As soon as he had reached his estate, he had ordered the carriage prepared for a trip to London. He knew where Wickham would go. After all, he had dealt with this before.
He was on the road again before morning, unwilling to waste a second. The image of Elizabeth distraught and crying was enough to spur him forward. He only hoped he would be fast enough. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would do anything—anything—to make Elizabeth stop crying. If he had doubted his love for her before, there could be no doubt now. The image of her sadness was like a stab through his heart.
They had been so close to reconciling their differences. He was sure his softening demeanor had persuaded her to let her guard down. And he could have been wrong, but he swore she was leaning into his almost-kiss, right before the servant called her away.
But now everything had changed. He knew that she would never agree to marry him if her sister was ruined—no matter how her feelings softened, she would never allow her sullied name to tarnish his. He had to stop this. He would do whatever it took to make Wickham behave as a gentleman. Whatever it took he would do it, without hesitation.
That horrible Wickham would ruin everything, again. If it weren't bad enough to break his sister's heart, now he was returning again to ruin not just another young girl, but her whole family. And break Darcy's heart in the process.
It took him no time to track down Wickham. He threw him against the wall and threatened him. He wanted to beat some sense into him, but propriety stayed his hand. Lydia was apparently uncompromised, but he hated to imagine what would've happened if he had been later.
"You can have whatever you want," Darcy spat at him, "but you will marry the girl."
He checked into an inn nearby, hiring a servant to watch Wickham. The orders were to stop him, with force if necessary, if he tried to leave London. He looked in the mirror. His eyes were dark with his anger, and his face was covered in a fine stubble. He had not given much thought to shaving in his quick search through London. He looked a little haggard.
He collapsed onto the bed, his head in his hands. He was emotionally exhausted. First, the encounter with Elizabeth where they had almost kissed, then the letter, and now Wickham. He would've been happy to never see the bastard again. Now he was forced to watch over him until the binding legal contract could watch for him.
Lydia was as silly as always. She was oblivious to the pain she had caused her family, thinking this was all some lovely romantic gesture on Wickham's part. She was going to be married! To her, it was all too wonderful. It made him sick—all he could see before him was the image of Elizabeth crying at the thought of her sister being ruined. And here Lydia was prancing about as if nothing had happened.
He dressed for bed and laid down. He didn't know how he was to sleep with everything spinning in his head. They were not out of the woods yet; the wedding had yet to be planned, and the dowry had yet to be set, and he didn't trust Wickham to stay put for a second. He shut his eyes, willing sleep to take him. Tomorrow, he hoped, Bennets or their relatives would arrive and he could put this issue to bed forever. Tomorrow, he hoped, he could soothe Elizabeth's fears and restore some happiness to her face again.
Terrible dreams had overcome him during the night. He dreamed of a duel with Wickham for Lydia's honor, he dreamed of the Bennet name ruined and Elizabeth cast out on the street. He dreamed of a thousand almost-kisses with Elizabeth, never being allowed to touch her. He dreamed of Elizabeth disappearing from his life forever.
He awoke with the dawn and rode down to the servant. Wickham had stayed put for the night. Darcy frowned, wondering what dowry and allowance he was planning to demand. Whatever it took he would give it, even if it ruined him. At least then he could think of marrying Elizabeth.
Darcy rode through the town, searching for word of Mr. Bennet or Mr. Gardiner. By mid-morning, he had heard nothing. He returned to the boarding house where Wickham and Lydia were hiding.
"You're back," Wickham said with contempt as he opened the door.
"May I speak with Miss Bennet?" he said, refusing to meet Wickham's eyes.
"I don't think you have the right," Wickham said, obstinately blocking the doorway.
"It's alright, dear Wickham," Lydia said, coming up behind him, "I will have words with the gentleman."
Lydia stepped out into the corridor, and Darcy closed the door behind her. "Miss Bennet," he said, looking her over.
"Mr. Darcy. What are you doing here? My Wickham is not pleased at all to see you, you know." Lydia was either truly oblivious or stubbornly refusing to see the trouble she caused.
"Miss Bennet, may I ask you: have you received a promise of marriage from Mr. Wickham?"
Lydia laughed haughtily. "Of course. We are here together, after all. That is the truest promise of marriage."
"No, Miss Bennet, I mean has he asked for your hand?"
Lydia frowned at him. "Not in so many words. But why should he? Our love is too deep for words."
"Do you know what you have done by coming here?" Darcy asked, anger rising. "You have very nearly ruined your family, you foolish girl."
Lydia scoffed at him. "Who are you to call me foolish? Mr. Wickham and I are in love. I don't expect you to understand. I don't think you even have a heart!"
Lydia yanked the door open to storm inside. Darcy caught her arm. "I hope you understand what you have done, Miss Bennet. You and Mr. Wickham will be married before the week is out."
Wickham's face paled as he realized Darcy's resolve; perhaps he was finally realizing the folly of running away with a girl with no resources and no dowry. Lydia, though, smiled smugly.
"We would have been married sooner," she answered, yanking her arm from his grasp, "but Mr. Wickham wanted to tour London to find the perfect venue."
Darcy finally stared into Wickham's eyes, promising to enforce every threat he had ever made to him. "I hope you have been successful. I look forward to attending the ceremony."
"What makes you think you will be invited?" snapped Lydia, but Wickham closed the door in Darcy's face.
Darcy, already tired from the morning, retired back to his room for a light meal and thought. He sat at the writing desk with a blank sheet of paper, contemplating writing to Elizabeth. But words wouldn't come. Until the marriage was settled and Wickham's faithfulness ensured, he did not want to give her false hope. But he knew she was barely keeping herself together as she worried at home. Frustrated with his position, he balled the paper in his fist and threw it onto the floor.
Here was Miss Lydia Bennet, content with her actions and about to be rewarded for them in the form of marriage, while her sisters panicked at home with the thought of losing their prospects and their future. Why was it always the foolish people who were the most content?
He closed his eyes. One thing was for certain: he would not leave London without securing Elizabeth's honor. In that, he took comfort. Wickham would not escape this situation, but would instead live to regret it every day for the rest of his life. At least Wickham was greedy; Darcy knew he could buy Wickham's loyalty for a certain sum. It was Lydia who would live to feel the mistake of her recklessness. Perhaps then she would teach Wickham the misery of his behavior.