“Gladly,” was the reply. “You’re too heavy to carry, mate, so now you must walk.”
He was hauled to his feet and marched into a house not much different from Evelina’s boarding house. He was greeted at the entry way by a woman about ten years older than Evelina. “ “And who have we here?” she asked Wickham’s guards.
“George Wickham.”
“Well, George Wickham, I’m Missus Harvester,” she said. “Do you know where you are?”
“Sponging house,” he replied. “But fear you not, madam, I will not be here long. I shall make good on my debts in short order.”
“Really?” she laughed. “How much is he in for, Bob?” she asked, turning to one of the men who had captured Wickham.
“Five thousand pounds,” was the succinct reply.
Wickham gasped. Five thousand pounds! That was an impossible sum. But now he knew that this could not possibly be the work of a collection of London merchants. This had to be the work of Darcy. Wickham’s heart began to pound heavily and sweat dripped from his forehead down to his chin. Five. Thousand. Pounds.
Mrs. Harvester cleared her throat to gain his attention. She led the way up the stairs, saying, “Come with me, Mr. Wickham.” Wickham followed her, casting his eyes every which way so that he might find a means of escape.
“Forget it,” she advised him.
“Forget – what?”
“Escape. There is none. Believe you me, smarter men than you have tried it.”
Wickham shrugged. She could say what she liked, he would find a way out. She stopped in front of a solid wooden door. Producing a key from her pocket, she opened it. “Here you be, your own bedroom.”
He paused at the doorway, taking it in. His hostess gave him a bit of a push, sending him into the room. The door closed behind him and he heard the lock turn.
There was no bed; the straw pallet was evidently to serve as such. There was a cracked washbasin and a pitcher sitting on a table. There was a window. A window! His room was on the second floor; he could easily walk away from such a fall. He rushed to the window, only to discover that there were bars across it. Perhaps the bars could be loosened? He opened the window and wiggled the bars, one by one. They held firmly.
He sank down onto the straw pallet. There was nothing to do now except to hope that Evelina could locate him.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
December 1811
On the morning of her wedding to Mr. Bingley, Georgiana was up with the birds. She had despaired of anything good happening to her for many months now, but today she would marry a kind, gentle man. He would then spirit her away to a leased estate in the county of Hertfordshire, where she would spend her days preparing for the arrival of her child.
The fly in the ointment, of course, was that she and Brother were very much at odds. She had tried speaking to him, but he had simply stared at her in response. She had taken to leaving any room that he entered. If he wished to punish her for her transgressions – well, she rather thought she had been punished enough.
By ten o’clock, everything was ready. Sally had contrived a beautiful wedding dress that managed to hide her belly. Her aunt had somehow been able to have slippers made to match the dress. Sally had pinned her hair up in an elaborate coiffure, anchored with diamond pins. Georgiana stared at herself in the mirror, thinking that she now looked more like Miss Georgiana Darcy of Pemberley than she had in a very long time, though she was still too thin.
Her uncle appeared in her doorway. “Are you ready, Georgiana?”
“Is Charles here?”
“He is, as is the officiant, Richard, and your brother.”
“Then I am ready.”
The Earl escorted her down the stairs. Georgiana was grateful for the support, as her balance was becoming precarious. While Brother would have doubtless been made happy by a miscarriage, Georgiana was determined to protect her child at all costs. She could not remember much about her own mother, who had passed away when Georgiana was a young child, but she had resolved to be the best mother any child had ever had.
As she entered the drawing room on her uncle’s arm, everyone rose to their feet.
“Oh, Georgiana! You look lovely!”
“If I do, it is thanks to your own efforts, Aunt,” Georgiana replied, warmly.
The Earl escorted her to Mr. Bingley, whose open face showed her that he, too, thought her beautiful.
