Elizabeth shifted her gaze to watch with rapt attention the Colonel navigating the crowded stable courtyard. The soldier moved with purpose, slipping between groups of fashionable sightseers until he reached the formidable figure of Lady Margaret Clement.
Beside her, Fitzwilliam Darcy had obeyed her instructions flawlessly. He stood perfectly still, his posture severe and imposing, his eyes tracking the scene with intense interest.
The Colonel bowed to the dowager and leaned close to murmur Elizabeth’s tactical message.
Lady Clement comprehended the situation immediately. Her posture stiffened into something resembling carved granite. Her gaze snapped to Mrs Smythe, who was still oblivious, and then locked firmly onto George Wickham.
Wickham was making a direct, purposeful line for Miss Penelope Smythe.
Lady Clement advanced instantly. She moved with the unstoppable momentum of a warship under full sail.
“She does not need a sword,” Elizabeth murmured, watching the dowager part the crowd simply by existing. “Her parasol is sufficient.”
“I am grateful not to be the object of her displeasure.” Mr Darcy kept his voice low. “She and my Aunt Catherine would either conquer the continent together or destroy each other within a fortnight.”
Wickham, unaware of the impending disaster, reached Miss Smythe. He deployed his usual practiced charm. He bowed gracefully and smiled. He leaned closer, speaking in the soft, intimate manner specifically designed to make a romantic young woman believe she was the only person in the universe.
Miss Smythe blushed furiously and clutched her gothic novel to her chest as though it were a shield against her own racing heart.
Wickham leaned in a fraction further.
Lady Clement arrived. She planted herself exactly two feet away from the militia officer. She said absolutely nothing.
The silence coming from the dowager was so potent that the surrounding conversations began to falter, the air in the immediate vicinity growing noticeably colder.
Wickham turned his head and saw her. The charming smile fractured.
“Mr Wickham.” Lady Clement’s greeting dripped with an icy, lethal politeness. “I see you have abandoned your literary pursuits at the circulating library in favour of equestrian ones.”
Wickham attempted a hasty recovery. “Lady Clement. I was introducing myself to Miss Smythe. We were discussing the magnificence of the Regent’s horses.”
Lady Clement raised her quizzing glass, subjecting Wickham to a public, microscopic inspection.
“Indeed?” She lowered the glass, her voice carrying clearly over the quieted courtyard. “I had previously thought your expertise lay in acquiring substantial debts and avoiding your tailor.”
A collective gasp rippled through the immediate crowd.
Wickham’s face flooded with fury. His hands clenched at his sides and he opened his mouth to reply.
Lady Clement did not permit him a single syllable.
“Return to your regiment, Mr Wickham.” She spoke with absolute, dismissive authority. “You are cluttering the courtyard. Furthermore, if I catch you attempting to introduce yourself to another young lady of my acquaintance, I shall personally ensure your commanding officer is fully informed of your remarkable financial versatility.”
Lady Clement turned her back on him, linked her arm firmly through Miss Smythe’s, and steered the bewildered heiress away without a backward glance.
The public damage was instantaneous and complete.
Within the space of two minutes, Lady Clement had transformed George Wickham from a charming, tragic officer into a known, desperate fortune-hunter in front of Brighton’s elite. The gossip would spread through the town before nightfall. No heiress would look at him without recalling the public humiliation in the royal stables.
Elizabeth felt a thrilling rush of victory. They had put an end to the threat, Miss Smythe was safe, and the other wealthy young women of Brighton were effectivelywarned.
Then, the true nature of the victory settled over her.
Elizabeth watched Wickham. He stood alone near the ornate carriages. His fists remained clenched, his handsome face blank, tight, and dangerously cornered.
He had no money, no prospects, and no hope left of securing a wealthy heiress.
He was going to resort to extortion.
