The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

Chapter Nineteen Consequences and Conclusions

Darcy held his febrile and delirious wife during the frightening drive through the dark, poorly maintained country roads leading to London, home, and the supreme medical expertise of Dr. George Darcy. Alexander refused to unclasp his arms from his father’s neck, not that Darcy desired separating from his son for a second, until they were well beyond the “scary house with the bad man.” Even then he loosened his grip only enough to nestle onto Darcy’s lap with his mother’s head comfortingly touching his small thigh.

Colonel Fitzwilliam and the bulk of his men remained behind to deal with the mess. One rider voluntarily risked life and limb to carry an express message to Darcy House, the occupants informed of the rescue and Lizzy’s condition. Colonel Artois insisted on acting as armed guard to the Darcys, riding ahead of the carriage confiscated from Orman’s lodge.

They encountered no obstacles, but the late hour with limited natural illumination and potential road hazards meant great speed was not a possibility. Therefore the ride took twice as long as it would have during the day. Heart pounding painfully and anxiety barely kept at bay, Darcy sat in the dark interior unable to see his wife’s face except for brief seconds when the crescent moon’s pale glow pierced through the trees. He was comforted by the press of Lizzy and Alexander’s bodies, but the stretches of absolute silence from Lizzy when only the steady pulse palpated in her neck assured him of her life followed by interludes of nonsensical mutterings and thrashing escalated his anguish. The lights of London and finally Grosvenor Square had never been so appreciated.

The carriage was greeted with expectancy but subdued fuss. Mrs. Hanford plucked Alexander from Darcy’s arms, managing to control her emotions until inside the foyer whereupon she squeezed his body and wept so uncontrollably that it was Alexander who ended up soothing the distraught nanny with gentle pats and murmured assurances. Before they reached the nursery he was recounting the adventure and his bravery in matter-of-fact tones that allayed the worst of her fears. After a warm bath and hot soup, the toddler was tucked into bed with Dog nestled tight and Miss Lisa curled beside for added security. He swiftly fell asleep and the atmosphere within the chamber was no different than on any other night.

Not so within the master’s chambers. Darcy carried Lizzy into the house blazing with lit candles and lamps, ignoring everyone in his haste to safely deposit her onto their bed, where within seconds the examination by Dr. Darcy was underway. George was in full physician-in-command mode with the staff bustling about to implement his barked instructions.

“It is as I suspected from your scrawled descriptions, William,” he said after a rapid evaluation. “She has developed a case of puerperal mastitis. The lingering effects of the ether may be contributing to her fever and delirium, but I believe it is the inflammation. We must reduce the redness and swelling, pray there is no infection, and control her fever. Marguerite”—he turned to Lizzy’s waiting maid—“please assist Mr. Darcy in cleaning your mistress and providing comfort. I will see to those poultices I ordered.”

He rose from the edge of the bed by Lizzy’s inert side, reaching to clasp Darcy’s hands. “Do not fear, my boy. She is healthy and astoundingly stubborn. A simple breast inflammation will not overwhelm her. However, I do pray there is not an infection brewing. I do not think it has gone to that degree but cannot be sure. I know of several herbs, most of which I have in my supplies. What I do not have I can obtain from the apothecary on the morrow. For now our greatest priority is to lower the fever and relieve her pain. For the first I have ice being chipped from the ice-cellar, and for the latter we need Michael.”

“Michael?” Darcy glanced away from his wife’s face to look at his uncle, brow raised in question.

“Indeed. A hungry infant will be best able to alleviate the engorgement, that causing the mastitis in the first place. Now, help Marguerite while I obtain a few supplies. But first, I am assuming Colonel Fitzwilliam is fine or you would have stated otherwise, but I am sure his wife would appreciate an update.”

“Lady Simone is still here?”

“She rightly figured this was the best place to wait for her husband, but also would not abandon Georgiana, who has been distressed.” He did not mention Mr. Butler, who had also refused to leave and was in the parlor still, saving that information for a more opportune moment.

“Of course.” Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose wearily, nodding in agreement. “That is to be expected. Assure Lady Simone that Richard is fine. He is handling the aftermath. It may take a while so she may as well return home. Where is Georgie?”

“Georgiana is assisting with the poultices and will be along momentarily. Let me talk to Lady Simone and I will return.” He patted Darcy’s shoulder, squeezing once, and turned to leave.

Darcy sighed, closing his eyes and taking a minute to silently say a prayer, and then stepped to join Marguerite.

Lizzy’s devoted maid was wringing cool water from a cloth, moving to apply the soothing and cleansing lave to her mistress, but Darcy gently took the swab from her hand. “I shall do this, Marguerite. Will you please remove her soiled clothing?”

Lizzy moaned frequently and murmured incoherently. Her eyelids fluttered, opening to slits several times, but she did not waken. Her fiery, flushed skin responded to the tepid bath with gooseflesh and shivering. Darcy examined her bosom, encouraged to note that the inflamed patch was not worsened and there were no additional erythematic areas. The hard, turgid milk-sacs were obviously painful when touched, but her nipples were of normal appearance. Darcy was hopeful that the latter was a positive sign.

Midway through the cleansing Georgiana marched into the room carrying a wailing Michael. Behind her came two maids, their arms burdened with towels, laden trays, and a bucket of ice.

“He was not too fond of being woken up in the middle of his night and only a few hours after feeding, but Uncle insisted.” She spoke over the din to her brother, who approached with a frown etched between his brows. “Fortunately, your son has a tremendous appetite. Cannot imagine where he attains that character trait.”

She attempted a warm smile but her eyes were red-rimmed and cheeks blotchy. Georgiana tiptoed to bestow a tender kiss to his cheek, speaking in a feigned casual tone. “It seems odd to me as well, letting him nurse when Lizzy is unaware. But it does make sense, Brother, when you consider the logic. Besides, Uncle knows what he is about.” She glanced to Lizzy, whose reddened left breast was exposed as Marguerite applied one of the poultices Dr. Darcy had concocted. “It looks so painful. Here, take him to his mother. You know what to do better than I.”

“Thank you, Georgie. Are you…?”

“I am fine now so do not fret over me. Just take care of Lizzy.”

“Very well. Come, sweetheart, let us get you fed. Your mama needs you.”

Normally, Michael latched onto the nipple instantly, quiet falling, never to be distracted until forced to relinquish one nipple for the other or when utterly sated. This time, however, his native volatility was compounded by being woken precipitously and then expected to nurse from an engorged breast with stale milk. Darcy patiently persisted through Michael’s fit of temper until the infant settled in for serious sucking.

Darcy sat on the bed’s edge, softly stroking his back with one hand while holding Lizzy’s slack right hand to his lips. Georgiana knelt on the wide bed behind Lizzy placing the compress of crushed mint, ginger, and pepper paste to her forehead and rotated the tied bundles of chipped ice over her neck and shoulders. George entered the room minutes later, handing the poultice of fenugreek seed and dandelion to Marguerite.

“Give this to Mr. Darcy to smear on Mrs. Darcy’s inflamed breast,” he directed Lizzy’s maid. “The smell is not too foul, William, so it should not disturb Michael, but for now apply it conservatively.” He sat down in a corner chair, discreetly positioning himself so he could instruct without witnessing Lizzy’s nakedness. “Once he is finished we will slather more on and wrap with a cloth. Keep moving the packs along her back, Georgie. We do not want her to become chilled. The fever should subside gradually. If there is an infection process fomenting, an elevated temperature is partially beneficial. William, rub the congested milk sacs, gingerly mind you, as Michael nurses. It will aid the release and press the herbal salve into the skin. Once Michael is finished, we will rouse her and force her to drink those teas.”

He seemingly rambled without purpose, but his orotund tones with words falling in a lilting cadence were soothing. Darcy watched his wife’s face, noting the occasional flashes of pain that crossed her brow as he massaged her softening breast. But he also noted the regular rhythm of her breathing, the lessening blotched pallor and ruddiness of her skin, and the increasing coolness of the hand pressed against his mouth. Together the signs were encouraging.

Michael finished his meal, his chubby body limp as Darcy nestled him against his left chest for burping. He kissed the infant’s forehead, turning to look at his uncle.

“I doubt if I can wake him to eat more. This is his time of extended sleep with hunger well abated.”

“No matter. He will make up for lost time tomorrow. For tonight I can instruct you how to alleviate some of the pressure in the other breast manually. First we must get Elizabeth to drink some fluids. Georgie, will you return Michael to Mrs. Hanford? Thank you, dear. Sit Elizabeth up, William.”

Darcy was required to lend his entire body as support, Lizzy’s flaccid form melding to the contours of his torso. He sat behind her, arms securing and broad chest a firm resting place for her back, and the bend of his neck and shoulder a solid prop for her head.

“Elizabeth,” he voice lovingly commanded into her ear. “We need you to wake up and drink. I need to hear your voice. Please, Elizabeth, look at me. Squeeze my hand, anything to let me know you hear me.”

She moaned, weakly arching her back and turning away from his pleading. But he continued on at Dr. Darcy’s urging. He told her that she was home now, that Alexander was safe and asleep, that the threat to them was eliminated, that he loved and needed her, and so on.

George held one wrist between his fingers, counting the decreasing beats of her pulse. His other hand skillfully brushed over her neck and upper chest, palpating the changes in skin temperature. Softly, he directed Marguerite to administer the oral drops of belladonna, and then to change the herbal compress on her head to one of cool sandalwood paste. The teapot of steeped black elder, willow bark, chamomile, and lime flowers sat waiting on the bedside table.

Darcy kept up his train of verbal declarations of love and need, compelling her to respond. Eventually she did, with groans growing louder as she broke through the febrile haze and finally opened her glassy eyes.

“George,” she slurred in surprise, not expecting his to be the first face she saw.

“Yes, Niece, it is me. Delighted to see you, but, if you do not greet the big fellow behind you soon, he may burst into tears.”

Darcy was indeed teary eyed. His strong palm was already cupping his wife’s cheek and nudging so that he could meet her gaze. “Tell me you know who I am,” he whispered.

She frowned. “Of course I know who you are. My Fitzwilliam.”

“Yes! Yes.” He brushed a kiss over her lips. “All is well now, my heart. Uncle has some tea for you. I am sure it is foul…”

“I beg your pardon?” George interjected indignantly.

“…but you must drink all of it. It will help with the pain and fever. Do you understand?”

“As you wish. I am very thirsty.” Her voice was listless with a note of confusion, her brow quizzical. Even so, she offered no objection, drinking the pungent tea wordlessly. Darcy murmured encouragingly throughout, caressing her arms as George plied her with three cups of the medicinal brew.

Finally she finished her required dose, the satisfied physician assessing her flushed skin and mild warmth with a smile and happy nod. “Excellent. Much improved, Elizabeth.”

“She still feels hot to me, Uncle. Are you sure she is mending?”

“The fever is less and she is awake, if drowsy and befuddled. All to be expected.” He smiled cheerily, patting Lizzy’s knee. “Now she needs to sleep. Questions can be asked and answered tomorrow. Does that sound like a capitol idea, Mrs. Darcy?”

Lizzy inclined her head while fumbling to absorb his words without much success. The fringes of her memory niggled at her, some vague awareness buried behind thick clouds attempting to capture her attention and whisper facts that she should be concerned about. Yet all she felt was extreme weariness. The odd torpor weighting down her limbs was offset by the comforting sturdiness of her husband’s body. She felt his breath on her cheek, smelt the wonderful aroma of his manliness and cologne, heard the potency in every word he uttered, and felt the loving touch of his fingertips. It all combined to imbue her soul with an overwhelming peace and assurance so that none of the troubling glimmers could penetrate her blanketing sense of security.

She muttered a few words, none of the room’s occupants understanding what she was trying to say, and returned to her slumber.

George palpated the strong pulse in her neck and lifted one eyelid to gaze at her pupil, nodding with clinical satisfaction. “She is asleep, nothing else. This is good.” He looked at his clearly distraught nephew, smiling and patting his knee. “Relax, William. She will be fine, I promise.”

“Uncle, do you know if vitriol has any effect on unborn babies?”

George’s brows rose, his eyes instantly returning to Lizzy and scanning over her body. “Are you sure? I have seen no signs of Elizabeth being with child.”

“It is merely a conjecture based on… possible symptoms.” He smiled wanly and laughed shortly. “Strange. This morning I was distressed at the idea of Elizabeth being pregnant so soon after her recovery, with the fear of a repeat occurrence all I could dwell upon. Now I find myself paralyzed by the prospect of our baby being lost or damaged in some way.”

“Ether is used liberally in some places to dull pain. I have utilized it often myself for certain procedures, although I do not care for the aftereffects. I have never documented any direct sequelae from ether during gestation, William, but of course we will not know for some time. Do not fret about it at this juncture. I seriously doubt if this one exposure will cause any harm.”

“But why…”

“I know you have questions, William, but I think most of them can wait. You look horrible and need rest of your own. Let me examine that scalp wound and apply an antiseptic unguent, then I order you to sleep.”

Darcy held Lizzy for several more minutes before laying her comfortably onto the bed. He followed his uncle into the small parlor, falling into the chair with a loud groan. George cleaned the wound, pleased to announce that stitches were unnecessary, his fingers gentle in their ministration. Still, Darcy winced from the pain, especially the stinging salve, and gratefully drank the pungent elixir offered to dull the pain felt in his head and from numerous bruises.

Conversation was minimal. Darcy had so many questions that he hardly knew where to begin and the fatigue washing through his muscles prevented his tongue from properly functioning. He tried, however, but George was taciturn, finally halting the mumbled queries by placing both hands firmly onto Darcy’s shoulders and stating, “No more questions or discussion, Son. I am convinced there is no infection since the fever is subsiding. The residual effects of the ether will be gone by tomorrow and the fever will likely break by morning. The mastitis will heal once Michael is allowed to nurse unrestrained. In a few days you will be scolding your impetuous wife for leaving the bed and wanting to walk to Hyde Park. Now, go get some sleep. You know where to find me, but I intend to do the same as all this excitement is stressful on my old bones.”

He grinned, clapping his nephew on the shoulder, and left the chamber with a spring in his step far jauntier than the considerably younger Darcy could muster at that moment.

Georgiana returned to the parlor after tucking Michael into his crib and taking a few minutes to kiss the sleeping Alexander. Simone stood as she entered the room, crossing to meet her for a firm hug.

“My dearest girl, all is now well, yes?”

Georgiana nodded, her smile genuine if fatigued. “Lizzy is feverish but responding to treatment.” She included Mr. Butler in her reply, his face drawn with concern for everyone involved if slightly more so for his fiancée. “Dr. Darcy says she will be fine in no time at all, praise God.”

“What of the… abductors?” Mr. Butler asked.

“I did not ask.”

“Surely they have been subdued and apprehended,” Simone offered. “I deduce that is what my husband is dealing with. And speaking of my husband”—she reached for her cloak and gloves—“I shall leave you now, if you do not mind, so I can have a hot meal ready when Richard returns. If he comes here first, tell him to go home immediately so his wife’s anxiety will be allayed.”

Georgiana recognized her honest emotion, assuring that she would bodily toss him out the door if need be. The laughter elicited at that image lifted everyone’s heart, Simone bidding good night at that point.

Once alone, Sebastian enfolded Georgiana in a healing embrace, neither saying a word for several minutes.

He had sat beside her for hours, holding her hand and desperately wishing he could do more than merely listen in horror and wait while the clock loudly ticked into the silence. The ache to comfort her and express his love had escalated to a piercing pain. Georgiana’s emotions, once released, had burst forth as a ruptured dam with tears and shivers bordering on hysteria even after retreating to the parlor as Richard recommended. Once that passed, she had grown nervous, clearly embarrassed by her upheaval. Lady Simone had left the room, silently indicating Sebastian ignore propriety and console the distraught young woman in any way possible. That, however, had proven difficult as Georgiana remained flustered, busying herself with serving him tea all while profusely apologizing for the situation and her behavior, and then deflecting the conversation away to inquiries about his Easter, family visit, and so on. In the end he decided it was probably best to distract her with tales of his exploits, highly exaggerated to amuse, and deal with her ridiculous humiliation later.

Although he knew he could not stay much longer and risk further embarrassing her by being discovered alone or seen skulking away after midnight, the need to express his sentiments overrode all caution.

“Georgiana,” he whispered, cupping her face with his palms and engaging her eyes, “I…” And then he could resist no longer, bending for a consuming kiss that spoke louder than any words.

For a long while the ticking clock was the only sound, unless one counted heavy breathing and moist lips in action. Mental clarity and restraint were slowly restored, Sebastian withdrawing but keeping the space between their bodies minuscule.

“I am glad that I arrived when I did. Being with you during this difficult time, aiding even in a small way, eases my heart. I cannot fathom how awful to hear later that you went through this trauma without me. We may not yet be wed, Miss Darcy, but I already feel responsible for you. Do not doubt that or my love for you.”

She laughed shakily, attempting to nod with her head clasped firmly between his hands. “I have missed you, Sebastian, so much. And I am glad you were here too.”

He kissed her again, tenderly, and then stepped back. “Now I should be going, despite my reluctance. You need to sleep and I am sure Mr. and Mrs. Darcy will need you tomorrow.”

“When will you return?” Her voice caught, emotions still surging close to the surface.

“I am staying at my grandmother’s townhouse. I shall wait upon your pleasure. See to your family first and when you deem it appropriate, write to Lady Warrow.” He pulled on his overcoat, smiling at her worried expression. “I promise to respond with alacrity. After all, I have an official question to ask of your brother and have no intention of delaying any longer than absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, indeed you do,” she agreed with a hint of humor, “and, as difficult as it was to manage in my despondency and loneliness, I have several sheets of music I need your expert opinion on.”

“I sincerely doubt I will have anything worthwhile to add to your brilliance, Miss Darcy, but I will delight in hearing you play the notes.”

“You flatterer! The piece is meant to be played together and I am sure you will add some flair I did not envision, after your skill in rapid memorization is tested, that is.”

“I adore a challenge,” he countered, leaning to meet her lips for a final kiss, “and I adore you. In fact, I am crazy in love with you.”

“I love you,” she breathed, closing her eyes and rubbing her soft cheek against his stubbled one. “Shall I have a horse saddled?”

“No, thank you. I think a walk in the brisk air will do me good. It is not far. Attend to the present circumstances, Georgiana, but call for me soon. I need you,” he ended simply, leaving seconds later, after another kiss.

Lizzy’s fever broke three hours before the dawn, Marguerite changing the damp nightgown without the sleeping Darcy even aware. He did rouse at the angry voice of his son demanding sustenance, assisting the procedure since Lizzy remained languorous and addled. The baby did not seem to mind, nursing well from each breast, but Lizzy’s condition worried Darcy.

“It is to be expected,” George stated. “The fever, although lessened, is slightly elevated and the effects of the inflammation cause sluggishness. Add that to the residual ether sedation and I anticipate in may take a day or two for her to rally completely.”

His assessment was correct. Lizzy slept most of the day and all that following night. She recognized Darcy and spoke dazedly of what had happened, but her haziness prevented curiosity as to how she was rescued or the condition of her abductors. Gradually, over the ensuing week her memory would return, but there would forever be gaps in her recollect mingled with bizarre images that made no sense. She was haunted by disturbing dreams, some powerful enough to jerk her awake, crying out in fear and reaching franticly for Darcy.

An oddly sweet odor to her breath and mild cough lasted for another twenty-four hours, also the aftereffects of vitriol, George said, as were her poor appetite and vomiting even with the bland soups and plain breads offered. The inflamed blotch marring her beautiful breast was gone in two days, thanks to Michael and the various medical treatments, internal and external, that their resident physician prescribed.

Alexander experienced lingering lethargy during that first day, his stomach was easily upset, and he too coughed. A honeyed tonic brewed by Uncle Goj remedied the unpleasant symptoms and after another night of restorative sleep he was physically one hundred percent cured. However, nightmares that he never remembered upon waking plagued him for weeks with Darcy called upon to pacify his terrified son until returned to sleep.

Observing their distress with no way to remedy it other than embracing caused him immeasurable pain, in some respects worse than their suffering. His sleep was disturbed by their nightmares and his own plagued dreams. The daytime hours were busy, allowing little time to rest until later in the evenings when the four of them gathered together in the large bed for play and stories, inevitably falling asleep in a tangle of limbs.

The laceration to his scalp was not large and healed without festering. The only negative effect was an annoying tingling as it healed and an occasional headache. His greatest physical pain arose from the wallop against the heavy oak door, the bruises scattered over his body, and muscles stressed during the altercation. Luckily, he was a quick healer and daily hot baths, soothing compresses given by his uncle for the biggest bruises, and deep massages from Samuel speeded his recovery.

The combination of bath, medicines, and massage definitely helped that first morning, Darcy exiting his dressing room prepared to deal with the consequences of the prior night’s events.

Richard had not returned to Darcy House during the night, assuming his cousin would be otherwise occupied and trusting that Dr. Darcy would handle the medical needs with his typical brilliance. Besides, after taking care of matters as completely as possible considering the late hour and extending thanks to the men from his former regiment, all of whom had enjoyed themselves and shrugged off his thanks, he was exhausted and hungry for his wife’s comforting arms.

However, knowing his cousin as well as he did, Richard rose early and rode straight to Darcy House after breakfasting with his new family. Once the hot pot of coffee was delivered to the combination study and library where Darcy sat waiting and steaming cups were held in their hands, Richard launched into his update.

“The men guarding the house were scum Wickham had hired. None of them had any idea they were working for the Marquis of Orman, content to take the money and ask no questions. The fear instilled by my associates and I, obviously military despite not wearing uniforms, was enough to subdue, especially after a spell in Newgate just for good measure.”

He sipped gingerly, continuing, “My comrades enjoyed trussing them up and finding the ricketiest cart obtainable for the long ride back to town. A handful of coins to the gaoler and vague information on their crime will be enough to keep them in misery for a good while.”

“Will they be executed?”

Richard shrugged. “It is easy to arrange that and they deserve it since they knew a woman and child had been kidnapped. Men of that ilk should not be roaming free for the next criminal to take advantage of. I will see what I can arrange and still leave your name out of it.”

“Thanks. What about Orman?”

“Still raving and frothing at the mouth last I saw. Campbell and Willet took him to Bethlem. No news from them today, but I plan to visit the barracks when I leave here. I am not a doctor, Cousin, but the man seems insane to me. It might get tricky since he is a peer of the realm. However, if your name has to come into it, we can merely say he threatened you in some way and not mention Elizabeth or Alexander.”

Darcy visibly relaxed, sighing and nodding in relief. “I will go to great extremes to prevent them being dragged into this and harmed in any way possible.”

“Even lie?”

“I know, I know. It goes against every principle I embrace, but in this situation I will employ every ounce of my poker skills to bluff if need be.”

Richard could not resist laughing. “Well, let us work on a plausible story since your skills at poker are dismal!” Darcy grunted but did smile, and Richard continued. “It will not be difficult to spin a tale. Everyone knows your past with Orman, and his insanity and living conditions are real enough. I say keep it simple and close to the truth. Call me a cynic, but I would be shocked if the authorities waste time on investigating too thoroughly. They will take one look at him, toss him into a cell, and happily confiscate what property and money he has in the name of the Crown. He will not be an enigma in that madhouse they call a hospital, I assure you. He can share a room with Lord Attenborough or Baron Warburton.”

They spent a few more minutes hammering out the finer details and then broached the most distressing topic of all.

“What about Wickham? I am not crying at his demise, but he was, well…”

“Family,” Darcy spat bitterly, “yes, I know.” He paused for a large swallow of coffee. “What did you do with his body?”

“We took it to the yard, placed in the morgue for now. No questions will be asked, yet, but I cannot keep him there forever. May I make a suggestion?”

“By all means do.”

Richard leaned forward. “From what I have deduced, the only person on this planet who will miss the wretch is Mrs. Wickham. I do sympathize with her loss since she appeared to love him. Therefore, I see no point in multiplying her grief by learning the truth about the man she was married to or how he died. Certainly knowing you were involved will add unnecessary strain that benefits no one.”

“No argument there. I am not looking forward to telling Elizabeth he died at my hand, let alone sharing that with Mrs. Wickham and the Bennets.”

Richard barked a laugh. “I would not worry about Elizabeth’s reaction. Somehow I think she will show her gratitude and pride enthusiastically. As for the rest, here is what I propose: We know he left Mrs. Wickham over a week ago, sending her home or wherever while he came on to London. It does not matter what story he concocted for her benefit. All you have to say is that he was discovered dead on the side of the road, neck broken as a result of falling from his horse as far as can be ascertained, and you were contacted because of this.”

Richard pulled a folded paper from his coat pocket, placing it into Darcy’s hand. The parchment piece was yellowed with age and torn along the edges, the creases grimy after years of being stuffed into pockets, and the charcoal drawn faces smudged in places, but there was no doubt who the two smiling young men were even if their names had not been written underneath.

“I remember sitting for this,” Darcy whispered mouth agape in shock. “We were days away from leaving for Cambridge. Mr. Wickham was proud that his son was to attend with me, intelligent enough to pass the entrance exams even though younger. He held such high hopes of his son’s success.” Darcy coughed around the tightness in his throat, not every memory involving Wickham an unhappy one, especially where Pemberley’s previous steward was concerned. “Mr. Wickham requested his wife draw us. She was talented with charcoal, although not as much with paints. I have to admit that during this time, especially noting how happy his family and my father were, I completely forgot my misgivings where Wickham was concerned. For a while he was George again, my boyhood friend.”

“It was among his papers, the only personal item. He did not even have a drawing or reference to his wife.”

“Mr. Wickham had this framed. I remember it sitting on his desk. After he died, Wickham came for the funeral. I fulfilled Mr. Wickham’s wishes in giving everything to his son, other than a few trinkets specified for others. I gave the picture no thought. Why do you think he carried it?”

“I do not know, Darcy. Perhaps in a twisted way he held a modicum of affection for the past. Or then again, maybe it was so he could look at your face and heap curses, Gypsy style. We will never know and I beg you not to let it distress you. For the sake of the present, it provides a reason for why you learned of his death and were left to handle it. And we can point to this and his past connection with your family, positive as far as most know, as a way to deflect any rumors that may arise.”

“I find it difficult to believe he held any affection, so more likely the curse theory is the correct one.” He folded the paper, handing it back to Richard. “Nothing ties him to Orman?”

“Nothing that I can see. Even my spies drew blanks on that count.”

“What about Geoffrey Wiseman?”

“I will look into anything here in London, but he will disappear with no one the wiser, I suppose, except for your housekeeper, but I leave that in your capable hands.”

“Next on my morning’s agenda,” Darcy said dryly. “The matter of Wickham can wait a day or two, can it not? I would like to talk to Elizabeth before contacting her family. Her insight will be invaluable, especially where Lydia is concerned.”

“It is sensible to wait on this matter anyway. Two odd events, one a death and the other a crazed lunatic out for blood, involving you in the same week might raise an eyebrow or two. Best to space out the fodder for gossip.”

Darcy frowned, scandal, even hinted, being something he abhorred.

“Do not worry too much, Cousin. Orman’s madness will be the topic of choice, with vivid descriptions I am sure, not the death of a man no one knew. Wickham will not generate more than a sentence or two. As for Mrs. Wickham, with all due respect to Elizabeth and no wish to offend, I somehow doubt the widow will be grief stricken or lonely for long.”

Darcy shook his head, unable to hold in a smile. “No, I doubt she will. Her mother will welcome her home with tears of joy, Mr. Bennet will probably be relieved, and I will make sure that her husband left a settlement to provide until husband number two is ensnared.”

“That is generous of you, under the circumstances.”

“Trust me, generosity has nothing to do with it, nor do I really care about Lydia, if you must know. I do, however, care deeply for my wife. And speaking of my wife, I need to check on her. Keep me informed.”

“I always do. That is my lot in life, cleaning up your messes as usual, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy waved his cousin’s gibe and grin away. “I think we are tied for rescuing each other, but you better watch your step or I will give erroneous parenting advice on purpose.”

Darcy had refused to think of the housekeeper and her role in the abduction during the night. He did not ask George of her whereabouts until that morning after bathing and dressing, knowing that the incensed rage would interfere with the calm he needed for his family. Thus, it was mid-morning after talking with Richard and then spending time with his peacefully sleeping wife before he felt in control enough to broach the subject with his uncle and then confront the woman. The time allotted gave his mind the opportunity to rationalize the subject, deciding on the best course of action.

George had gleaned little of interest. Mrs. Smyth had been so shaken by her master’s threatening anger that she was a puddle of tears and incoherency. In disgust he had given up on any questioning, banishing her to her quarters and assigning a footman to ensure she stayed put until Mr. Darcy said otherwise.

In truth, Darcy could care less how Wickham had finagled his way into Mrs. Smyth’s good graces and thus into his house. Knowing the skill Wickham wielded at deception and charming women, he was not surprised and wondered why the possibility had not occurred to him. He might have been able to feel some pity for the obviously lonely, mislead woman, but the fact is that she had willingly allowed a stranger into his house and fornicated under his roof, rules that were broken in blatant disregard of his authority. Couple that with her ongoing, albeit suppressed hostility toward his wife and children, and his extensive patience was at an end.

What he was not prepared for, especially after George’s description of how distraught she was the day before, was the blaze of defiance he was greeted with.

She marched into his study, Mr. Travers trailing, her face set into a haughty pose with spine stiff and hands boldly clasping the chatelaine of keys indicative of her office. Darcy sat in his imposing leather chair, composed and coldly authoritative. His momentary startlement at her demeanor did not show outwardly, nor did it cause his disciplined core to waver. Rather, it steeled his resolve.

“Mrs. Smyth, I am no longer interested in the details of your involvement with Mr. Wickham. Your misjudgment which led to your crimes is for you to bear. The proofs of your transgressions against the rules of this household, my rules, are more than sufficient to warrant your immediate dismissal. I order you to pack your belongings and vacate my house by this afternoon. My only concession, my last act of kindness if you will, for years of service will be to offer the availability of a carriage and driver to take you to a destination of your choosing. Under the circumstances I judge that more than fair.”

“And what of my future livelihood? Am I to be given no recommendation for employment?”

Darcy’s brow rose reflexively. “You cannot be serious? Do you honestly anticipate that I would write a letter of recommendation after what has transpired here?”

“Indeed, I would think you might consider the wisdom in securing me another post. But I will accept a letter as just payment.”

Darcy was flabbergasted. But he was also irritated and perversely curious. “Please, do enlighten me as to why I should deem such absurdity ‘wisdom’ on my part.”

She took a step nearer the desk, the whiteness of her knuckles as they gripped the metal and the ridges of her compressed lips the only obvious indications that she was not as assured as her words intended.

“Mr. Darcy, I know you are a gentleman whose reputation for propriety is of the highest importance. Positive regard amongst Society is valued by you. I would never wish to see your excellent name sullied even further than it already has been.”

Darcy’s face was impassive, his hands resting on the polished surface of the desk with body erect in his chair. He stared at her calmly and in silence, finally replying dispassionately, “I shall ignore the inference that my ‘name’ has in some manner been sullied, at least in your opinion. Let us proceed to the insinuation that I can in some way be further besmirched. I am truly curious as to what you refer.”

She twitched, his relaxed query unnerving her. “People love to talk, Mr. Darcy, even if the facts are erroneous. Gossip can lead to scandal.”

His eyes, those piercing eyes of glacial blue, bore unwaveringly into her face. “Indeed, this can be true. However, I still do not see how this pertains to me or any member of my household.”

“Why… it is simple! Mrs. Darcy taken in the night, gone for hours with a man of the criminal element. One can easily imagine what probably transpired during that time!”

“And you have some sort of proof of this allegation?”

“I… I beg your pardon? Proof? But surely there will be inquiries?”

“Let me save your time and mine, Mrs. Smyth. Whatever you think happened yesterday may as well be a figment of your imagination. None shall utter a word of it to anyone. And if you do, no one will hearken to a disgruntled employee who has been discharged under disgrace for consorting immorally with one Geoffrey Wiseman, a known swindler who has disappeared.”

“But, you said he was this Wickham.”

“George Wickham is dead, madam.”

She gasped, staggering backward at that shocking revelation.

Darcy continued in his calm but flatly commanding tone. “Mr. Wickham died several days ago from a fall off his horse while returning to his wife in Devon. Geoffrey Wiseman, however, is a thief who was improperly admitted to the townhouse of a valued, well-regarded gentleman of London Society by his housekeeper. If need be, those will be the facts circulated. Tell me, Mrs. Smyth, who do you think will be believed?”

“Sir, please.”

“I will take the chatelaine now, Mrs. Smyth. You have two hours to gather your possessions. The carriage will be awaiting you in the mews for a destination of your choosing, outside of London. You are dismissed. Mr. Travers, see Mrs. Smyth to her quarters.”