Page 82 of Shipwrecked with Mr Darcy

“And if I choose not to leave?” Wickham asked softly.

“Then I will ruin you. I hold a sworn letter from Mrs Younge detailing your vicious scheme at Ramsgate regarding my sister. If you remain in Hertfordshire, or if you ever approach any member of my family or my wife's family, I will publish it.”

A heavy, dangerous silence fell between them.

“That is blackmail,” Wickham said, his eyes darkening.

“It is justice,” Darcy replied. “You attempted to elope with a girl of fifteen. You escaped the consequences then, but if you defy me now, I will see you utterly destroyed.”

“Your sister's reputation would suffer.”

“My sister's reputation is my concern,” Darcy countered coldly. “The letter describes your villainy, not hers. You will never be received or employed again. You will be universally despised.”

Wickham stared at him, all pleasantness gone. What remained was the selfish, ruthless face Darcy had known since boyhood—a man who took whatever he could and felt no remorse.

“How much?” Wickham demanded quietly.

“A commission in the regulars, purchased in your name. It will be effective upon your immediate departure from Hertfordshire. It is far more than you deserve. Take it and leave, or face the letter.”

“You have planned this carefully.”

“I have,” Darcy said simply.

Wickham fell quiet, rapidly calculating his self-interest. A commission offered money and escape; the letter offered utter ruin.

“When?” Wickham asked tightly.

“Tomorrow. Kensington will have the paperwork at the inn by noon. You will sign it, and you will leave Hertfordshire by the following morning. You will not return, nor will you ever contact the Bennet or Darcy families again. The terms are final.”

“They always are, with you,” Wickham sneered.

“Yes.”

Darcy turned and walked down the stairs without looking back. The brutal conversation was finished. He felt the cold, hard satisfaction of a dangerous threat permanently removed.

He had wanted to break the face of the man who had tried to ruin Georgiana and brought such distress to Elizabeth. But the island had taught him restraint. He had extracted Wickham from their lives without a single raised voice.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh arrived on Saturday. Her enormous carriage, drawn by four massive black horses and attended by servants in grand livery, swept up to Longbourn with terrifying speed. Her fury was visible through the glass before the carriage door even opened.

Darcy was in the garden when the thunderous knock struck the door. The sheer violence of the sound communicated Lady Catherine's outrage.

Mrs Hill opened the door, and Lady Catherine swept in. Elizabeth stood to meet her. Darcy remained in the garden, just outside the open window. Elizabeth had expressly asked him not to intervene, facing the confrontation with unwavering calm.

“You must not intervene, Fitzwilliam,” she had told him that morning. “She is coming to demand answers from the woman who dared marry her nephew, and I will be the one to answer her.”

“She is my aunt, Elizabeth. It is my duty to protect you from her insults.”

“I survived a shipwreck,” she had said, touching his face gently. “I am not afraid of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

He had reluctantly conceded. His every instinct was to stand between Elizabeth and any threat, but he respected her fierce independence.

Through the window, he heard Lady Catherine's shrill, commanding voice delivering furious pronouncements.

“—married without my knowledge, without my consent, without the slightest regard for the honour of my family!”

Then came Elizabeth's voice. It was lower and perfectly steady. Darcy could not hear every word, but the measured, unhurried cadence was a formidable power of its own.

Lady Catherine's voice rose sharply. “—compromised, ruined, the scandalous talk of every drawing room in London!”