That thought slowed her pace. She could no longer vow that she did not harbour the slightest desire to marry Darcy. It was far too early to know if she would welcome his renewed declarations but she also admitted there was an increasing possibility that she might when weeks ago he would have been the last man she would have considered. However, it was not just Darcy of whom she must think. Scandal attached to her could ruin Georgiana or Anne. And while she had only met the Baroness once, she felt they were kindred spirits. Lady Catherine would undoubtedly not approve of the match at any rate, but the thought of losing the good opinion of Darcy’s other aunt troubled her.
“Elizabeth!”
Darcy’s voice called out, startling her. She missed noticing a raised tree root and tripped. Feeling her ankle twist and not wanting to risk further injury, Elizabeth crumpled to the ground.
“Elizabeth!” Darcy exclaimed and ran to her side. “Are you injured? Is it your head?”
Elizabeth blinked up at him. Her head? She had landed on her bottom and remained upright. Why should he worry about her head?
“No, my head is quite well, thank you. I twisted my ankle on this root.” She pointed at the source and experimented with flexing her foot. “I think I can walk but should probably rest the remainder of the day. I will regret missing my visit with Miss de Bourgh.”
“You are far closer to Rosings than you are to the parsonage. I will assist you to the house. Then, we will let the housekeeper fuss over you and you may keep your visit with Anne.”
Elizabeth smiled a little. Had she thought him arrogant and intruding before? Now, she admired the way he could manage a situation. “Very well. Could we rest a bit first? And perhaps out of the lane?”
“Certainly.” Darcy looped one arm under Elizabeth’s knees and clasped another around her waist, lifting her with ease as she shrieked and clutched his lapels.
“I can walk!”
“Ah, but then I could not play the hero,” he said with a smile he did not attempt to hide.
Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. Would she ever know what to expect from this man? He gently placed her on the ground under a tree, several paces from the lane and joined her.
“Other than your ankle, are you well? You have had no lingering effects from yesterday?”
“Only a slight headache.”
Darcy cursed under his breath. “That dolt should be whipped. He was threatened by you and sought to harm you!”
Elizabeth laughed. “I am sure it is no more than he would do to any opponent.”
“That may be, but you are… you are…”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in expectation. “I am?”
Darcy clamped his mouth shut.
“A woman? Something delicate?”
Darcy shook his head. “No, that is not the source of my agitation.”
He seemed unwilling to say more, and it occurred to Elizabeth they had sat like this not too many days before and yet her feelings were entirely different. Now, she did not blame him for every misfortune in her life or feel the need to fill their moments of silence. She found them companionable. She fiddled with the grass and leaves around her, then brushed a fly from her cheek.
“You mean very much to me,” Darcy said. The words were the words of a lover, and yet the tone sounded angry. “I care for you and wish for you to be safe.”
“Is that why you kept asking me to quit the game?” Elizabeth asked. It was probably the sweetest, most infuriating thing a person had ever done for her and she bit back a smile.
“You know I am not gifted with words. I apologise if I angered you. I know I am muddling this up.”
“Why do you say that?” Elizabeth thought he did quite well. He could be very articulate when he wished.
“There are no words to explain my admiration. I will not renew addresses which disgusted you but neither can I remove those sentiments.”
For some reason, Elizabeth’s heart sank. His proposal had only mentioned that he found her a suitable candidate as a wife. There was nothing about tender feelings or passion. When had she begun to wish to have such things with him? Did he only see her as a bluestocking? An intelligent woman who could further his social circle and run his household?
Glancing at him, she saw his intense stare on her face. “What is it?”
He withdrew a handkerchief and tenderly passed it over one cheek while he held her chin in his other hand. She must have wiped dirt on her face. She lowered her eyes in shame while he remained holding her face.
“Elizabeth,” Darcy rasped. “If you do not wish for me to kiss you, wrench your face away this instant. I can bear it no more.”
Instead, Elizabeth tilted her chin up as her lashes fluttered. As his flesh met hers, pure bliss ripped through her body.
*****
He should not be doing this. He absolutely should not be doing this. Elizabeth’s sweet kiss held a grip on him, though, and all the logic in the world stood no chance. It mattered not that they were paces from the lane to Rosings where anyone might see them. Nor did it matter that the woman had soundly refused his marriage proposal and thus any sane man would say matrimony was not in their future. Alas, he was sick of logic and claims of duty.
When he had savoured her lips for as long as he dared, he touched his forehead to hers. Elizabeth’s breath came quickly, and he could feel the heat of her blush. The vestiges of control he had began to slip. Never before had he understood how men could mislay their honour and seduce maidens and yet he was very aware that life would be incomplete without joining with this particular one.
“Do you know,” Elizabeth said with humour in her voice when she had caught her breath, “that I believe you can read minds.”
The statement was ludicrous but flattering and caused him to chuckle. “A dangerous talent, then. Perhaps it is best that I have never used it before.” They shared a laugh before he asked with keen interest, “What makes you think so?”
“Moments ago, I was wondering if you saw me as anything more than a bluestocking to be collected for your club.”
Darcy started. He had been careful to not mention the Club to avoid her coming to such a conclusion. Additionally, he was uncertain if his aunt would approve of her lower position in the world when her ladyship had asked for titled and wealthy members.
“The papers report many things,” she said with a knowing look. “I had not looked before, but after you had mentioned the likely gossip that would attend your arriving at the Gardiner residence, I took an interest. You are recreating the Bluestocking Club. It seems all of London is invested in the oddity of your celebrating your future inheritance with surrounding yourself with intellectual women.”
Darcy shook his head. “It is Lady Darcy’s request which I am bound to honour. If the papers imagine I would be the head of such a club, they could not be more wrong. While the ladies decades ago sometimes invited gentlemen to partake of their meetings, I am convinced a gentleman hosting so many ladies could be anything but proper.”
Elizabeth’s smile dipped a little. “So, you would be looking for a proper hostess.”
“Not necessarily,” he hedged lest he scare her away. “Georgiana is nearly of age, and there is no reason to conclude a lady related to me must be their leader or that they would even need one. They might decide upon a more democratic approach.”
“Democracy in the social spheres of England? How scandalous!” Elizabeth exclaimed in mock outrage. “Why your other aunt would never approve!”
They laughed before Elizabeth glanced toward the mansion. “Speaking of her ladyship, I would like to continue my journey now. I would not wish for Miss de Bourgh to think I would skip our meeting or to worry about me.”
“Very well,” Darcy offered his arm although he longed to scoop her up again. She leant heavier than usual on it but not near as heavily as he would have guessed from a twist. While they walked, Darcy explained his aunt’s vision for her club and the ladies he had already gathered, Julia Jenkinso
n being the most recent addition. He included a brief history of its predecessor as well.
“Angelica Kauffman…” Elizabeth furrowed her brow. “I have seen that name before.” After a moment of silence, she exclaimed. “Oh! In the copy of The Tempest, you found for me, there was a sketch of Ferdinand and Miranda. It said it was copied from a portrait by Angelica Kauffman.”
“How interesting! When next we meet I would enjoy seeing it.”
“Certainly,” Elizabeth said. “Will you not now scold me for avoiding our conversation of the work?”
“I would, if I thought it might do any good,” Darcy smiled.
Elizabeth laughed. “I promise we may talk about it soon. You must forgive me for not having read more than a few pages. Last night, I was overtired from the outing and the evening before I was over excited from anticipation.”
“Then perhaps tonight you may read it, for the evening will be very dull indeed. At least it will be so for me. Lady Catherine’s dinner table is always tedious, made bearable the last several weeks by your presence. What are meals like at your cousin’s?”
Elizabeth groaned. “Dull would be my word of choice as well! Each passing day feels more and more like a rusted knife attempting to rip out my heart, in the process doing as much damage as it can. I never thought I would miss the high spirits of Lydia and Kitty or the anxieties of my mother.”
She peeked at him, and Darcy wondered if it were to see what he thought of her family now. “You must miss them greatly.”
Nodding in agreement, they reached the steps of Rosings, where, without caring who might see, Darcy swept Elizabeth into his arms again. When the butler greeted them, he could not contain his shock but informed them in which drawing room they could find Anne. She gasped at Darcy and his precious cargo, immediately ordering a cold compress and refreshments as well as wraps and liniment. Soon, Elizabeth was coddled and relaxed in a chair with her foot elevated, and while she flushed with each kindness, Darcy did not know when he had ever felt more concerned, excepting when he saw Elizabeth fall backwards yesterday and knock her head.
The three young people took turns reading poetry and making a card table. Eventually, it was time for Elizabeth to return and as she refused to stay at Rosings, the carriage was ordered for her. As Darcy handed Elizabeth in, he was pleased to see her ankle mostly healed.
Returning to Anne’s sitting room, he met her smiling face. She clapped her hands. “That went splendidly! I believe Miss Bennet is seeing the honourable gentleman you have been hiding behind a facade of indifference and annoyance.”
“Usually, that would fluff my pride. Today, I know better. If she does think of me, I am sure it has only been with hate.” At least until recently, he held back a grin at the thought.
“No, it is me that she hated,” Anne shook her head.
“You! She hardly knows you!”
“And yet she has heard I am destined to be your wife. She found me insipid and arrogant.”
Darcy frowned. It was a wonder Elizabeth did not accuse him of either toying with her or of dishonourably abandoning Anne. “Considering she says I am also arrogant, she must think we deserve each other.”
“Perhaps,” Anne shrugged, “but she came to that conclusion before ever meeting me. Elizabeth confessed while she was in Hertfordshire, she had been told I was conceited and insolent. I wonder who she could have as common acquaintances, but I did not have a moment to ask her or Mrs. Collins.”
Biting back a curse, Darcy’s frown deepened. “Undoubtedly, more of Wickham’s lies.”
“Mr. Wickham?” Anne turned whiter than linen, and her voice wavered. “Your old steward’s son?”
“Technically, he was never my steward. His father served mine,” and therefore I owe him nothing, Darcy thought to himself. He scrutinised his cousin. “Anne, you are unwell. I will call Mrs. Jenkinson. Allow me to fetch you some wine.”
He quickly poured her a glass. Upon returning to her side, he was pleased to see some of her colour had returned. Still, she eagerly took his offered drink and did not admonish him when he pulled the bell cord. After the servant had left to seek Mrs. Jenkinson, Darcy returned to her side.
“Thank you for looking after me,” she said with a wry twist of her lips.
“It is nothing,” he said.
“I am so ashamed,” Anne blushed red and then covered her face. “If he knew — if he only knew! Oh, how he would delight in finding me weak once again.”
“I do not understand what you mean. Are your senses addled?” Darcy sat beside her and felt her forehead.
Anne swatted his hand away. “I am not ill. Please, before Mrs. Jenkinson arrives, you must answer me.” She took a deep breath, and her pleading eyes held Darcy’s gaze. “Do you mean to say that Miss Bennet is acquainted with Mr. Wickham?”
“Yes, he had joined a militia regiment quartered in Hertfordshire. I understand he has not hesitated to speak against me and use the area’s prejudice to his advantage.”
“Specifically, Miss Bennet?”
Darcy frowned. “Yes, and it contributed to some of her opinions of me.”
“Now, I might be ill—” A
knock at the door interrupted her words. Darcy opened it, and Mrs. Jenkinson strolled in.
“Oh, my dear girl!” She exclaimed and cast accusing eyes at Darcy. He had often observed that the woman was motherlier than the woman who birthed her. “What has happened?”
“I will soon recover, Nan.” Darcy began to retreat, feeling that he was unwelcome and intruding on a scene which required privacy. “No, stay, Conor.”
Darcy’s feet ceased their movement at that still unfamiliar but nostalgic endearment. “I am at your service. How can I assist you?”
“Quit being such a bloody knight in shining armour. This ordeal would be much easier if you were not so perfect,” she glowered darkly at him.
Darcy looked at Mrs. Jenkinson, a question on his lips.
“What Anne means to say is to be seated,” she interpreted.
Darcy shifted his eyes between the two as an unspoken discussion passed between them. He sat feeling like a recalcitrant schoolboy called to the head master’s office. Only, as Anne had said, he had been too “perfect” to have experienced such a humiliation.
“I will wait in my chamber,” Mrs. Jenkinson said and glanced at a clock. “I will return in half an hour,” she said firmly.
Anne nodded and met her companion’s gaze. There was a steely set to Anne’s eyes which Darcy had never seen before. If he had to name it, he would call it the Fitzwilliam stubbornness.
Mrs. Jenkinson left, and the only sound in the room was the slow ticking of the clock. After several minutes, Darcy cleared his throat. “Anne?”
His cousin squeezed her eyes shut. “I have imagined this conversation dozens — hundreds — of times. I would practice it and imagine how you might storm and rage. I imagined you would rail at me and tell me of the shame I brought to our family and how you could not abide my failure. Never once had I imagined it would be in such a context.”
Darcy furrowed his brow. “I apologise for any offence, even if imaginary. You will have to enlighten me, however, on what context you reference and why you fear I would behave in such a fashion.”
“I am referencing the fact that I hold information which will aid your courtship with another lady and will, hopefully, preserve the happiness of her family and the innocence of a maiden. If I had to guess his motives now, I would think he would target one of her sisters.”
Darcy’s pulse slowed, and ice filled his veins. When he was told his mother would not survive after Georgiana’s birth, the same terror had seized him. Although he could only guess at Anne’s meaning, he knew whatever next came out of her mouth would likely change his life forever.
“George Wickham seduced me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Dear C —
I refuse to waste any more paper considering the mad Americans. It is all the chatter at my usu
al salons. If ever there was a need for a salon where politics was not discussed ‘ tis now. Instead, I will tell you that I saw Sheridan ’ s newest play and enjoyed it immensely. I have surely known far too many ladies like Mrs. Malaprop who think they are being clever and yet only display their lack of intelligence by continually misusing words.
Yours,
A.F.
A loud buzzing noise filled Darcy’s ears. He must have misheard Anne. “Pardon?” His voice sounded raw even to his faulty senses.
“George Wickham seduced me,” Anne squeezed her hands together tightly. “I was but sixteen.”
“The last time you visited Pemberley,” Darcy murmured as he considered the occasion. Anne had withdrawn from him and appeared ill. She pleaded with her parents to leave, but they refused. Upon her return to Kent, she was unwell for nearly a year. Terror seized him. “Your illness?”
“I was so ashamed…” She trailed off.
“Were there consequences?” He asked with raised eyebrows. Was there a babe hid away somewhere? Did her mother know?
A hollow and throaty laugh emerged from Anne. “Consequences?”
She asked mockingly, but Darcy took no offence.
“There was no child if that is what you are asking, but there were surely more consequences. Far more than I think men consider when they make light of women and their position in the world.”
Her eyes drifted to the sideboard and his followed. In most rooms of the gentry, it was filled with decanters of various spirits. Anne’s held tea and what he presumed were various medicinal items. There was one small decanter of sherry. He had not considered it before, but it was far smaller than any other he had seen before.
“I had feared I would lose my mind with love for him. How could I give up my family? And yet, I was prepared to do so. I knew there would be no other way. We were to elope.”
A knife twisted in Darcy’s heart.
“He insisted I demonstrate my devotion first.” A shudder wracked Anne’s body. “After…” she paused, and her breath grew laboured for several minutes.
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