Page 137 of Companions of Their Youth
“I only wish to talk,” she continued, keeping her tone gentle, calculating the distance. Twelve steps. “To understand. He never told me anything about your past. You must believe me. I knew nothing of what came before.”
Wickham’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of uncertainty disturbing their fevered glow. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.” She took one step sideways, feigning a shift in posture. “Mr. Darcy is a proud man,” she went on. “And he fears vulnerability more than anything else. If he cast you aside, perhaps it was not because he hated you, but because he did not know how to respond to your… your affection.”
His eyes narrowed, but his grip on the pistol faltered—just slightly.
“Yes,” she said, voice warming. “That must have been it. Men like him do not always know how to respond to—” she hesitated, “—to affection. Especially when it defies society’s rules.”
Another step. Nine more. Her fingers itched with anticipation. Forcing a smile, she took yet another step. “I do notwant to come between anyone. Truly. I have seen arrangements before. We could… we could all be family.”
For a moment, the madness in his eyes dimmed. The gun lowered even more, now pointing at the floor. He blinked at her. “Family…”
“I have seen it before,” she said, speaking quickly now. “In town. At a cousin’s dinner, a gentleman who preferred the company of men. His wife knew, and they lived quite amicably. There are arrangements to be made, if all parties are willing.”
“Darcy would never…” he began.
“He would,” she said firmly, desperate to keep him talking, to distract him from the next step she took. “If it meant peace. If it meant Georgiana’s safety. If he knew that you regretted Ramsgate—”
Wickham’s face hardened. “That was not my fault! I thought it could work, that if I married her, he wouldhaveto see me. I would be in his life once more, and he would be forced to acknowledge me again.”
She forced down the bile rising in her throat. Her palms felt slick, her heart racing with each beat, but she kept her tone soft, even kind. Another step. She was halfway there.
“Of course. But perhaps Georgiana was too young. Too impetuous. Perhaps she misunderstood your intentions. But I could help her understand. It could be the four of us, at Pemberley. You and Mr. Darcy, and Georgiana and I… there need not be jealousy. Not if you still care for him.”
“You think Darcy would allow that?” he said bitterly.
“He might. For peace. For Georgiana’s safety. For… for you.” Another step. So close. “If you came with honest repentance. If you truly loved him.”
Another step. She was nearly within reach. Her hand twitched at her side, eager.
“I would support you. It could all be repaired,” she said. “You could be part of his life again.”
She took one final step, heart thundering. Her fingers brushed the porcelain.
But the madness in his eyes reignited like flame on oil.
“You lie,” he hissed. “You want me out of the way. You want him all to yourself!”
She tensed, every muscle ready to flee. “Please, Mr. Wickham. I meant every word.”
“You think I do not see what you are doing?” he bellowed. “You will not take him from me!”
The pistol jerked upward, pointing at her again.
Elizabeth acted on instinct.
With a cry, she seized the vase and hurled it with all her strength toward his head.
It missed—but not entirely. The corner struck his shoulder, with a sickening crack, shattering into shards and making him stagger back with a howl of pain. She darted for the side door—but he was faster.
Wickham let out a terrible roar and lunged.
∞∞∞
Darcy moved urgently down the candlelit corridor. “Elizabeth!” he called again, louder now, his voice echoing
Nothing.
