Page 68 of Bitten By Mr. Darcy
Jane accosted her on the way out, saying that she was not at all sure this was a good idea, and—for what it was worth—Elizabeth agreed with her. Going off on her own with Mr. Wickham couldn’t be smart, but she suspected the man was primarily motivated by money, not by anything else. Well. He also seemed to have an affinity for young girls, she supposed.
Whatever the case, she should be safe enough, she thought. She was likely too old for him.
Wickham gave directions to the driver, and they set off.
But they did not go very far before the carriage stopped.
“Well, here we are, then,” said Mr. Wickham, getting out, bringing the gold along.
She got out, too, and took in the sturdy little country house with a garden full of flowers. “This does not seem like a place where a group of ruffians are keeping my younger sister.”
“It’s not,” said Mr. Wickham. “You’re the sister who’s been kidnapped, of course.” He put an arm around her and pushed her ahead of him.
“So, Lydia?”
“Safe and sound, as far as I know,” he said.
She struggled, and he caught her by the arm and twisted.
“I don’t wish to hurt you, Mrs. Darcy, but I shall if I must,” he said, and he didn’t sound cruel when he said this, only matter-of-fact and this was somehow more chilling than the former might have been.
She stopped struggling.
He brought her into the house, opening the door himself, no servant meeting either of them. Inside the house was a small foyer, cloaks hanging on a rack by the door. There were three doors, one on each side, and he yanked her forward and rapped on the door straight ahead of them.
“Yes?” came a voice, a female voice.
Elizabeth knew who it was.
“It’s me,” said Wickham. “I have her.”
“Well done, Mr. Wickham,” said Caroline’s voice through the door. “Very well done.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MR. WICKHAM TIEDher up, hands and feet, and tied her ankles to the foot of a couch in the shabby sitting room in the house where they were staying. Then, he dashed off a letter at a writing desk and took it out of the house.
She watched through the window as Mr. Wickham spoke to the driver of the carriage—her carriage, from her own house—and handed off the letter. Then her own carriage drove off without her.
Mr. Wickham came back inside. He looked in on her, and then he went back to rap on the door that contained Caroline.
“What am I to do?”
“I’m not opening the door to you, Mr. Wickham,” came Caroline’s cold voice. “I have no desire to burn in the sun.”
“Well, what? I just sit here and wait, then?”
“Yes, indeed. He will come soon, and he will come in a carriage that has no windows,” said Caroline. “We have been over this before, Mr. Wickham.”
“It seems that he would know not to be so foolish, that is all,” said Wickham, glancing back at her.
“No, I have threatened her before,” said Caroline. “He will throw caution to the wind to come for her. He has shown already how foolish he is when it comes to her. He will believe it when I threaten to kill her, and he will come straightaway.”
“All right,” said Mr. Wickham.
“You will have very little to do, sir,” came Caroline’s voice. “Simply open the door to the carriage.”
“He won’t come without some sort of protection, though,” said Mr. Wickham. “I can’t believe that.”
