Determined to Ruin Him
Upon reaching London, the first task to which Darcy attended was to summon his cousin to his house. Any effort in discovering the whereabouts of the detestable George Wickham would necessarily include Fitzwilliam. Only when he had completed that task did Darcy allow Snell to help him dress in new clothes and sit down with a glass of brandy in moody silence, wondering if he would ever be free of Wickham. Should he catch up with the bounder now, Darcy was resolved that Wickham would finally pay for all he had done to Darcy’s family.
Knowing that his cousin was busy with his duties did not remove the frustration Darcy felt when he did not immediately appear. It was later that evening when Darcy finally heard Fitzwilliam’s jaunty whistling through the halls of his home. Having spent the evening in his study trying to complete some tasks, picking through the meal his staff had provided, Darcy was eager to dispense with solitude and set his cousin on the path to finding Wickham.
“Darcy!” exclaimed Fitzwilliam when he entered. “I expected you in town before this, for the news that Father was considering forcing you into a marriage with the daughter of one of his cronies should have brought you running!”
The matter of his uncle’s potential interference was one Darcy had pushed to the back of his mind. That matter he would settle the following day when he went to speak to the earl. At the moment, however, he did not wish to focus on anything other than Wickham.
“Do not concern yourself about my father,” said Fitzwilliam, misinterpreting Darcy’s distraction. “In the end, he knows he cannot force you.”
“The earl’s machinations are not at issue, Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy. “You may wish to sit for this, for what I have to say will shock you.”
“Oh?” said Fitzwilliam, sitting at Darcy’s gesture. “Do tell, Cousin.”
“I have discovered the source of the rumors that confounded us in Hertfordshire, and you will never guess who it is.”
Fitzwilliam frowned for a moment. “There is no one of my acquaintance in Meryton, Darcy.”
“There is not now. Until this afternoon, however, there was one there, one who kept himself hidden under an assumed name so he could create mischief.”
It could never be said that Fitzwilliam was slow of thought, for he understood the inference in Darcy’s words at once.
“Wickham!” cried he, his eyes now burning with a cold fire.
“The same,” replied Darcy. “It appears our good friend Wickham joined the militia last autumn not long before Bingley’s ball. In fact, I recall Miss Elizabeth speaking of meeting him a few days before we began hearing the rumors which forced us to leave.”
“Joined the militia, did he?” snarled Fitzwilliam. “Then the problem is solved. I shall speak to my general and arrange to transfer him to the front lines in Spain. The French are not good for much, but I suspect one of them will eventually put an end to George Wickham.”
“I would not be as David, Fitzwilliam,” was Darcy’s soft reply. “Though Wickham has done much to deserve retribution, I shall not countenance sending a man to his death. That is no less murder now than it was when David sent Uriah to die in battle.”
“Then prosecute him,” spat Fitzwilliam. “Have him shipped to Botany Bay, bury him in the deepest hole you can find. You cannot let this go, Darcy. Wickham has taken it one step too far.”
“That he has,” said Darcy. “Though I will not countenance sending a man to his death in battle, I have a great desire to see Wickham pay for all he has done. But we must do it within the law. I can tell you this, Cousin: when Wickham decided to play his little games with Elizabeth rather than just with me, he made his fatal error.”
Fitzwilliam’s ears seemed to prick up, almost like a dog’s, his expression demanding an explanation. Darcy was happy to oblige.
“I proposed to Elizabeth the day I returned to Rosings. Yesterday, I rode to Longbourn to ask for Mr. Bennet’s permission. It was when I was passing through the town that I saw Wickham.”
A hearty laugh, such as Darcy would not have expected, comprised Fitzwilliam’s response. “Well, I expected to provoke a reaction when I wrote to you, but I did not think you would ride to Longbourn for her father’s permission!”
“As I said, I had already proposed.”
“And it is about time you did! Why, the way you were together in September, I might have thought you would have resolved it between yourselves long ago.”
“Had the night of Bingley’s ball not turned sour, I would have proposed then,” confessed Darcy. “After all that happened there, we needed some time to come to terms with it, and Elizabeth was becoming accustomed to her new surroundings with Aunt Catherine.”
Fitzwilliam chuckled. “Yes, I can imagine how living with Aunt Catherine must have been an adjustment.”
“Aunt Catherine has been a Godsend, Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy, a hint of chiding in his tone. “Once she accepted Anne and I were not to wed, she has been Elizabeth’s greatest champion.”
“Well do I know it,” said Fitzwilliam, waving off Darcy’s criticism. “I do not censure our aunt, Darcy. Given how many Easters we have spent in her company and how difficult she can be, you cannot fault my opinion.”
“Of course not,” murmured Darcy.
“Then I offer my congratulations, Darcy. If I might offer my advice, I would not recommend you leave town before speaking with my father. Not only is there still the possibility he might follow through with his musings—though I think the likelihood is remote—but he will not appreciate hearing of it from some other source. Lady Catherine may have already written to my mother, and you know she will feel compelled to inform my father.”
“I had already resolved to do so,” said Darcy with a nod. “Tomorrow I shall visit your father, so please remain silent until then.”
“There is no need to concern yourself about that. I have no desire at all to insert myself into your dispute with my father.
“Now, returning to the subject of Wickham,” said Fitzwilliam. “I presume you wish me to take on the task of finding our dear Georgie.”
“There is no one better positioned than you to find him.”
“And when I find him,” said Fitzwilliam, “I am better positioned to take him into custody with a minimum of fuss. Just do not expect him to be entirely intact when you next see him, for I do not take kindly to the way he has made a nuisance of himself.”
“As long as he makes it to the prison cell we have waiting for him, I care little.”
The feral grin with which Fitzwilliam regarded him almost made Darcy feel sorry for Wickham. Almost.
“Then leave it to me, Cousin. I shall inform you of the status of the search and let you know as soon as we have him. Do you still have Mrs. Younge’s direction? Though I suspect he will be more clever than to risk us finding him through her, it is a possibility we should not ignore.”
“Here,” said Darcy, handing his cousin a slip of paper. “I would have suggested you start with her had you not raised the subject yourself.”
With a nod, Fitzwilliam accepted the paper and excused himself. The eagerness with which he looked on a potentially frustrating search was welcome, for Darcy knew there was no one more dogged than Fitzwilliam when he decided on a course of action. Now he had only to wait.
Unlike Fitzwilliam Darcy, William Collins was not a man Henry Bennet could tolerate with equanimity. Not only was the man overly fond of the sound of his own voice, but he rarely had anything intelligent to say. When Bennet returned from meeting Darcy in Meryton, seeing the parson was an annoyance, Bennet having forgotten he was due to visit them again that day to be near his fiancée. Of that situation Bennet could not think without shaking his head—though he understood why Miss Lucas would accept a man of William Collins’s obvious failings, it seemed like a tragedy, for she was an intelligent and thoughtful woman.
The one mitigating factor of Collins’s presence was that he often went to Lucas Lodge early and stayed late . Attempting to determine how he would go about reforming his family as he was, Bennet was grateful to dispense with a man who did not, after all, possess a firm grasp of propriety himself.
The matter of the family’s reclamation was an outcome Bennet did not quite know how to accomplish. While Lydia and Kitty obeyed his suggestion that they stay at home for a few days after the excitement in Meryton, they did not do so with any grace. Unsurprisingly, they were clamoring to return the very next day.
“Remember what we discussed,” said Bennet when he denied them permission. “Let us take some time to reflect on what we have endured as a family these past months, shall we? There is no rush to show ourselves in Meryton again. They shall get on tolerably without us.”
Lydia, as he might have predicted, did not appreciate being denied, but Kitty started and appeared a little shamed. For some time after, Kitty remained in thought, leading Bennet to have hope for his second youngest. Though she had forgotten his advice quickly after the event passed, when reminded, she was not without the ability to consider what he said.
The other matter occupying Bennet’s attention those days was the debts so recently left by the departed George Wickham and the merchants’ request for the succor of the neighborhood’s gentlemen. After consulting with Sir William, they decided it would be best to convene a meeting of the local landowners to discuss the subject in greater detail. Thus, several days later, they all gathered together, including the exasperating Mr. Collins, who was best served attending, given he would one day inherit Longbourn. Privately, Bennet was certain no worldly force would have kept Mr. Collins from that meeting after he heard of it, for his indignation concerning the neighborhood’s treatment of his patroness’s nephew had not abated in the interim.
“I fail to see why this is our concern, Bennet,” said Goulding when Bennet and Sir William had explained the problem. “The merchants were the ones acting without prudence. Let them reap what they sow.”
“That is a short-sighted statement, Goulding,” said Mr. Robinson with a disgusted look at his neighbor. The two men had long been at odds with each other and could always be counted on to butt heads on such occasions as this. “Where shall your wife and daughter shop for their dresses if the businesses in Meryton cannot keep their shops open?”
“What, has Wickham purchased dresses?” was Goulding’s snide response. “That is interesting, for I never saw him in anything other than regimentals.”
“Do not be stupid!” snapped Robinson. “Of course Wickham did not frequent the dress shop. But the dissolution of other shops in the neighborhood which Wickham did defraud would affect them all.”
“I appreciate this little more than anyone else here,” said Sir William. “There are many other ways I could direct my funds rather than paying for a scoundrel’s debts. But we must consider the practicalities of the situation, and I agree with Robinson. We risk hardship and the closing of businesses if we do not act.”
“It would not be prudent to pay all of Wickham’s debts, gentlemen,” said Bennet. “That would defeat the purpose, for the merchants should help bear the burden of their imprudence.”
Robinson eyed Bennet and nodded slowly. “Yes, that would be for the best. Do we have a tally of what Wickham owes?”
“It is yet incomplete,” replied Bennet, “but it appears it is in excess of fifty pounds.”
“How does a man incur more than fifty pounds of debt in only a few months?” demanded Mr. Harrington.
“This man is a master of it,” replied Bennet. “He did it in so subtle a manner that none of the merchants had any notion he owed much to even one of them, let alone what he owes to them all together. Mr. Darcy informs me that he has done much the same in many other neighborhoods.”
“And why did he not speak of this before?”
Robinson turned a disgusted glare on Goulding. “Because he did not even know the man was present. Or do you not recall that he only happened on this Mr. Wickham a few days ago on the street flirting with your daughter?”
“Deborah is not the only one with whom Wickham flirted.” Goulding glanced at Bennet, sneered, and added: “Or more if it comes to that.”
“I suggest you be silent rather than confirm what a fool you are,” said Bennet, glaring at Goulding. “Or should I remind you all that you whispered and gossiped about my family based on the word of a libertine? This man has proven to be an untrustworthy rake, and still we have you casting shade at others.”
Though the sour man said nothing, it appeared he at least had the grace to be silent in the face of Bennet’s diatribe. When he would not respond, Bennet nodded grimly and addressed them all again.
“Well, you should know, now Darcy has been vindicated, that he has proposed to Lizzy and she has accepted him. Remember that my family can now claim a connection to an earl if you wish to disparage our position in society. And Jane will be engaged to Mr. Bingley before long—of that, I have no doubt.”
“Do you mean to rub these connections in our faces now?” demanded Goulding.
“No, he means to say you made a grave error,” said Sir William. “Anyone of sense should know not to speak of a man of Mr. Darcy’s prominence in society in such a way as you did at Mr. Bingley’s ball. Bennet states nothing more than that the slander his family has endured since November is now proven baseless.”
“You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” interjected Mr. Collins, raking them all with a disdainful glare. “The noble families of Darcy, de Bourgh, and Fitzwilliam are above reproach; the thought of anyone in this neighborhood speaking of them in derogatory terms is beyond the pale!”
“Peace, Mr. Collins,” said Bennet as several gentlemen appeared ready to respond to Collins’s charge with heated words. “Now that the truth has come out, there is little point belaboring the issue.”
“That is true, Mr. Bennet,” said Collins with a sniff of disdain. “The scriptures teach to forgive. Let there be no more murmurings, however, for such behavior never redounds to the gossip’s benefit.”
“To that, I cannot agree more,” said Bennet. “Perhaps you should all take your families to task and remind them that gossiping is a vice they should avoid. After all, none of you know when you might be the next recipient of the treatment that drove my Lizzy from Meryton.”
There were several hung heads and embarrassed looks from gentlemen who realized their families had not behaved well. Even Goulding, who made contrariness into an art form, agreed with Bennet’s statement.
“I hope she will return to us from time to time, Bennet,” said Sir William. “It would be a shame to lose such a bright light from our midst forever.”
Sir William had always esteemed Elizabeth, Bennet remembered, even before she and Charlotte Lucas had become excellent friends. For a moment Bennet thought to keep Darcy’s musings to himself. But then he noted the sourness still showed by Goulding and his closest supporters and decided that pricking their arrogance would be far too satisfying to remain silent.
“I have every expectation she will not shun us,” said Bennet. “When Darcy came to request my blessing, he informed me he was thinking of purchasing an estate near Meryton, so their visits would be more comfortable. He may even purchase Netherfield, which he could then hold for a younger son.”
“Wonderful,” was Goulding’s acid reply. “Then we shall have the arrogant man forever lording his wealth and position over us all.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you go through life with your eyes closed, determined to be displeased.” Robinson, who had spoken to Goulding, eyed him with a look of such distaste that it left no one present in any doubt of his feelings. “Mr. Darcy always dealt with me fairly and gave more consequence to the people in this town than was ever required. He is a man of the first circles and would be well within his rights to ignore the lot of us as unworthy. As Bennet suggests, I shall speak with my wife and children about the perils of gossip when I return home. Perhaps you should take that advice too, Goulding, for your daughter is among the worst offenders.
“There is no need to discuss this any further,” continued Robinson, turning away from a now fuming Goulding. It seemed the man, even if he agreed in principle, had not the stomach for being called out in front of his peers. “When you have the final numbers, let us know what our portion will be, Bennet. If we all assist, it will be no more than three or four pounds each, for which I pledge my support. Should any in this company disagree, let them refuse, for it matters little to me. Perhaps we should give the merchants a list of those who did not wish to contribute, so they may treat them accordingly the next time their wives and daughters visit their shops.”
Bennet grinned and saluted Robinson, knowing he had, in one master stroke, assured everyone would contribute; no sensible gentleman would risk offending the merchants on whom they depended for much of their purchases. It appeared Goulding understood too, for his glare was unmistakable.
“Very well,” said Bennet. He paused allowing his eyes to roam about the room. “It may be less, as I mean to make clear to the merchants that they must bear some responsibility. I could take the entire amount on myself, though I am not a wealthy man and it would impact my budget. But I think it is important for us to be united in this, gentlemen, and will gain us much gratitude from our merchants.”
“Very well,” said Sir William. “If we are decided, we can now adjourn.”
As was the custom at such meetings, the gentlemen stayed and mingled after, though Bennet noted Goulding stayed away from him, giving him sour looks while ostensibly ignoring his presence. Bennet bore it cheerfully, for Goulding was in the “unable to tolerate with equanimity” category and had been for many years. It was fortunate his estate did not border with Haye Park, for it allowed him to disregard the man with impunity.
“Uncle,” said Darcy in greeting as he entered the sitting-room of Lord Matlock’s London home. The nods he directed at his aunt, cousins, and sister were warmer, given his current vexation with his uncle.
“Darcy,” grunted the earl, his pique seeming a match for Darcy’s. “I was not aware you were in town. The last intelligence I had of your movements suggested you had gone into Kent.”
Lord Matlock fairly spat the last word, and Darcy knew it was not because he despised the county. The few times Darcy had been in his uncle’s presence, he had not stopped complaining about his sister’s insistence on supporting Elizabeth.
“I was in Kent,” replied Darcy. “I had business in Meryton, however, which I completed yesterday. You will, I hope, be pleased to learn that I have discovered the source of the rumors that confounded us in November.”
Though the earl’s countenance darkened at the mention of Meryton and just what business might call him there, Darcy’s mention of the rumors aroused his interest.
“The source was none other than George Wickham, the son of my father’s steward.”
As Fitzwilliam had informed Georgiana of the connection—he had done so at Darcy’s request to avoid a visceral response—she only blanched a little at the news. Darcy’s uncle, however, was not happy to hear of a man of whom he had heard so much, and little of it good.
“George Wickham?” demanded the earl. “I thought you had thrown him off years ago.”
“You are correct, Uncle,” said Darcy. “But disclaiming an acquaintance with Wickham did not end the matter in his mind, it seems, for this is not the first time he has defamed my name.”
“I hope you have him incarcerated,” said Lord Matlock. “The man has gone too far if he has spread such things about you.”
“That is my task, Father,” said Fitzwilliam. “Wickham is as slippery as an eel; he escaped Meryton ahead of the mob baying for his head. I have already made several inquiries into his whereabouts.”
The earl grunted. “That is well then. If you require my influence to see him transported, you have it.”
Fitzwilliam grinned and turned to Darcy. “We never decided what we are to do with our friend Wickham. A life of hardship in a penal colony would satisfy, but the darkest depths of a cell in Marshalsea and never allowing him to see the light of the sun again also has its appeal.”
When Georgiana gasped at such a description, Rachel glanced at her and patted her hand, misinterpreting her reaction. “Perhaps you have fond memories of him, Georgiana, but Mr. Wickham is not a good man. His list of crimes is so extensive that it is time he accounted for them.”
“Of course,” said Georgiana, blushing a little. “It just shocked me to hear you all speaking of a man in such terms.”
“It is nothing less than he deserves,” said Fitzwilliam. “Trust me, Georgiana—you have not heard the worst of Wickham’s offenses, for they are not fit for innocent ears. But remember that Wickham has no loyalty, feels nothing for anyone other than himself. Before you allow compassion to enter your heart, remember that he will use whatever he sees fit for his benefit.”
Georgiana nodded and hung her head, for Fitzwilliam’s words were akin to what he had said in the aftermath of her rescue from Wickham’s attempt to elope with her. Regarding his sister with compassion, Darcy determined to have a word with her before he left, for he would not wish her to believe they still held her near disaster against her.
“This is all fine and well,” said Charity, fixing Darcy with an impatient look. “But I am more curious about this business that took you to Meryton. Will you not be explicit?”
“You have guessed correctly, Charity,” said Darcy. “When I returned to Kent, I proposed to Miss Elizabeth, and she accepted me. My purpose in going to Meryton was to get her father’s consent.”
“Oh, Darcy,” exclaimed Lord Matlock, even while Charity clapped and exclaimed her enthusiasm. Rachel appeared resigned while Fitzwilliam and Lady Susan appeared smug. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Not another word, Uncle,” said Darcy, maintaining his calm in the face of his uncle’s annoyance. “Given the result of the many discussions we have had on the subject these past months, you must have expected it.”
“Even then I thought you would come to your senses!” snapped the earl. “Remember the family, Darcy!”
“The Bennets did not show themselves to best advantage, it is true,” said Darcy. “Part of that was the rumors spread by a man connected to my family. That is a mitigating factor, for the Bennets did nothing wrong on that score.”
“They are still unsuitable!”
“And yet they will be my family. If you wish to provoke a split between us, that is your business, Uncle. I urge you to resign yourself to having Elizabeth as a relation, for she will be my wife. Nothing you say or do will change that. I have spoken to Mr. Bennet, and he knows I cannot acknowledge his family as presently constituted in town. As an intelligent man, he expected it.”
“It is time to allow this matter to rest,” said Lady Susan, speaking when her husband would have protested further. “Darcy has decided and will not be moved from it. As it is done, we had best become accustomed to it.”
Lady Susan turned to Darcy. “You may be assured of my support, though I am certain Catherine has already begun planning for Miss Bennet’s introduction to society.”
“Thank you, Aunt,” said Darcy with a nod.
“And I wish to see Elizabeth again,” said Charity. “James is to return soon, and as he has never made Elizabeth’s acquaintance, perhaps I can persuade him to go to Rosings.”
“Elizabeth would appreciate that, I am certain,” said Darcy. “She has settled into Rosings with Aunt Catherine and Anne, but she would welcome more friendly faces.”
Darcy only stayed a few more minutes. The earl, he noted, did not speak again, his face covered with a glower displaying his displeasure for them all to see. The best thing to do was to allow him to stew about it for a time, for his anger would eventually dissipate, leaving him resigned. He would never cause a break in the family and would treat Elizabeth with courtesy, if not warmth. The rest of the family was more supportive, though Rachel was a little cooler. It was enough, Darcy decided.
Later, when he was leaving the house, Darcy beckoned Georgiana to join him, noting she had added little to the conversation. As they were walking, Darcy addressed her, intending to pull her from her shell.
“I hope you do not suppose the Fitzwilliam spoke to shame you,” said Darcy when they had left the rest of the company.
“No, Brother,” assured his sister, “though I will own it is difficult to hear you speak of my foolishness, but I did not think he was speaking to censure.”
Darcy nodded. “There is no need to feel foolish, Georgiana. Use your experience as a tool of learning.”
“I shall,” replied Georgiana. She paused and added: “It surprises me that you have already proposed to Miss Elizabeth.”
“I first made her acquaintance in August,” said Darcy. “It is not precipitous.”
“No, that is not what I am saying.” Georgiana paused and seemed to struggle for the words to say. At length, she gave him a helpless shrug and said: “I am happy for you, Brother, for I know your feelings for Miss Elizabeth are deep and true, as are hers for you. I hope that she will like having me as a sister.”
“Have no fear of that,” replied Darcy. “I am certain you will become as close as sisters by birth.”
The smile Georgiana gave him was not confident, which Darcy attributed to her characteristic shyness and uncertainty. As Darcy had every expectation she and Elizabeth would become the best of friends, he decided it was best to leave it alone at present. Elizabeth would work her magic on his sister when they were together again—Darcy had every confidence she would.
“If you like, I shall take you to Kent again when I go.”
Georgiana paused and said: “Perhaps I shall wait until Charity and James go.”
Nodding, Darcy reached out and squeezed her hand. “If you wish to come earlier or if they do not go, let me know and I shall arrange it. I should like you to become known to Elizabeth, for I know you will love her as much as I do.”
Then after giving his sister an affectionate embrace, Darcy departed.