Page 62 of Unwillingly Mrs. Darcy
“What does it say?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Darcy exhaled sharply. “Richard was able to speak to one of Wickham’s friends, or rather former friends, in Meryton.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “What has happened?”
Darcy turned to her fully, his face shadowed with a mixture of anger and grim realisation. “This fellow, Mr Denny confirmed that Wickham left the militia months ago with intentions to claim what was rightfully his, as he said. Richard confirms that Wickham has been evading capture by the militia where he is wanted for desertion, slipping through every effort to locate him. Mr Denny admits he had a suspicion where he might be, but kept it to himself. However, upon hearing what Wickham has been up to, he has confided in Richard. It seems Denny is fond of your sister Lydia, and felt he needed to speak the truth for her sake.”
Elizabeth frowned. “I remember Mr Denny, he danced with Lydia a number of times at various balls. A decent fellow.”
“With a poor taste in friends. Anyhow, he says that for a time, he was in London. And while he was here, he was living with someone we know all too well.”
Elizabeth felt her breath hitch.
Darcy met her gaze, his voice sharp with frustration. “Mrs Younge.”
Elizabeth’s stomach dropped. The name struck her like a blow.
“The woman who helped him nearly ruin Georgiana?” she whispered.
“The same.” Darcy’s jaw was tight with fury. “She took him in when he arrived in London, provided him with shelter—and possibly more. I am certain Mary was taken there.”
Elizabeth drew in a shaky breath. “Then we have no time to waste.”
Darcy turned to her, his expression fierce with determination. “We must move quickly. If we hesitate—”
“We won’t.” Elizabeth took his hand, her fingers tight around his own.
He looked at her—really looked at her—and the moment stretched between them. Despite the urgency, despite the looming danger, there was something undeniable in the way they stood together.
They had started this journey as reluctant allies. Now, they were something far more.
Darcy gave a decisive nod. “I have her address. We will go there at once. Even if Wickham is not there, I am certain she will know where he’s gone. Then let us begin.”
And together, they stepped forward—into the heart of London, into the depths of a mystery, into a battle they could not afford to lose.
Chapter 35
Elizabeth
The narrow streets of London twisted and turned like a labyrinth, each corner offering a new, dimly lit passage. Bloomsbury had once been a bustling thoroughfare, but the houses here were old now, with narrow facades and small, shuttered windows, stacked close together, as though they were crowding the space in fear of the unknown.
It was not the worst part of London—there was no stench of sewage, nor the clamour of the lower classes—that would be further east. Nor was it a wealthy neighbourhood, the stone was cracked in places, and the weathered wooden shutters bore the marks of years of use.
A worn sign hung crookedly above the door, an unremarkable affair that read ‘Younge’ in faded script.
Elizabeth felt a chill settle in her chest as they approached the house. Mary might be here. She might be beyond this very door. Would she be able to convince her sister to come back with them? What would happen if she could not?
Darcy’s gaze swept over the building, his jaw tightening. The windows, though unadorned, were not entirely free from watchful eyes—there was something about the stillness of the place that hinted it had recently been occupied.
“Are you ready?” Elizabeth asked, her voice barely a whisper, though she knew the question was for both of them.
Darcy’s lips pressed together in a thin line as he nodded. “Let’s be quick.”
He reached forward and knocked on the door with a sharp, measured sound that echoed in the quiet street. They waited, the seconds stretching, until finally, the door creaked open slightly, revealing a woman of middling years, her features unremarkable and her eyes cautious. Then, recognition washed over her face.
“Mr Darcy,” she said, her voice smooth but with an edge. “What an unexpected visit. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Do not play games with me, Mrs Younge,” Darcy replied, his tone icy. “We know Wickham is here. As is my sister-in-law. Where are they?”
