The House on Half Moon Street
"I merely have the influenza or something of the sort," Lydia protested. She had, as usual, felt wretched all morning but was now feeling better.
"Lydia, my dear," Madeline Gardiner said, striving to stay calm in the face of her niece's utter stupidity. "You have been feeling sick in the morning for weeks now, and only in the morning. That is not common for influenza. Furthermore, your courses are weeks late. Doctor Nash is quite certain…"
"I cannot be with child because I am not yet seventeen," Lydia said doggedly. "Wickham assured me that it is impossible, and he would not lie to me."
Lady Appleby and Mrs. Gardiner exchanged frustrated looks, and Phoebe Adler, who had been sitting quietly near the fire, said, "King Henry the VII was born to Lady Margaret Beaufort when she was only thirteen years of age."
The two older ladies and Lydia all turned in astonishment, and Mrs. Gardiner exclaimed, "That is far too young!"
"I entirely agree, and Lady Beaufort never had another child after her only son was born. But she was far younger than you are now, Miss Lydia."
For the first time, Lydia looked a trifle uncertain. "Truly, Miss Adler?"
"Truly," Phoebe replied. "You can read about it in the history books."
Lydia turned startled eyes on her aunt and, after a full minute of cogitation, said, "You genuinely think that I might be with child, Aunt?"
Madeline Gardiner suppressed a groan. Given that Lydia was surrounded by tenant families, many of whom wed and bore children early, it was incredible that she was stupid enough to believe Wickham when he told her that she was incapable of falling pregnant at sixteen. And now the story of a long dead king was convincing her youngest niece when a reliable doctor had not?
"Yes, dear, I am quite certain that you are pregnant," she said gravely. "The fatigue, the sickness, the lack of menses, and you have been intimate with Mr. Wickham."
Lydia, for one, brief, halcyon moment, actually looked appropriately shocked and distressed, but then, to the disbelief of the other women present, allowed a small smile to form on her lips.
"It is quite all right," she remarked, leaning luxuriously against her cushioned chair. "Wickham loves me and has promised to marry me. Even if I am pregnant, I am certain he will be very pleased when I present him with a son."
/
The Office
A Few Hours Later
Bennet poured brandy for his two guests and himself, handed over the glasses to Richard and Darcy, and said grimly, "My youngest is a complete dunce. She insists that Wickham will welcome her and the pregnancy with enthusiasm."
"In truth, he probably would be pleased, if we were playing by the rules," Richard said with an unpleasant chuckle. "Wickham always has an eye for money, and he will see bank drafts when he learns of Miss Lydia's … condition. He will assume that he can blackmail Miss Elizabeth for as much as he wishes in order to protect your family's reputation."
Bennet clenched his teeth and turned toward the fire, the glass in his hand shaking slightly. "If this does not work, Elizabeth may well…"
He trailed off and threw the brandy down his throat, which provoked a coughing fit.
"Do not worry, sir," Darcy said coldly. "I promise you that Wickham will not extract so much as a pound from your daughter."
Bennet stared at him for a full minute and then set his glass down with a thump. "Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your assistance. You owe us nothing at all, and you have been incredibly generous and helpful in this matter."
"I love Miss Bennet," Richard said flatly. "I will do anything to protect her and her family from scandal."
Darcy was tempted to tell Mr. Bennet the truth – that he was in love with the second Miss Bennet, but that would not be fair to Elizabeth. He did not wish her to feel obligated toward him in any way, and he would not want her to be uncomfortable in his presence.
"As for me," he said instead, "In addition to my desire to do what is right, I am eager to deal with my father's godson once and for all. I have been far too lenient with him in the past, stayed by my father's affection for the man, but that grace ends now. It is time for retribution."
Mr. Bennet, thinking of the sword of Damocles hanging over his family's head, could not but agree.
/
Seymour and Coxe, Solicitors
15 Lombard Street
The Next Afternoon
"This way, Mr. Wickham," the clerk said. Wickham stood up from his chair and followed the young man eagerly. He could hardly wait to discover how much money he would be receiving from the unknown lady who had found him charming enough to remember him in her will.
Likely it was only fifty pounds, maybe even one hundred. But would it not be wonderful if it was a truly significant quantity? He had received one thousand pounds from the estate of his godfather, George Darcy, and then had managed to claim an additional three thousand pounds from Fitzwilliam Darcy in exchange for giving up the Kympton living. That had been a delightful two years, until bad luck and too much high living had wiped it all out.
"In here, sir," the clerk said, and gestured toward an open door.
Wickham smiled, stepped into the room, and came to a sudden halt at the sight of the gentleman waiting for him.
"Mr. Bennet!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"An excellent question, Mr. Wickham," Bennet said stiffly. "May I please introduce Mr. Seymour, my solicitor?"
Wickham glowered at the solicitor, a stout, middle aged man dressed soberly in black, who was seated behind a large wooden desk, upon which were a pile of documents. The rest of the room was furnished with several comfortable chairs, another small desk in one corner, and a large, well-filled bookshelf. A side door, which was partially open, led into what was apparently some sort of storage room given the presence of boxes on the floor.
"What of my bequest, Mr. Seymour?" he demanded suspiciously.
"I fear that there is no bequest, Mr. Wickham," Bennet said. "The letter was a stratagem to entice you here."
Wickham swallowed hard and cast a nervous glance toward the door. "Why would you do such a thing? And how did you know when I would arrive here from Hertfordshire?"
Bennet sighed, suddenly looking older, and said, "We had someone following you but please, let us sit down."
Wickham chose the chair nearest the door and sat down, and Mr. Bennet lowered himself onto the chair across from him.
"Mr. Wickham, I believe the best approach is to be entirely honest with you. I am aware that you … deflowered my youngest daughter some weeks ago. She is now pregnant with your child, and I expect you to marry her."
Wickham blinked at Bennet in amazement, which, after a minute of cogitation, shifted into ardent satisfaction. Ordinarily, such a situation would be awkward, but given that Miss Elizabeth was rich, well, he would garner far more than one thousand pounds out of the upcoming negotiations.
And oh, how glorious it would be to demand a great deal of money from Elizabeth Bennet, who had brusquely refused his offer of marriage before hurrying to warn Miss Mary King!
"What a delightful surprise," Wickham said with a bright smile. "Dear Lydia! Such a charming girl, and so handsome! I do hope she is well?"
"She is well enough," Bennet grunted, "but the sooner you marry her, the better. There have been no rumors of her … condition, as of yet, but the news will come out soon, and you must be married before then."
"Of course we must," Wickham said, leaning back and crossing his legs. "Now you must be aware that I have no income to support a wife."
Bennet blew out a breath and said, "Yes, I am aware. Mr. Seymour, would you kindly give the lieutenant the document?"
Seymour stood up, plucked a paper from the gleaming surface of his desk, walked over to Wickham, handed it to him, and then returned to his chair, all without so much as speaking a word.
Wickham looked down at the paper with anticipation, which quickly transformed into irritation.
"Is this some kind of joke, Mr. Bennet?" he asked, lifting his face to scowl at the gentleman in question.
Bennet looked startled at this accusation and said, "Not at all, sir! I am not a wealthy man, and seven thousand pounds is very reasonable. It will provide you and Lydia nearly three hundred pounds a year to live on. Though that will not allow you to live lavishly, it will provide for a roof over your head and food on your table."
Wickham shook his head, having regained his calm. "Three hundred pounds a year is far too little, sir. Now, and while I am well aware that you do not have vast sums at your disposal, your second daughter does."
Bennet clenched his teeth and ground out, "So that is what this is, eh? You are trying to blackmail Elizabeth into giving you a fortune?"
"Blackmail is such an ugly word," Wickham replied, allowing himself to smile impudently at the man who would soon be his father in law. The Bennets had no other option, of course, but to pay him off. If Lydia did not marry him, and soon, the family would be ruined.
Bennet looked at the floor for a long minute and then lifted his head to gaze directly into Wickham's eyes. "Please, I beg of you, do not do this! My Lydia is but a child, and I can only presume that you genuinely care for her. This is your baby she is carrying…"
"Let me interrupt you now," Wickham interposed, leaning forward to glare into the older man's eyes. "I do not care a whit either about Lydia or the brat. She was a pleasant companion in bed, if you could call the mattress in that old hunting lodge a bed, and I took great pleasure in relieving her of her virtue after Miss Elizabeth refused my offer so rudely. But I have no intention…"
"You monster!" screamed Lydia Bennet, suddenly erupting from the adjacent storage room. "You said you loved me! You said you wished for nothing more … how dare you!"
Wickham was entirely taken aback by this sudden attack and was only partially on his feet when Lydia reached out and slashed her sharp fingernails down his cheek. He bellowed in pain and jerked away, only to fall backwards, prompting his chair to tip.
He hit the ground with a grunt and then watched in wonder as Elizabeth Bennet and an unfamiliar older woman hurried out of the same office and put their arms around Lydia, who was still screaming and shrieking at him.
"Come along, Lydia, come along," Elizabeth said, dragging Lydia toward the exit door. "Come along, dear sister."
Wickham rolled over awkwardly, struggled to his feet, and then dusted his pant legs, which were a trifle dirty from the floor. He pulled out a handkerchief a moment later and applied it to his face; to his disgust, the white cloth came back slightly stained red. Lydia Bennet's fingernails had drawn blood.
He grimaced, carefully set his chair back up, sat down, and glowered at Mr. Bennet, who was watching him with narrowed eyes.
"I was merely going to insist on thirty thousand pounds, Mr. Bennet, but now it will be forty thousand pounds to marry your termagant of a daughter," Wickham said angrily.
"On the contrary, Wickham," an unpleasantly familiar voice said, "You will receive nothing."
The steward's son turned toward the door, and his mouth fell open unbecomingly. "Darcy, Fitzwilliam! What are you doing here?"
"We are dealing with you, as we should have long ago," Darcy said icily, and gestured behind him. "Please come in, sirs."
Wickham watched in alarm, which gave way to dread, as a tall, robust man stepped into the room, dressed severely in black, with two stout underlings at his heels.
Colonel Fitzwilliam took a step forward and said, "Bailiff, this is George Wickham. Please arrest him for indebtedness."
The man took a long stride forward and reached out to take Wickham's arm in his own strong hand.
"Come with me, sir," he said stolidly.
Wickham tried, and failed, to pull away, and he turned a horrified look on Bennet, who was watching with grim satisfaction.
"Mr. Bennet, what are you doing? What about Lydia?"
"Lydia is no longer your concern, Mr. Wickham. Thank you for your outburst; you have confirmed our belief that you are a fool. As we intended, Lydia is now fully aware that you care nothing for her and were only wishful of satisfying your own desires and extracting money from Elizabeth."
The bailiff gave Wickham a harsh tug toward the door, and the former steward's son cried out, "I will ruin your family's good name if you allow this, Bennet!"
"Please allow me a moment with the prisoner," Darcy said to the law officer, who nodded. The master of Pemberley took a few steps closer to peer into Wickham's face, which was now pale and sweaty.
"Wickham, I have paid hundreds of pounds of your debts here in Town and in Derbyshire in the last years, and I have the receipts for all those debts. The bailiff will conduct to a nearby jail, and then, when it is obvious that you are unable to repay the debt, you will be confined at Marshalsea. If you…"
"For God's sake, Darcy!" Wickham interrupted, reaching out to grasp his enemy's coat with frantic fingers. "You cannot do this! Your father loved me! Do not throw me into that hellhole!"
"Do not speak to me of my father," Darcy hissed, stepping closer to tower over the militia officer. "He never knew you for what you are – a thief, a liar, a debaucher, and a blackmailer! You showed by your very words that you care nothing for the girl you seduced, or for her innocent family, but only for your own greedy, wanton desires. It ends now! And Wickham, I will be paying a reasonable sum to the jailers of Marshalsea so that you are not cast into the common area. But if I ever so much as hear a whiff of scandal surrounding the Bennets, or the Darcys, that I can trace back to you, I will call on the jailers, and you will be thrown into the common cells, where men sleep on dirty straw, and the rats gnaw on men's toes. Do I make myself entirely clear?"
Wickham, who had entered this room with hope, which had transformed into exultation, only to swiftly turn into absolute disaster, could only stare up into Darcy's face. Surely this was but a nightmare? It could not truly be happening?
"Take him away," Darcy ordered and turned his back as the bailiff began tugging Wickham toward the door.
Bennet watched with vicious pleasure as Wickham was hauled out of the room, protesting, before saying, "Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, I am enormously grateful for your assistance. I still need to deal with my youngest daughter's crisis, but at least Wickham is safely put away where his wagging tongue will not cause problems."
"It was our genuine pleasure, Mr. Bennet," the colonel stated. "We are both relieved to be finished with Wickham. And as for your youngest daughter, we have some ideas in that area as well. "
"Indeed?"
"Yes," Darcy said. "One option is to send her north to Scotland, perhaps, where she can live in privacy until the baby is born. Another is to find her a husband among the Regulars. I understand that she is fond of military men, and there are several young officers who would be pleased to wed a handsome gentleman's daughter with a dowry of seven thousand pounds."
"Even with a child on the way?" Bennet asked skeptically.
"Even with a child on the way," the colonel assured him.
Bennet sighed and, to his amazement, felt tears prick his eyes. He knew who he was; selfish, cynical, stubborn and apathetic. It was hard to fathom that two such fine men were willing to work hard to save his family's reputation.
But then again, it was not he who inspired such devotion, but his two elder daughters. Colonel Fitzwilliam's attraction to Jane was openly acknowledged, and Mr. Darcy was, unless Bennet was entirely mistaken, completely enamored with Elizabeth.
/
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Author Note: Two chapters today, so keep reading and enjoy! :-)