknowledged him. “She suggested you provide a household for Georgiana and you manage her money. I won’t be able to touch any of it. In exchange, I may live there and come and go freely. You will always know she’s safe, but I promise I’ll never abandon her again.”
“You forgot one point, Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth said. “I stipulated that Mr. Darcy would be permitted to select the location of that house.”
Wickham grimaced, but nodded. “Yes, of course. I believe you recommended it should be somewhere far from gambling,” he added, surprising Elizabeth. He stood a bit straighter.
“Mr. Bingley,” Georgiana said. She cast a glance at Wickham. “You and your wife have been so very good to me and my daughter. Your son is unharmed. Please, will you let my husband go? I don’t want George to hang. I want to try to have a happy marriage. I think this plan might work.” She turned to Mr. Darcy. “Please, Fitzwilliam. I think it’s for the best. If you are willing.”
Darcy stared at her for a long time. He looked to Bingley. “Bingley?”
“It’s true Charlie is unharmed,” Bingley said. He turned to Jane, who nodded, before returning his attention to Darcy. “If you and Mr. Wickham come to some form of agreement, and if we never need to see him again, and certainly never find him on our property in the future, I will leave the decision to you, Darcy.”
Darcy looked at his sister. “I think your husband and I should talk about it privately,” he finally said.
“It’s my future,” Georgiana said, a mutinous look on her face. “I want to be there too.”
Georgiana standing up for herself was the first thing that had happened all day to incline Elizabeth to smile.
