“How could he know about Elizabeth?” Georgiana demanded. “It was only the littlest of comments, and I did not even think he heard her say it!”
“Apparently, he did. You told me yourself it was enough to make you question her.”
“Yes, but how could he learn anything? It is not as if he knows anyone who could accuse her, and even if he did, the law in her state could hardly follow her here.”
“It would be enough to create a scandal. If he had a story of Elizabeth cuckolding and murdering a man—true or not—it would make it all the more difficult to refute any tales he would care to spread about you. The enormity of the potential disgrace does not bear considering.”
“I still think he is all bluster. He is using my letters to make you nervous and let you believe he has more than he truly does.”
“Nervous? He has not made me nervous but angry. Resentful. I shall not forgive him for trying to impose upon you, but previously I intended only to threaten him and prudently lock him away. Now… I shall see him crushed.”
Georgiana winced. “Crushed?” she repeated in an awed tone. “You sound rather serious.”
“Iamserious. I will not tolerate threats to those dear to me.”
His sister’s eyebrows lifted, and she looked for a moment as if she meant to question him further, but she merely thinned her lips. “I take it, then, that you shall remain in London?”
“For now, yes. Carson and Blake will travel with you for your safety. I am sending a telegram to the earl at once. I think it best if you go to Matlock instead of Pemberley.”
Georgiana huffed an irritated sigh through the corner of her mouth. “You know I would protest at being ordered away, but it was I who started this mess. I ought to bear a bit of the mortification of it.”
He took her hands and put on a gentle smile. “Come, dearest sister, do not speak as if you are being sent to the gallows. I have other reasons for desiring you to go to Matlock, apart from merely protecting you.”
She looked up curiously. “Helping with wedding planning?”
“No.” He paced back around his desk, drew out Elizabeth’s letter and considered showing it to his sister. Then he read certain lines again—lines that spoke intimately of heartbreak and desperate friendship… and put the letter back in his drawer.
“Mrs Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet could do with some comfort after the death of their father,” he said at last. “I believe it would be good for you to show them a bit of kindness during this time.”
“So, it is to be for my benefit, not theirs that I go to them?” she asked with a cryptic smile.
“Of course,” he replied evenly. “I think they would do anyone good.”
Nomatterhowhedressed, he was never inconspicuous enough. The moment Darcy stepped into the dimly lit gambling hell, hazy with smoke and littered with half-groggy players, he drew unwanted attention. He permitted his eyes to rove the room once, then moved to an open seat and called for a drink.
Wickham had marked him the moment of his arrival—this he knew by the way the other players shifted to make a path, and how a certain table in the back fell conspicuously quiet. It was a quarter of an hour, however, before anyone approached him, and the man who came near was a lowly sort, who only glanced at Darcy long enough to make it plain he desired a drink.
Darcy placed a coin on the counter, and a drink came. “He’s waitin’ for ye in the back room,” the man drawled into his mug.
The “back room” was little more than a table set into an alcove with a curtain drawn over it, reserved for guests who were willing to pay for a bit more privacy. Darcy pulled aside the curtain and seated himself without ceremony, all while Wickham put on a poorly contrived act of surprise.
“Darcy! I did not know you frequented this part of town, old boy.”
“When I am seeking riff-raff, I go where it can be found.”
Wickham raised a smouldering cigarette with a chortle. “How long did you lie awake last night to dream up that insult? Oh, did you and Miss Darcy enjoy your fattened goose yesterday? I hope my untimely letter did nothing to dampen her festive spirits.”
“Not at all, for she found it most amusing.”
Wickham smiled and lifted his cigarette to release a drowsy cloud of foulness. “I don’t doubt it. A fine girl, Darcy—and I mean that in every sense of the word.”
Darcy allowed the comment to pass. “I thought you meant to join the Indian Army after you ran out of funds last time. What came of that?”
“What came of it? A malicious disease, I fear. They call it love—have you ever heard of it?”
“Once or twice,” Darcy returned drily. “Though I doubt we share the same definition.”
“Oh, unquestionably not. For starters, I would never permit the woman who had captured my fancy to stray so long before getting the shackle round her pretty ankle. Unless, of course, her ankle is not so pretty, but that is a matter for your own tastes.”
