Page 63 of Grief and Grievances
“Charles!” she cried, appalled by the very suggestion.
“Miss Bingley,” Darcy said icily, his eyes never leaving Wickham’s face, “you will find that your family’s honour demands no less.”
“Indeed,” added Georgiana softly, her gaze surprisingly steady. “One must do what is necessary to preserve one’s good name.”
Wickham clenched his jaw in frustration, recognizing that he had once again underestimated his opponents. As he glanced around the room, taking in the stony expressions of those present, he could not help but feel a sense of unease settling upon him. Despite his outward bravado, he knew all too well that the game was far from won. The ferocious gaze of Mr. Darcy bore into him, as if trying to penetrate the deepest recesses of his deceitful soul. He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of that relentless stare, acutely aware that the tables had turned against him.
“Mr. Wickham,” Darcy said, his voice low and dangerous, “were I in Mr. Bingley’s position, I assure you, I would have shot you without hesitation.”
The air in the room seemed to constrict around Wickham, squeezing the breath from his lungs. He swallowed hard, feeling the cold sweat forming at the nape of his neck. He had no doubt that Darcy’s words were uttered in complete sincerity. His eyes darted towards Bingley, seeking any hint of support or sympathy, but he found none.
“Charles has shown you great leniency,” Darcy continued, his expression unyielding. “Do not mistake it for weakness. You will marry Miss Bingley, but be assured, we shall be watching you closely.”
Wickham’s mouth went dry, and he nodded stiffly, unable to summon any semblance of his usual charm. He could feel the gazes of the others in the room upon him—Georgiana, who once admired him, now disgusted; Caroline, her face a mask of outraged dignity. Even Bingley, normally so affable, now regarded him with undisguised contempt.
“Very well, Mr. Darcy,” he replied through gritted teeth, his stomach churning with resentment. “I shall do as you say.”
“See that you do,” Darcy warned, his eyes never leaving Wickham’s face. “Remember, I have no qualms about defending the honour of those I care for.”
Wickham felt the blood drain from his face, the implications of Darcy’s words hanging heavy in the air. The realisation dawned upon him that he had not merely lost this particular game, but might well have forfeited any chance at future victories.
“Rest assured, Mr. Darcy,” he muttered, swallowing his pride and fear, “I understand perfectly.”
As Wickham bowed stiffly and exited the drawing room, he could not shake the feeling that he had been irreversibly ensnared in a trap of his own making, and that escape was now but a distant, unattainable dream.
No sooner had Wickham taken his leave of the drawing room than a commotion in the hallway announced the arrival of yet another visitor. The door swung open, revealing Colonel Fitzwilliam, Darcy’s amiable cousin, standing there with a cheerful smile upon his face.
“Ah, Darcy!” he exclaimed, striding into the room and clasping his cousin’s hand warmly. “I trust I am not intruding on any important business?”
“Your arrival is most timely, Fitzwilliam,” Darcy replied, a hint of relief evident in his voice. “I have a matter that requires your immediate attention.”
He proceeded to recount the events that had transpired, sparing no detail in his description of Wickham’s treachery and the necessity of securing him a position within the regular army. Fitzwilliam listened with furrowed brow and a deepening sense of concern.
“By God, Darcy, the cad knows no bounds,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “Very well, I shall do what I can to assist you in this matter.”
“Thank you, Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy with genuine gratitude. “It is imperative that Wickham be removed from our sphere as swiftly as possible.”
“Indeed,” agreed the Colonel. “As it happens, I have a good friend commanding a regiment or the regulars in Newcastle. I shall write to him forthwith and inquire as to any vacancies he may have available. A swift transfer would certainly be in everyone’s best interests.”
“Your assistance is invaluable, cousin,” Darcy said, clapping Fitzwilliam on the shoulder. “I fear we have not seen the last of Wickham’s machinations, but at least with him stationed far from here, the damage he can inflict will be minimal.”
“Indeed,” murmured Fitzwilliam, his gaze distant as he contemplated the ramifications of the situation. “One can only hope that distance and military discipline will serve to temper his baser instincts.”
“Let us pray it is so,” Darcy concurred, a shadow of unease lingering in his eyes.
For Wickham, who stood just outside the drawing room door, eavesdropping on the conversation with bated breath, the realisation that he was to be not only forcibly married but also consigned to a distant regiment filled him with a mixture of dread and impotent rage. He clenched his fists, biting back the bitter bile that rose in his throat. How had he come to this pass, ensnared by the very people he had sought to deceive?
Caroline swept out of the room then, her gaze icy and her chin held high. Her contemptuous stare raked over Wickham as if appraising a particularly distasteful insect.
“Mr. Wickham, I must make one thing perfectly clear,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Though you have forced me into this disgraceful union, I will not allow you free rein over my life or fortune. You are little better than the dirt beneath my shoe, and I shall treat you accordingly.”
Wickham’s face flushed with anger, but he maintained his composure. He inclined his head slightly, allowing the bitter thoughts to swirl inside him like a storm. “As you wish, Madam.”
“See that you remember it,” Caroline snapped before turning on her heel and leaving the room.
Wickham watched her go, his jaw clenched and eyes burning with humiliation. The realisation that he was not going to have things all his own way began to sink in. Under constant scrutiny, and still bound by the army, he would be forever shackled to that harridan in a loveless marriage.
Still. At least he’d be rich. Perhaps he’d be able to persuade Caroline to spend months at a time with her sister or brother, leaving him all alone in Newcastle with cash to burn and, doubtless, foolish and pretty young women who wouldn’t particularly care that he was married.
