Fitzwilliam sighed. “Come now, out with it. I know as well as you do that your regiment was not on active duty, and a generous officer might lessen the charges given the proper inducement. I amnotpromising to vouch for you,” he held up a finger at Wickham’s hopeful expression, “but your cooperation at this juncture cannot harm your case.”
Wickham gazed out of the window for a moment. “And if what I have to say offends you? What then, Fitzwilliam?”
“Then a court-martial shall be the least of your concerns.” He fingered the tip of his sword hilt, enjoying the doubtful shadow that passed over Wickham’s face. “Oh, come, Wickham, you know I would never murder a man in cold blood! An honourable duel, now that would be quite another matter, but you are safer unarmed.”
“For a man who desires information, you are less than accommodating,” grumbled Wickham.
“Have you slander to speak against a lady? Do you intend to ruin any gentlemen of my acquaintance with your lies?”
Wickham gave a short huff. “You will wish they were lies. They will be ruined one way or another, so I suppose I may as well be the one to profit by it.”
“You are noble, indeed. Who was it who desired Darcy killed and wished Georgiana to be isolated? Someone I know?”
Wickham shrugged casually. “I believe you are acquainted with him, yes.”
Fitzwilliam leaned forward in the seat, waiting for the next words, but Wickham was nothing if not a skilled showman. The condemned man had tilted his head to the side, gazing out at the trees as they rolled by. Fitzwilliam hissed and fell back against the squab in disgust. He had let that rat bait him again! Never again, he vowed to himself.
“Fitzwilliam, will you make me a different promise?”
He arched a brow. “I promise you will die quickly.”
Wickham’s eyes were narrowed, and he still gazed out of the carriage as though something genuinely troubled him. “I will give you a name, if you swear to do me one service, should it come to the worst for me.”
Fitzwilliam glanced cynically over him. Was Wickham truly contemplating his own mortality, or was he merely playing for sympathy? “And what is this service?”
“Will you give Mrs Wickham a letter? You need not promise that she will read it, nor even that you will have a kind word to say about me to her, but will you give it to her? She is all the family I have, do you see.” He sighed unhappily.
“You wish for me to give a letter to your adolescent bride, a young lady whose reputation you ruined and whose life shall be forever altered by the few days you actually spent in her company?”
“Yes,” Wickham shrugged simply.
“She would be well within her rights to burn the letter and stomp on your portrait.”
“If that is her wish. You will give it to her?”
Fitzwilliam shook his head, muttering words that were better left under his breath. “I will place your abominable script of falsehoods within her reach, but there I wash my hands of it. Now, tell me what you know.”
“What I know is that this person was approached by a foreign party—”
“Vasconcelos,” Richard interrupted with curled lip.
“Yes, the very one. That gentleman desired the deed of which I spoke, and this other promised to deliver it. In return, Darcy was to ‘disappear,’ though I believe each party held a different definition of the term. Darcy was supposed to remain dead, but when he escaped Portugal, I began hearing urgent rumours to that effect. There were men dispatched to recapture him, or at worst, capture Miss Darcy so that she might act as incentive for this other party to complete his task and procure the deed.”
“And, where is it? You said you knew.”
“Oh, I do not know that, specifically, but I can tell you where you ought to begin.”
“Which is?”
“Why, have you not already discerned it? With Viscount Matlock, of course. Your brother.”
Pemberley
Darcyfellintohisseat, eyes furiously scanning the pages.
“What do you make of it, William?” Elizabeth crouched before him in her own seat, leaning forward intently. “It must be the same!”
“Indeed, it is. This journal was in Pemberley’s library? How came it to be discovered only recently?”
