Imperative: Volume 2, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (48 page)

“So if I was a profligate cur searching for a place to bed down, close to the child I had ruined, where would I go?”  Wickham was no outdoorsman; he preferred a comfortable bed to a blanket on the ground.  “Why he tried to join the militia in Hertfordshire is beyond me.”  Darcy murmured to himself.  “He was hiding, that is the only explanation.  Broke and hiding.  This quest for a commission now could not be serious either.”  Biting his lip, he finally spotted the most likely hiding place and turned Bruin’s head to approach quietly. 

“Wickham.”  Darcy said softly.  There was no doubt about it.  The man sleeping in the corner of the sheep shed was no employee of the estate.  “Of course, it is empty this time of year.  What better place to rest, if you are to be a squatter?”  He was well-dressed, but took no care with his clothes.  “So he has found some money, but still has no pride.”

Quietly, he swung down from Bruin and tied off his reins, then cautiously entered the building and approached the man sitting in the pile of straw with his arms clasped and his hat pulled down over his eyes.  Darcy stood still and watched him.  Hordes of emotions and memories flooded his mind, but the one he could not shake was the one he had thankfully only imagined, that of his sister submitting to this man.   His fury was instantly at full boil.

“OOOHMPH!”  Wickham doubled over when Darcy’s swiftly moving boot landed squarely between his legs. 

“GET UP!”  Darcy bellowed. 

“Darcy!”  Wickham gasped.  Panting, he managed to rise to his hands and knees before he retched.  Disgusted, Darcy sat down on a bench. 

“That is nothing to the pain Georgiana endured to give birth to your child, Wickham.  You deserve a kick for every cramp she felt.  You deserve to suffer for fifteen hours as she did.”  Rising, he grabbed Wickham by the back of his coat and hauled him up to a standing position.  “You were so fond of trying to goad me into fighting at school, well now is your chance.  I give you five seconds to prepare.”

“Please, Darcy . . .”

“Five.”

“I am barely breathing now . . .”

“Four.”

“I swear, I stayed within earshot of her window.  I felt it with her . . .”

“Three.”  Darcy snarled.

“I . . . I just wanted to make sure she was well . . .”

“TWO.”  He spat.  The more Wickham spoke of caring for her, the angrier he became.

“And . . .  know what our baby was . . .”

“ONE.” 

“Darcy, NO!”

Wickham was silenced when Darcy’s fist rocketed across his face, and his left hand shot into his stomach.  Wickham immediately retaliated, fighting without Darcy’s gentlemanly finesse, but with the dirty moves of the inns and streets that he frequented.  His fist found Darcy’s kidney, then struck a blow to his side. 

CRACK!  Darcy winced as his newly healed ribs moved ominously.  Running forward and pushing Wickham to the ground, he struck his face again before collapsing against the wall.  Darcy rubbed his side as he listened to Wickham moan, and watched blood stream from his mouth. 

“When did you learn to fight?”  Wickham demanded. 

“Anger is a great motivator.”  He tried to draw a deep breath and failed.  “I also wanted to make it clear that I am no pushover.  My father is not alive to be protected, and I am free to defend my home.”

“Your father?”  Wickham rubbed his arm across his face and looked at the blood on his sleeve.  His tongue ran over his teeth, they all seemed to be there, and he spat out a mouthful of blood on the straw.  “Your father hardly needed protection.”

“He trusted you.  He trusted and believed in you . . .”

“He set me up for failure!”

“How?  He treated you like any other younger son!”  Darcy started to move towards him and Wickham backed away, sliding his rear until he found himself against the wall.  Darcy stopped.  “I have thought this many times but this is the first I have actually seen it before me, you are a coward.  It is all talk and threats, going behind people’s backs and using them . . .”

“Stop . . . I deserve your fury  . . .  I have no desire to fight you, Darcy.  My need for revenge is gone.”

“
Revenge?
  You seek revenge?  From me?”  Darcy stared.  “Did I strike your head and leave you addled?  If there is anyone who should seek revenge, it is I.  And if Richard were here . . .”

“He’s had his chances, he did not take them.”

“He is not standing in a tobacco shop now with a witness at the ready.  Shall I fetch him?  He can show you what it is to express revenge.”  Wickham swallowed.  “You look green.  What happened to the return of your bravado?”

“He would kill me.”

“What a loss.”  Darcy snapped.  “I despise you.”

“You are not alone.”  Wickham closed his eyes and rested his head on the wall.  “But you are not a killer, Darcy.”

“No.  If I was, you would not be breathing now, and my pistol would require reloading.” 

Wickham’s eyes flew open and he saw the gun.  “Since when do you go riding armed?”

Darcy ignored the throbbing pain in his side.  “When Georgiana told me you were here.”

“Oh.”

“Her loyalty is where it belongs.  She does not love you.  She said it quite clearly just yesterday.”

“Yesterday.”  He watched as the gun was put away and cleared his throat.  “I suppose that enduring the labour did nothing to raise her opinion.”

“No, she realized it before she had the baby.  I am glad she found that out for certain, at last.  I do not believe she could have come to that conclusion without actually speaking to you.”

“So I did some good by coming.”

“Do not take my statement as any sign of gratitude, Wickham.  She would have found it one way or another.”

“Did she tell you what I said?  I told her to marry and be happy.”

“She said that.”  Darcy acknowledged.  “She begged me not to hurt you, as well.”  Looking at the bleeding man before him, he felt not one hint of guilt.  “I have done no permanent damage.”

“She asked you not to hurt me?”  He said softly. “Is she well?  I saw no physicians coming, that man who came yesterday had the look of a clergyman about him, but since there was no physician I . . . assumed that . . . I have seen no undertaker either . . .”  Wickham saw the black armband and pointed.  “Who is that for?”

“My wife’s father.”

“Mr. Bennet.”  Wickham shook his head.  “He was desperate to keep you from marrying her.” 

“I know.  And you were happy to further his aims.”

“I regret that, Darcy.” 

“Pardon me if I do not clasp you in my arms with an embrace of instant forgiveness.  If you had succeeded in keeping us apart, I doubt that you would have felt regret.”  Darcy said scornfully.

“Will you tell me how Georgiana is?  And the child?  Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“It is my right!”

“You have no rights!”  Darcy bellowed.  “A cur has no rights!  None!  You took an innocent and kept her for four months!  Why?  Why did you put me through that living hell?  I had no idea where she was, if she was living or dead, kidnapped, sold into slavery . . . my God, Wickham!  We were at odds, but that was between us, that was personal . . . We were once friends . . .”  Darcy’s fury was growing and he clenched his fists.  “ANSWER ME!”

Wickham watched, preparing to fight again, “I was angry and I wanted to hurt you.” 

“Because YOU wasted an income that would keep any other man for TWENTY YEARS?” 

“But YOUR father raised me to expect more!”

“He did no such thing!  He educated you, he offered you a living so that the education would be put to use!”

“He never told me any of that.  I . . . I thought that I should have the same as you.”

Darcy’s hand waved.  “Richard is the younger son of an earl, and what did he do?  He joined the army!  Why the devil should you, the son of a steward, receive more than he?”

“I was not born to your life.  That is just what I thought . . .”

“Fuck your thoughts!  Fuck your pretensions!  Fuck your expectations, and while you are at it, fuck
you!
!  You were not George Darcy’s son, how could you feel entitled to
anything
?”  You took Georgiana away from all that she knew and left her ruined!”

“She wanted to go, she was angry . . .”

“She was a fifteen year old girl who was jealous that I wanted to find a wife.”  Darcy spat.  “She wanted all of my attention and was acting out.  You were supposed to be an adult.  You saw opportunity and took it.”

“I did not marry her.”  Wickham threw back at him.  “I could be your brother right now, and have her dowry.”

“Why are you not my dear brother?”  Darcy demanded.  “Why did you use her for your pleasure and then not marry her?”

“I . . . I . . .” Wickham hesitated. 

“She was worth a great deal more to you as a wife than a lover.”  Darcy’s sharp eyes roamed over Wickham’s face.  Bruises were forming rapidly, and the swelling was obliterating Darcy’s ability to discern his emotions, other than the fear that was apparent in his bloodshot eyes.  “Married, you know that I would have made sure that she was in a decent home, and provided with money to live on when you wasted away her dowry.”  Darcy moved closer.  Wickham attempted to back away but was stopped by the wall.  Darcy’s fist grabbed his lapel.  “What is the truth?  What was your plan for her?  Did you have one?  Did it fall through?  Had you found someone to marry her who was going to pay you more?”  Darcy was now inches from Wickham’s face.  “Tell me, or I will gladly give your balls a twist that no whore could ever repair.”

“I had no plan!”   Wickham cried as he protected his groin with his bruised hands.

“I do not believe you!” 

“I . . . I . . . Yes, I took her, I wanted to hurt you . . . but . . . I liked it, I liked having . . . her caring for me.  I liked being her hus . . .” 

“Good God.”  Darcy threw him backwards against the wall.  Wickham fell heavily, cracking his head against the wood.  “You had a doll, and you played with it.”

“I am sorry, Darcy.  I swear; I never treated her poorly.”  Wickham blinked, shaking away the stars in his eyes. “I did my best for her.”

“Your best, that is laughable.  You did not lift a finger to provide for her beyond the effort it took to open your purse and sell her belongings.  If you cared for her, why did I find her in that vermin-infested room?”  Darcy nodded.  “Which story sounds realistic?  The one I know or the one you invented for yourself?”

“At least I . . . knew that she had to go home.” 

“You suspected the pregnancy.”

“I have been with enough pregnant girls selling themselves to know.”  He spoke to the wall.  “I wrote to you.”

“You demanded payment.” 

“Yes.”  He admitted and looked back at him.  “But it did bring her home.”

“Sending her home ruined and pregnant.  What a wonderful husband you were.  Georgiana was just another mess left for me to repair.  Another merchant to pay off, another debt of honour to settle, so that the good Darcy name was not dragged into the mud.”

“I had not thought of that . . .”

“Why not?  You are lazy, Wickham.  You were given the tools and the opportunity to have a life that my brother Collins coveted.  Did you really expect me to come to that hell hole with cash in hand for you?”

“You always have in the past.”

“That was my fault for ever giving in.  And my response to your threat to expose her?  She read your letter to me as well as the tender one you sent to her.”  Wickham looked down.  “Again, you leave me wondering, which was closer to the truth.” 

“I care for her, Darcy.” 

“Do not
ever
say that to me again.” 

“Is she well?” 

“Yes.”

“And the baby?”

“She is well.”

“A girl.”  Wickham looked away and wiped his eyes. 

“Are you disappointed?” 

“No, I am relieved, actually.  A boy might have grown to be like me.  A girl.” He took a breath.  “What is her name?  What does she look like?”

“No, I will not tell you more.  I will protect her from the likes of you, just as I will every daughter of mine, when they come.”

“You will raise her?  I thought that the judge would . . .”

“How did you . . .?”  Darcy nodded.  “Of course, my idiot cousin told you.  That is how the pregnancy was confirmed and how you knew . . . how did you know to come here?”

“I overheard your coachman talking to the footman outside of that townhouse in Gracechurch Street.”  He shrugged. 

“I always said that you were clever.” 

“Do you remember that game we played . . . Observation your father called it?”

“If I did not remember, Wickham, I never would have tried to protect you for all of those years.”  Darcy said softly.

“You tried to protect me.”  Wickham tried to understand the statement.  “I never saw that.  Paying off my debts, clearing the room of the contraband and the women . . .  I thought that it was all to save your reputation.”

“I will not deny it, but it was also to save yours; and to protect you from Father’s ire . . .  I thought that we were friends.  You were a member of the family.”  Wickham’s stunned expression only increased Darcy’s disgust.  “Clearly I was incorrect.”

“No.  I . . . I do not know what happened.” 

“Why did you come to Pemberley with Christmas?  Was it for money?  I see no other reason for you to take such a risk.  Did he put you up to it?  Why was he in my home?” 

“How do you know all of this?”

“You left a sketch of yourself in the cabin in the walnut groves, one that Georgiana made.  You left your clothing, as well.  You were there when the carriage crashed.”  Darcy’s calm snapped and he was back in Wickham’s face, snarling, “YOU left Elizabeth all alone, crying for me when the carriage went over the side!  You did nothing to comfort her, let alone see if I was alive!  You left my WIFE to suffer!  WHY?”  He demanded.

“I did not know that she was there!”

“How could you not know?”

“I was running, Darcy.  I was running as fast and hard as I could.  I wanted to get out of there!”

“So you watched the crash and ran away?  Did you intend for us both to
die
?”