The Darcy carriage was comfortable, even if they had been travelling for hours and hours. Georgiana wondered why it was taking so long for them to reach the house on Grosvenor Square, where she could ask Mrs Boyle to prepare something warm, she had had her fill of inn food and longed to sit in the dining room with a bowl of white soup, and maybe some Prince of Wales biscuits. Yes, that is what she would ask for. She could then take the leftovers to Fitz in the… oh no, oh no, how horrible… the thought of her honourable and kind brother trapped behind the walls of the debtors' prison made her feel tremendously sad. He was her rock and her fortitude, and if she had to marry George Wickham to save Fitzwilliam, then she would. Papa would be proud of her for doing this, taking it upon herself to be the saviour of Pemberley and the Darcy name. She didn't love George, of course, well not as a husband – he was far too old and, now she had spent more time in his company, he was not as amenable as she had once thought.

As much as she enjoyed travelling, the three-day journey was beginning to take its toll on her good nature, especially as George's temper was erratic and his usual easy-going personality was beginning to fray. She was beginning to be of the opinion that maybe Fitz was correct in removing him from their society. He looked over at her, his usually well-groomed hair was mussed, and whilst he must have shaved at the coaching inn overnight, he had obviously missed parts which stood out as dark islands on his face. He didn't look as handsome as he appeared in the drawing rooms of London, or in the gardens at Pemberley, in fact, he looked most disagreeable all rumpled in the coach, his blue jacket looking slightly shabby, his cravat roughly fastened, and an angry, sharp look on his face as he stared outside refusing to look at her. She leaned over to glance out of the window, but he moved sharply towards her, preventing her from raising the blind to look outside.

"I will look outside, George," she said, snatching her arm away from his grasp.

"Georgiana, I forbid it!"

"You cannot forbid me anything, George, you forget your place!"

"Forget my place? A fine way to speak to your betrothed, Miss Darcy."

"That depends on what my brother says."

"Pfft," he rankled, "Darcy would do anything to save his fortune and his precious name."

"That is because my brother knows that some things are worth the sacrifice. You wouldn't know sacrifice, George, Fitzwilliam has protected you your whole life and you never saw it… Indeed, I don't even know if I saw it myself until this moment."

Georgiana had heard the rumours of George Wickham's behaviour, but she had not believed him capable of such things. Until now. It was as if the entire personality that she knew was a complete façade, and now she was trapped in the carriage with him, trapped in the possibility of marriage with him.

"What a pleasant thought, indeed, wife, for you to believe that your brother is capable of such heroics!"

"I am not your wife, Mr Wickham."

"Not yet," he said with a sneer.

Georgiana could feel the hot fury building within her, and she snatched back the blind. It was near dusk now, but she could not see the familiar and expected outline of London in the distance, instead, there were just fields.

"Wickham, where are we? This is not the road to London."

He was silent, a hideous smile on his face. Georgiana rose to her feet and threw herself across the carriage, "I demand you tell me where we are going! Right now!"

He grabbed her by the wrists and pushed her back onto the seat, "we are going where I decide, dearest Georgiana," he ran a finger down her cheek and over her neck, "what a pretty thing you have you grown into. I should wait until after the vows have been uttered from your sweet little mouth, but why when you are such a tight little bud waiting to blossom."

All she could smell was the unwashed scent of him, the faint hint of pomade still lingering on his hair, the stench of tobacco on his breath. Underneath her fingertips, she could feel the velvet jacquard of the seat, and she focused her attention on that as he hovered over her, not wanting to avert her eyes from him in case he saw it as a momentary minute of weakness. He stood up, banged on the roof for the driver's attention, and the carriage came to a halt. She heard Fielding jump down from his position and knock on the door, before opening it.

"Is everything alright, Miss Darcy?"

She had known Fielding all of her life, surely, he would know that she was in danger, surely he would sense it from her. The driver looked over at Wickham who was still stood over Miss Darcy, she looked petrified.

"Georgiana?"

"Fielding," Wickham said, "I find that maybe Ross and yourself should take a stroll. The air is so delightful at this time of the evening."

The Darcy's driver looked over at his mistress, he could see her shaking her head ever so slightly, her eyes wide.

"I don't think we should do that, Mr Wickham, I think it would be best if we continued north."

"North? You are taking me straight to Scotland, aren't you?" Georgiana looked up at Wickham, she was scared, aye, but she was not going to be forced into anything. "How dare you have the presumption!"

"Miss Darcy, allow me to…"

At this moment, George reached into his overcoat, his eyes still locked on Fielding and pulled out his pistol, brandishing it towards the older gentleman. "Take Ross, Fielding, and leave."

"I will do nothing of the kind, Wickham. What are you planning on doing here?"

"Taking what is rightfully mine," he leered down at Georgiana, "now go or I will shoot you both and leave you dead in a ditch. Think of the face of your pretty wife when I tell how you died, how your son died crying out for her, all at the hands of a highwayman."

"She would never believe you, Wickham, you will not get away with this," Georgiana's voice was low, trying to disguise her fear.

"That's the issue, isn't it, dear G… I think you'll find that I already have."

Georgiana knew that this was a fight she would be unable to win, at least not without either servant getting hurt, and she would not allow them to sacrifice anything for her. She looked at Fielding and nodded, he shook his head, powerless to do anything, but she nodded again, trying to tell him that it was alright, that it would be alright.

"Go, man!" Wickham pointed the gun directly in Fielding's face. He took a long hard look at Miss Darcy, fearing he would never be able to remove the sight of her face from his mind. Ross, his son, was the same age and the children had played together, and now as they walked away from the carriage, stood in the middle of the empty road on this quiet, still night, he prayed that Georgiana and her brother would forgive him.

Fully alone now she was aware of her own breathing, listening out for the rumble of another traveller on the road upon whom she could call for help.

There was never any threat to the family name was there? Fitzwilliam is not in debtors' prison at all, is he?"

Georgiana didn't know what had made Wickham despise them so much, because surely this was a grandiose fabrication, put into play over the course of weeks.

"Not that I'm aware, dearest," he smiled, his face close to hers as he pulled at her dress.

"And Mrs Younge, who was so eager for me to come away with you… I suppose you tricked her too."

"Tricked her? I paid her. She has always been working firstly for me, she rates my coin above any loyalty she may have toward the Darcys.

"In your employ this whole time…" she should have realised. Foolish Georgiana, so foolish.

"Why, of course," he took a seat next to her, "now, Mrs Wickham…"

"I am not Mrs Wickham, I am Miss Darcy."

"You are mine, Georgiana. You, your thirty thousand pounds, and the look on Darcy's face when he realises that he has lost and has to welcome me to Pemberley as a brother."

"Fitzwilliam will never welcome you to Pemberley again. Even if you insist I marry you I would rather live my life alone than have you pollute the shades of my home with your lies and deception."

"Oh dear, I am so bad, aren't I? But look how eager you were to please Fitzwilliam. Look how thrilled you were to be of some use. Poor Georgiana Darcy… believing everything she is ever told."

"You were as dear to me as Fitz himself," she spat out, "I trusted you like a brother."

"Yes," he said as his hand reached up to her thigh, "and now you will love me as a wife."

Georgiana closed her eyes and focused on what she could. The feel of her stocking on her toes, the soft cotton of her scarf, the beaded tassel on the cushion next to her. She focused on anything she could, drawing pictures in her head with the textures because if she opened her eyes it would all become real.