“Indeed, I would think you might consider the wisdom in securing me another post. But I will accept a letter as just payment.”

Darcy was flabbergasted. But he was also irritated and perversely curious. “Please, do enlighten me as to why I should deem such absurdity ‘wisdom’ on my part.”

She took a step nearer the desk, the whiteness of her knuckles as they gripped the metal and the ridges of her compressed lips the only obvious indications that she was not as assured as her words intended.

“Mr. Darcy, I know you are a gentleman whose reputation for propriety is of the highest importance. Positive regard amongst Society is valued by you. I would never wish to see your excellent name sullied even further than it already has been.”

Darcy’s face was impassive, his hands resting on the polished surface of the desk with body erect in his chair. He stared at her calmly and in silence, finally replying dispassionately, “I shall ignore the inference that my ‘name’ has in some manner been sullied, at least in your opinion. Let us proceed to the insinuation that I can in some way be further besmirched. I am truly curious as to what you refer.”

She twitched, his relaxed query unnerving her. “People love to talk, Mr. Darcy, even if the facts are erroneous. Gossip can lead to scandal.”

His eyes, those piercing eyes of glacial blue, bore unwaveringly into her face. “Indeed, this can be true. However, I still do not see how this pertains to me or any member of my household.”

“Why… it is simple! Mrs. Darcy taken in the night, gone for hours with a man of the criminal element. One can easily imagine what probably transpired during that time!”

“And you have some sort of proof of this allegation?”

“I… I beg your pardon? Proof? But surely there will be inquiries?”

“Let me save your time and mine, Mrs. Smyth. Whatever you think happened yesterday may as well be a figment of your imagination. None shall utter a word of it to anyone. And if you do, no one will hearken to a disgruntled employee who has been discharged under disgrace for consorting immorally with one Geoffrey Wiseman, a known swindler who has disappeared.”

“But, you said he was this Wickham.”

“George Wickham is dead, madam.”

She gasped, staggering backward at that shocking revelation.

Darcy continued in his calm but flatly commanding tone. “Mr. Wickham died several days ago from a fall off his horse while returning to his wife in Devon. Geoffrey Wiseman, however, is a thief who was improperly admitted to the townhouse of a valued, well-regarded gentleman of London Society by his housekeeper. If need be, those will be the facts circulated. Tell me, Mrs. Smyth, who do you think will be believed?”

“Sir, please.”

“I will take the chatelaine now, Mrs. Smyth. You have two hours to gather your possessions. The carriage will be awaiting you in the mews for a destination of your choosing, outside of London. You are dismissed. Mr. Travers, see Mrs. Smyth to her quarters.”

Chapter Twenty

And Life Continues On

Richard Fitzwilliam and George Darcy were practically clairvoyant in their assessments regarding Lizzy.

Two days passed before she was clear-headed enough to hear the entire tale of brave deeds and daring rescue. The death of Wickham and status of Lord Orman brought only relief and a suppressed glee that she knew was unattractive but could not hide from her husband. Darcy glossed over the more gruesome details, Lizzy not murderous enough to require a precise picture of Wickham’s broken, bloody body or Orman’s breakdown, but his theatrical tendencies emerged in recounting the exploits and suspense. Largely this was unconsciously done, but he did hope that inserting a fantastical element to the adventure would dilute the reality of how dangerous and terrifying it truly had been.

She was immeasurably proud of her spouse, extolling his courage with a wealth of glowing adjectives until he blushed and begged her to stop. He attempted to downplay his injuries, but naturally she saw through his dissembling and was not satisfied until personally examining the healing bruises and scalp wound.

“Now, if you are appeased with my health and vigor, I wanted your advice on how to proceed with the announcement of Wickham’s death.”

“You have notified no one?”

He shook his head, apprising her of Richard’s counsel on the subject. “I would have proceeded but was not sure how you felt about telling your father. Goodness knows your mother must not know the truth, but perhaps Mr. Bennet should. Yet I am unsure the wisdom of troubling him over your health when it no longer matters.”

“No, please do not tell him. There is no point, as you say. I am fine and do not wish to burden him unnecessarily.”

“Agreed. Then I shall write immediately, as if I have just been informed. I trust he will know how to contact Mrs. Wickham?”

“I have her address written in my directory, not that I have bothered corresponding in ages.”

“Oh, I did not know. Excellent. I shall dispatch a courier with the news and funds to transport her and whatever belongings she has to Longbourn.”

“That is more than you should do, William.”

“Let us pray she will mature through her grief and make wiser choices in the future.”

Lizzy shook her head sadly. “I fear your optimism destined to be disappointed. Most likely she will lament for as long as it takes to ensnare another man when he takes pity upon the poor widow, Lord forgive my uncharitable attitude.”

Darcy smiled, kissing her forehead before replying, “I forgive you if that counts, but then I am as uncharitable since I said much the same to Richard.”

“What is the current status of Lord Orman? He has said nothing of the abduction?” Her eyes were large and haunted, the shadows underneath darkening against the pallor his name increased.

“The Marquis is under evaluation at Bethlem and not saying anything worthwhile,” Darcy assured in a firm tone. “George has seen the patient daily and is keeping abreast of the situation. The diagnosis is not definitive, the doctors hoping to cure in time, as all doctors do, but that does not look to be imminent or probable. He raved bestially for over a day without ceasing, so I am informed. A straitjacket was required to prevent self-injury, as he was devil-possessed in his mania. His words were recorded, most indecipherable or nonsensical, and my name was mentioned. Or at least ‘Darcy’ was mentioned, but nothing beyond that. Then, yesterday afternoon he abruptly passed into a stuporous petrifaction. George calls it catalepsy or cataleptoid insanity. I have no idea what it means, but the prognosis is poor, he says, and the condition prevents any verbalization.”

Lizzy shuddered, Darcy drawing her closer against his side with a sturdy squeeze. They lounged on their bed, Lizzy yet weak and needing to recuperate further before moving outside their chambers. “I pray he never recovers,” she said with heated conviction. “It terrifies me to imagine him loose again, no matter how assured the doctors are of his revived mental state.”

Darcy agreed and prayed for the same without a shred of remorse. He did not vocalize his vengeful thoughts to his wife, settling for tender caresses to the raw rope burns on her wrists and gentle kisses to the fading bruises on her cheeks as a means to convey his protectiveness. His heart was stone where it concerned Lord Orman and his conviction firm that the madman would never take one step beyond the asylum’s walls. Whatever was required to ensure Orman’s incarceration and safe distance from his family would be done—legal or illegal.

Dr. Darcy, although not trained as a physician for mental ailments, had some experience with madmen of varied types. “Lord Orman’s condition is as horrible as I have ever seen, William,” he said the previous evening after returning from Bethlem and a conference with the physicians there. “Some patients reanimate, but not typically. Caring for their basic survival needs takes top priority over mental treatment, and maintaining physical health when they refuse to eat, drink, or move is extremely difficult. I suppose you can deduce what the common outcome is without my illuminating.”

Indeed Darcy could, mustering not an iota of sadness in the idea.

“Well,” he said to his wife, “if he ever does return to reality and coherency it will be far in the future. No need to fret about it at this point. And since there is no evidence of an abduction ever occurring, it does not matter what claims he asserts. You have been stricken with a nasty cold but are rapidly mending. That is all anyone need know, unless you chose to reveal otherwise.”

“Thank you, my darling.” She sighed deeply, closing her eyes as she wiggled into the warm mattress, her arms tight around his waist and head on his chest. “I trust you to manage as fitting.” And moments later she was asleep, Darcy holding her for nearly thirty minutes before pulling away to attend to the final disposition of Mr. Wickham’s body to Hertfordshire.

In the days that followed Darcy strived to create a façade of normalcy by conducting business as planned and keeping most of his appointments. It was difficult, as residual anxiety affected his concentration and produced an aversion to leaving the house. George calmed his fears, wisely pointing out that his appearance in public would quash any rumors that might be swirling about and that physical activity was the best balm for a wounded spirit. “Much like climbing back on the horse after a nasty fall,” he said with a wink.