“His sister?” Elizabeth gasped. Mr. Darcy adored Georgiana—no wonder he hated Mr. Wickham!
“The foolish girl was blind with love for me,” Wickham said. “It was perfect. Then, he showed up… But now, I will have my revenge! And my money.”
“You still have not explained why you think Mr. Darcy will give you anything,” Elizabeth said, panic filling her. “Why would he pay for my return?”
“I am truly disappointed in you, Miss Bennet,” Wickham said, shaking his head. “To not connect the pieces yourself. It is shameful!”
Elizabeth scowled, in no mood to have her intelligence insulted along with everything else she had endured thus far. Wickham seemed to sense her mood.
“Very well, I will tell you,” he said. “Darcy loves you. It is obvious to anyone who takes the time to look for more than two seconds.”
Elizabeth felt her knees go weak again. It was not, however, due to the burst of joy in her chest upon hearing Wickham’s words. No, her joy was almost immediately blotted out by an overwhelming sense of dread and danger.
Until now, she had considered herself to have made a mistake in following Wickham, but not so great a mistake that she could not talk her way out of it. Now, hearing Wickham’s conviction in his declaration that Darcy loved her, as well as the depth of his anger and desire for revenge, Elizabeth knew that any hope of escape was gone. She was now, truly, in very serious trouble.
Chapter 26
Darcy
Darcy hardly noticed the cool night air slap against his face. He pushed past the guests mingling around the veranda, and looked desperately at the large garden spreading out into darkness. The torches Bingley had placed along the path near the house did not illuminate nearly enough of the grounds—Darcy could see some groups walking slowly, but Wickham and Elizabeth were not among any of them.
“Darcy!” Bingley clapped a hand on Darcy’s shoulder from behind, and turned him so they faced one another. “I know Wickham is reprehensible, but surely you cannot think that he would harm Miss Elizabeth?”
Darcy ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply.
“You do not understand,” he said quickly. “Wickham has become… nastier than you might recall.”
“How so?” Bingley asked, concern etched upon his face.
“I will explain in fullness later, Bingley, I swear. But please believe me when I say that Miss Elizabeth may very well be in bodily danger,” Darcy said, his voice wavering.
Bingley paled visibly in the dim light streaming from the house. Darcy pulled out of his friend’s grip and began to hurry towards the garden.
“Darcy,” Bingley said. “I have never heard such dread in your voice. Please, forgive me for doubting. How shall we proceed?”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Darcy said quickly. “Your greatest gift is your good opinion, even of people who are woefully undeserving.” Bingley and Darcy reached the entrance to the garden, and Darcy halted, looking up the path. “But now, we must focus on the search.”
“You know these grounds nearly as well as I,” Bingley said. “In this matter, I will follow your lead.”
Darcy nodded, appreciating Bingley’s offer. “I think that we must search away from the house, away from the ball. Whatever Wickham’s aim, it is unlikely that he would wish to do anything in front of a crowd.”
“Agreed,” Bingley said. He reached out and took the torches burning on either side of the ornate garden gate. “My guests will have to forgive me for plunging them into darkness.”
He handed one torch to Darcy and both men hurried into the garden, following the neatly cut path. After a few seconds, they came to a crossroads. Darcy glanced to his right and saw the path meandering into the gathering gloom.
“I shall look this direction,” he said, nodding to the right. “You go that way.” Darcy nodded to the opposite direction, where more torches provided light for the partygoers. Darcy felt certain that Wickham would have gone right, away from the house.
“Very well,” Bingley said grimly. “Be careful. If Wickham is as fallen as you say, it seems that we may encounter danger in this task.”
“May it not be so,” Darcy said, hoping he was wrong. “Be careful yourself. I fear if you are harmed, I will have to answer to Miss Bennet, and I have no desire to have such a confrontation.”
Bingley grinned broadly and gave a nod.
“Raise the alarm if you find them,” Bingley said.
Darcy nodded his agreement and they parted ways, Bingley heading into the light, Darcy into darkness.
The cobbled path soon gave way to a hard-packed earth, slightly muddy from recent rain. Darcy ran without noticing the flecks of mud that now stained his white hose. All he could think about was Elizabeth and Wickham. He felt sick as he ran different scenarios through his mind, each one more vile than the last. Anger mounted within him and he pushed himself to run faster, paying only the slightest attention to possible hazards along his path. More than once, he stumbled on a slight rise or fall in the earth.
A scream pierced the air as Darcy slid around a bend. His jaw tightened at the sound. He had no reason to think it was Elizabeth, but in his heart, he knew it must be her. Who else would scream on a night such as this?
“ELIZABETH!” Darcy cried, his voice booming in the silence.
A second scream ripped through the air, giving Darcy an indication of which direction to go. He turned to his left and found himself facing an ivy-covered wall, a foot taller than he. A third scream met his ears and he made his decision in a second: he placed the torch upon the wall and took several large steps back. He took two running steps and threw himself at the wall. Thorns bit into his hands, but he hardly noticed as he pulled the rest of his body to rest on the top of the stones.
From his new vantage point, he could see the expansive grounds of Netherfield stretching out before him. Wickham, it seemed, had taken Elizabeth out of the civilised and tended garden, and taken her into the untamed portions of the estate. Darcy desperately scanned the darkness, hoping for a flicker of light or movement—anything to give him a clue as to Elizabeth’s location.
A curse cut through the air and drew Darcy’s eyes to the shadow of the wall. Fifty feet from where he sat, he could see several figures struggling. His heart leapt with grim satisfaction—they had not got as far away as he had feared. A fierce pride surged through him as he considered how much trouble Elizabeth must have given her captor.
Darcy pushed the torch from the top of the wall, back into the garden. Fortunately, it seemed that Darcy’s arrival had not been noticed. He did not want to give away his advantage with the light.
Gently, he leapt down from the wall, landing on the soft grass. His eyes quickly adjusted to the new darkness, and he could now see that there were at least two other people besides Elizabeth. Vaguely, he considered that he would be outnumbered, but the thought to return to the house for help never crossed his mind. Now that he had found Elizabeth, his only thought was for getting her to safety.
He crept closer, pressing himself against the wall, using the shadows to his advantage. Darcy could now hear what the voices were saying.
“You said this would be easy, Wickham!” A rough voice exclaimed. The man sounded winded, as if he were engaged in a difficult physical activity. “But she is fighting worse than a cornered bear!”
Darcy smiled grimly—this must be the man in charge of subduing Elizabeth.
“I did not think a man such as yourself would have such trouble with a slip of a woman!” Wickham shot back. “We have to hurry! The longer we are here, the more likely someone will come looking for us!” Wickham sounded nervous, with good reason, Darcy thought.
“AH!” The first man roared in pain. “She keeps biting me!”
“HELP!” Elizabeth’s voice tore through the night. Her cries, however, were cut off as the man covered her mouth once again.
Darcy had heard enough—the fear in her voice threatened to break him unless he took actio
n. Reaching down, he felt the ground at his feet. His fingers closed around a heavy stone, and with it in his hand, he stood once more, ready to face Elizabeth’s attackers. He stepped out of the shadows:
“Let her go, Wickham,” he said in a cold fury, his eyes trained on the two men.
Wickham spun around quickly and gaped at Darcy, clearly surprised by his appearance.
“Darcy,” Wickham said, his face twisting into a sneer. “I guessed that you would follow, but I did not give you enough credit. I thought we would at least be away from Netherfield before you found us.”
“Let her go,” Darcy said again. He had no interest in engaging with Wickham’s banter. He continued to walk toward the group, slowly, without taking his eyes from the large man still holding Elizabeth.
Noticing him, Elizabeth had stopped kicking her captor. Her eyes were wide in fear as she watched Darcy approach, but he could also see something else in their depths: hope. And Darcy was not about to let her down.
“Darcy, Darcy, Darcy,” Wickham said with a sly laugh. “You are a smart man, one who has learned to count. Tell me, why should I let her go when we clearly have you outnumbered, two-to-one?”
“I am not afraid of you,” Darcy said, ice filling his words. “I am not a violent man, but I will do what is necessary to protect the woman I love.” He was far too preoccupied to realise what he had just said.
“Weakness,” Wickham spat. “It is just that weakness I had hoped to exploit, and here you are, as if you wanted to fulfil my plans.”
“You still have a chance to get away,” Darcy said, stopping and facing both men. “Let Elizabeth go this instant, and you have my word that I will not follow.” Darcy eyed each man in turn, his mind wrapping itself around the situation. A diplomatic solution was the best, for all involved. Any physical altercation would put Elizabeth in danger of being hurt.
Elizabeth, Darcy noticed, had now started to struggle against the large man again. He looked at her, and her frightened eyes held onto his, as if pleading him to save her.
“Let her go,” Darcy said again, more fiercely this time.
“You never could tell when you had a losing hand,” Wickham said with a mock sigh. “It’s what makes you such a miserable card player.”
“Eh, I recognise him,” the burly man said suddenly. “He was there that night with her. The one waving the pistol about.” Darcy started, but realised he did recognise the man after all. He was one of the bandits!
“Are these your friends now, Wickham?” Darcy asked flatly. “Highwaymen and thieves? Thank the Lord my father died before seeing you stoop to such levels.” Anger boiled—the elder Darcy had placed so much trust, so much hope, in Wickham, and this was how he repaid it? “You shame my father and yours.”
“Enough!” Wickham said, his voice filled with anger. “I merely want what is owed to me. Ten thousand pounds should cover it.” Darcy barked a laugh, he could not help himself. That he was owed? And such a ridiculous sum—Wickham clearly had only a tenuous grasp upon reality.
“You laugh?” Wickham continued. “Perhaps you will not find the situation so humorous when you get a better idea what will happen if you do not meet my demands!”
Wickham roughly pulled Elizabeth out of the other man’s grip, and brought her face close to his. Elizabeth yelped at the sudden movement, and Darcy started forward but Wickham urged him to stop.
“I would not come closer if I were you,” he said, and Darcy realised he had one hand wrapped securely around Elizabeth’s neck. “I do not want to hurt her. You may not believe me, but I am actually quite fond of Miss Elizabeth here. It would be a shame for anything to happen to her…”
Darcy felt sickened as he saw Wickham remove his hand from her throat, only to caress her cheek. Elizabeth recoiled from the touch, and Wickham laughed harshly. “You see, Darcy, is ten thousand pounds really more important to you than… her?”
“Do not give him anything!” Elizabeth cried, her voice strangely firm. Wickham spun her to face him, and his fingers gripped her hard. Darcy heard her let out a gasp of pain, and he knew he could not stand it any longer. Rushing forward, he determined to do whatever was necessary to free Elizabeth from these horrible men.
In his haste, however, Darcy forgot about the second man. Before he could reach Wickham, the highwayman crashed into him like a carriage at full tilt. Darcy hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. Painfully, he felt the man’s fists connect with his ribs first and then his face.
Rolling away blindly, he heard the other man curse as his next blows missed Darcy. He shook his head and located his opponent. He tried to scramble to his feet, but the man caught him. He kicked hard and felt his heel solidly connect to the man’s body. He heard a wheeze of pain and took the chance to jump to his feet.
Remembering he still held the stone in his hand, Darcy pulled his fist back and hit the highwayman with as much strength as he could muster. His fist, strengthened by the rock, connected with the man’s jaw. Pain exploded in Darcy’s hand, but the man dropped to the ground and did not stir.
Darcy felt no satisfaction, however, and he frantically spun about, searching for Wickham and Elizabeth. To his shock, he found Wickham on the ground as well, moaning and holding his stomach. Elizabeth stood over him, looking immensely satisfied with herself. Darcy hurried over and put himself between her and the cowering man.
“We are leaving,” Darcy said. “And take my advice, Wickham: Run. Run and do not return. You will never receive any money from me. If I even hear your name, I will ensure every man, woman and child in England will know you for the villain you are. And if I hear you have harmed anyone else, I will make sure you stand trial for banditry, kidnapping and whatever other grievous crimes I find. I doubt even you will be able to talk your way out of a hangman’s noose at that juncture. Goodbye forever, Wickham.”
Darcy turned away from him, not waiting for him to respond. He realised that he truly did not care what happened to the man he had once considered a brother. It was an oddly freeing sensation.
Taking Elizabeth’s arm, they strode away from the pair of miscreants. Ahead, Darcy saw an open gate, and he pulled Elizabeth through. As soon as they both were back inside the carefully maintained garden, Darcy slammed the wooden door closed, bolting it against entrance from the outside. Even if he were foolish enough to follow, Wickham would not be able to use that method.
Darcy turned to face Elizabeth, his blood still pumping from the brief fight.
“Are you well?” He asked, fighting an urge to take her into his arms. She had been unceremoniously handled enough for one night, and Darcy did not want to add to her distress.
“I am fine,” Elizabeth said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself in the cool night air. Darcy sighed with relief, but it was short-lived as he realised she was crying.
“What is it?” He asked, his concern once again spiking. “Are you hurt? I swear, if he hurt you, I will hunt him down…”
“No, I am not hurt,” she said, wiping her eyes. “It’s just…” She paused, and her chin dropped to her chest. Darcy’s heart had begun to slow and he realised that she was still fighting strong emotions.
“You needn’t be frightened any more,” he said gently. “I do not think even Wickham is foolish enough to come after us again.”
“It isn’t that,” Elizabeth said, her eyes still downcast.
“Then what?” Darcy asked, confusion and anxiety filling him.
“It’s…” She paused and Darcy waited for her to continue. She took a deep breath and then continued quietly, “I prayed you would come. I had no right, but I prayed you would come again.”
Darcy felt a new kind of warmth spread through him at her words—the warmth of love and affection. Softly, he placed his left hand under her chin and raised her eyes to his. Even in the darkness, he could see they were rimmed with tears.
“I will always come,” he said, emotion choking his voice. “So long as I have breath in my body, I
will protect you.”
Elizabeth smiled up at him and said, “Then all my prayers have been answered.”
Chapter 27
Elizabeth
Elizabeth felt as if she had lived a hundred years in the last hours. Beyond the horrid treatment she had endured, the revelation of both Wickham’s true character and Mr. Darcy’s true affections for her sent her mind into a whirl. She felt exhausted and overwhelmed by it all, but she also knew the night was not yet over. It was too much to expect no one to question why she and Mr. Darcy were emerging from the garden, looking distinctly ruffled.
“Everything will be fine,” Mr. Darcy said quietly as Netherfield’s brightly lit windows came into view. He seemed to be reading her mind.
“Will it?” Elizabeth replied, suddenly anxious. “What will people say?”
Elizabeth loved her home, and her friends and neighbours, but she also knew how much everyone enjoyed a good story—hadn’t Mr. Wickham’s utterly false tales about Mr. Darcy proved that? Seeing them in such a state would send the entire town into a whirlwind of rumour. She glanced at Mr. Darcy, his face fully visible in the light from the torches that now lit their path. His brow was furrowed and it seemed he did not have an answer for her either.
“We will think of something,” he said finally. They passed a bench, and Mr. Darcy paused. “Would you like to sit for a moment?”
Elizabeth looked at the bench and glanced toward the noise still emanating from Netherfield. She suddenly felt her legs go weak and she sunk gratefully onto the seat. She found she could not yet face the rest of the party.
Mr. Darcy sat beside her, and they did not speak for several long moments.
“Are you truly unharmed?” Darcy finally asked, so softly Elizabeth could hardly hear him. She looked at him and was startled to find him staring at her, his brown eyes full of worry and some other emotion that she could not quite identify.
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