Mr Darcy's Miracle at Longbourn

by Rose Fairbanks

  “Miss Bennet?” Elizabeth heard Darcy’s anxious tone come from the direction of the house.

  He held no lantern, and it took a moment for her to make out his frame in the increasing darkness.

  “Over here, Darcy.”

  Wickham’s foul breath flew past her ear again.

  “I believe we can finally talk about the matter of what you owe me.”

  “Wickham,” Darcy growled. “I owe you nothing!”

  Leaves crunched, signalling Darcy’s approach. Wickham tightened his hold on Elizabeth, earning a whimper from her. The shuffling of feet ceased.

  “Elizabeth?” Darcy asked, fear evident in his tone.

  “Go ahead, sweetheart,” Wickham commanded. “Reassure him you live.” He laughed. “So long as both of you do as I say, the blade will not slice her throat.”

  Elizabeth remained mute. She would not let him gain anything through her. The blade cut deeper, and Elizabeth felt the bile rising in her throat.

  “You may have anything you desire so long as you do not harm her,” Darcy said. The previous tone was gone, and he was the Master of Pemberley in command once more.

  “And you?” Wickham’s hand around her waist tightened. “Do you agree as well?”

  “Elizabeth,” Darcy said calmly, “cooperate with him, and I promise you will return safely to your parents.”

  How had it come to this? Wickham was crazed and threatening her life? She had been blind, so blind! No injustice he had faced in life would justify this cruelty.

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “I will obey you.”

  “Ah, good to see she can be biddable,” Wickham said. “Now, you may approach, Darcy.”

  Darcy’s feet moved at a steady rhythm, and soon he emerged from the shadows and trees.

  “Our hero,” Wickham laughed. “Or should I say our bait! You see, it was he the others intended for you to meet out here. A lover’s tryst?”

  “Wickham, what do you want?” Darcy said.

  His eyes never left Elizabeth’s. They pleaded with her to trust him.

  “What should have been mine! Taken from my father and raised alongside you. I should have been treated as a son!” Wickham spat at Darcy’s boots.

  “And so you were,” Darcy said in an eerily composed tone considering Wickham’s words and actions “Many younger sons enter the church.”

  Wickham shook his head. “Not a Darcy. Tell me, was your uncle expected to live off a few hundred pounds per annum?”

  Elizabeth furrowed her brow. Wickham was not a Darcy, and she highly doubted he would have concealed that heritage or that Darcy would not acknowledge him. She remained mute, allowing the scene to play out.

  “Would you like a house? A thousand a year?” Darcy asked and attempted to step forward.

  “Get back!” Wickham barked, and Darcy complied. “Thirty thousand pounds—what I would have had if you had not interrupted my plans with your sister—and the estate in Wiltshire.”

  Elizabeth bit back a gasp. That would nearly ruin Mr. Darcy. It would take all of Miss Darcy’s fortune. Suddenly, Elizabeth realised that was what Wickham meant. He had hoped to marry her? No, he could never have wanted to act so honourably, nor would Darcy have allowed it. Had he planned on eloping with the young girl?

  A tear trickled down Elizabeth’s face. She had been so stupid to believe in anything the man said. And based on what? Her pleased vanity?

  “You are running out of time, Darcy,” Wickham said. “Others will look for her soon, and if you do not agree to my demands, they will find you...with her dead body.”

  “And I have your word that you will leave me alone after this?” Darcy asked.

  “What would be the fun in that?”

  “Very well, anything,” Darcy said. “Let her go.”

  “I knew you would defend her honour. Your stupid duty guides you in everything!”

  Wickham released Elizabeth and kicked her forward. She landed with a groan as her head hit the ground hard. She could barely make out any sounds but heard Darcy lunge for her before Wickham screamed at him to get back. They were fighting! She could hear punches being thrown and rolling on leaves. Elizabeth struggled to stay conscious.

  “This may be even more satisfying than your money,” Wickham said with laboured breaths.

  Elizabeth forced her eyes open, and she saw Darcy pinned to the ground underneath Wickham, who held the knife to his throat.

  “No!” she screamed and threw the rock that her head had landed on.

  Wickham fell over with a thud, and Darcy lunged for the knife. Securing it in the waist of his breeches, he ran to Elizabeth. She needed help reaching a sitting position, and tears flooded her eyes. Had she killed him?

  “Elizabeth, it’s going to be well. You are safe and unharmed,” he said even as he ran hands over her limbs to check for breaks.

  “But he could wake.” She winced when he placed a handkerchief to her throat. “Or is he—is he—?” She could not bear to say the words, and sobs consumed her.

  “Only unconscious, I believe.” Darcy left her side to examine Wickham. “He breathes. He will have a devil of a headache when he wakes.”

  Elizabeth scarcely heard but managed to nod. Her entire body shook, and tears still streaked down her face.

  Darcy returned to her side and settled Elizabeth into his arms, holding her tight. “I am sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I am so sorry. I ought to have told you about Wickham and Georgiana. I never would have thought…”

  Shuddering, she looked up to see tears escaping his eyes. “It is not your fault.” She reached up and tenderly stroked one away.

  “How can you say that?” he asked. “You are too generous, much too generous!” He clutched her tightly to him again. “What would I have done without you?”

  Before she could think otherwise or stop him—although she found she did not really wish it after all—his lips came crashing down on hers. The church bells rang, reminding Elizabeth of a call to celebration.

  Angels We Have Heard on High

  Darcy House, London

  December 23, 1811

  Feeling as though he had awoken from a deep slumber, Darcy resisted the urge to stretch and yawn as he looked around his dining room. Had he gone mad? A moment ago, he had Elizabeth in his arms, and now he had returned to London.

  Down the table, Mr. Hurst snorted in his sleep, causing him to jump. “Pardon me! Bingley, you were...uh...saying?” He looked from one confused face to the next, then shrugged and gulped the remaining port in his glass.

  “I…” Bingley trailed off and blinked rapidly.

  “I believe you were just saying you needed to return to Netherfield immediately,” Richard supplied.

  “Yes.” Bingley’s eyes widened, and he nodded emphatically. “Yes, I was. Thank you.”

  “You want to go back to that desolation?” Hurst asked as he sloshed more port into his glass.

  Richard and Bingley both swung their heads to Darcy, willing him to play along. A part of him thought he had lost his mind or was dreaming. He recalled everything. Mary Bennet’s revelation of repeating December twenty-third. Wickham attacking Elizabeth. Lydia bearing Wickham’s child. Collins dying. Time and time again, Darcy had found the Bennets in distress, and due to matters he could alleviate or prevent. More than this, he could still taste Elizabeth on his lips, and her perfume clung to him. As often as he had vividly imagined such an encounter, he never considered that she tasted like mulled cider or imagined the woodsy scent of trees and dirt mixing with her usual lavender.

  “What kind of master would he be if he did not attend to his house and estate?” Darcy replied to Hurst, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Richard and Bingley relax.

  “Hurst,” Bingley said while standing, “please see to Caroline and Louisa. You will need a hack as I’ll be leaving from Darcy House within the hour.”

  “Surely it is not as urgent as that!” Mr. Hurst exclaimed and looked longingly at Darcy’s
fine wine.

  “Take the bottle as my thanks,” Darcy said.

  Bingley’s brother-in-law instantly agreed. Bottle in hand, he left to corral his charges.

  “Do you remember?” Richard asked Bingley and Darcy.

  “Was it real?” Bingley asked in wonder.

  “It was real,” Darcy answered. As he stood, the chair scraped against the floor, echoing in the vast room. “Let us be about it, then.” He turned to leave, every fibre in his body thrumming with the need for activity, with the need to see Elizabeth.

  “What are your intentions, Darcy?” Richard called after him.

  “What are yours? I am sure Miss Mary would like to know.” Darcy tempered his reply with a grin, sending Richard to laughter.

  “I am going to marry Jane,” Bingley declared and walked to Darcy’s side. “With or without your blessing.”

  Darcy stared his closest friend in the eye. The man he had protected like the brother he always wished he had finally stood up to him, and Darcy could not have been prouder. Extending his arm and placing a hand on Bingley’s shoulder, Darcy nodded. “You have it, not that you ever needed it. Can you forgive my officiousness?”

  “It was kindly meant,” Bingley said with a smile. “Now, we had best be off, or I will have to interfere with your prospects.”

  Darcy laughed and shook his head, his hand dropping to his side. Elizabeth may never return his affections, but he could not have Bingley play matchmaker for him. He would earn her devotion or spend his entire life striving for it. Richard approached. “What will you tell Georgie?”

  “She probably has more of it figured out than we do,” Darcy said ruefully and led his friend and cousin to the drawing room.

  “There you are!” Georgiana flew to his side, twisting her hands. “Caroline and Louisa did put up some fight, but I sent them on their way. Mr. Hurst can be quite firm when motivated well enough.” She slid her brother a disapproving glare. “I have already sent for my trunk.”

  This time, Darcy did not even try to argue with her. They all separated and agreed to meet in one hour. At the appointed time, they boarded Darcy’s carriage. Bingley’s would follow with the luggage. The ride passed in silence, no one knowing what to feel or expect.

  Arriving at Netherfield, each returned to their chambers. The sleepy looks and dark circles under each pair of eyes at the breakfast table confirmed to Darcy his supposition. No one had slept well. Before dressing this morning, Darcy had sent a message to Mr. Bennet requesting to speak with him on an urgent matter. To his surprise, and relief, the older gentleman agreed immediately and hinted that Elizabeth was behind his decision and speedy reply.

  Boarding the carriage once more, they hurtled forth, swaying on a bumpy road and with equally turbulent thoughts clouding their minds. At last, they arrived at Longbourn and entered, surprised when they met with a trio of blushing Bennet sisters. It seemed that the ability to remember the events of the past week transferred to the eldest three daughters as well.

  “Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet greeted him, “I hope you do not mind that Elizabeth will join our discussion.”

  “Of course not,” Darcy said as nervousness gnawed at his belly. He ought to have explained about Wickham long ago. It was the only thing he could think of which featured at each day they had experienced. And yet he had never told a soul all of Wickham’s evil at once. Never had he believed that the good opinion of one he loved more than life depended upon accepting his presentation of the facts.

  Mr. Bennet and his second daughter left the room, and Richard nudged Darcy to follow before taking a seat beside Miss Mary, who blushed and caused her mother to stammer even more than when she had seen Bingley. He was greeted favourably by Jane while Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty fawned over Georgiana. She gave him a brave smile and a shooing motion.

  Taking a deep breath, Darcy summoned his courage and left for his battle. Declining Mr. Bennet’s offer to sit, Darcy chose to pace. While he told his tale of Wickham’s years of deceit and betrayal, he fixated his eyes on various objects in the room. Now and then, some book or item struck him as more Elizabeth-like than what he would guess her father to enjoy. How had he dared to think less of this family? They made Elizabeth who she was, kept her healthy and happy her whole life while others were so miserable they sought to compromise him. He could not always like the behaviour of the Bennets, but what flaws they had were innocent and, when looked at through the eyes of love, not so unbearable.

  When Darcy relayed the news of Wickham’s desired elopement with Georgiana, he heard Elizabeth gasp. Turning to look at her, he saw tears prick her eyes.

  “I had hoped it was a nightmare,” she murmured.

  “What was that, Elizabeth?” her father asked.

  She cleared her voice and spoke more distinctly. “I said, what a nightmare.”

  “Indeed,” her father said.

  Darcy’s eyes never left Elizabeth’s as he carefully chose his words. “Unfortunately, all of this is true. You may corroborate with my cousin if you wish. Imagine if Georgiana had eloped with him. Once he received her money, he likely would have cast her off and seen to his own pleasures regardless of any familial duties he may have incurred.”

  By the widening of her eyes, Darcy presumed she understood that he referenced the period of time when Wickham had fathered Lydia’s child.

  “I do not think consulting your cousin will be necessary,” Mr. Bennet said. “I suppose there is a reason you have explained all this.”

  “Yes,” Darcy said, finally allowing his eyes to leave Elizabeth. “The area merchants and gentlemen should be warned. Richard and I will speak with his colonel.”

  Before Darcy could say more, there were happy shrieks from the drawing room, followed by Mrs. Bennet’s frenzied voice.

  “Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet!” Her rapid steps were heard down the hall. She flung open the door, chest heaving as she worked for breath. “Mr. Bennet, it is the best news imaginable! Mr. Bingley has proposed to Jane! Make haste!”

  Mr. Bennet rolled his eyes, but Darcy saw the pleased smile on the older man’s face as he returned to his family. Taking a moment to consider what it would be like if he had five daughters, Darcy concluded that he likely would not be half as sensible as the Bennet patriarch.

  Darcy could feel Elizabeth’s eyes upon him. One side of his body tingled, and he knew she approached. Did she remember everything? Did she remember their kiss? And had she felt the passion he had?

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “You did not need to come.”

  Heart pounding in his chest, Darcy looked down at her. He could see she also had not slept, and yet she was still the most beautiful woman in the world to him. “Yes, I did. A gentleman must right his wrongs.”

  Elizabeth nervously fingered her neck. “I can still feel it…” She took a deep breath. “Do all of you recall the events?”

  “Yes,” Darcy nodded. “And your sisters?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “I cannot apologise enough for allowing Wickham to harm you. If I had behaved better, you might not have trusted him. If I had done my duty and exposed him, it would have been impossible. If I had not angered you—”

  Elizabeth placed a hand on his arm, silencing him. “There is nothing to forgive. If it were me, I would have protected my sister as well. You are not to blame for Wickham. I, however, must beg your forgiveness. I had been so prejudiced and blind—”

  Darcy now felt it necessary to interrupt her. “We have misjudged each other. Might we begin again?”

  Auld Lang Syne

  Longbourn

  December 23, 1811

  “Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?” Elizabeth asked and arched a brow.

  “I’ll take a cup of kindness,” Darcy replied, smiling.

  “As I recall, it was your kindness that saved me.”

  Darcy shook his head. “Nay, you saved me. Wickham would not have hurt you...he always meant to injure me.”

>   Elizabeth thought over Darcy’s words for a moment. He seemed to complacently claim that Wickham never would have wounded her. However, at the time, he had desperately clung to her. More than that, he had made sure she was safe and unharmed. Even when it came to promising Wickham tens of thousands of pounds and an estate, he agreed to it without hesitation for her sake. And he would attempt to say he had done nothing heroic? That he was to blame?

  Instantly, Elizabeth felt she understood more about Mr. Darcy than she would have if she had known him for a year. Perhaps it was the strangeness of the repeating days—for she recalled that as well—or the stress of being attacked by Wickham. The fact that the man before her had been abominably abused and cast aside in favour of Wickham by nearly everyone—herself included—and yet apologised for perceived weakness and inaction proved he had no improper pride. He lacked social graces. He did not know the pretty words Wickham used or all the right places to smile. Unlike Collins, he did not attempt to practise it either. He could not act differently than he was, whether the world would love or despise him.

  Or perhaps it was despise and love him? Were the two entirely separate? Did she not often hate her family but always love them?

  “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable again,” Darcy said, beginning to approach the door. “Please forgive me.”

  “Why should I?” she blurted.

  He paused at the doorway. “Pardon?”

  “Have you said or done something to me that you regret? That you did not mean?”

  Darcy paled, incredible pain filling his eyes. He approached and whispered, “Do you mean besides my ungentlemanly behaviour for weeks? Besides my secrecy leading to Wickham attacking you? Yes, I do have other regrets. Do you not recall?” His eyes searched hers.

  Elizabeth had meant his tender attention after subduing Wickham.

  She had also meant his proposal—which lacked any loving words, but then it seemed actions were his strong suit. “I recall, sir, but I do not have regrets.”

  “How can that be? Or are you teasing me?” He shook his head. “No, you would not be so cruel. My wishes and affections are unchanged—and never will—but I grieve ever hurting you with my arrogant presumption.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “When I think of the liberties I took…I am fortunate you did not slap me.”