A Gift for Lizzy Read online

  A horse galloped up the lane, and Darcy wondered at this hour if something was amiss with one of his farming tenants. Breakfast wouldn’t be held for several more hours, and he didn’t think he could stomach more bad news before then.

  Thomas trudged up the stairs soon after the horseman had dismounted. He handed Darcy a letter from Colonel Fitzwilliam. It was dated a couple days prior.

  Cousin Darcy,

  It is through your association with the Bennet family that I write for your assistance. George Wickham has arrived in London and is currently residing in one of the gaming halls. If he continues on his current path, he shall lose his commission and end up in debtor’s prison or worse, hanging from the gibbet or put in front of a firing squad. If you are willing to provide assistance, I shall ask that you come to my London home so that we may devise a plan. I only think of your wife’s family and how close your father was with the elder Mr. Wickham.

  If I do not hear from you posthaste, I shall assume that we are to leave Wickham to his fate.

  Sincerely yours,

  Colonel Fitzwilliam

  The news of Wickham’s abandonment had already spread further than anticipated, if the letter was any indication. Darcy crumpled the parchment and threw it into the fireplace. Flames engulfed the paper until it disappeared into grey ash. He searched out his footman and asked him to tell the rider to wait in the kitchens to carry back a response.

  From down the hall he could hear the pianoforte. The melody was off-key toward the end, and he surmised it was his sister-in-law Mary and not Georgiana who practiced at such an early hour.

  He did not want to leave his wife for such an errand. The consequences of once again bailing George Wickham out of a self-made disaster would forever reinforce the idea that Darcy would always provide him with monies.

  For a few moments he toyed with the idea of allowing Wickham to reap the full repercussions of his mistake. A gentleman who deserted his country was a coward. A gentleman who deserted his wife and child wasn’t worth saving.

  He searched out his wife in their shared room. Her chest rose and fell in even, steady breaths. Her hand was protectively posed on her abdomen. If he woke her and asked her opinion, she’d tell him that she’d never ask him to intervene again. She’d prefer they wait and see if her father could help Wickham with his debts and convince him to go back to his wife. After all, it wasn’t Darcy’s duty. The soft snores told him more than her words could have. If they were to have a peaceful Christmas and New Year, then something had to be done immediately.

  Elizabeth had wrapped herself around his heart and soul, and her happiness was the same as his happiness. She’d never be happy if her mother and father had to endure such scandal. He sat down at his desk and wrote a quick response to his cousin.

  He’d leave before the morning meal. Although he’d never made the trip to London with such haste, he knew he could be there within a two days’ ride. The possibility of missing the Christmas Eve feast nagged at him, but he’d write Elizabeth a note asking her forgiveness in advance.

  Chapter Eight

  Dealer Jack

  Darcy left before his wife awoke and would have had the chance to talk him out of going. He sat down with Georgiana and told her that Elizabeth’s health and happiness were of the upmost importance and she was charged with making sure no more gossip interfered with her happiness. Georgiana promised him she’d care for Elizabeth and wished him a safe journey.

  He’d bundled for the harsh weather and biting wind. Because he was not as ungentlemanly as the man he sought, he refused to push his horse hard. He’d take his time. Goldsmith, his favorite stallion, trotted at a pace fast enough to ward off the cold. His breaths puffed out in bursts of white.

  He did not meet many along the main roads that led to London. A few farmers and other tradesmen who did not take any day off were among the occupants.

  Darcy stopped at an inn and allowed his horse water and a rest. He warmed his hands by the fire and did not make small talk with any of the other travelers, although he was approached more than once by gentlemen wanting to past the time with talk. He missed Elizabeth and their evening routine.

  Not wanting to push his horse any harder than necessary, he rented a room for the evening, although sleep did not come easy.

  The next morning, he continued his journey and arrived at Colonel Fitzwilliam’s London home by late afternoon. His cousin greeted him instead of allowing the butler to do his duty. His usual jovial manner was instead a state of agitation. “I was not sure you’d come. Wickham is indeed a thorn in the side of pleasant society.”

  “I do not come for him, but for my wife and her family. Is he still in the gaming house?”

  A grim line set on his cousin’s brow. “It is worse, I’m afraid. He’s been caught cheating. There’s a duel set for tomorrow morning.”

  A ping of irritation zinged through his gut. This was a twist he had not expected. “Duels are for gentlemen. Do they mean to use swords?”

  His cousin shrugged. “Pistols. The man who has called him out does not care for gentlemanly customs. What action do you wish to take?”

  Darcy rubbed a hand over his weary face. Perhaps the duel could be avoided with coin. Unfortunately, most problems associated with Wickham could be solved with money. “I shall contact the gaming house and offer to pay all debts. Then we will return Wickham to Mrs. Wickham. I want to be home by day after tomorrow.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam had the carriage brought around to the front, and the men journeyed into the less savory parts of London to a well-known gaming hall. The dirty streets were lined with rubbish and foul smells assaulted them from every direction. Bawdy women called to them from the entrances of a few buildings adjacent the gaming hall, but Darcy barely flicked his eyes in their direction.

  Once they dismounted their horses in front of the hall, he approached the man at the door. “I need to speak with the owner of this establishment.”

  The man rubbed his hands together in front of him as if to ward off the cold. His lined face had seen the sun on many occasions and weathered him. The black color of his coat and trousers were faded and his shoes caked in mud. “’Tisn’t here. But you can spend your money at the tables while you wait.”

  “I do not intend to gamble. I’m here to settle the debts of George Wickham.”

  The man’s chest and well-fed stomach shook with a deep laugh. “That gent is food for the worms. Dealer Jack is going to send him to his maker in the morning. No amount of money will be able to convince him otherwise. No man cheats Dealer Jack.”

  Darcy held in his annoyance. “Is Wickham on the premises?”

  “Nah. No one’s seen the likes of him since he was called out. I got five shillings says he doesn’t show tomorrow morning near Potter’s Field. He couldn’t get a second to load his pistol no how.”

  Darcy turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “We can either spend the evening searching the bowels of London or wait to see if he shows tomorrow morning.”

  His cousin wrinkled his nose, the distaste of their surrounding making him paler by the moment. “Tomorrow it is. Let’s retire to my house and relax with a spot of port before supper.”

  Darcy handed the doorman a shilling and thanked him for the information. The issue with Wickham would be solved one way or the other by morning.

  Chapter Nine

  Waiting is the Hardest Part

  Elizabeth listened to her sisters each prattle on about the amenities they enjoyed while at Pemberley. Mary’s tone was a bit critical as if the good Lord did not approve of the state in which the Darcys lived. Kitty pouted once again that there wouldn’t be a ball while they stayed, but hoped after the baby was born to come back and help with the celebration.

  As silly as her sisters were, she did want their happiness and assisting with finding them good husbands would be an unselfish task.

  “Yes, Kitty. After the baby is born, we shall hold a ball and invite all of Mr. Darcy’s associates.” />
  Kitty giggled and the glee infected Georgiana, who sat between her and Mary. “We shall invite Miss Bingley and Cousin Anne too. We shall dance until our feet are too sore to walk.”

  Elizabeth glanced down at her swollen ankles. She already felt as if her feet were too sore to walk. Soon, she and Mr. Darcy would hire an accouchement and a wet nurse. They’d take rooms at the left wing where she’d decided to have her birthing room. She rubbed her swollen stomach again. The waiting is the hardest part.

  Despite her ankles, she moved to the window to watch the front lane. Darcy was right to leave before she could argue and convince him not to go, for she would have kept up the argument until the sun went down and he’d had no choice but to stay. As much as she loved her family and wanted to see everything set right, it was not his duty to fix their every difficulty.

  She opened the letter and read it again.

  My Dearest Elizabeth,

  Please do not find offense in my choice not to consult with you about my actions. I do this so you and your family may have a measure of peace during the long winter days.

  Keep me in your warmest regards,

  Fitzwilliam Darcy

  Georgiana joined her at the window. “My brother is safe, and he shall be home soon.”

  The tightness in her throat eased. “I have complete faith in Mr. Darcy.”

  Her sister-in-law leaned in close, her voice a small whisper. “Would you please read to us before Mary starts again? I don’t think I can stand another evening of sermons.”

  Elizabeth reached for her sister-in-law’s hand. “And what would you have me read tonight? Shakespeare?”

  A frown appeared on her face. “Nothing tragic, please. Read something with a happy ending. A story of romance.”

  Kitty turned from the settee. “Yes, Lizzy. Read us a story where true love conquers all.”

  Mary sniffed and rolled her eyes.

  The baby thumped her from the inside, as if giving her a nudge to indulge the girls. “Why don’t I make up a story for you tonight?”

  All three of the girls nodded their heads, and Mary even shut the sermon book she’d been reading from. They moved their chairs closer to the fire and Elizabeth thought the crackling background a perfect setting.

  She drank a sip of sherry and cleared her throat. “There once was a young maiden from a town called Yewton. She was the eldest of six sisters and by far the prettiest of all the girls. Her mother had high hopes of finding her a suitable match because no other girl in the county rivaled her fair looks.”

  “Did she have smooth brown hair like me,” interrupted Kitty.

  “She had lovely golden locks and bright blue eyes,” Elizabeth answered.

  Kitty sat back in a pout.

  “What was her name?” asked Georgiana.

  “Her name was Henrietta. Now, stop interrupting and let me finish,” she scolded lightly. “Henrietta had many suitors, but none had a sum of more than five thousand pounds a year. Her mother thought her worth more than that measly amount. Little did she know that her daughter had fallen madly in love with the tailor’s son.”

  “How horrid!” Kitty covered her mouth with her hand.

  “The tailor’s son, who was called Charles, knew that he was only a tradesman and not worthy of Henrietta’s affections. Whenever they saw each other in town, they would pretend they did not know each other, but they had a special place where they exchanged letters.”

  “How clandestine and improper,” Mary said.

  “On the eve of the local town ball, Henrietta and Charles planned to run away to Scotland to elope.”

  This part of the story elicited gasps from the girls.

  “One of her younger sisters had caught wind of her plan, and told her mother and father. Henrietta was not allowed to attend the ball. But Henrietta’s favorite sister, the one she could trust the most, took a note to Charles and explained that Henrietta could not meet him at the ball. Instead, she asked him to meet Henrietta by the road leading from her house to town when the moon shone the brightest.”

  “Did they?” asked Kitty. “Did she meet her true love on the road?”

  “When the moon was at its peak, Henrietta escaped from her house and waited by the road. Not long after, a man on a horse came by. This was not her Charles, but a scoundrel who had robbed many of the houses while the occupants were at the town ball.”

  “I’m so afraid for Henrietta,” said Georgiana.

  Elizabeth smiled. The girls were enthralled with the made-up story as if they knew dear Henrietta. “The scoundrel did not see Henrietta and when he got off his horse to approach her house, Charles came upon him and hit him in the head. Charles had seen his misdeeds in town, and although he wanted to leave with Henrietta, he chose the gentlemanly path. He and Henrietta took the man’s horse and returned it to the magistrate who was also at the ball. Charles was given a reward for his heroism and one of the local lords thought it prudent to offer Charles a place at his parish, and sponsored his studies with the church.”

  “A good enough position for any man,” Mary said to the other two girls.

  “Henrietta’s mother and father wanted more for her, but they agreed that after Charles received his placement at the parish of the higher ranking lord, she would be allowed to marry him. She had to be patient and wait for her true love. And so she did.”

  Georgiana clapped her hands. “I’m so very glad they did not elope.”

  Kitty sighed. “What a perfect hero.”

  Elizabeth stood and walked to the window once again. The girls chatted about her story and added their own opinions as to the acceptable time to wait for an engagement.

  She’d wait forever for her perfect hero to return. Come home soon, my love.

  Chapter Ten

  The Duel

  The duel was set for dawn near the local Potter’s Field and the news must have spread fast through London as several carriages and a few rented hackneys were lined across the grass. None of the occupants stood outside to watch, so their identities could remain hidden, but Darcy recognized several of society’s well known insignias adorning the carriage doors.

  Darcy searched the crowd for any signs of Wickham. If he were a betting man such as the man from the door of the gaming hall the night before, he too would bet that Wickham would not show. Disgrace heaped on top of disgrace.

  The man called Dealer Jack was easy to recognize in the middle of the field. He wore a long black coat and a wide brimmed black hat. He strutted back and forth and his voice carried across the field, loud and boisterous.

  “The Wickham man, a true coward. If he does not show this morning, his son will forever be dishonored.” The man laughed and his group of his followers chortled with him.

  Darcy had decided against sending word to Lydia and Elizabeth’s father about the duel. They had enough worries without knowing Wickham had gambled himself into debt and possible death. From the corner of his eye, he saw several gentlemen in red coats.

  He nudged Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Are those men from the military police?”

  “They appear to be part of those tasked with apprehending deserters. To be honest, I’m not too interested in making their acquaintance. They are hard men who have to turn in their own. It’s not an easy task to send soldiers to the hangman’s noose or put them in front of a firing squad.”

  Darcy reached for the carriage door, but his cousin placed a hand on his arm. “If you go out there and approach Dealer Jack, you’ll only find trouble. There’s nothing left to do but wait.”

  A few gasps rose up through the crowd, and a disheveled man walked to the middle of the field. It took Darcy a few seconds to recognize George Wickham. His hair hung loose and around his face in need of a good washing. He’d obviously slept on the ground the night before. He was bundled in a long coat and thick gloves, but dirt streaked the back.

  The orator in charge of the duel, a thin, greying man dressed in black, announced that Wickham had shown up and the duel
would go forth. He asked the crowd if anyone would volunteer as second so they could set the terms.

  The door man from the night before had been correct. Wickham didn’t have friends, so of course he wouldn’t have a second.

  This time Darcy didn’t listen to his cousin and exited the cab of the carriage. He strode onto the field, not caring about the gossip that would follow his name through society.

  “I shall be his second.”

  Wickham huffed and tilted his chin in defiance. “Of course you are here. Always to the rescue of the Bennets.”

  Darcy didn’t care for the insolence or fire in the man’s eyes, but it was too late to let him succumb to his fate alone. “If you live through this, I intend to make sure that you don’t run from your responsibilities. Your son deserves better.”

  “Spoken like a true gentlemen,” Wickham said. Sarcasm dripped heavy from his tone.

  “No more talk. Let’s get to it then.” Dealer Jack handed his pistol to the orator and Wickham did the same. The orator checked each pistol and then handed them to their seconds. Darcy loaded the pistol with ease, and kept a close eye on the other men. Duels were straightforward affairs, but one could never be too cautious when it came to dealing with London’s underbelly. A wrong word from Wickham to Dealer Jack’s cronies and they could be facing a day of duels.

  The orator adjusted his spectacles and stepped forward. “You shall walk ten paces each on my count. When I say ten, turn and release the firing of your weapons. Whoever is left standing is the winner, and all manners of disagreement shall be over henceforth and to wit.”

  Darcy eyed the orator who enjoyed the sound of his own voice more than having a working knowledge of vocabulary. “I have an alteration to the terms. One shot only from each man. No matter if blood is drawn or not, the issue shall be resolved once the pistols are fired.”

  Dealer Jack huffed. “How does that resolve anything? I want that cheater to bleed.”