Finding Wickham

Title: Finding Wickham
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandoms: Pride & Prejudice / Twilight Saga
Pairings: Lydia/Wickham, Bella/Owestry
Word Count: 6.5k
Rating: PG13
Warnings: elopement, seduction, gambling
Summary: Bella knows where Wickham is hiding in London.  The only problem is Darcy wants to know and she is engaged to his cousin, her wishes to render her respectable…

Finding Wickham

I.

Bella entered the tea shop at promptly eleven in the morning and heard the bell tinkle at the door.  She paused and looked about, seeing the ladies in their best dresses and the gentlemen in their cravats.  A little girl in white pantaloons and a pink dress looked up with watery blue eyes and then turned to her father excitedly.

He nodded.

The little girl got up and approached Bella, curtseying.  “Miss Swan?” she greeted.

“Miss Fitzwilliam,” she replied with her own small smile on her face.  “How pretty you look.  May I join you?”

“Oh yes, please,” Annabelle Fitzwilliam answered, offering her hand, which Bella took. 

Annabelle led Bella forward to the tea table that was set up for three.  Bella took a deep breath as Annabelle’s father, the Viscount of Owestry, stood and took her hand.  Owestry was not a tall man.  He had watery eyes like his daughter, thinning blond hair, and a blond mustache.  His fashionable clothes couldn’t help but seem slightly large on him due to his skinny frame, but Bella found herself blushing as he kissed her hand.  She had been sweet on Owestry since he had started attending a private poker game in Harley Street during the Little Season the previous year. 

“So wonderful to see you, Miss Swan,” he told her gently.

“How kind of you to invite me,” she told him honestly.  “And what a credit Miss Fitzwilliam is to you.”  She looked down at Annabelle who was still holding her right hand in her grasp.  “How old are you, Miss Fitzwilliam?”

“Seven,” she answered, taking her seat and finally releasing Bella’s hand.

Owestry offered her the third seat and Bella sat.

“Seven!” Bella exclaimed.  “Practically a young lady.  When I was seven, my father taught me how to ride a horse.”

“I can ride,” Annabelle answered proudly, “without a lead.”

“Then you are a finer horsewoman than I am,” Bella told her.

Owestry looked proudly between them.  “I should very much like to take you on a carriage ride, Miss Swan.  Perhaps we can take Annabelle as chaperone.”

Annabelle looked pleased at this.

Bella blushed at the attention.  “I am sure that can be arranged.—May I?” she indicated the tea.

“Please,” Owestry offered her.

As the lady sitting at the table, it fell to Bella to pour the tea.  She carefully picked up the teapot, that was already clearly filled with tea, and strained herself a cup.  She didn’t take it with milk, but she did put in a lump of sugar.

“Would you like cake?” Annabelle asked her sweetly.

“How kind,” Bella complimented, taking a fondant for form. 

She was well aware that their table was getting a great deal of attention from other patrons.  The widowed Viscount of Owestry and his daughter were taking tea with an unknown young lady who was dressed in mourning.  Although she was wearing gloves, a large ruby was on her left ring finger.

After taking a sip of tea, she asked Owestry carefully, “When is the Season over?”

“Not for a few months.”

That didn’t give her that much information. 

She looked at him carefully.

“Oh, forgive me, Miss Swan.  The Season breaks up in September with the Duchess of Hastings’ Ball.  I have our invitation.”

“But you wish to announce our engagement sooner?”

“Quite,” he agreed, taking out his watch from his breast pocket and checking it.  “I shall find the perfect event—How should you like to be a bridesmaid, Annabelle?”

“I shall like it most especially,” she agreed happily, looking between her father and Bella.  “I am so pleased you are named ‘Isabella.’  It is almost as if you are my mama and I was named for you.”

Bella hadn’t thought of it that way.  She reached out and stroked Annabelle’s dirty blonde hair.  “I am—” she looked for the word.  “I have never received such a beautiful compliment before.  I hope you will call me ‘Bella,’ Miss Fitzwilliam, when your father deems it appropriate.”

“Oh,” Annabelle whispered, looking confused, “should I not call you ‘mama’?”  She glanced over at her father with worry in her watery eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak, but it was Bella who responded.  “You wish to call me ‘mama’?”

“Well, yes,” Annabelle answered, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.  “You are marrying Papa.”

Bella looked over at Owestry.  “Is that the custom in England?” 

“I’m afraid it is, Miss Swan,” he answered carefully.  “I always assumed it was a peculiarity of your family that you referred to your parents as ‘Charlie’ and ‘Renee.’”

She nodded and turned back to Annabelle.  “Well, then, Miss Fitzwilliam, I suppose I must be ‘mama’ then.”  Giving her a small smile, she looked at her hopefully.

“You shall not be offended?” Annabelle asked carefully.

“No,” she promised.  “I shall not be offended.  I would not have said it if it should offend me.”

Annabelle smiled brightly, showing she had a tooth missing in the front, before going back to her tea. 

Bella looked up to Owestry in guidance, and saw he was looking at her contentedly.  She tried the fondant and found it was really quite decadent before washing it down with tea.

Having never quite taken to tea despite having lived in Regency London for nearly two years, Bella had nevertheless gotten used to it.  Despite her initial intentions, she could never quite avoid tea, even if she was spending her nights at the gambling tables.  It seemed to follow her everywhere, even back to her private rooms where her maid fixed it for her when she returned home after a long night in the gambling dens.

She and Owestry, however, had agreed upon their engagement that she would stop gambling and would come out of full mourning as soon as he announced it in The Times.  Bella had already been to the modiste and had been fitted for five day dresses and two evening dresses, all in half mourning.

Owestry had happily given up gambling.  He had only gone to the game on Harley Street in order to see Bella.  He had only attended his first game because he had gotten into a vicious fight with his father, the Earl of Matlock, about needing to remarry and produce an heir for the title.  He only had a daughter, Annabelle, from his marriage to a daughter of a duke.

Owestry had found the bride he wanted—who had a considerable fortune which made up for the peculiarities of her American origins—in the most unlikely of places.

Bella, who had never looked back after Lord Marcus had seen “perfect lines” when inspecting her in Volterra and had sent her flying into the past, had fallen in love with the awkward and terribly adorable Viscount of Owestry over cards after spending months searching for the “lines” Lord Marcus had told her about.

“Darcy,” Owestry told her carefully, “returned to London two nights past.  My man told me.  He’s sweet on the housemaid at Darcy House.”  He indicated he needed more tea and Bella poured it for him.

Bella remembered hearing of Darcy, Owestry’s cousin who was five years younger than him.  The family was waiting for him to marry for his estate, Pemberley, but he refused to attend the Season and search for a bride.

“I thought he just left for Derbyshire.”

“He did—but he returned, without Georgiana.”

“Hmm,” Bella mused.  “How odd.  I suppose I shall get to meet him before the wedding.”

Owestry looked at Annabelle a moment and then turned back to Bella.  “I suppose you might be correct.  I had worried especially as Richard is in France.”

Bella nodded.

She walked out on Owestry’s arm with Annabelle’s hand held firmly in hers. 

Owestry had quite firmly convinced her to go on a drive in Regents Park, and they climbed into the open carriage, Bella instructing her carriage driver to return home without her.

Annabelle delighted in an open carriage ride. 

Owestry insisted that Bella sit beside him so that onlookers would not take her for Annabelle’s governess, and he held her hand in his, hidden beneath the fold of her skirts.  She decidedly looked away from him, enjoying the views of the park, and when he returned her to her address in Bloomsbury, she said her goodbyes and promised to see them on Thursday.

Going inside, she took off her gloves and her maid, Charlotte, came out with the expected pot of tea.  “Did you enjoy yourself, Madam?”

“I met my future stepdaughter.”  Bella was now reaching for her bonnet.

“Is she comely?”  Charlotte had come over to take her pelisse.

“Very comely,” Bella agreed.  “I never thought to have a stepdaughter.  She’s old enough to be my sister.”

“That old?” Charlotte was now putting away Bella’s things.

“I exaggerate,” Bella sighed.  “I suppose if I were married at—fifteen—she could be my child.”  She paused and thought.  “No, I would have had to have been younger than that to have given birth to Annabelle.” 

“You are a second wife,” Charlotte soothed.

“Yes.  First in his affections, though, I think.”

“That is most fortunate.”  Charlotte poured her a cup of tea.  “You received several notes while you were out.”

“Are they on my writing desk?”

“I could fetch them.”

“No,” Bella told her.  “I will deal with them later.”  She sighed and took the tea before collapsing against the settee.  Looking around, she knew that once she was married, she would be giving up the lease of the apartment.  Bella had lived in these rooms for well over a year and a half.  She had been truly independent for the first time of her life.  She wouldn’t call herself ‘happy’ here, but certainly ‘contented.’

When she went to the letters, she shuffled through them.  Most of them were from gentlemen and the lords from the gambling den on Harley Street.  One, however, took her by surprise.  It was from a ‘Darcy.’

She took her pen knife and opened it. 

Reading the contents quickly, she saw that ‘F. Darcy’ was inquiring of her about a former gambling partner, a now ‘Lieutenant George Wickham’ whose whereabouts were of interest to the writer.

Bella had never liked George Wickham.  He was a degenerate gambler who never paid his debts.  He even suggested once that he could service her to pay off a debt of fifteen pounds.  Bella had never been so disgusted in her life. 

Picking up a piece of writing paper, she wrote a note to Owestry and enclosed the letter from ‘F. Darcy.’  If it was his cousin, he should like to know immediately and deal with it personally.  She also included a note that she had an idea where Wickham was because she unfortunately knew his habits as she had had to collect a debt from him once.

Ringing the bell, she waited for Charlotte to come.

“Carrie,” she said, holding up the note.  “I want you to take the carriage and deliver this to Matlock House, into the Viscount Owestry’s own hand.  No one else’s, especially not the Earl or the Countess.  Wait for him past dinner if you need to.  I will not fault you.”  She handed over the letter.

Charlotte looked at it carefully.  “I have only spied Lord Owestry from the window.”

“Do you not think you can recognize him?” Bella checked.  “He is wearing a dark blue cravat and a pale blue handkerchief today in a grey day suit.”

Nodding, Charlotte curtseyed and left.

Bella sighed and turned to the other letters.  It was time to deal with them.  Picking up the first, she opened it and saw it was from Lord Septimus, offering his felicitations and inquiring if the wedding would be in London during the Season.  Ah, it seemed like he wanted an invitation.  Bella took out a piece of paper from her desk and wrote his name on the top of it before setting the note aside.  She went to the next.

II.

Owestry was quite pleased with himself.  He had managed to secure the hand of Isabella Swan when Lord Septimus had assured him it was quite impossible.  She was a complete enigma.  She was tall, quiet, with alabaster skin, thin hands, dark hair and pink lips.  However, it was her eyes that had entrapped him.  Her eyes, which were an unusual violet color, held him captive when she looked at him.  When she looked away, Owestry felt as if she had taken a piece of his soul with him.

This happened every time she looked at him and it was both enchanting and devastating.  Within two moments of meeting Isabella Swan, Owestry had been helplessly in love with her.

He understood this was a common problem with the men who gambled on Harley Street.  However, inexplicably, Owestry had been able to capture Isabella’s attention and hold it, even going so far as to win her hand in marriage.  He was still unsure how it happened, but he counted himself the most fortunate of men.

Coming to London to see Isabella at Harley Street and not for the Season, Owestry was now happily engaged and ready to announce his intentions in The Times. 

He was at billiards with Lord Septimus, when he was told a ladies’ maid was there to see him and she would not go unless she personally delivered a letter.  “A ladies’ maid?” he asked, confused.

“Yes, m’lord,” the butler answered.  “Her mistress is,” and now he looked at a card in his hand, “Miss Isabella Marie Swan.”

Owestry immediately straightened and looked over at Lord Septimus who had put down his cue at Isabella’s name.

“Send her in immediately,” Owestry told him.  “Always send in Miss Swan or anyone representing her.”

“Indeed, m’lord?” the butler inquired.

“Yes!” Owestry ordered.  “Send her in!”

As soon as the butler left, Lord Septimus asked in confusion, “I thought you said you had seen Isabella this morning.  Did you not introduce her to your daughter?”

“I did,” Owestry told him.  “Annabelle was naturally delighted with her.”

“Who would not be delighted with Isabella?” Lord Septimus asked the room at large although they were the only occupants.  He leaned down and lined up a shot.  “She is positively delightful.”

Owestry gave him a sharp look, but he did not reprimand Lord Septimus.  Septi had known Isabella for longer than he had and he knew they were on comfortable terms.  She had even allowed Lord Septimus to escort her home once or twice when the gambling den had gotten particularly rowdy.

There was a knock on the door and the butler appeared, showing in a young girl who was clearly a maid.

She came, looking around, before her eyes honed in on Owestry.  She curtseyed.  “My lords, she offered.  “I was told by my mistress to put this directly in your hand, Lord Owestry.”  She held out a letter to him.

“Are you to wait for a response?”

The little maid bit her lip.  “She did not say.”

“Rodgers will take you down to the kitchen for something to drink,” Owestry offered.  “If I have a message for you, I will send for you, otherwise I will send Rodger down and tell you that you may leave.”

She bobbed a curtsey again and then left.

Owestry waited and after the little maid had gone, he opened up the letter.  Another letter was inside.  He checked Isabella’s note.  It turned out it was about a former gambling partner named Wickham that Darcy was after.  He swore.  Owestry didn’t want his family to know that Isabella had made her fortune gambling.  He was not ashamed of her, he would never be ashamed of her, but he did not want to deal with their ill opinions.  He then turned to Darcy’s letter and read it.  It confirmed what Isabella said.

“What is it?” Lord Septimus asked.

“My cousin Darcy is sniffing around Isabella.  It seems he is in search of a degenerate gambler whose debts he is trying to call in.  I remember the man.  He was my uncle’s godson.  Nothing good ever came of him.”

“I take it Isabella has information, otherwise it would not be a problem.”  Lord Septimus lined up another shot, but missed it.  “Damn!”

“My luck,” Owestry told him wryly.  “I shall write Darcy.”  He called the butler back in and sent a note to Isabella.  He would escort her to see his cousin.  She was to await word from him.  All would be well.

What he had not expected, after sending a note round to Darcy House, was for Darcy to appear halfway through dinner and demand to see him.  Owestry was alone at table so he had Darcy shown in.

“You are lucky I have not yet gone out,” Owestry told him, offering him a place.

“Thank you, I am not hungry.”  Darcy had a wild look in his eye.

Owestry regarded him carefully, but let it pass.  “You should sit at least.  Have a glass of wine.”

“Thank you,” Darcy agreed, pulling out a seat and sitting. 

A servant came forward and poured him a glass of wine.  He took a sip of it, but seemed to have no taste of it.

“I do not comprehend your letter.”

Owestry looked down at his food and put some potatoes on his fork.  “What is there not to understand?”

“You will present Miss Swan to me at the earliest possible convenience as it would not be proper for me to see her without a chaperone?  From what I gather, Miss Swan makes her living in gambling dens.  I doubt she takes her governess out with her at night.”

“It will not be announced until Friday in The Times, but Miss Swan is the future Viscountess of Owestry.”  He gave Darcy a stern look.

Darcy looked visibly shocked.

“Isabella has indicated to me that she may know where Wickham is and is willing to share that information, but I shall be present when you meet her.  I had hoped it would have been under pleasanter circumstances.”

Darcy took a deep breath.  “Putting aside the fact that you are marrying a gambling associate of George Wickham—” (Owestry gave him another firm look) “time is of the essence.”

“His debts will still be there tomorrow.”  Owestry shrugged.

“This is not about debts,” Darcy told him plainly.

“What, has he run off with Georgiana?”

“Not Georgiana—”

Silence enveloped the table.  Owestry gathered himself.  “He has eloped with a lady of good standing, I take it.”

“Yes.  However, we fear that the elopement has not actually taken place.  We suspect that they are hiding somewhere in London.”  Darcy’s usually handsome looks seemed grim. 

“Well,” Owestry decided.  “Let us send for the carriage.”

“My carriage is waiting outside.”

Owestry set aside his napkin and stood.  He allowed Darcy to precede him despite the fact that it was his own home and he acceded him in rank, and, taking his walking stick and outer coat due to the coldness of the evening, they walked outside.  Giving the direction to the carriage driver, he stepped up into the conveyance after Darcy.

“She lives in Bloomsbury?” Darcy asked carefully.

“Only until the wedding,” Owestry warned.

Darcy was much taller than Owestry and his carriage was specially made to his proportions, having a high ceiling.  Owestry felt quite dwarfed, as he always did around Darcy and, indeed, around his brother Richard who heavily resembled the Darcy family.

The ride was tense and spent in silence until Owestry broke it.

“I trust you will remain silent as to the origins of Isabella’s fortune given that she is aiding you in your search for Wickham.  I do not wish to have unnecessary conversations with my father on the subject.  You will see that she has innate breeding and qualities that are desirable in a future Countess.”

Darcy turned to look at him.  “You are bargaining with me at such a time?”

Owestry had been looking forward, but he turned and looked up at his towering cousin.  “I could have told Isabella to deny your supposition that she knew Wickham, to tell you that you were misinformed in order to protect her reputation.  I told her to do no such thing.”

Jaw clenching, Darcy nodded.  “Very well, Owestry.”

“Thank you,” Owestry murmured.

If the silence could be even worse than before, then it certainly was.

When they finally arrived, Owestry descended the carriage first, putting on his hat and looking up at the address.  He hoped Isabella would not be angry at him for invading her privacy.  He had had no time to send a note.  It was unforgivable of him.

“Let me explain to her the predicament,” he told his cousin as Darcy came level with him.  “She does not know or trust you.”

He walked up the steps to her rooms and knocked smartly with the head of his cane.  Feeling Darcy come up behind him, he nonetheless ignored him.  He could see lights somewhere inside, but it was well past eight o’clock in the evening.  After several minutes, he knocked again.  Finally, after several more minutes, the maid from earlier in the afternoon answered, clearly flustered.

At the sight of him, recognition dawned on her face.  “Lord Owestry!” she exclaimed.  “My mistress has retired with a book for the evening.”

“I deeply apologize,” he told her kindly.  “Could you tell her that I and Mr. Darcy have an immediate concern we wish to discuss with her?”

The maid looked behind her and then leaned forward against the door.  “She has retired,” she repeated.  “My mistress is wearing a kimono!”

Darcy shuffled behind him.  “What is a kimono?” he inquired.

Owestry sighed.  “You have obviously never been married,” he told his cousin over his shoulder.  To the maid, he said, “Tell Miss Swan that we will not be offended.  It is most urgent.”

Hesitating, she looked over her shoulder again, and then let them in, showing them into a comfortable though cramped sitting room.  The maid then disappeared with a candle into the back.

Darcy was looking around critically.  “She cannot be worth much,” he was now saying.

Owestry glanced at him disdainfully.  “Isabella does not spend her wealth.”

“I can see that.  However, does she have any to begin with?”

“Not that it is any of your business,” Owestry told him, “but yes, yes, she does, and it is many times over Georgiana’s fortune.”

He heard Isabella clear her throat.  He turned to see her standing in the doorway, wearing a deep blue kimono, with her glorious hair contained in a braid which fell down her back.  “If you gentlemen are quite done discussing my worth, I understood the matter was quite urgent.”

“Miss Swan,” Owestry began, coming up to her, “I deeply apologize for invading your privacy.”

“I don’t mind if the matter is indeed urgent,” she promised, coming around and sitting on the settee.  “What has Wickham done now?  I assure you, nothing will surprise me.”

“He seems,” Owestry told her carefully, “to have eloped with a young lady of substance.  However, they never made it to Gretna Green.”  He sat down on the settee next to her.

“They’re in London,” Isabella guessed.  “How long have they been missing?”

“More than a week,” Darcy told her firmly, his green eyes shining.  He was standing by the mantle, his hands behind his back in his usual manner, but his gaze was directly on Isabella instead of staring out a window, which was most unlike him.  “Time is of the essence.”

“I am assuming the young lady is already ruined,” Isabella observed carefully.  “She will have to marry him.”

“However,” Darcy told her, “the sooner the marriage can take place, the sooner respectability can be restored to her family.”

She nodded.  “I shall get dressed.  I can guess several places, but the inn keepers won’t talk to you.  They’ll talk to me.  I made them a pretty penny.”

“Isabella!” Owestry objected, reaching for her hand despite Darcy regarding Isabella carefully.

She smiled at him sweetly.  “I thought you wanted to find this young lady.”

“Darcy wishes to find this young lady—”

“Indeed,” Darcy agreed.  “It is a matter of the upmost importance.”

“You may come if you wish,” Isabella soothed, letting her thumb stroke Owestry’s hand, secretly delighting him.  “I would not deny you that, but you should be home when Annabelle wakes up.”

He looked into her beautiful eyes.  “I shall come,” he told her, not mentioning Annabelle, as he would not leave Isabella alone with Darcy, especially given how he was regarding her.  “We shall wait here while you make yourself presentable.”

She smiled at him once more and then, nodding at Darcy, she removed from the room.

Darcy breathed out, watching her leave.  “She enchanted you,” he decided, now going to the window and looking out.

“No more than she enchants any man who comes into contact with her,” Owestry defended.  “I saw how you were looking at her.”

“She is a very beautiful woman,” Darcy admitted.  “She will look a vision with a coronet on her head when she is presented to Queen Charlotte.”

“Yes,” Owestry agreed quite happily.  “I had thought of that.”

Darcy glanced over his shoulder perhaps to check that Isabella was not lingering.  “However did you convince her to marry you?”

Owestry did not answer.  He was still quite unsure himself.  It was clear that Isabella had a genuine affection for him, but he was still disbelieving that a genuine affection should have formed in the first place.

Silence descended over the cousins again as they waited for Isabella to reappear.  When she did reenter the room, she was wearing a day dress of greys and silvers.

“Do you like it?” she asked anxiously, looking down at herself and missing the way Darcy was hungrily taking her in.  “The first of the new dresses arrived.  I thought you should not like to see me still in mourning.”

“You are in mourning, Miss Swan?” Darcy asked, clearly curious, despite himself.

She looked up at him with her impenetrable violet eyes and nodded.  “My father passed and left me quite alone in the world.  I’ve been in mourning for two years now, having never come out of it.”

“You look quite splendid,” Owestry assured her, coming up to her and taking her hand.  “Greys suit you.”

Isabella blushed, a rose color tinting her cheek and neck before disappearing into her blusher.

Owestry noticed that Darcy was transfixed.

“Shall we go?” he said, glaring at his cousin.

“Yes,” Isabella agreed, “I know just the place to start.”  She looked between Owestry and Darcy and led the way out of the room, where her maid was waiting with a bonnet and pelisse, both in black.

The trio exited the small apartment, going into the night, and Darcy led them to the carriage.  “Where shall I tell my man to go?”

“You shall not like it,” Isabella warned.

Darcy’s face turned grim, but he only said, “We shall protect you, Miss Swan,” and with that, they took off for darker parts of London.

III.

Darcy had believed he was in love with Elizabeth Bennet, but that was before he had laid eyes on Isabella Swan.  Once he saw her standing in her kimono with her dark hair and her violet eyes, he began to rethink the past nine months.  He also began to reconsider his cousin Owestry, whose first wife had to be purchased for him.  If he was not mistaken, Isabella Swan was showing signs of a genuine affection for his cousin, which was baffling given his slight figure and unimpressive mien.

“How did you find me?” Wickham asked once Lydia Bennet had been bundled off to her uncle’s house in Cheapside.

“Does it matter?” Darcy asked, disdainfully looking over the wastrel his father had sired.  “The point is that I did.”

Wickham drank a glass of wine and sighed.  “I was so careful.”

“Not careful enough.”  Darcy was looking out the window into the early morning light.  The sun had not yet risen and he hoped to be home for breakfast once his carriage came back for him.  “I hope you mean to marry Miss Bennet.”

“Why would I marry her?” Wickham scoffed.  “I got what I wanted out of her.”

Darcy sighed.  This was going to be more difficult than he had originally anticipated.  “She is a gentleman’s daughter.”

“A penniless gentleman.”

“If you wanted a fortune, you should not have run off with Lydia Bennet,” Darcy pointed out, turning away from the window. 

“Well, I only ran off with her as far as London.”

“Wickham,” Darcy demanded.  “You were raised better than this.  You can trifle with innkeepers’ daughters but not with women such as Lydia Bennet.  There are consequences to your actions.”

George looked at him with perilous green eyes and a face so like his it always astonished Darcy.  “What will you give me for it?”

“You expect me to supply a dowry when that is her father’s duty?” Darcy asked.  He had hoped it would not come to this, but he could not say he was surprised.  “For a girl who is of no relation to me?”

“She is a relation of Elizabeth Bennet,” Wickham pointed out slyly.

Darcy did not show any visible sign that he had heard him.  It had been Elizabeth’s distress that had sent him immediately to London.  It had been Elizabeth’s reputation that had caused him to seek out Wickham.  However, it had also been his damned relationship to the man which had caused a sense of duty, however misguided, to guide Darcy’s actions.  Wickham had unfortunately always been the albatross around his neck, and he was suffering for it once again.

“You will marry Lydia Bennet as soon as a special license can be had,” Darcy demanded, “otherwise I will call in all your debts in Derbyshire and I will buy all your debts in Hertfordshire and, by God, Wickham, I will send you to debtor’s prison this time.”

Wickham’s usually handsome face paled considerably.  “You would not do that,” he insisted, “not to me of all people.”

“And who are?” Darcy asked.  “Really, who are you?”

Wickham’s mouth hung open and he did not have a response.  Not until he said, “I was your father’s favorite.”

“Father is not here,” Darcy reminded him.  “I am.”

Wickham looked shocked.

“Are we in agreement?”

“I will not—”

“Are we in agreement?” Darcy repeated.  “You will marry Miss Bennet and you will marry her this week—”

“I cannot go back to the regiment.  Colonel Forster will surely throw me out.”

Darcy hesitated.  “Fine.  I will purchase your place in a regiment up north so you have an income for your new wife—but that is all, Wickham.” 

Wickham sank back in his chair.  “Fine, fine.  I will marry the girl.”

“Good.”  Darcy turned to look back out the window.  “Then it is decided.  I will return after lunch to tell you when the church has been settled.”

“Stop looking out the window,” Wickham wheedled.  “Have a drink.”

“I am awaiting my carriage,” Darcy told him.  “I sent Miss Bennet to her uncle’s.”

“Alone?” Wickham wondered.

Darcy did not answer him.  He waited at the window for a full quarter of an hour, listening to Wickham whine about his misfortunes before the carriage finally pulled up.  Leaving the room without a backward glance, he came down the stairs and paid the innkeeper for Wickham’s upkeep before exiting the disreputable establishment.

“I do not like it,” Owestry was saying as Darcy entered the carriage after giving directions to Darcy House.  He banged on the top to signal that they should leave.  “You should never even know of such places, Miss Swan.”

“I do not need to frequent such places anymore,” she promised him, not even wasting a glance on Darcy.  “But when I first came to London I had no friends and no protector.  I had to enter whatever games would take me.”

Owestry did not seem best pleased, but seemed to accept the answer.  Turning to Darcy, he asked, “Is everything settled?”

“Wickham has agreed to marry the girl.”

“That is fortunate,” Owestry agreed.  “I told Mr. Gardiner you would call on him later today.”  He shared a glance with his fiancée.  “I am afraid I did not give our names as I did not want to be embroiled in a scandal.  I also made Isabella wait in the carriage for nigh on half an hour while I dealt with the man.”

Isabella blushed.  “Twas nothing,” she assured Mr. Darcy.

He settled back into the carriage and looked at the lovers.  They did not look well together.  While they were both elegantly dressed, he was thin and soft looking, while she was certainly a dark beauty.  How did a man like Owestry attract a woman like Isabella Swan, unless it was his moneys and his title?

“When is the wedding?” he asked.

“We had not thought,” Isabella demurred.

“I had hoped within the month, before the end of the Season.”  This was now Owestry.  “I do not wish to overwhelm Miss Swan with social engagements but I wish her to attend the Duchess of Hastings’ Ball at the end of September.”

Darcy nodded.  It was July now.  If they were married within the month, they would be married by mid August and then could have a honeymoon before returning to London Society.

The thought sat ill with him.

It was Isabella who first noticed they were not headed to Bloomsbury.

“I thought we could breakfast at Darcy House.  It has been a long night.  We can seek adequate refreshment there before I send you each on your way.”

“Darcy—” Owestry began.

“Allow me hospitality,” Darcy argued, putting up his hand.  He took in Isabella who was regarding him silently.  “I have the best servants in London.”

Owestry scoffed, but didn’t put up any more protest. 

The carriage made its way into the better parts of London and Darcy did his best not to stare at Isabella Swan.  When they came to Hanover Square, the carriage rolled up to Darcy House and Darcy exited first, taking the privilege of handing Isabella out.

Her hand was light in his, covered in fingerless gloves, a large ruby ring on her left ring finger. 

She thanked him as she released him, looking up at the house. 

“I hope you approve, Miss Swan.”

She looked up at him in confusion.  “How can I do anything but approve, Mr. Darcy?” she asked as Owestry now stepped out of the carriage.  Turning to him with a smile, she waited until he offered his arm, and waited for him to escort her inside Darcy House.

Darcy should have expected it, but he had wanted to have the privilege himself.

Grimly setting his jaw, he led the way.

IV.

It was two days after Wickham’s wedding, Bella had had a note from Darcy, when the man appeared on her doorstep.  She was bewildered.  “I had thought you would be in Derbyshire,” she admitted, carefully letting him in.  “You also know that Owestry wishes to be my chaperone.”

“He could not chaperone for this,” Darcy admitted, his hat and walking stick having been taken by her maid.

“For what?” Bella inquired before he walked up to her and kissed her.

Bella was stunned into stillness.  She hadn’t been kissed since Edward had kissed her all those years ago back in Forks.  Not even Owestry had tried to kiss her even though they were engaged to be married.  The kiss was passionate although she stood unmoving in his arms and when it ended, she carefully stepped away from him.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” she whispered, moving toward the mantle.

“Miss Swan, you must know how much I admire and lo—”

“Don’t finish that sentence!” she commanded, and the harshness in her voice silenced him.  She gripped the mantle and took a deep breath, collecting herself.  “This is what we shall do.  You shall leave here and we shall forget this ever happened.  I will tell Owestry at some point before the wedding when you are safely up in Derbyshire and he cannot call you out.”

“Owestry would never—”

She turned from the mantle with her eyes blazing.  “You do not think he would call you out for kissing me?  Are you blind?”

Darcy looked unruffled.  “He would never land a shot on me.  He knows I could easily kill him.”

“You would kill your own cousin over this?” Bella wondered, surprised at Darcy’s lack of honor.  “Over a woman who gambles for a living?”

“Miss Swan, I would move mountains—”

She put up her hand and Darcy fortunately fell silent.  “I am in love with Owestry,” she told him firmly.

“That is what confuses me.  No woman should be able to find Owestry lovable.”

Her violet eyes shone daggers at him.  “This woman does.  He is kind hearted and sweet and he would never break my heart.”

Darcy looked put out.  “I can be kind, Miss Swan—”

She laughed.  “You could never be kind even if you changed your entire personality, Mr. Darcy.  I am also quite certain you break hearts every day without a thought to the ladies involved.”  She closed her eyes and turned back to the mantle, grasping it for support.  “Please leave my house and never come back.”

“I can give you—”

“What can you give me that Owestry cannot give me?”  She was genuinely curious.

“Pemberley is a fine estate—”

“Matlock is a fine estate—”

“The Earl still lives.  It will not be yours and you will still have the Countess as a burden for many decades to come.”

“Clearly family means nothing to you,” Bella decided, liking this man less and less the more he spoke to her.  “I have asked you to leave once.  I will not ask again.”

“Miss Swan—”

“Leave my house or must I go instead?”  He was looming in front of her, tall and imposing, and she felt trapped in her own Drawing Room.

He must have seen something in her expression because he instantly stepped away from her.  “I will not drive Miss Swan from her own Drawing Room,” he declared.  “I am a gentleman.”  He bowed to her and retreated to the door.  Holding it open for a long second, he looked at her cowering at the mantle but left.

Bella sighed, sinking to her feet, refusing to cry.

Charlotte found her that way ten minutes later.

V.

Georgiana wrote from Town that the new Viscountess of Owestry had been a triumph at the Duchess of Hastings’ ball.  Darcy had no doubt of it.  Isabella Swan had a poise about her that was rarely even seen in society women.

He was at the Bennets, taking coffee, and Elizabeth was catching glances at him.  He could not help but compare her disfavorably to Bella.  Her eyes did not spark the same way.  Her hair was lackluster.  Her pert opinions now jarred him.  He wondered if she only liked him now as she had seen Pemberley.

Looking over at Bingley and Jane, Darcy saw that they were speaking.  At least they were happy.

He took another sip of his coffee and looked out the window at the setting sun.

The End.