The word “jealousy” hung in the air like an accusation. To tip the balance in his favor, he must ignore the uncomfortably public circumstances and bare his feelings.
“Yes,” he said, his gaze never leaving Elizabeth’s face. “I am jealous. Jealous of every moment you spend in hiscompany, terrified of every word he speaks to you. I know what he is beneath that engaging façade.” In the sudden stillness of the courtyard, every word carried. “Because you matter to me more than my own life, I would rather die than see you hurt by him.”
The frank and unaffected truth in his declaration had an obvious impact on Elizabeth. For a moment, the noise and bustle of the garrison faded away, leaving only the two of them suspended inside a bubble of perfect understanding.
“How touching.” Wickham’s voice broke their trance-like state, his malice evident despite his continued smile. “I wonder, Miss Bennet, if you are aware of Darcy’s peculiar habit of seeing threats where none exist? His suspicious nature has caused a bit of trouble for those unfortunate enough to depend upon his goodwill.”
The subtle reference to past grievances—grievances Elizabeth was all too familiar with—brought a fragment of doubt, making Darcy desperate. Whatever else she might think of him, she would not doubt the sincerity of his concern. “Elizabeth. Miss Bennet,” he said. “I know I have given you little reason to trust my judgment in the past. I know you may question my motives. But I beg of you, for your own safety, for your father’s safety, do not trust this man. Do not be alone with him. Do not believe a word he tells you about his circumstances or his intentions.”
There was a long pause. Then she looked between the two men. “I suggest we continue this conversation at a more appropriate time and place. I find myself curious about these allegations.”
Although it was not the immediate trust Darcy hopedfor, it was a crack in Wickham’s influence upon her that might be expanded upon. Judging by the flash of anger that crossed Wickham’s features before he quickly suppressed it, Darcy knew his enemy recognized the danger. This was a battle where everything would be won or lost.
Because you matterto me more than my own life.
The words echoed in Elizabeth’s mind, carrying a weight and sincerity that could not be feigned. Mr. Darcy was not a man given to dramatic declarations or false sentiment. And he had spoken so openly in front of a crowd of strangers. The ground beneath her feet had tilted, leaving her struggling to find her footing in a suddenly unfamiliar world. Her understanding of the man she thought she knew was shifting at its foundation.
Her thoughts were interrupted by measured footsteps. Colonel Fitzwilliam was approaching, his manner that of a military man assessing a threat. His usual easy smile was nowhere in evidence. Every line of him hardened as his gaze fixed on Mr. Wickham. Steel where there had been warmth.
The effect of his presence upon Mr. Wickham was striking. The confidence that had marked Mr. Wickham’s demeanor seconds before suddenly wavered like a candle in a strong wind. He took an almost imperceptible step backward and could not mask his fear.
The tableau before Elizabeth revealed a great deal more than words had yet to explain. Mr. Darcy radiated controlled fury, his stance positioned protectively.Colonel Fitzwilliam’s purposeful approach reminded her of a wolf scenting prey. And Mr. Wickham?charming, handsome Mr. Wickham?was visibly unnerved. Her world tilted back into proper alignment as she read the truth in their faces, their postures, and their unguarded reactions.
Mr. Darcy was a man of honor. He could be trusted.
She stepped forward and wrapped her fingers around his arm.
His response was immediate. The rigid tension in his muscles eased at her touch. His free hand came up to cover hers, where it rested on his sleeve, the gesture both protective and possessive.
Ignoring Mr. Wickham, she addressed the man whose side she had chosen. “Did your ship sustain a great deal of damage in the storm? We were battered and lost part of our mast. It was a near thing.”
“TheMeridianwill require extensive repairs. Weeks, according to Captain Shanklin.”
“I am grieved to hear it.” She turned to include the colonel in her concern. “It must have been a harrowing experience.”
The simple exchange established new allegiances, drawing clear lines that excluded Mr. Wickham from their circle.
Elizabeth continued, “Would you join my father and me for dinner this evening? We have modest quarters in the village within the garrison. I believe we could accommodate you comfortably. There is much we should discuss.”
“We would be honored.” The formality of Mr. Darcy’sacceptance did not disguise his appreciation for her belief in him.
As they made arrangements to meet later, Elizabeth was acutely aware that Mr. Wickham lingered at the edge of their group. He had recovered somewhat, but he listened to every word with calculated attention.
She felt foolish. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy had warned her.
The quarters Elizabethshared with her father were simple but comfortable—two small rooms overlooking the garrison’s central courtyard with a sitting area adequate for their party. He greeted their guests with his usual dry humor, though Elizabeth noticed his sharp eyes taking careful measure to assess how each of them had fared. He had suffered greatly during the storm. Even now, his skin was pale, and his arms hung limply at his side, increasing her fear of longstanding effects on his health.
“Well,” he said once they were all seated around the small table. “This has certainly been an eventful few days. I confess my curiosity about the infamous Mr. Wickham. I witnessed your dramatic reunion with him from my window this afternoon. The gossip arrived at this house even before Lizzy did. Would you share why you are convinced he is so dangerous?”
What followed was a tale that left Elizabeth reeling with shock and self-recrimination. Mr. Darcy spoke with careful precision, detailing Wickham’s dissolute behavior, his debts, his seduction of servants and tradesmen’sdaughters, and, most damning, his attempted elopement with Georgiana Darcy. The picture that emerged was of a man utterly without honor or conscience, willing to destroy an innocent girl for the sake of her fortune.
“I owe you an apology.” She was sick with shame. “I believed his lies. I thought you were horrid, and I never questioned…”
“You had no reason to trust my word over his,” Mr. Darcy said. “I gave you little cause to think well of my character.”
“But that is precisely the point.” Elizabeth held his gaze with painful self-reproach. “I should have reserved my opinion and sought confirmation of his claims. Instead, I was all too ready to think ill of you and well of him based on nothing more than first impressions and wounded vanity.”
Her father had listened with alarm. “This is all very concerning. The immediate problem is that Mr. Wickham garnered enough information from Viscount Levinson to get him to Rome. Unless we can devise a way to send him on a wild goose chase, he will follow us.”
