***
Darcy glared at the newspaper before him. Despite important news about the war and the actions of parliament, the society pages drew the most attention from the ton. Today, Darcy would have cheerfully burned the paper’s offices to the ground. Oblivious to the sounds of his club around him, he reread the offending article.
“We have learned that a certain Miss B., who stood up with the debutante Miss D., the niece of the Earl of ----- has been seen in the company of some unsavory characters. Recently, Mr. W., a cashiered army officer known for his debts and seduction of many misses, was seen leaving her townhouse at odd hours—despite their consanguineous relationship.”
Goddamn! That last sentence was an inspired piece of rumormongering. Technically, the church would consider Wickham and Elizabeth to be brother and sister because of his marriage to Lydia. By referring to that, the gossip column made their supposed “affair” seem even more sordid and ensured that the insinuations would be repeated throughout every drawing room in London.
Pain in his right hand caused him to glance down; it was crumpling the edge of the newspaper in a death grip. Gingerly, he relaxed his hold. Perhaps Wickham had paid someone on the paper’s staff to print the item, or maybe he had spread the gossip so thickly that the columns could not ignore it.
Rubbing his hand over his eyes, Darcy considered that the item’s provenance was of little matter. The damage was the same. Elizabeth had no family name or fortune to protect her reputation or refute such accusations. Her association with the Darcys had provided no protection but rather earned her prominence to make her worthy of inclusion in the scandal rag. And her former fiancé’s parents would do nothing to staunch the flow of such vitriol—in fact, they might encourage it. The paper would not dare make such insinuations about Georgiana or Aunt Rachel, but Elizabeth was defenseless.
He knew what the future held. Elizabeth’s invitations to teas and balls would evaporate. When she did attend an event, the women of the ton would whisper about her behind their fans. Elizabeth did not care about the ton’s opinion, but she would be distressed to have her reputation unfairly destroyed.
Darcy gritted his teeth against the impulse to utter a stream of profanity. Elizabeth was worth a hundred of those women, and he knew with absolute certainty she had done nothing wrong. Yet such accusations would destroy what little acceptance she had gained through her betrothal and association with the Darcys.
After the rock-throwing incident a week ago, Darcy had been seeking Wickham, who had abandoned his previous lodgings. After days of fruitless searching, Darcy had hired some Bow Street Runners. As they inquired about Wickham, the runners were warning decent merchants and landlords about Wickham’s reputation, reducing the number of people the man might deceive in his schemes. However, Darcy had not thought to warn anyone on the staff of the newspaper.
Bitterly, Darcy reflected that he should have encouraged Elizabeth to return to Hertfordshire, where she would be insulated from some of the poison in the ton. However, when she had suggested the idea, Darcy had only focused on his own selfish desire to keep her in London.
Darcy stared at the stark white paper and the black words that persisted in spelling out Elizabeth’s ruination. He could conceive of no way to prevent it. Darcy could fix many things, but gossip was frustratingly difficult to combat.
“Hello, Darcy!” Glancing up at the cheerful greeting, Darcy suppressed a groan. Lord Kirkwood was
among the last people he wished to see.
Without awaiting an invitation, the handsome viscount’s heir drew up a chair. Darcy hastened to fold up the newspaper, but Kirkwood eyed it meaningfully. “So you have noticed the latest gossip as well.”
“It is all slander!” Darcy spat.
“Of course.” Kirkwood sat back in his chair, watching Darcy as if taking his measure. “Fitzwilliam would be spitting mad. Appalling way to treat a virtuous young woman.”
Darcy’s opinion of Kirkwood rose several notches. “Appalling,” Darcy agreed, lifting his brandy glass to his lips, only to realize it was empty. When had that happened? He signaled the attendant for another.
The other man steepled his fingers in front of him. “The difficulty is, many consider such a woman’s reputation tarnished, if not outright ruined, when she has been betrothed but not married. It is not fair, but such is the way of the world. And then Miss Bennet insists on living alone when she is still unmarried.”
Darcy scowled at Kirkwood. “Nothing about this situation is of Miss Bennet’s making!”
“Of course not.” Kirkwood dismissed this objection with a wave of his hand. “The problem is, she has no family name, no one to take her part, no standing.” Darcy opened his mouth to contradict this statement, but the other man continued. “Oh, I know your sister is a good friend, but people will say Miss Bennet took advantage and all that rot.”
Darcy did not respond. Kirkwood seemed to have a point, and Darcy wanted to hear it.
Kirkwood took a sip from his own glass of brandy, then he stared at the amber liquid contemplatively. “I have been ruminating on this situation. Fitzwilliam was a great man—a great soldier. Did service to our country in battle that no one appreciates, saved lives … and now he cannot be here to protect the woman he loved.”
Guilt settled around Darcy like a blanket. Richard had been great man, who had provided immeasurable assistance to his cousin when needed.
“And the woman herself….” Kirkwood continued, unaware of Darcy’s inner self-castigation, “I understand why Richard loved her. She is beautiful. Have you noticed, Darcy? Those eyes—Goddamn!”
As his teeth ground together, Darcy refrained from comment; the only words which readily came to mind were oaths.
However, Kirkwood’s monologue needed no encouragement. “And clever. I could listen to her talk all day. She would be a wonder at running a household.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. Why would Kirkwood consider Elizabeth’s abilities to run a household unless …
“So I have decided to offer her the protection of my name!” Kirkwood’s smile invited Darcy to congratulate him. “I will visit her house tomorrow afternoon and propose.”
Silence. Darcy realized Kirkwood was awaiting a response.
“W-What? Sorry, what did you say?” Darcy was having difficulty processing this pronouncement.