by Violet King
“You cannot stop me for marrying him. We are in love.”
“You have been acquainted for barely a fortnight.”
“Not everyone is as hard-hearted as you, Lizzie.”
“Hard-hearted?” Miss Elizabeth’s expression froze for a second, and Darcy felt a sudden sympathy. He was often called hard-hearted simply for doing his own duty.
Miss Elizabeth’s tone was harsh as she said, “You care nothing for your family and how your behavior might affect us. I know you have no care for me, but what about Jane? If word of you entertaining strange men becomes part of the common gossip, it ruins Jane’s prospects. And Kitty’s. And Mary’s, no matter how hard she strives for virtue in her every action and thought.”
Lydia took a step back. “Lizzie. I did not mean to hurt Jane or Papa—”
“Go inside. Now! And if I see Mr. Wickham skulking about our grounds again, be assured, my response will be exactly as Mr. Darcy’s was, if not with truer aim.”
Miss Elizabeth stepped aside and Lydia, her face wet with tears, dashed into the house.
When the door had fallen shut behind her, Miss Elizabeth turned. “Mr. Darcy, I know I have no right to it, but I can only ask your discretion. Please, I beg of you, do not speak of what you witnessed tonight between my sister and Mr. Wickham. Please.”
Darcy, struck mute by the incredible woman before him, managed a nod.
Miss Elizabeth blinked rapidly and swallowed, hard. Dear heavens, was she about to cry? What should he do? A small touch or gesture of affection was acceptable between family members, but not acquaintances. Darcy and Georgiana had cried in each other’s arms at the news of Reginald’s death. Darcy could not offer Miss Elizabeth an embrace even if such a gesture from him would be welcome.
Miss Elizabeth said, “Lydia is a fool. I keep praying that age will bring her wisdom, but it seems she only grows older.”
“I will not speak of what happened tonight. You have my word. Miss Lydia is not the only young woman who has been led astray by Mr. Wickham’s charms. Do not be too harsh with her. You must protect her. Even if it is from herself.”
Miss Elizabeth rested the tip of the fire poker on the ground. “I have often made a pretense at the study of character, and I believe my assessments are often accurate than not. But in your case…” She bit her bottom lip, a gesture that called more tension than was proper to her mouth. “I have misjudged you, Mr. Darcy. You are a good man.”
Mr. Darcy swallowed. His skin was flush and his heart pounded again, almost as rapidly as if he were chasing down a villain, except what he felt was not anger. It was something far worse, something he could not allow himself, especially not with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Mr. Darcy bowed. “Allow me to continue my rounds,” he said.
“Yes. Please. And thank you. I pray we have no more trouble tonight.”
24
Elizabeth stayed up the rest of the night at her father’s bedside. Had her father been well, she still would not have slept. Too much had changed. Mr. Darcy’s actions in protecting their home had sparked some awareness in the core of her being, and Elizabeth had been unable to wrest her eyes from him as he fired the second shot.
Mrs. Bennet had been circumspect in following Mr. Jones’s instructions and attempted to wake Mr. Bennet every few hours, though with limited success.
An hour after dawn, Mr. Bennet sat straight up in his bed and shouted, “Thief!”
Mrs. Bennet, who had dozed off with her head on the edge of the bed at her husband’s side, woke immediately, “Mr. Bennet! My dear Mr. Bennet!”
Mr. Bennet turned his head towards his wife’s voice and winced. “Amelia? Did you catch him?”
“You remember?”
Elizabeth, now awake, added, “Papa, tell us everything.”
Mr. Bennet blinked. “I woke, there was an error with the encoding, and I went to correct my notes in the study. I was inside the room when I sensed… a change in atmosphere… And then—to the devil with my eyes! It was a thief, and I swung at him with my cane, but he was too fast. He struck me and I remember no more.”
Elizabeth took her father’s hand. “Mr. Jones said it was likely you might remember nothing at all. So it is good you remember something.”
“If only I had seen him. What business did a thief have in my study?”
Mrs. Bennet stood and put her palms on her husband’s shoulders, gently pushing him back towards the pillows. “Rest,” she said. “You have had a very trying day and night, so trying, and our entire household is in such disarray with your convalescence. I felt my heart might break when I discovered you bleeding into the oriental carpet. My brother’s gift, it is ruined now! You must be more careful! To be wandering around at any time of the day or night—” As Mrs. Bennet spoke, her voice took on a higher pitch until Mr. Bennet closed his eyes and groaned.
“Mother,” Elizabeth said, “I believe with his head he cannot countenance loud voices.”
“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Bennet said in a whisper. “Be quiet, Lizzie. We must not disturb your father’s recovery.”
Mary stirred. Her eyes opened, and the brightness of her smile made her beautiful. “Papa,” she breathed. “I spent the night praying for you. You are well, tell me you are well!”
“Were you there the entire night?” Mr. Bennet asked gently.
Mary nodded.
“I am well,” Mr. Bennet reassured her. “Very well.” They embraced.
Mr. Bennet said, “You should go to your room now and sleep.”
“Are you hungry, Papa? You must be. Mother has been feeding you broth, but broth can only sustain a person for so long.”
Mr. Bennet patted his belly. He nodded his head and then winced. “Perhaps some toast?”
“Yes, Papa!” Mary nodded sleepily and cradling her Bible, she left for the kitchen.
When she was gone, Mr. Bennet asked, “How long was I insensible? I pray this robber did not return?”
“Oh, we were frightened, very frightened, but Mr. Darcy stayed the night, and—”
“Mr. Darcy? Why Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet blinked. “Where is Jane? Is she still convalescing at Netherfield?”
“We returned yesterday after morning services. Mr. Darcy accompanied us.” Elizabeth did not wish to explain about the letter and her role in upsetting Mr. Darcy to the point he now demanded its return. Not until her father was improved.
“I see,” Mr. Bennet said suspiciously. “Very gentlemanly of him I suppose.”
“Very gentlemanly!” Mrs. Bennet agreed with enthusiasm. “Why, he must have cleaned and repaired your old rifle because he had no trouble firing it last night.”
“The miscreant came back? I hope Mr. Darcy wounded him!”
“There was some commotion,” Mrs. Bennet said, “but Lizzie said it was a false alarm.”
“False alarm? Mr. Darcy is quick on the trigger then.”
“He is a very conscientious young man,” Mrs. Bennet said.
Elizabeth hated lying to her family, but the truth would only upset her mother and infuriate her father, neither of whom could handle such dire emotions at this juncture.
If, as Mr. Darcy had intimated, Mr. Wickham had attempted to seduce his sister in the same way he was practicing his charms upon Lydia, then Mr. Darcy would say nothing. Lydia, not wishing to have her freedoms curtailed, would also be silent. And hopefully Mr. Wickham, not wishing to face rifle shot again, would make himself scarce.
It was an imperfect solution, but the best Elizabeth could manage. Lydia would not change her ways even if they sent her away to school. At least under Elizabeth’s watchful eye, she could, through time if nothing else, be returned to the path of virtue. Or at least a less damaging form of ill virtue.
“I would like to speak with Mr. Darcy, to offer my thanks,” Mr. Bennet said.
“I will see—” Mrs. Bennet started to stand.
“Mr. Darcy is asleep,” Elizabeth said. “I will have Mrs. Hill send him in when he has woken aga
in.”
“Yes. Yes,” Mr. Bennet said. “That is for the best.” He yawned.
The door to the bedroom opened again, and the rest of the Bennet daughters returned with a tray containing toast, honeyed porridge, and tea.
“Papa, you are awake!” Jane said and sneezed.
“And you should return to bed, Jane,” Mr. Bennet ordered. “You are still ill.”
“The joy in seeing you alert has erased all thoughts of my illness,” Jane said. “I have chamomile tea and you must drink another of Mr. Jones’s draughts.”
“How healthful,” Mr. Bennet said dryly.
“You are well,” Lydia said in all sincerity. Her eyes were shining, and her joy and relief seemed genuine. “Mary told me you had awakened. I was so worried.” She ran to her father’s side and they shared a quick embrace. “Mr. Jones’s draughts taste vile, but you must drink it all.”
“I suppose I must.” Mr. Bennet took a bite of the toast before tackling the medicine. He grimaced at the taste and followed it with a gulp of tea.
“Good,” Jane said, taking up her chair at her father’s side. “It will help with your pain.”
“And the porridge?”
“From Mr. Darcy. It is quite heartening. One of his mother’s remedies.”
“Mr. Darcy has made himself a part of this household in a short time,” Mr. Bennet said. He glanced at Elizabeth. “It is remarkable.”
Elizabeth averted her gaze.
The family spent a pleasant morning together, and Mr. Bennet even managed to get up and walk around a bit before his headache became too severe and he had to lie down again.
At half one, Mr. Darcy visited. Elizabeth had fallen asleep in Jane’s chair at their father’s side, and when Mr. Darcy spoke, the fear of what he might reveal pushed the cobwebs of sleep from Elizabeth mind.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, blinking and rubbing her curled-up fingers under her eyes. “Our father wishes to thank you for your kindness to all of us.”
“Yes, Lizzie. And it pleases me to express this gratitude myself.”
“Yes, Papa, of course,” Elizabeth said and sat back on the chair, her gaze fixed on Mr. Darcy who, as was his wont, revealed little emotion in his own expression.
Mr. Darcy bowed. “Mr. Bennet, it was my duty and my honor to ensure the safety of your family to the best of my ability. And I am very pleased to see your returning to health.”
“As am I. It is the mark of a true gentleman to extend himself to assist those in need. I do not have enough words to thank you.”
“Such words are not needed.”
Elizabeth looked upon Mr. Darcy with admiration. Admiration! He had gone beyond what any would consider duty in the protecting of her family.
“My wife informs me there was a commotion last night.”
“Nothing of consequence.”
“Well, I assure you I have been working with diligence to decipher your sister’s letter. It seemed to me an initial code might hide a second cipher with greater meaning, and that is the path we have been exploring, right Lizzie?”
Elizabeth nodded, pushing down a stab of anger at her father claiming credit for her own work and ideas. Guilt and fear quickly followed the anger. Would Mr. Darcy reveal Elizabeth’s writing to Miss Georgiana on her own?
“I thank you, Mr. Bennet. But as I had explained to your daughter, the reason I returned with her and Miss Bennet yesterday was to retrieve my sister’s letter. It was, in fact, intended for her, and I realize that my taking it without asking her consent may have been an overstep.”
It was as though the chair had been yanked out from beneath Elizabeth, and she was falling towards a short and ignominious end. Had Mr. Darcy admitted an error? Was he being kind?
If Elizabeth had not received Mr. Darcy’s promise last night to protect Lydia’s reputation from herself, she would have believed it. But looking beyond his previous insults, his behavior since that disastrous night in Jane’s sickroom had been solicitous. Kind.
Mr. Darcy could have revealed to Mr. Bingley about how Elizabeth had taken it upon herself to write Miss Darcy without asking a by-your-leave. He had not. Instead, despite his anger, he had listened to Elizabeth’s own criticisms. The warmth Elizabeth had felt toward Mr. Darcy since the first bowl of porridge and treatment for Jane, just two days ago, had grown. Now Elizabeth could not deny her growing attraction.
Mr. Darcy will ask your hand in marriage.
The statement did not seem so ridiculous, or so unwanted, now.
Perhaps at the next ball, Elizabeth would accept Mr. Darcy’s invitation to dance. If he attempted again to offer it.
Elizabeth was getting ahead of herself. Mr. Darcy was just being considerate of her father’s health. And while Mr. Darcy had ceased offering her insults at almost every turn, a lack of insult did not imply a growing admiration on his part. Maybe, if Mr. Darcy stayed another night, then maybe Elizabeth could gain insight into his intentions. Mr. Bennet was not well enough at this point to fight off a second robbery attempt.
Or a third? Mr. Wickham would have known the latch was open the previous night, and if he was looking for Mr. Bennet’s newest work, he would have realized it was not in the papers he stole.
Elizabeth palms were sweaty, and she clutched her skirts to dry them. Had they let her father’s attacker get away?
Mr. Bennet blinked and cocked his head, wincing at the pain caused by the gesture. “What day is it?”
“It is Monday, Father,” Mary responded, a hint of fear in her tone. “Yesterday the services. You were attacked on Saturday while we were sleeping.”
“Yes. Monday. Mr. Darcy. I must again offer my thanks and assure you that there will be no need of your protection this evening.”
“No need!” Mrs. Bennet interjected. “My dear Mr. Bennet, while your improvement relieves me and all of us, if the commotion last night was not an animal...” Mr. Darcy had suggested no cause for the commotion, but Elizabeth was for her mother’s general habit of embellishment. “Then I am uncertain Billy alone will be enough to send such a miscreant on his heels. Mr. Darcy must be the first person to have fired your rifle in a decade.”
“Be that as it may, we are expecting another, young gentleman guest.”
“We are!”
“He will arrive for dinner.”
“And you are only informing us now! Why I must speak with the cook immediately, and who is this gentleman caller? Jane?”
Jane shook her head.
“Mr. Collins’s letter is somewhere in my papers. I admit, I had first thought it an amusement to extend the hand of invitation to my cousin, and then the situation was quite forced from my mind–—”
“Mr. Collins!”
“Yes. We will need to have rooms readied for him, and it would be improper, and frankly unnecessary to have a second gentleman stay on for our protection, especially one who is not a direct relation. Mr. Darcy, I hesitate to ask for you to depart with such haste, though you are most welcome to stay for dinner—”
“I do not wish to impose.”
“It is no imposition,” Elizabeth blurted out.
Mr. Darcy stared at her a moment too long. Finally, he said, “I cannot convey to you my gratitude for your hospitality and kindness, but my presence would only serve as a distraction and perhaps viewed as improper. Your cousin, Mr. Collins, should be adequate for protecting your home.” Mr. Darcy’s gaze then rested on Elizabeth, warming her skin and making her heart flutter. “But I must again convey my appreciation for your hospitality. I only wish we had occasion to enjoy each other’s company under better circumstances.”
“I will see to it Mr. Darcy gets his sister’s letter,” Elizabeth said, standing. “Mother?”
“I will send a maid. Mary, come with us.”
“You have your notes?” Mr. Bennet said.
“Yes.”
Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy, Mary, and Mrs. Bennet walked together down the stairs to the study. Mrs. Bennet chattered on about preparat
ions for their impeding guest, Mr. Collins, who her husband had invited to stay a week “without even a hint of warning, and how are we to arrange a proper menu?”
After the maid arrived, Mary, Mr. Darcy, and Elizabeth entered the study. Mary asked, “Mr. Darcy, are you certain it was only an animal last night?”
Mary grabbed at her skirts and avoided Mr. Darcy’s gaze. Though Mrs. Bennet had given all four of her daughters “lessons” on how to use one’s eyes to capture a man’s interest, Mary often avoided meeting anyone’s gaze, even those in her own family. Especially when she was nervous or uncomfortable.
“You have no reason to fear or concern yourself,” Mr. Darcy said. “And with your cousin arriving, the ladies of this house will not be undefended.”
“Mother thinks Mr. Collins would rather see our father pass sooner than later so he then inherits our estate,” Mary said. “Not that I would imply Mr. Collins capable of or interested in doing away with anyone. I have never met the man. None of us have.”
“Mary!” Elizabeth admonished her sister, though it was of little use. Mary was truthful to a fault. “Mr. Collins is a parson and well established enough he need not speed up any of our relatives’ passing.”
“Yes, of course. If he is a man of God, he certainly would not engage in any behavior so horrific.”
Elizabeth was not so certain religiosity precluded evil intent, but her father was no fool. He would not have invited the man to guest with them if he felt Mr. Collins would put the Bennet family in danger. Their father likely wanted Mr. Collings to have the best impression of the family in case the worst happened and they had to throw themselves upon their cousin’s charity. Elizabeth, not one to throw herself on charity, had long ago resolved she would take work as a governess first. But hopefully her future held brighter prospects.
The day before, Elizabeth’s attention had been on her father and not the mess the thief had left in the study, but entering this afternoon, the sheer weight of the destruction was obvious. Books had been thrown from the shelves and papers were scattered everywhere.
