Foiled Elopement: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Renata McMann

  There were decisions to be made about which servants to bring and what could be done on the farm in his absence. He would use his own horses until he could change them. Then he would rely on post horses. It would be expensive, but if Mrs. Bennet had anything right, it was that the more time Elizabeth remained at the inn, the worse off they would all be. He called in servants and began relaying instructions, both to prepare for the journey and on what to do in his absence. He was nearly ready to go when Jane slipped into the library. She waited until he dismissed a footman with instructions to one of his tenants before stepping up to stand before his desk.

  “I want to go with you,” she said, preempting his words.

  “I can’t wait for you to get ready,” he said crisply.

  “I’m packed and dressed for the journey.”

  He looked at her, having hardly noticed before what she was wearing. He wasn’t certain where she obtained the ugly brown dress she had on, but it was a sensible one to wear on the trip. “I need you here. There has to be someone with common sense in this house.”

  “Mary is more sensible than you give her credit for, Papa. A plain face can still house a worthy mind.” Jane’s tone was sharp.

  Mr. Bennet blinked. Jane was never sharp. Furthermore, her reprimand stung slightly with its truth. He did look on Mary and see only mediocrity and it was in large part because of her outward appearance.

  Jane’s expression softened. “I’ve given Mary detailed instructions on how to manage here without us, and how to manage Mama, Kitty and Lydia. She knows what she needs to do. I also wrote a letter to send to Uncle Gardiner.” She handed him a letter.

  Mr. Bennet realized in his rush, he hadn’t informed his wife’s brother of what he was doing. Since Elizabeth’s letter said she was also writing her uncle, it was important to let Mr. Gardiner know Mr. Bennet was on his way to retrieve her. There was no reason for both of them to make the journey north.

  Mr. Bennet flipped open Jane’s letter. In addition to telling Mr. Gardiner where he and Jane were going, she suggested it would be helpful for Mrs. Gardiner to come to Longbourn. Jane didn’t say Mrs. Gardiner would be needed to bring some common sense into the house, but it was true. Mr. Bennet forwent pointing out that requesting Mrs. Gardiner belied Jane’s words of faith in Mary.

  Mr. Bennet folded the letter, which already proclaimed Jane was going with him, and scrutinized his eldest daughter. Jane rarely demanded anything. “Why are you needed with me, not here?”

  Jane sighed. “I’m worried about Elizabeth. I know she wrote that remaining was her idea, and I’m sure the details about this individual who needed her space in the carriage will prove to be convincing, but I’m worried about her, Papa. She’s brave, and bold. Perhaps too much so. I’m worried what state we may find her in and that, well . . .” She looked down for a long moment before meeting his eyes again. “If any ill has befallen her while residing at this inn, with only strangers to look after her, she might need me there. I don’t even want to permit myself to think what might happen that you couldn’t mitigate, but I very much feel I should go.”

  Jane’s fears echoed Mr. Bennet’s concern. No matter how many reassurances were in the letter, Elizabeth was staying at a roadside inn with only strangers to protect her. They might be kind people, even good people, but they had little motivation to care for her. “You may come, but we’re leaving now.”

  He headed for the front parlor, curious if Jane truly was ready. She followed him, staying in the hall when he stopped in the doorway. Mrs. Bennet reclined on a sofa with a handkerchief over her face, issuing a cacophony of wails and moans. Kitty and Lydia sat together on the couch across from her, sorting ribbon. Mary was nowhere to be seen.

  “Jane and I are off,” he said, cutting into the caterwauling.

  Mrs. Bennet let out a loud sigh. “And now you’re taking Jane from me. What shall I do? How will I manage?” she asked from under the kerchief.

  “Jane gets to go?” Lydia cried, looking up from her ribbons.

  “Why does Jane get to go, Papa?” Kitty asked.

  “Lizzy and Jane have all the fun,” Lydia said, her mouth forming into a pout.

  “We’ll send word when we reach her.” Mr. Bennet turned and walked out, pausing only to gather his coat, gloves and hat.

  Jane followed suit, asking one of the footmen to take her trunk out.

  He climbed into the carriage, Jane behind him. She carried a basket which, if his nose was any judge, contained provisions for the journey. Mr. Bennet was pleased she’d thought of it, for he hadn’t. He could hear the footman fixing her small trunk to the outside of the carriage. Within moments, they set out.

  Chapter Six – Challenge Issued

  Elizabeth sat down at the pianoforte, attempting to hide her grimace. She’d come to loathe the sight of the sturdy little instrument and the conundrum it presented. Her playing wasn’t quite up to the standards of some of the patrons, yet she was never permitted to play a piece more than twice in a row before someone would call out for change. How they expected her to improve while constantly switching music she didn’t know, but they obviously did. The few coins she got each evening to pay for her dinner hardly seemed enough compensation for her troubles. The only bright side was that she hadn’t seen Mr. Wickham about in a couple days.

  She opened the pianoforte, staring down at the keys. If only she could practice during the day, but there was no time. She helped Jenny clean the guest rooms and the common room, and bring in firewood. They chopped and scrubbed in the kitchen, and boiled water to wash linens. Elizabeth had no notion how Jenny usually accomplished it all on her own, for the work was endless. That afternoon was the earliest Elizabeth had managed to get to the pianoforte since arriving. She’d hoped to find the common room empty so she could practice, but that hope went unrealized. Still, there was only one table of regulars at a late midday meal, and the nearly constant presence of Mr. Gregory, Mr. Matthews and their backgammon board.

  Elizabeth organized her sheet music. With the help of Mr. Buchanan, whose knowledge of the roads was surprising for a man who never actually traveled on them, Elizabeth estimated the earliest day she could reasonably expect her father or uncle was tomorrow. She refused to console herself by thinking there was only one more night. There were dozens of possibilities that might make either’s journey take longer. She could be stuck there playing for days more.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” a voice hissed.

  Elizabeth turned to find Mr. Wickham looming over her. He stood between her and the bar, cutting off the reassuring view of Mr. Buchanan. She slid to the other end of the bench and stood, trying to keep the low seat between her and Mr. Wickham. She didn’t care for the smell of liquor on his breath or the hateful glint in his blue eyes.

  “I’m afraid your question lacks detail, sir, making me disinclined to answer it,” she said, a quick glance assuring her Mr. Buchanan was on hand and watching.

  “Don’t be coy with me. It was you who got Georgiana out of here. She went with those people you were with.” He circled the bench, crowding her against the pianoforte.

  Elizabeth didn’t reply. She edged along the pianoforte toward the bar.

  Mr. Wickham waved in that direction. “The innkeeper said an expensive carriage came and took Georgiana away. He said there were four horses and it was too dark for details.” Wickham shot a glare in Mr. Buchanan’s direction. “No one else saw the carriage, but they did see that family you came in with in the company of a tall girl wearing expensive looking clothes. I tracked them down. They stopped to rest their horses in the next town south.”

  That was how the Muirs traveled, not wanting the expense of post horses. Elizabeth wished they’d pressed on, just this once. At least the mystery of where Mr. Wickham had gotten to was resolved, though she wished he’d simply left for good, not been out investigating. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with the Muirs or what they are or aren’t doing.”

  She took another step,
nearly free of the pianoforte and its bench. She would feel safer over by the bar, with Mr. Buchanan beside her. Mr. Wickham glared at her through narrow eyes.

  His gaze slid past her, toward the entrance. His eyes flew wide. Elizabeth turned to see what attracted his attention. He struck her, hitting the side of her head. She was flung against the pianoforte, crashing into it with nearly as much force as his blow. Men’s voices rose in surprise and anger.

  “You’ve ruined my life,” Mr. Wickham yelled. “In a few more hours, I would have had thirty thousand pounds and my revenge.” He raised his hand to strike again. “You little chit, you…”

  “Have my gratitude,” said a deep baritone voice. A large hand fastened around Mr. Wickham’s arm as he swung at Elizabeth a second time. Mr. Wickham was wrenched back, away from her.

  Elizabeth blinked rapidly, stunned, taking in a tall stranger. She pushed herself upright, unsure which hurt more, her head or her ribs. Mr. Wickham pulled away from the stranger. To her shock, he lunged toward her again, hand raised. This time, the stranger stepped into Mr. Wickham’s path. He didn’t restrain Wickham again. Instead, he cocked his arm. His fist connected with Mr. Wickham’s face.

  Mr. Wickham stumbled backward, careening away from Elizabeth. Mr. Buchanan, Mr. Gregory and Mr. Matthews were all there, surrounding her. Some of the other regulars got between Mr. Wickham and the tall stranger, who glared at Wickham with eyes that promised murder.

  Elizabeth brought tentative fingers to her head, grimacing. She was lucky she’d turned to look when she had, or Mr. Wickham would have hit her full in the face. All about her, the men of the town were shouting, some for calm, some in anger.

  Mr. Wickham shrugged free of the two regulars on either side of him. He rubbed his jaw. “I accept your challenge,” he said to the tall man. Wickham spat on the inn floor, his saliva tinted red. “It’s customary to deliver just a slap. I think you loosened a tooth.”

  “You’re not worthy of a challenge,” the man said, his deep voice like a winter frost. “I was protecting the lady.”

  “Lady.” Mr. Wickham aimed a sneer at Elizabeth. “I don’t see any lady, only a tavern whore.”

  That elicited a babble of outrage from the gathered men.

  “You retract that or I’ll challenge you,” Mr. Buchanan said, loudest of the lot.

  “Why challenge him? Let’s take him outside and teach him a lesson,” another man yelled.

  “Now, now,” Mr. Gregory called over the uproar.

  The stranger cast a quelling look around the room. Elizabeth was surprised how quickly the other men stilled under his gaze. Finally, it came to rest on her. She realized she still had a hand to her head and dropped it to her side, feeling oddly nervous under the weight of that look. Something softened in his expression for a moment, hardening again when he turned to Mr. Wickham.

  “There is no need for any of you to take action against Mr. Wickham,” the stranger said. “I shall meet him at the location and time of his choosing and dispense retribution for his transgressions.”

  Still rubbing his jaw, Mr. Wickham smiled in satisfaction. “I pick now, with swords.”

  “That isn’t how gentlemen conduct duels,” one of the men said.

  “Gentlemen conduct duels in any way they agree to.” Mr. Wickham put an odd emphasis on the word gentlemen.

  “You need seconds to discuss the details,” another of the regulars said.

  “Why wait? Let this fellow take on Mr. Wickham, or I will. He struck Miss Bennet,” another of the townsmen said.

  The stranger turned his assessing eyes on her once more. Elizabeth studied him. He was taller than any of the other men, with dark hair and brooding eyes. His countenance was exceedingly pleasing, his form upright and strong. Why Mr. Wickham wanted to pit himself against a man so assuredly his superior she didn’t know, but it was obvious he did. Elizabeth could only conclude that here was Miss Georgiana’s brother, Fitzwilliam, and the ill-will between him and Mr. Wickham ran deep.

  “Sir, do you have a second you can call?” Mr. Buchanan asked Georgiana’s brother.

  “I do not.” He turned a look of distaste on Mr. Wickham. “Neither of us has anyone here to be our second, I imagine. I, because my friends aren’t near, and you because you have no friends.”

  Mr. Wickham scowled. “After saying that, you can’t deny me satisfaction. We settle this now. We should be able to find seconds here.”

  “Sir,” Mr. Buchanan said to Georgiana’s brother. “I am not a gentleman, but I would be pleased to be a second for the man who protected Miss Bennet.”

  “And I will second Mr. Wickham,” Mr. Gregory said. Everyone looked at him in surprise. “Being a clergyman, I feel I can best do the chief duty of a second: try to talk some sense into his head.” He turned to Mr. Wickham. “You must see that you deserved to be struck for attacking Miss Bennet.”

  “I concede no such thing. I will have satisfaction,” Mr. Wickham declared.

  “Dueling is illegal,” Elizabeth said, turning to Mr. Matthews. As the local magistrate, it was his place to step in. Though Georgiana’s brother appeared formidable, Mr. Wickham knew him well and was obviously confident he would win a duel. On top of that, if word got out that Elizabeth had been fought over, people would assume the worst of her.

  “The law can be very blind to duels,” Mr. Matthews said, aiming a glare at Mr. Wickham. Then he brightened. “In fact, I have a pair of swords that might serve.” He waved over a servant, sending the man for them.

  Mr. Gregory drew Mr. Wickham off to the side, speaking rapidly to him. The other men began to disperse. Elizabeth touched her head again, finding the area tender.

  Mr. Buchanan turned to Georgiana’s brother. “By your looks, you must be Miss Georgiana’s brother,” he said in a low voice. “She went south with a family named Muir. I’d hoped she was reunited with her family by now.”

  “She has been,” he said.

  “You should know she never gave her last name, sir. To preserve her reputation, we didn’t try to find out what it was,” Mr. Buchanan said. “I feel it will be impossible to keep this duel or your identity a secret, but if you do not choose to proclaim yourself Miss Georgiana’s relation, to protect her last name from being spread, I can assure you I will never make mention of it again.”

  “That would be well done of you, Mister?”

  “Buchanan.” Mr. Buchanan stood up straighter under the stranger’s praise.

  The man nodded. “Georgiana spoke of your kind assistance as well. While I shall not proclaim myself her brother, I am Mr. Darcy. You may refer to me as such. I doubt Wickham will forgo the use of my name. I can only hope he will not publicly connect me to Georgiana.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Darcy, and to learn Miss Georgiana is safe.”

  “How is she?” Elizabeth asked. “I’ve been worrying about her.”

  “She’s been worrying about you,” Mr. Darcy said, his expression once again warming as he turned to her. “She is contrite and unhappy, but well, thanks to you.”

  “You know who I am?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I feel it is obvious, but I also have Georgiana’s drawing of you to go by. She is very skilled. She captured you nearly to perfection.” He turned to Mr. Buchanan. “May I have writing materials? I should like to put my affairs in order, in case the worst comes to pass.”

  “Yes, yes of course.” Mr. Buchanan hurried off.

  Elizabeth stared at Mr. Darcy, disturbed by his request. He didn’t seem worried, but his practical measure of calling for pen, ink and pages redoubled her fear of him being injured or killed. “Is this truly worth it? From what I know, Mr. Wickham isn’t even a gentleman. You don’t have to duel him.” And further malign her reputation in the process.

  The look Mr. Darcy turned toward Mr. Wickham was implacable. “He eloped with my sister,” he said in a low voice only Elizabeth could hear. “And he struck you. His actions are unforgivable.”

  Elizabeth suppr
essed a sigh. He was correct, of course, and there was no way for Mr. Darcy to back out of the duel now without bringing shame on himself. He’d struck Mr. Wickham, and agreed to the duel. She supposed, if Mr. Darcy won, she would at least have the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Wickham punished for hitting her.

  Still, Elizabeth was far from pleased. Had Mr. Darcy even considered her reputation? He was outwardly calm, but she could read the raw anger in his eyes. Perhaps Mr. Gregory was trying to talk reason into the wrong man, but it was too late now, and Mr. Darcy appeared in no state to listen. She cast a look Mr. Wickham’s way, finding him smug. Had he provoked Mr. Darcy into a duel for the purpose of further damaging her good name? Was it all part of Mr. Wickham’s revenge on her?

  Mr. Buchanan returned with writing supplies, setting them out on a table. Mr. Darcy seated himself and prepared the pen. Unsure what else to do, Elizabeth took the chair opposite him. She sat straight, but her ribs hurt abominably where they’d collided with the pianoforte. She was sure they’d be black and blue by tomorrow.

  Mr. Darcy looked up. “If I die, I would like to see you have money to cover the inconveniences you’ve suffered to help Georgiana. Could you spell your name and give me some identifying information so I may do so?”

  “I can’t accept anything from you,” Elizabeth said, startled.

  “You wouldn’t be accepting it from me, but from my estate.” He gave her a measured look. “Think of it as the last request of a dying man, for it will only matter if that turns out to be the case.”

  She gave him the information. Her head ached. She felt dazed by the whole series of events, unable to think of a way to stop this additional damage to her reputation. It was obvious the anger Mr. Darcy held for Mr. Wickham ran too deep to be contained.

  She sat quietly and watched as Mr. Darcy wrote out two copies of his instructions to see her compensated. She made no effort to read the words, unable to convince herself he would lose. He had three servants come in from his carriage to watch and had Mr. Buchanan, Mr. Matthews and Mr. Gregory witness the pages in writing. That done, Mr. Darcy sealed the codicils to his will. He handed one copy to Mr. Matthews and one to Elizabeth.