Page 6 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"Right," he said, adjusting his sword belt. "I'll fetch my pistols. We shoot Wickham first, to save the family the embarrassment. Then we go and shoot the Butcher."

George yelped, pulling his knees to his chest. "Fitz! He is serious!"

"He is not serious," Darcy intervened, stepping between the soldier and the sobbing scoundrel. "We are not shooting anyone. We are going to pay the debt."

"Pay it?" Richard barked. He began to pace, his boots striking the floorboards loudly. "Are you mad, Darcy? Five hundred guineas? That is a fortune! That is two years of my pay!"

"It is the only way," Darcy insisted, though the thought made his stomach churn. "If we do not retrieve the box by Friday, Father will know. And if Father knows, he tells Mr Wickham. You know the steward's condition. The shock..."

"The heart," Robert mused. He had taken the seat opposite George and was studying the man with the detached interest of a natural philosopher observing a particularly disappointing specimen. "Yes, the heart is a problem. Old Mr Wickham dotes on his son. Thinks the sun rises and sets in his cravat."

"Exactly." Darcy began to pace, calculating aloud. "I have the funds. Just. If I empty my personal account and delay the payment for the new carriage horses..."

"No." Robert's voice was low, but it carried the weight of a gavel.

Darcy blinked. "Robert?"

"I said no." Robert leaned back, crossing his legs. "You will not pay a shilling, Darcy. Put your purse away."

"But the box—"

"The box must be retrieved," Robert agreed. "But if you pay five hundred guineas to a Covent Garden shark, you teach this chap nothing. You merely teach him that his stupidity has a price, and that price is paid by you."

George sniffled. "I have learned! I swear it! I shall never touch a card again! I shall become a monk! A very stylish monk!"

"Quiet, George," Richard snapped, turning to his cousin. "Robert is right. If you bail him out, he will be back at the tables by Michaelmas. The whelp needs a lesson. A scar."

"A scar?" George paled.

"Metaphorical, mostly," Robert waved a hand. "Money is easy, Darcy. It is boring. It vanishes. Butterror... terror is a gift that lasts a lifetime."

Darcy frowned. "Terror? We are not torturers, Robert. We are gentlemen."

"We are a Viscount, a Captain of his Majesty's Army, and a... well, you are a Prig," Robert offered kindly. "Together, we are a formidable force. We do not negotiate with Butchers. We outmanoeuvre them."

"How?" Darcy asked. "The man has the box. He has the leverage."

"He has a shiny trinket," Robert corrected. "We have intellect. And we have George."

He pointed the silver-tipped cane at Wickham.

"George is vain," Robert listed. "He is cowardly. He is gullible. And he currently believes his life is over."

"Itisover," George moaned.

"Excellent," Robert smiled. It was not a nice smile. It was the smile of a wolf who had just spotted a plump lamb. "We shall use that. We shall not pay the debt. We shall steal the box back."

"Steal it?" Darcy gasped. "Robert, that is illegal. That is theft!"

"Technically, it is repossession of family property," Richard argued, warming to the idea. "I like it. A tactical extraction. A raid."

"But what about him?" Darcy gestured to the heap of misery in the chair. "If the Butcher sees him, he will demand the money."

"George," Robert said, standing up and smoothing his velvet lapels, "will not be seen. George is going to disappear. Because George is currently in very grave danger."

Darcy stared at his cousin. "He is?"

"He is," Robert confirmed, his eyes dancing with a manic light. "Because the man he played cards with was not merely a loan shark. Oh no. That would be too simple."