Page 89 of Attempted Compromises
Wickham’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment, but he quickly recovered, his voice dripping with feigned charm. “We’ve nothing to explain,Brother. We are married, and as such, we have every right to be here.”
Darcy’s voice was low and lethal. “You are no brother of mine, Wickham, and you will find no hospitality here.”
“Ah, but that is no longer the truth, is it? You are, indeed, my brother,” Wickham drawled, savoring the word. “We are connected, now, are we not? Through this delightful union of mine with dear Caroline,” He gestured with exaggerated flourish to the woman beside him, “you and I are both brothers to Bingley.”
Caroline tilted her chin with pride, her voice cutting and imperious. “I am Mrs. Wickham now, and I expect to be treated with the respect due to my position.”
Elizabeth’s anger surged. She rose from her seat, her pulse thrumming in her ears. “Respect?” she said sharply, her voice slicing through the room like a whip. “After everything you’ve done? The harm you’ve caused? How dare you—”
Her words broke off suddenly, and suddenly, she began to laugh—a sharp, incredulous sound that filled the room. Everyone gaped at her, their expressions a mix of confusion and disbelief. Caroline’s eyes narrowed, suspicion darkening her features. “What is so funny, Miss Eliza?”
Elizabeth turned to her, her expression mocking. “You. You, Caroline Bingley, the ever-so-aspirational, ever-so-superior, ever-so-eager to become Mrs. Darcy… and yet here you stand, married to a servant’s son.” She laughed again, shaking her head. “The irony is simply too delicious.”
Caroline’s face flushed deep crimson, her lips tightening into a thin line. “You’re mistaken,” she said coldly, lifting her chinhigher. “My husband is no mere servant’s son. He is the rightful heir to Pemberley.”
The room fell into stunned silence. Darcy’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as his gaze locked onto Wickham. “What nonsense are you spouting now?” he demanded.
Caroline looked directly at Darcy, her tone haughty and triumphant. “George Wickham is the eldest son of George Darcy. And as he is now married while you remain single, he is the new master of Pemberley. The clause in your father’s will makes it clear.”
Elizabeth blinked, stunned by the audacity of the claim, but then turned to Darcy, who remained stoic. A flicker of confusion crossed his face—the first crack in his otherwise impenetrable demeanor— but it was soon replaced with understanding and tinge of amusement.
“Really, George, is that the best you could do?” Darcy asked, his voice cold and even. He turned to Wickham, his gaze piercing. “Is this truly the lie you wove to ensnare her? I always thought Caroline was more cunning, but it seems she’s no better than the milkmaids and shopkeepers’ daughters you’ve duped in the past.”
Caroline gasped, her face flushing with indignation. “How dare you!” she snapped. “You know it’s true! Why else would he tell me something like that?”
Darcy’s lips curled into a grim smile. “Please, produce evidence, then. If such a clause exists, it will be in my father’s will, whichresides with his solicitors in London. Or perhaps you have a copy of it yourself, in my father’s hand?”
Wickham shrugged nonchalantly, though his smirk wavered slightly. “Ah, yes, the tedious matter of wills and legal battles. It could be resolved in the courts sometime in the next several years— but that is no matter, we have plenty of time. And in the meantime,” he said smoothly, turning to Bingley, “Caroline’s dowry will suffice to sustain us until the matter is resolved.”
Bingley, who had been silent until now, took a step forward. His expression was cold, his voice firm. “You will not have it.”
Wickham’s head snapped toward him, his expression darkening. “By law, her dowry is mine. I am entitled to it as her husband!”
Bingley crossed his arms. “You may be entitled to something, but you’ll find the funds less accessible than you’d hoped. The day after you poisoned us with laudanum, I went to London and placed Caroline’s dowry in trust.”
“What?” Caroline shrieked, her face twisting with fury. “You had no right! That money is mine!”
“Actually, it wasn’t. It never was,” Bingley replied coolly, his composure remaining intact. “Father’s will gave me complete discretion over your dowry. The principal is now in an untouchable trust for your future children. You may enjoy the quarterly interest, but you cannot touch the principal— andonlyCaroline is allowed to withdraw the interest when she presents herself in person at the bank.”
Wickham’s confidence faltered, and he sputtered, “That’s fraud! Illegal!”
“It’s entirely legal,” Bingley said with infuriating calm. “The changes were made the day after your treacherous plot played out. Gretna Green is a three-day journey, so you couldn’t have been married when the trust was established. No fraud was committed.”
Wickham’s mask of charm slipped, replaced by cold fury. “You’ll regret this, Bingley.”
“You’ve already lost,” Bingley retorted. “And you have only yourself to blame.”
Caroline’s gaze darted between the two men, panic rising. “Then we’ll live on the interest until the matter of Pemberley is settled,” she said desperately, turning to Wickham. “We’ll manage. Won’t we, my love?”
Darcy let out a humorless laugh. “You’re a fool if you believed him, Caroline,” he said bitterly. “There is no such clause, no secret inheritance, no path for you to claim what was never yours. Pemberley is mine and will remain so. You’ve gambled everything on a liar.”
“George?” she asked in a small voice, turning towards her husband.
At this, Wickham’s smirk turned sour. “Fine!” he spat. “There’s no secret clause, and I’m not the illegitimate son of George Darcy. But what does it matter? The lie served its purpose— I’ve won! It was enough to get what I wanted.”
“And what was that?” Darcy demanded, his voice like steel.
Wickham’s eyes glittered with malice. “To ruin you. To force you into living a miserable existence. To take your precious name and drag it through the mud. And to use Caroline’s dowry to live well while doing it.”
