Page 79 of To Win Her Affections

When Miss Lydia opened her mouth, Mr. Bennet leaned in close. “Not another word, Lydia! Be silent while we deal with this cur.”

By this time, Wickham was in Thompson and Fitzwilliam’s control, and though he appeared none the worse for wear after his encounter with the door, then the floor, he looked about himself sullenly, but with no true fear. Now that they had Miss Lydia, it was clear that Wickham thought they would go—it did not seem to occur to him that he was absent from his regiment without leave—and that a colonel of the regulars stood before him.

“Well, Wickham?” demanded Fitzwilliam. “What have you to say for yourself?”

“Nothing,” retorted Wickham, falling back on bravado. “You have Miss Lydia—given Mr. Bennet’s presence, I must assume you came to retrieve her. Well, now you have her, so you may take her and go.”

“But Wicky, we are supposed to be married!” exclaimed Miss Lydia.

“Not if I have anything to say on the matter,” interrupted Mr. Bennet. “No, Lydia. You are fifteen years old and still under my authority. I shall not consent to your marrying this man.”

“But Papa—!” exclaimed she.

Mr. Bennet was implacable. “No, Lydia, for once in your life you will be silent and listen to me. You have thrown yourself away on this unworthy cur, yet you do not seem to understand the predicament in which you have placed yourself.”

The girl pouted, but Darcy glanced back and forth between Wickham and Miss Lydia, and he had an idea. Miss Lydia did not seem capable of understanding the truth of the situation—she needed proof of Wickham’s conduct. There was a way for her to get that.

“Mr. Bennet,” said Darcy, “why do you not take Miss Lydia into the other room? I believe we must negotiate with Wickham here—that is not something a young girl on the cusp of marriage needs to hear.”

While Mr. Bennet fixed him with a sharp glare, Darcy only returned his gaze impassively. An intelligent man, Mr. Bennet seemed to understand something of what Darcy was planning, as he nodded and turned to his daughter.

“Come, Lydia,” said he, directing her to the door she had come through moments before. “Darcy is right. This is better handled without our presence.”

Miss Lydia offered a beatific smile, then turned to Wickham.

“When I return, perhaps our betrothal will be settled. I cannot wait!”

Wickham’s sickly smile suggested he did not agree with her, but he did not protest. When Mr. Bennet led his daughter from the room, Darcy turned back to the man who had plagued him since he was a boy. As was his wont, Wickham affected more confidence than he felt. Darcy allowed himself a cold smile. Wickham was not about to escape this time.

“Well, Wickham,” said Darcy, “it appears you have stepped in it this time.”

“What is it to you?” demanded Wickham. “I cannot imagine what you have to do with the Bennets, of all people. Do you not know how much they detest you?”

“Watch your tongue,” snapped Thompson, cuffing Wickham. “Don’t talk back to your betters.”

“They are friends, are they not?” asked Fitzwilliam agreeably. “Why, I met Miss Elizabeth in Kent in the spring—delightful woman, indeed. Though my acquaintance with her relations is of a newer variety, I am already disposed to approve of them.”

“Do you mean to make her your mistress?” asked Wickham in a tone designed to offend. “Excellent choice, Fitzwilliam—Miss Elizabeth is delectable.”

This time Thompson’s blow was harder, snapping Wickham’s head back and dazing him for a moment. “You’d best watch yourself, Wickham. I’m happy to keep slapping you all day if you mean to keep insulting the miss.”

“No, Wickham,” said Fitzwilliam, enjoying the sight of Wickham trying to focus again, “I am not you. Miss Elizabeth is too fine a woman to consider in that way, and her sister is too fine for you to treat as you have.”

It was an advantage, Darcy realized. Wickham knew nothing of Darcy’s interest in Miss Elizabeth, and might have scoffed at the notion, given his estimation of Darcy’s character. It was an advantage Darcy meant to exploit.

“Fitzwilliam is correct, Wickham,” said Darcy. “The Bennets are Bingley’s neighbors and well known to me. Of course, I stepped forward to assist when I heard of your misbehavior.”

“That is rich, Darcy,” scoffed Wickham, “for I have it on good authority the family considers you proud and disagreeable. Miss Elizabeth cannot stand the sight of you.”

Wickham cringed and closed his mouth when Thompson raised his hand, but his glare of defiance did not alter.

“It appears you are not familiar with recent events,” replied Darcy. “Miss Elizabeth and I came to a better understanding while we were in Kent.”

It was not the absolute truth, but Wickham did not know that. Something about Darcy’s claim appeared to startle him, for he stared at Darcy as if something had occurred to him. Darcy did not know what he was thinking, and if he was truthful, he did not concern himself much.

“I must own that I am curious, Wickham,” continued Darcy, speaking before Wickham could spew more of his poison. “The notion of you fleeing a situation that became untenable is not unusual—I have seen its like so often that I can predict the exact sequence of events. What I cannot comprehend is why you agreed to take Miss Lydia with you.”

“Why not?” asked Wickham with a shrug. “Company is always welcome.”