Page 90 of Attempted Compromises
Caroline stared at him, horror dawning on her face. “You… you lied to me. You never loved me.”
Wickham’s sneer deepened. “Love? Don’t be ridiculous. You were a means to an end.”
Her hand flew out, slapping him hard across the face. Wickham recoiled, his eyes blazing with fury. His response was swift and brutal— without hesitation, he backhanded her as hard as he could, sending her sprawling to the floor with a cry.
“Wickham!” Darcy roared, lunging forward. He grabbed Wickham by the collar, the force of his grip lifting the other man off his feet. “You dare strike a woman in my presence? Your wife, at that?”
The room erupted into chaos as Wickham struggled in Darcy’s iron grip, his fingers like a vise against his throat. Elizabeth rushed to Caroline’s side as Darcy and Wickham grappled, their movements wild and brutal. “Mr. Roberts!” Bingley shouted, his voice cutting through the commotion. “Fetch some footmen! Now!”
Wickham twisted in Darcy’s grip, managing to drive a fist into Darcy’s stomach. The force of the blow caused Darcy to gruntand loosen his hold. Wickham stumbled back, shaking his collar free, and smirked again, his confidence returning.
“Ah, Fitzwilliam,” Wickham sneered, flexing his hands. “You forget. I was always stronger, always the better fighter.”
Darcy straightened, his eyes blazing, and rolled his shoulders as if Wickham’s punch had been nothing more than a minor annoyance. “That was true,” Darcy said evenly, “when we were boys.”
Wickham’s smirk widened. “Then let’s see if you’ve learned anything since.”
Wickham lunged again, his fist aiming for Darcy’s jaw, but Darcy ducked with ease, his movements fluid and practiced. In one swift motion, Darcy retaliated, his fist slamming into Wickham’s ribs with a resounding thud. Wickham staggered back, gasping for breath, only to be met with another solid punch to his cheek. Blood spattered from Wickham’s split lip as he stumbled further.
Darcy’s lips curled into a grim smile. “You’ll find I’ve spent the last decade as my cousin Richard’s sparring partner at Gentleman Jack’s,” he said, his voice calm and lethal. “Do you remember him, Georgie-boy?ColonelFitzwilliam of Her Majesty’s Royal Dragoons has taught me far more than you ever could.”
Wickham’s face paled, but his desperation drove him forward. He lunged again, this time aiming a wild punch below Darcy’s belt. Darcy sidestepped effortlessly, his movements sharp and controlled, and delivered a punishing right hook that sentWickham reeling. Wickham lashed out wildly, his fists swinging erratically, but Darcy evaded each blow with ease, his experience and composure far outmatching Wickham’s crude attempts.
Darcy’s next punch connected squarely with Wickham’s jaw, sending him crashing against a nearby table. Wickham let out a strangled groan, clutching at the edge of the table for support. His eyes were glazed, his breath ragged, but he wasn’t finished yet. With a feral snarl, he pushed himself off the table and lunged once more.
Darcy anticipated the move and stepped forward to meet him, delivering a brutal uppercut that snapped Wickham’s head back. Wickham crumpled to his knees, blood trickling from his mouth and nose, his once-arrogant smirk now replaced by dazed defeat.
The door burst open, and the footmen surged into the room, followed by Mr. Roberts. The butler’s eyes widened at the scene before him—Darcy standing tall and composed, Wickham nearly unconscious on the floor. The footmen hesitated for a moment, awed by Darcy’s commanding presence, before moving quickly to subdue Wickham.
Darcy stepped back, breathing heavily but still in control. As the footmen hauled Wickham to his feet and began binding his hands, Wickham let out a string of curses, his struggles half-hearted as his strength ebbed.
“Take him to the cellar,” Darcy ordered, his voice cold and unyielding. “And send for Sir William and Colonel Forster.”
“Already done so, sir, as soon as they arrived,” the butler informed him. “Mr. Bennet and the constable were informed as well. I imagine they’re both on their way and will arrive shortly.”
“Good man, Mr. Roberts,” Darcy said, putting his arm around off Elizabeth, who had rushed to his side to check on him.
The footmen dragged Wickham from the room, his protests and curses fading as they disappeared down the corridor.
“You’re fools!” he bellowed faintly from the hallway, his voice growing weaker. “This isn’t over!”
Darcy ignored the fading sound of Wickham’s threats, his gaze narrowing as he turned back to the room, where the silence was thick and heavy. All eyes were on him, and he let out a slow breath, the fire in his veins finally beginning to cool.
Elizabeth, having reassured herself that her husband was not seriously injured, sent a maid to fetch some ice for his hands. Darcy straightened his coat, then his eyes settled on Caroline, still crumpled on the floor, her hand pressed to her bruised cheek. Elizabeth followed his gaze to glare at the caterwauling woman.
“What are you staring at, Eliza Bennet?” Caroline spat, her voice trembling with rage. She struggled to push herself upright, her disheveled hair falling over her shoulders. Her cheek was red and swelling, her lip split, and her once-polished appearance was now a picture of humiliation.
Elizabeth met Caroline’s venomous glare with steady composure. “I am simply marveling,” she said coolly, “at the lengths you will go to disgrace yourself and your family.”
“Disgrace? Do you know who I am? I am the mistress of this house and—”
“You absolutely arenot!” Louisa hissed, speaking for the first time. “You are the daughter of a tradesman, the wife of a servant’s son, and amurderer.”
Caroline faltered, her bluster wavering. “Louisa,” she began, her tone shifting to pleading, “surely you understand—”
Her voice broke off as the whole of her sister’s statement processed in her frantic brain. She turned so white, Elizabeth thought she might genuinely lose consciousness. “What do you mean, a murderer?”
Louisa’s lip curled with contempt, her tone laced with icy fury. “I mean exactly what I said. You murdered my husband.”
