For Miss Bennet's Honour

by Sophia Woodford

  "And of course you must meet my sister, Lydia," she said casually, "who is here tonight as well."

  Col. Fitzwilliam did not stumble, but he missed a beat and had to be counted back in, to the great irritation of their partner couple in the set. Elizabeth had her suspicions, and this confirmed them: Mr. Darcy and his cousin were no more here on pleasure than she was.

  More importantly, they might know more of what had happened to Wickham.

  There was no discreet way to approach the subject, but strangely Elizabeth did not mind. Mr. Darcy had shared a family secret with her, a similar scandal – Elizabeth did not flinch at reciprocating his trust, however much the man himself might grate on her.

  After the dance, Col. Fitzwilliam drew her aside before returning to the company.

  "I think we are here for the same purpose," he said low. Across the floor, Mr. Darcy was watching them. Elizabeth must have caught his eye, for he began making his way towards them.

  "I believe so," Elizabeth said cautiously. "I do not know what the British Army's intention is, but mine is to – Mr. Darcy," she said, and curtseyed.

  "Miss Bennet," he said again. "I hope my cousin is entertaining you well."

  "We must speak," Col. Fitzwilliam said to Mr. Darcy, over Elizabeth's head. "Are you at leisure?"

  Elizabeth was about to interject that any speaking on the subject of Lydia would be done with herself present, thank you very much, when behind her came a clapping of hands and a familiar cry.

  "Why, Mr. Darcy!" Lydia said in delighted astonishment. "What are you doing here?"

  "Mrs. – Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said carefully. Elizabeth heard the slip, and looked sharply at his face, but he did not look at her. "Please may I present my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Col. Fitzwilliam – Miss Lydia Bennet."

  "Not quite," Lydia said, twinkling. "You may call me Mrs. Wickham now!"

  Elizabeth closed her eyes. When she opened them, Col. Fitzwilliam was looking politely interested – but not surprised. Mr. Darcy was watching her – and Elizabeth saw not the condescension she was expecting, but sympathy.

  "May I fetch you a cup of lemonade?" he said.

  "I had better come with you," she said.

  There was so much to say – Elizabeth's relief at finding a partner in her aims was reflected in Mr. Darcy's face. She nearly began to laugh. Of course this ludicrous situation she had found herself in had only been missing one thing, a witness – and of course that witness would be Mr. Darcy.

  But before they reached the refreshments table, the cue sounded that the next set was about to begin.

  "As my cousin has already claimed a dance, you must grant me another," he said, offering his hand. "We can discuss the rest after."

  "I would be honoured," Elizabeth said. She could not help it, and added with an ironic smile. "It is not easy to tempt the great Mr. Darcy to a dance."

  She immediately regretted her tart remark, as he froze for a moment, then bowed in an exaggerated form. "I hope to make it worth the while," he said coldly.

  With a curtsey, Elizabeth took her place next to him, and dared not look at him as they waited for the first couple to decide the dance.

  It was the custom in England for the first couple to call the form of the dance, and it was so in France as well – but with liberty, came a little more liberality. The girl leading this dance was young, with auburn hair and a cheerfully hoydenish face, and her partner was her match in spirit. As the musicians waited, they conferred, and she cried out mischievously, "A waltz!"

  Several of the dancers cheered, and instantly the French officers swept the girls with them into their arms, a tight hold that made Elizabeth gasp to look at. The English officers hesitated only a second before following suit, taking their partners into a near-embrace that was unlike anything Elizabeth had seen before.

  Only she and Mr. Darcy stood apart – and the music was beginning.

  Elizabeth swallowed, and not willing to make a scene, looked at the couple nearest them. The man's arm curved around the lady's back, keeping close to her form all along her waist. The lady, in turn, placed her hand on the man's shoulder, and left it there, resting her arm along his.

  The prospect of touching Mr. Darcy so closely and intimately for the length of a full dance was almost unthinkable.

  But there was something in the thought that Elizabeth did not entirely dislike; and after her sharp words, she would not be the one to back down from their dance. She raised an eyebrow at Mr. Darcy and smiled. "Shall we?"

  *

  When Miss Bennet turned to look at the couple beside them, Mr. Darcy's throat closed up. Here it was: another rejection priming itself. He watched as she studied the pair, her hand twitching slightly in his as she analysed their position and form. Just as he was ready to speak to excuse her from such an unexpectedly intimate occurrence, she looked back at him.

  The impression of Elizabeth Bennet looking him full in the face would never, never stop surprising Darcy. Her bright black eyes caught his, and one dark eyebrow lifted in a knowing mockery. Her lips were curving in a warm smile as she proposed, "Shall we?"

  He could scarcely believe his ears. Far from spurning him, Miss Bennet was up for the challenge. Well, if she was up for it, so was he. Darcy cleared his throat and brushed his cravat with one hand.

  "We shall," he said. He attempted to sweep her into his hold, as he had seen the other men do; and the small intake of breath Miss Bennet emitted as he held her body tightly in his arms showed that he had not been totally incompetent.

  "I am afraid I must watch the steps," he admitted quietly, "as I do not know this dance."

  "Nor I," Miss Bennet said. They studiously avoided looking at each other, carefully watching the other dancers.

  The music was a silvery, swinging tune that looped and swirled in the air. The dancing began: it was as loose and free as the music had promised. The pattern was difficult to follow – it was not the even, regular measures of country dances that Darcy was familiar with – but after only a minute or so of observation, he caught the trick of it.

  Miss Bennet's feet tapping showed that she had worked it out too, possibly even before he had. Lifting his eyebrows half-apologetically, he lifted his arm beneath hers, clasped her waist, and began to move.

  It was not easy, but the measures were repetitive. By the first rotation around the room, Darcy nearly had it. This was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because he did not have to worry about stumbling over his feet in front of an entire room of enlisted Frenchmen, and a curse, because without his mind being occupied by trying to follow the dance, it was free to roam and settle on the very real, very physical presence of Miss Bennet in his arms.

  Her body was light and lithe in his hold. Her arm pressed gently against his as he held her up. When he stumbled, she was quick to correct him – and, for once, not point it out for amusement, but to gently correct and return him to the right path. Her arm against his raised goosebumps.

  For the first time, he felt like a dance was a partnership.

  Towards the end of the dance – which had been forever, or maybe only a minute – she tripped over a bit of wooden floor, and he caught her.

  Miss Bennet – Elizabeth – looked up at him. His hands encircled her upper arms, and her mouth was in a small O.

  "Thank you for catching me," she said. Was it his imagination or was she a little out of breath?

  "Not at all. It was my pleasure."

  "This dance is very – vibrant," she said.

  Darcy watched her chest rise and fall. It had not been that energetic. In fact compared to set dances, it was downright serene.

  Could it be that their dance together had affected Miss Bennet as much as it had affected him?

  Darcy pushed the thought – the hope – to the back of his mind. He had made his feelings clear, and Miss Bennet had made hers equally clear. It was not to him to continue to pursue her. He had not accom
panied her all the way to France simply to be a nuisance.

  But if she did reciprocate – if her feelings had changed…

  The music stopped, bringing his thoughts to an abrupt end.

  Miss Bennet was watching him with an odd look on her face, the ghost of a half-smile on her lips.

  "Would you care to take some tea?" she said.

  *

  Unfortunately there was no tea to be found, only coffee. This would do nothing to soothe Elizabeth's jangling nerves.

  When Mr. Darcy had slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, she had not been able to suppress a gasp at his strength and the nearness of his body.

  Now she needed a few moments to recollect herself – to sip tea and think – and there was none at all to be had.

  "Perhaps some air," she said.

  She was saved when Col. Fitzwilliam came up to them briskly, his demeanour completely changed from his earlier easiness.

  "I've received word from a comrade here – from Rouen," he said, pronouncing the name of that city in the English style. "Wickham paid a fare there, and the driver returned tonight – he confirmed that he drove a man of Wickham's height and complexion, and deposited him in the town."

  "How far is it?" Elizabeth said.

  "About a day's journey," Mr. Darcy said. He was looking over her head, as if he were determined not to catch her eye.

  Elizabeth considered. Le Havre was becoming more familiar, but if they were going to get Lydia back home they would need Mr. Wickham. It was all well and the same to Elizabeth whether he were in the English army, in the French army, or in the Maharajah's army, but Lydia would not go without him; they must uncover where he was.

  "Very well," she said. Mr. Darcy looked as if he would like to interject, but Elizabeth did not give him the chance. "Lydia and I will travel the day after tomorrow. I do not yet have my passport," she said.

  "I must ride ahead," Col. Fitzwilliam said, already looking keen to get under way, although he surely could not leave until morning. "I will leave word at the coaching post."

  Mr. Darcy turned to Elizabeth. "If you permit it, I will travel with you and your sister," he said. "I do not like the idea of your travelling unprotected so far."

  The prospect of a full day in an enclosed carriage with Mr. Darcy and Lydia was something like Elizabeth's personal version of hell; but she could not refuse the gentlemanly offer.

  "If you wish," she said, and gave the address of their inn. "I will find out the departure time of the coach south, and leave word." Mr. Darcy only bowed.

  More than ready to leave the ball, Elizabeth looked around for Lydia. After a few minutes she found her. Lydia was, of course, having the time of her life, perched over the shoulder of a French officer at the card table. He held up a card and she blew on it for luck, and playing it, won the trick.

  "My bonne chance!" he said. "Mrs. Wickham, you English ladies delight me much."

  "Let us go," Elizabeth said.

  "Au revoir!" Lydia trilled over her shoulder, as Elizabeth propelled her towards the door.

  "Adieu," she snapped, with finality.

  Chapter 18.

  Though Elizabeth would have liked to shadow her sister for their last day in Le Havre, in the hope of making sure Lydia stayed put, she did not think it would be wise; she was already finding it difficult to keep from snapping at Lydia outright.

  Elizabeth knew she was being unkind. A walk in the greenery was what she needed. It was unusual for her to spend so long in a city, without a country walk in her own company. Leaving firm instructions and a bit of money with Lydia's landlady, Elizabeth set out with Louise on a walk through the green paths and trees on the outskirts of town.

  After ten or fifteen minutes, the greenery opened out into a rocky coast, with trailings of sand. Through a gap in the path, Elizabeth caught sight of a beach.

  The shore was inviting, a long soft spread of sand intercut with flat rocks here and there, and the glassy sea flashing silver-white in the midday sun. A few Le Havraises were laughing and splashing each other. It seemed to be a ladies only beach, from what Elizabeth could see; the women, young and elegant, and servants alike were splashing in the surf. A few enterprising girls had folded their dresses on the rocks, and were paddling in their shifts.

  Elizabeth looked around. There were certainly no men; and it was a hot day. Louise was looking enviously at the ladies in the sea, although she did not say anything Elizabeth could read her thoughts clear as the water in front of them.

  "I suppose it would not be inappropriate," she said.

  Louise assented that it certainly would not be; that her memory was that many ladies of all fashions and dignities took the water in this way; that the sun was warm enough that an hour, or even half an hour, would be enough to dry their shifts if they chose to follow the ladies there; that furthermore from what she could see, the water was exceptionally pleasing and the currents seemed to be safe and fine.

  "And we have a full three hours before we must return to the passport office at the appointed time," Elizabeth said, laughing. "Very well – let us go in."

  She took off her shoes and stockings and folded them carefully, setting them on the rock. Several other ladies had done the same, and Elizabeth copied their style, rolling her stockings and tucking them inside her shoe for protection. For a quarter-hour or so, she only lifted her skirts and splashed her feet in the water; but it was so warm, and the water so pleasantly cool, and the ladies splashing up to their knees and waist were having so much fun, that Elizabeth soon followed them and slipped off her outer dress, folding it and placing it next to her other things on the rock.

  The deeper water was a little cooler, and Elizabeth gasped as it came up to her knees, and over. She knew how to swim in lakes, of course, having splashed around in the small dipping ponds around Longbourn when she was a girl; but the sea was so vast! It sparkled in the sunlight on a thousand points. She fancied she could see England.

  The water swirled around her waist, and Elizabeth dipped one hand in the water, first to feel it, then to splash playfully at nothing in particular. Other girls were out deeper, and she took a deep breath, and sank in.

  How astonishingly wide the sea was! If she kept swimming she could go out forever. She did not want to; but it was reassuring that the possibility was there. Elizabeth moved her feet experimentally, then retreated to shallower water to catch her breath.

  When she married, everything like this would be different – there would not be the liberty to slip off and go paddling whenever she liked. It was difficult to think of. Marriage was so final, such a closing off of a life that at the moment Elizabeth was enjoying very much. While she knew it would come someday, and in theory she looked forward to the man who would match her, Elizabeth had not yet found anyone who provided a more appealing option than remaining in her current condition.

  She took a deep breath and slipped in up to her waist again, and a little further.

  Her husband must respect her and listen to her, firstly. Of all Mr. Collins' sins in her eyes, that was the most egregious to Elizabeth's reflection. Charlotte was patient – much more patient than Elizabeth had ever found herself to be – and even she had been visibly chafing at Mr. Collins' ridiculous interruptions, pomposity and deference to Lady Catherine, after hardly six months of marriage. Elizabeth would never consent to be ruled by a man who did not allow her own voice in that government.

  He must allow her to be mistress of her own time, within reason. Even this short journey – which had been stressful and perilous – had shown Elizabeth how pleasurable it was to decide the shape and form of her own day. While of course many duties would call on her time as a wife and mother – and management of a household – Elizabeth loved reading and walking, and the pleasures of conversing with clever and interesting people. To be constantly occupied in business, or at another's beck and call, unable to even determine the order of her duties – never.
/>   A small voice told her that Lydia was free, and happy; and Elizabeth mentally amended her list to include a third and much more important attribute: he must be a man that she respected – and that, frankly, she liked. This list was not long. It included her father (whom she respected less, the more she understood the way he treated his wife); Mr. Gardiner (probably, on reflection, the best man she knew); and, at the moment, Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was friendly and had easy manners, but had made his intentions, or lack thereof, as clear as they could be. This suited Elizabeth well, for she was not in a hurry.

  Though Lydia did seem happy.

  Elizabeth shook this off, and returned to splashing carefully in the water. She did not dare to try to speak French to the other girls, but she could understand them well enough. Their accents were a little rougher than she was used to from Louise.

  The sun moved in the sky, and it was time to go back if she was to be dry in enough time for her appointment at the passport office. With one last great submerge, Elizabeth paddled back to shore.

  Louise was there already, wringing out her hair and shift, and laughing with some of the French girls.

  "They are asking, oh, so many questions about England!" she said. "What is the food like – is the weather the same – is the Prince of Wales as handsome as they say – and what are the men like?"

  "And what have you told them?" Elizabeth asked, amused. She wrung out her own shift; her hair she had left up, not daring to trust the sea water.

  "I have been very loyal," Louise said, putting her hand on her heart. "I have said the food is more, but not so well prepared; that the weather is much the same; the Prince of Wales I have not met; and the men – "

  "Are also not so well prepared," Elizabeth said, smiling at the joke.

  The sun was warming them pleasantly, and Elizabeth reached for her bonnet. The French girls near her came up, and one of them asked a question; it took only a little concentration for Elizabeth to answer.

  "No, not married," she said. "I am, er, not yet attached."