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Elizabeth blinked rapidly, assimilating this information. “Thank you. I appreciate your faith in me. But which rumors do you mean?”
Lawrence’s hand flew to her mouth so quickly it was almost comical. “I thought you knew, ma’am, or I would never have presumed—”
“It is all right. Sometimes the servants’ gossip is the most efficient in London.” Elizabeth was far more concerned about the content of the rumors than her staff’s reactions to them. “Quite possibly, I ought to know about them.”
Lawrence started wringing her hands as she realized she must now reveal the rumors to her mistress. “Well, I had it from the housekeeper over at the Browns, and Jenny heard the same thing from one of the footmen at Lady Pierson’s house.” Elizabeth nodded encouragement for the other woman to continue. “They’re saying ….” Lawrence’s hands moved even faster. “Forgive me…They’re saying you’ve taken up with your sister’s husband. The one who’s a widower.”
“Mr. Wickham!” Elizabeth cried.
“That’s the one.” Lawrence nodded. “We know such gossip is false, ma’am. We’ve never seen that scoundrel here or even heard mention of him.”
For the first time in her life, Elizabeth was tempted to utter an oath. She swallowed the impulse and assumed a soothing tone, which did not match her mood. “Thank you for telling me.” Lawrence gave her a worried smile. “And tell the staff I appreciate their faith in me.”
Lawrence nodded, bobbed a curtsey, and disappeared quickly into the hallway, no doubt grateful to have such an awkward conversation at an end.
Once she was alone in the room, Elizabeth buried her face in her hands. She should have known Wickham would retaliate for her refusal to pay him. Slandering her good name was exactly the kind of stratagem that would appeal to him. Her social standing was already tenuous. No doubt this new calumny had spread quickly.
Women who had been betrothed were often considered “used goods” by the ton and somewhat less than virtuous, whether or not they had actually anticipated their vows in any way. This made it easier to spread rumors that she was giving her favors freely.
Knowing it must be Wickham’s doing did little to solve the problem. She brushed a stray tear from her cheek, angry she had permitted that man to distress her.
Such rumors were frustratingly hard to refute—like grabbing a handful of water. The gossip was vague and difficult to trace to its source. She could refute the accusations but could conceive of no way to disprove them. While Richard was alive, such slander would never have been repeated, but no one of any social standing would defend her now. Richard’s parents were more likely to repeat the rumors than refute them.
Elizabeth was unaware how long she sat in the drawing room, dwelling on her situation without coming closer to finding a solution. Minutes ticked away as she reviewed all the options over and over, only to discard them once more. She gave a deep sigh. Perhaps she should accept that nothing could be done. The inhabitants of the ton would talk behind their hands and titter behind their fans whenever she walked into a room—and she could do nothing but ignore it.
She had just resolved to collect herself and attend to her afternoon tasks when Grayson opened the door and intoned, “Mr. Wickham, ma’am.” She could detect a note of steely disapproval even in those few syllables.
Elizabeth did not trouble herself to smile at her erstwhile brother but focused on a fruitless attempt not to scowl. She waited until Grayson had closed the door and Wickham had seated himself before she spoke. “Mr. Wickham, I gave you my answer the other day in the park. It has not changed, I assure you.”
Wickham laid his walking stick across his knee in the studied pose of a gentleman. “But I believe we do have matters to discuss, Elizabeth.” The grating sound of his voice uttering her Christian name made her skin crawl.
“So you are the source of the rumors.”
Wickham never asked which rumors she meant. “I would never stoop to such stratagems.” His knowing smirk implied otherwise. He paused for dramatic effect. “However … I did hear about the gossip, and I have no doubt I could identify the source and dissuade them from spreading such heinous lies … for the right incentive.” He toyed idly with the head of his walking stick, regarding her with a raised eyebrow.
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sp; Blackmail? Elizabeth was aghast. She had not believed Wickham capable of such despicable behavior.
“I only require a small loan,” Wickham continued. “Perhaps three thousand? And your reputation will remain intact.”
Rage boiled through Elizabeth’s veins. This scoundrel would stain her dear sister’s memory by blackmailing her family! It could not be endured! She found herself suddenly on her feet, staring down at the still-seated Wickham. He seemed a little uncomfortable to be looking up at her in such close proximity. Good.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Richard may have paid you out of concern for my sensibilities, but I can be the judge of my own sentiments. My sensibilities would be far more offended by continuing to fund your villainy than by any trumped up rumors that people of sense would ignore!”
Wickham’s face turned scarlet, and he appeared on the verge of exploding. He surged to his feet, nearly knocking Elizabeth over, and used his height to loom over her. She took an involuntary step backward.
“Do not make the mistake of supposing that the only threat is to your reputation,” he snarled. “Such a shame about your garden …” Elizabeth gasped; there was only one way he could have learned about that destruction. “It would be terrible if a similar fate were to befall your horses.”
Elizabeth stared at the man. Every time she marveled at how low he had sunk, he found new depths. The mews on the other side of the garden, held Richard’s curricle and horses, including his prize stallion. A groom slept in the mews above the stable, but he could hardly guard against determined ruffians who sought to hurt the animals.
Nausea swept through her. Would Wickham act on that threat? Everything in Elizabeth rebelled against giving this villain so much as a shilling, but the vision of Richard’s beloved horses maimed or dead in their stalls was equally dreadful.
“Even you would never go that far!” She hated the weak, high-pitched sound of her voice.
“Oh?” His voice was silky and threatening. Wickham pressed forward, forcing Elizabeth back another step.
“Stand back!” she cried.
