Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Frerichs

Cross-posted on elizabethfrerichs dot com and wattpad

Day 28

Darcy glared at Wickham as they were introduced, wishing that his stare could burn a hole through the man's head. Nothing he had tried had worked! And he had recalled that by tomorrow Wickham would have completed the process of joining the militia and was therefore even less likely to accept a duel. After all, if his commanding officer found out . . . .

Blast it all! Everything Darcy could think of to do would reflect poorly on Bingley and Miss Engel had continued to absent herself. He could not simply kill the man in broad daylight.

Or could he?

Not in broad daylight, but if he followed Wickham to somewhere less public . . . . . He would have time to follow the man and devise the best method and location. He stared at Wickham, trying to decide if he could actually go through with it. His blood boiled looking at him. And yes, he had imagined landing a facer on Wickham more times than he could count . . . and perhaps even beating the man to a pulp.

But to kill him . . . .

He was fine with Fitzwilliam killing Wickham. That was a change since the repetitions had begun. Always before, he had desired to simply have the man out of his life. There was no reason to persecute Wickham if he could be free.

But if he would never be free of Wickham, if the man was going to continue pursuing Georgiana no matter what Darcy tried.

Was it still murder if he was protecting Georgiana?

How many times had he wished to hurt Wickham the way that Wickham had hurt him and hurt Georgiana, to see Wickham suffer, to somehow fix the pain he had caused them?

For a moment he indulged the thought, allowed himself to picture Wickham broken and bleeding, begging for help. The thought soured Darcy's stomach, nearly making him gag.

No, he could not kill Wickham. At least not yet. If he was left in these repetitions much longer, he might get desperate enough to do so. For now though, he would not cross that line. And so he glared daggers at Wickham until Miss Engel appeared. She walked directly behind the group and gestured for Darcy to join her.

Darcy excused himself at once, desperate to ensure that she did not disappear before he could ask for further clarification and assistance.

"Miss Engel, I have tried to fulfil the terms of your instruction—I have tried to find the clues, to prevent Wickham from becoming part of my family. He is—he is intractable."

"Why do you believe he is intractable?" the old woman asked, her expression stern.

Darcy blinked at her. "I have tried several times to speak to him. I have attempted to appeal to his love for my father, to threaten him to leave Georgiana alone both with debtor's prison and with Fitzwilliam."

"And you were just contemplating killing him," Miss Engel said mournfully. "So quick to snuff out a light . . . so quick to turn to the darkness inside you."

"I—It would be to protect Georgiana."

She shook her head. "You are tied to Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy, by your own doing, and you cannot remedy darkness with more darkness."

"By my own doing? What does that mean?"

She held his gaze for a long moment, her eyes somehow brighter and wiser than any he had ever seen. "I cannot tell you, but you possess all the information you need to set yourself free from Mr. Wickham."

Darcy suppressed a huff of frustration. The one person who had information was choosing to withhold it! "Then what can you tell me?" he asked, attempting to keep his tone even.

"You are trying to change the wrong people." She gave him a kind smile. "I would not have argued for this opportunity if I did not believe that you are capable of taking advantage of it."

Darcy nearly growled. "I do not understand."

She patted his arm. "You will. Now, I must be off."

"Wait! I cannot do this alone. I am—" Loneliness gnawed at him like a determined badger. Speaking to her was frustrating, but at least she was a connection. In a way, everyone around him had become like dolls, moving through their days without any real substance behind them. How long would Miss Engel absent herself this time?

"Oh," she said with a little catch in her voice. "You are so alone. I had not realised—well, they said you would be, but I did not understand." She studied the ground, her gnarled hands clasping and unclasping. "It is risky. But—" She looked up at him. "Your actions will have far more consequences than you can understand now if I provide someone to assist you."

"Why cannot you help me?" Darcy asked, attempting to maintain his dignity. He had not realised how panicked the thought of being alone for another few Tuesdays would leave him.

She shook her head. "I have already done all I can. I—" Her face took on a determined cast, and she nodded. "Yes, I will."

"Will what?"

"Never you mind, dearie." She smiled up at him. "Do not lose hope, Mr. Darcy. Though you stand to lose much, you also stand to gain much. I will return as soon as I can—possibly in a few days."

"But Miss Engel—"

The woman merely patted his arm again and then, before he could open his mouth and spit out one of the many questions clogging his throat, she was gone, vanished entirely. And Darcy was left standing next to the bench, wondering what in the world she had meant.

A/N: And if you can't guess what help Miss Engel is sending—well, I would be shocked, but tomorrow's chapter should clarify if you need it.

Thanks for the well-wishes! I'm sooooooo tired of being sick. It was 3 weeks on Tuesday. I keep reminding myself that it can't last forever, but yeah... 3 weeks of dragging feels like an eternity.