“Precisely,” Forster said. “There is also the matter of the young women he has compromised. He could marry one of them, though how he would then deal with the other two, I do not know.” He cleared his throat. “Typically, this is not something I would be expected to deal with either, but the families, while not of the gentry, are respectable ones.”
Fitzwilliam scowled, and Darcy felt the same. The militia knew it had men in its officer ranks who were not gentlemen, but did not control them. Had Wickham dallied with women whose families were not respectable, Forster would not have been expected to involve himself at all. It was wrong. Darcy fervently hoped that these three were the only women who had been harmed.
A realisation struck Darcy with sudden force: should Mr. Bennet prove to be the true heir to Pemberley, this might well be his final opportunity to address the Wickham situation. Would it not be better to handle the matter now, whilst he still commanded the resources of Pemberley, than to leave such a serpent coiled, waiting to strike? He had hidden Wickham’s illdeeds for the sake of his father’s peace of mind, and then he had been worried for Georgiana’s recovery and her reputation. But he could allow this to go on no longer.
Fitzwilliam laughed mirthlessly. “Wickham has squandered every opportunity he has ever been given, and he has had many.”
Colonel Forster lifted his brows. “Indeed? I should like to know the truth, for after the unflattering stories he has spread about Mr. Darcy here as well as our previous meeting, I was surprised to hear that he expected the man to pay his bills.”
Wickham had spread the same old Banbury tales. But there was no need for Darcy to counter them. Fitzwilliam was happy to do so. The story was quickly related.
“So, when he said Mr. Darcy refused Wickham the living, that much was true,” Colonel Forster mused. “But he left out that he had already signed it away. A skilled liar, then.”
Highly skilled. “He has been so nearly all my life, Colonel.”
Colonel Forster sighed as though bracing himself for the worst of news. “What is your decision, Mr. Darcy?”
For the first time, Darcy felt something approaching gratitude for the grating uncertainty about his future. It had at last impressed upon him the need for immediate action.
“The Marshalsea it is,” Darcy announced. “I will settle his debts in Meryton, but he will go to the Marshalsea until he can repay me for these as well as all the others I have paid in the past.”
Fitzwilliam broke the silence first. “I cannot help but feel that the Marshalsea is too lenient.”
Bingley sighed. “I cannot help but agree.”
“Justice must be measured, gentleman.” Darcy considered his plan again and found it a good one. “Wickham will find no allies in debtor’s prison, for a man such as he thrives only when others are willing to be deceived. He will have no such opportunity in the Marshalsea.”
It was a polite way to say that he would be thrashed if he attempted to cross the wrong man.
His cousin grunted. “You are kinder than I.”
“I am not kind,” Darcy said quietly. “I am responsible.” He turned to address Forster. “Wickham will still have friends in the regiment. Please explain to your men that should Mr. Wickham escape from custody, my offer will be rescinded, and they shall be required to fund the man’s lifestyle themselves. I pay nothing until he is inside the Marshalsea.”
Bingley frowned. “Darcy, I cannot allow you shoulder this alone. I wish to pay half.”
“Wickham is my burden, Bingley. My family’s mistake. I will not allow his failings to harm anyone else if I can prevent it.” Darcy smiled at his friend. “Besides, you are to be married. I suggest you save your funds for your wife.”
“Very well,” Bingley said with a frown. “If there is anything I can do, you need only ask.”
Forster was satisfied, and so was Darcy. Wickham’s shadow had loomed over him nearly his entire life. But it would no longer darken his family’s path—or Miss Elizabeth’s. Not ever again.
Chapter Sixteen
Elizabeth adjusted her new winter gloves and pulled her woollen cloak around her as she stepped out of doors. The sky was clear, a light blue with a bright sun. It was cold, but her restless energy demanded an outlet.
Usually, the brightness would have lifted her spirits, but the latest revelations about Mr. Wickham, knowledge that her Aunt Phillips had been only too pleased to relate, had unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She had known about the debts, though the amount being spoken of was more than she had originally heard—but the girls! How had she ever been taken in by such a deplorable man and missed the goodness in Mr. Darcy?
Here she allowed herself some grace, for Mr. Darcy was so changed from last autumn. He was no longer proud or haughty. Was it having his family with him that had made him kinder? Had his manner been similar when they first met, she believed she would not have disliked him at all, but perhaps it was just as well. His occasional glances—stares, really—lingered in hermind longer than she cared to acknowledge. It was becoming uncomfortable, trying to determine whether she ought to explore her burgeoning feelings for the man or keep them wrapped up tight until—unless—he spoke to her about his own.
As her path led her toward the copse at the far edge of the gardens, Elizabeth tried to shake off her introspection. She would not allow Mr. Darcy to dominate her thoughts. Yet, despite her resolve, her thoughts strayed once more, and her steps slowed as she considered the peculiar exchange she had seen between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham in town.
Mr. Darcy’s disdain for the officer had been as unmistakable as Mr. Wickham’s discomfort in his presence. And though Colonel Fitzwilliam had maintained a veneer of civility, the tension between the men had been impossible to miss. Their interaction, though brief, had left Elizabeth with more questions than answers. And now it had all come out. Mr. Wickham’s debts were far more serious than she had initially been told, and Mrs. Hill’s cautions had proved prescient.
A sudden rustling among the trees drew her attention. Elizabeth turned, half expecting to see one of her younger sisters darting through the branches to surprise her. Instead, she was startled to see Mr. Darcy himself striding toward her.
He stopped short. Apparently, he had no more expected to see her here than she had him. “Miss Bennet,” he greeted her, and offered a slight bow.
Elizabeth blinked but recovered quickly. “Mr. Darcy. Once again, I did not expect company on my walk.”
