“Then release it!” George had insisted, his voice rising in anger.
“I shall never do so; and you know Richard Fitzwilliam well enough to know that even were you to persuade me, you will never persuade him.”
“The alternative is that your precious little sister will live in squalor in London; is that what you want for her?”
“What Iwant? What Iwantedfor her was a marriage to a respectable gentleman who would hold her dowry intact for her to live on after he passed away. What Iwantedwas for her to have a Season in Town so that she might have the opportunity to choose such a gentleman. But none of that is possible now.”
Georgiana had then begun to get angry. “Brother, it is your fault that George has no money; he was supposed to have the living at Kympton, you know that. But you refused to give it to him!”
“You believed that pack of lies? Sister, do you not know me well enough to know that I would never do something so dishonourable? Georgiana, he received a thousand pounds when our father died; he also received three thousand pounds in exchange for the Kympton living, which he did not want!”
“Four thousand pounds,” she had said. “That is quite a lot of money.” Turning to her husband, she had said, “It is enough forus to live on, surely, George! As long as we are together, what else matters?”
“Stupid girl,” he had said, glaring at her. “That money is long gone. If we do not have your dowry, we have nothing.”
She had just stared at him. Stupid girl? He usually called her his beloved, his darling, his one-and-only, and suddenly she was a stupid girl? Her head had spun, and tears had pooled in her eyes. “George?” she had said softly, laying a hand on his arm.
He had shaken her hand off, roughly, not even looking at her. “Darcy, I will tell every newspaper in London how your precious sister could not wait to accompany me to Scotland and give me her virtue.”
Her brother had replied, “I have no doubt that you will, Wickham. And I also have no doubt that no matter how much money I give you, you will always come back for more and more and more. Georgiana has put herself in your power; I cannot allow all of Pemberley’s dependents to suffer as a result.”
Georgiana had stared at her brother. “I do not understand, William. You are not going to help us?”
William had shaken his head. “I cannot, Georgiana.” His voice had been rough with pain and his eyes were wet. “Wickham will never be satisfied until Pemberley is bankrupt. And then he will simply abandon you.”
George had snarled, advanced upon William and struck him in the face, knocking him to the floor. William had sprung up, growling like a beast, and had fallen upon his assailant, beating George with a ferocity Georgiana had never imagined possible.
Mrs. Younge had screamed; the innkeeper had rushed up and tried to separate the two men, but to no avail. The other diners were cheering the two men on.
“Ho there, lads, lend a hand!” The innkeeper had called out to the spectators.
Three other men had come forward and dragged the two men apart.
The innkeeper had demanded, “What’s this all about, then?”
William had spoken first. “This scoundrel eloped with my sister! I demand to see the magistrate immediately!”
And George, whose face was bloodied, had raged, “Yes, do bring the magistrate, who will explain to myfriendhere that his sister is no longer his concern! I believe he has broken my nose! And I think I have lost a tooth!” He spat something into his palm. “Two teeth! I should bring charges against him!”
After some time, a rotund, florid-faced gentleman had arrived, saying that he was the magistrate and would sort this disagreement out. He had listened to William and to George, and had then addressed Georgiana. “Did you speak your vows with this man?”
“I – I did, to a blacksmith.”
“And has the marriage been consummated?”
She did not know what that meant, so she looked – out of habit – to William. George had intervened, sounding disgusted with her. “How would he know, for God’s sake, Georgiana? Yes, the marriage was consummated this very day.”
And Mrs. Younge had added, “And I have the bloodied sheet to prove it.”
Georgiana had hid her head in her hands, unable to bear any more of this conversation.
“Well, then, Mr. Darcy,” the magistrate had said. “I think you must know full well that your sister is now this man’s property, to do with as he wishes.”
“She is but fifteen years old!” William had cried.
The magistrate had shrugged. “As long as she as at least twelve, the marriage is legal.”
Georgiana knew she would remember the look on her brother’s face for the rest of her life. He had gazed at her as if itwould be the last time he would ever see her. Then he whispered, “I love you, dearest Georgiana.”
