Fitzwilliam Darcy

by Cressida Lane

  “His lordship, the Earl of Matlock, is here to see you, Miss Elizabeth,” said Sarah from the door of the breakfast room.

  Elizabeth’s resolve quavered as she momentarily considered fleeing for the safety of her room upstairs.

  Darcy had been a friend to her, kind to her when she’d fallen ill in a stranger’s home. She owed him better than such cowardice.

  “Where is he now?” she asked.

  “He is waiting in the west parlour, ma’am.”

  “That will do. Thank you, Sarah,” she said. “I’ll be along shortly. Oh, and please… don’t tell anyone else he’s arrived. Not yet.”

  “Of course, Miss Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth waited until Sarah had gone before running upstairs as quietly as she could manage to retrieve the foul notes she’d received last evening. Darcy had enough to deal with as was; she need not add to his troubles further by inflicting her mother upon him.

  Chapter 13

  Dawn had brought a similar scene to Netherfield Hall. Darcy paced the long-emptied ballroom. Bingley had finally calmed himself enough to sleep – or enough to retire to his rooms, at least. For all the people who’d come to his home for the event, invited or otherwise, Bingley spoke of nothing but Miss Jane Bennet. Darcy humored his friend as much as he was able, considering he found his own mind full of another Miss Bennet.

  Between her illness at Netherfield and her arrival at the ball last evening, Elizabeth Bennet had somehow transformed into one of the handsomest women Darcy had ever seen in his life. How had he ever thought her merely pretty? She brought laughter and joy wherever she went, though Darcy had been conscious of the envious looks she’d received from several unmarried ladies throughout the night.

  The thought of breaking with her, of ending their agreement –tenuous and temporary though it ought to have been – was repugnant; he could barely stomach the idea. She bore the scrutiny with grace and good humor which was, despite his more advantageous upbringing, a talent Darcy had never yet managed to cultivate. The prospect of life in Derbyshire, both his old life and this new future as Matlock, were colorless in his mind when he pictured them without her.

  There was only one sure solution to so bleak a prospect. Darcy would ask her to marry him – properly, this time.

  He trembled at the thought. Securing Elizabeth’s acquiescence in a charade for the public had been a matter of finding something he could give her, something she valued. His material wealth meant little to her idea of happiness, his title even less so.

  What more could he possibly offer to entice her to become his wife?

  The question had stymied any sleep since the party disbanded some hours ago.

  There was one point on which they’d been of the same mind – they neither of them enjoyed the duplicity required to uphold the pretense of their courtship. He knew he took no pleasure in deceiving her family and neighbors; nor did he enjoy that element. It sat ill with him, even now, though he still considered it to have been a prudent course of action. If anything, the ball last night proved it.

  A spark of hope flickered in the darkness of his mind.

  Perhaps, if he could not entice her heart, he could beseech her honor. Perhaps they could simply agree to the most honest course of action; perhaps she would agree to marry him justly to satisfy the demands of their character.

  Surely not.

  Darcy called himself a fool a thousand times over but it seemed the best chance he had. The glimmering hope of success rejuvenated his spirit and he dressed in haste. With any luck, the residents of Longbourn would be stirring soon. He would be there to speak to his lady as she rose to greet the day.

  * * *

  Elizabeth entered the parlour where Darcy waited. She carried something in her hand.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good morning, my lord,” she said. “You’re about rather early today.”

  “I could say the same for you,” he said.

  “I did not sleep well,” she admitted. Darcy’s heart began to pound. Could she possibly have felt the same shift between them?

  She handed him the pages she’d brought with her. Darcy noticed that for a woman who claimed to have had no sleep, her face bore not a jot of the evidence. He dismissed the irrelevant thought with no small measure of self-disgust.

  “I am loathe to bear unhappy news,” she said. “But I think it best you know all the facts.”

  “What do you mean? What has happened?” he asked. He opened the notes, read them swiftly. The pounding in his chest took on a different cadence.

  “Where did these come from?”

  “One arrived here shortly before we left here last evening,” she said. “The second was delivered to me by a servant during the ball.”

  “While you were at Netherfield?” he asked, incredulous. “Did you recognize the servant?”

  “I did not, and once I’d read the note, I could not find the man again. It was no one I’d seen in the house before, nor on the grounds.”

  “Bingley hired out from all over the county for the event,” said Darcy. “Whoever sent this must have known to choose someone unfamiliar to the regular servants of the house.”

  Elizabeth hesitated. “Darcy, I cannot have threats of this nature so near my family; the risk is too great. Even if this person is merely vexed about your particular interest and means no harm, I cannot chance my parents or my sisters being put in danger.”

  Darcy became truly alarmed.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I am saying,” said Elizabeth quietly, “that perhaps it is best that we end this charade sooner than we had originally planned.”

  Darcy felt the start of panic in his throat, but tamped down on it hard. This was not the moment for rash action. He had to think.

  “I know we originally talked about a period of a few months,” Elizabeth began. When she paused, Darcy held up his hand.

  “A moment, if you please.” He turned away from her, his unseeing eyes fixed on a portrait above the mantle.

  Elizabeth felt she or her family might be in danger. She thought if she removed herself from him, from their situation, that the danger would be lessened.

  She may well be right about that. The author was most likely harmless, given only to writing petulant notes to cause as much trouble, but he would in no way place Elizabeth in danger. He would see her safe, one way or another.

  Darcy had always firmly believed that there was more than one way to solve any given problem. She’d proved it herself, offering him courtship when he’d have shattered both their reputations with a false engagement. Darcy now just had to find a better solution than that which she’d suggested.

  And pray God, she’d agree to it.

  “My sister,” he said suddenly. The thought was only half-formed when he spoke but after a moment he became certain of its value. “My sister, Georgiana, is in London just now. What if you were to travel to see her for a short while? It would remove you from this setting, likely removing any threat to you yourself.”

  Elizabeth considered him as he spoke.

  “But what of the threat to my family?” she asked at length. “I cannot leave them if they in danger.”

  “Your leaving here will separate us,” he replied. “If that is the author’s chief purpose, your going to London should effectually nullify any threat to you, or to your family.”

  Elizabeth stood to pace the room.

  “Where is your sister staying?” she asked, finally.

  Darcy gave her the direction. He watched, hope blossoming as she marked it down.

  “You know, of course, that I have never been introduced to your sister.”

  “Georgiana is a delight,” he said.

  “You’re her brother,” said Elizabeth. Darcy was pleased to see the first hint of a smile on her face. “Are you not obligated to say so?”

  “Not at all. Georgiana is more than ten years my junior. If anything, the difference in our ages obligates me to te
ll you how very spoilt she has become under my rearing,” he said with a smile. “But alas, I speak the truth. She is highly regarded and, much like Mr. Bingley, beloved by everyone she meets.”

  “Then I expect I shall think as well of her as I do of him,” she said.

  “Dare I hope you’ll agree to go, then?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, meeting his eyes for the first time in several minutes. “Darcy, this arrangement between us, the secrecy of it; the duplicity does not sit well with me.”

  Hope flared within him, high and strong. He would play the hand he’d been dealt.

  “Would you prefer to go ahead and marry?”

  She laughed.

  “It would serve you right if I said yes,” she said. “Alright, Darcy. I’ll go to meet your sister. We may carry on awhile longer.”

  He’d not expected her to accept him, not really. Still, the disappointment he felt at her answer fell around him like a weighted cloak. His initial objective had been achieved and he clung to that. If his color burned high, she did not notice.

  Darcy observed her as she began collecting papers, presumably to pack for her journey. He hated the thought of parting from her, but if her staying in Hertfordshire meant the end of their arrangement, he’d bear the separation as long as necessary.

  For necessary she had become. The truth unboxed itself in his mind as he watched her.

  He loved her.

  Convincing her to maintain her part in this masquerade was now second only to her safety on his list of priorities. Her journey to London served the dual purpose of keeping her safe as well as affording him time to convince her to marry him after all. And if anyone could help champion his cause, it would be Georgiana.

  But revealing his intentions would not yet serve his purpose. Even in the wake of such a heady realization, Darcy understood that Elizabeth was not ready to hear his feelings. After all, she had just tried to put an end to the arrangement. He would not give her any further reason to shy away.

  No, he must absolutely keep his feelings secret. Perhaps, once Darcy had convinced Elizabeth to marry him, he would relate his feelings for her after the wedding. Once he was secure of her, he would chance revealing the truth.

  Until then, he must do everything in his power to keep her safe.

  Chapter 14

  Darcy had summarily dismissed the notion of ending their arrangement and after her initial fears had ebbed, Elizabeth found she was relieved he had contrived another solution. It would most surely devastate her mother when the courtship ended; Elizabeth did not look forward to the day she had to bear that news.

  Her departure from Longbourn had been uneventful, almost unremarkable. Mrs. Bennet was adamant that Darcy’s wishes must be granted with utmost alacrity, so much so that Elizabeth’s trunks had been packed two full days ahead of her departure. Elizabeth had promised to write Jane as soon as she arrived, so as to report most faithfully whether Georgiana Darcy could really be so affable as Mr. Bingley, as Darcy had claimed.

  Darcy himself came to see her off that morning.

  Lydia and Kitty had been beside themselves with envy, and had spent the morning arguing noisily over some young officer newly arrived in Meryton. Mary’s repeated requests for silence went unnoticed by all, except their father. Mr. Bennet was inured to the din, after more than twenty years in this house, but he looked on Mary with sympathy. He’d wished for the same for so long, he could not help but commiserate, loudly. This merely added to the cacophony, but in her haste to leave Elizabeth did not see the need to mention it.

  As far as she could tell, Elizabeth’s family was safe, and as sound as they might ever be.

  It was no small consolation. Yet Elizabeth found her mind was not at peace, and so she resolved to visit Georgiana as Darcy requested, but to stay instead with her aunt and uncle Gardiner. Their home might not be quite so fine as the Darcys house in Mayfair, but Gracechurch Street was respectable and the Gardiners were sensible and good humored. Mrs. Gardiner had written already twice that year requesting the company of her niece; Elizabeth would satisfy that request presently.

  Twilight approached when the driver finally stopped in front of a salubrious door in Mayfair. The journey had taken longer than anticipated, but Elizabeth looked forward to making Miss Darcy’s acquaintance over what promised to be an excellent meal. Elizabeth glanced up and down the street as the coachman handed her down. She’d never been to this part of London before.

  On bidding her good evening the driver departed with her things, under instructions to repair to the Gardiners home in Gracechurch Street and bearing a message she’d scrawled to Mrs. Gardiner informing them of her impending arrival. She would dine with Miss Darcy, then retire to her uncle’s house. Perhaps then Elizabeth could finally rest.

  As Elizabeth knocked, the door came slightly ajar. She pressed forward, calling, “Hello?”

  The door’s progress was halted by something near the wall. Elizabeth tipped her head around it to call out again, only to have her arm seized in a painful grip.

  The hand on her arm yanked her forward through the door before slamming it shut behind her.

  “What are you about?” she cried. “Unhand me this instant!”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, your ladyship,” said a sarcastic, drawling male voice. The owner of the hand and voice kept her facing down the hall, away from him. “Oy, Captain!”

  Elizabeth could now see what had stopped the door, and it did nothing to dispel her fear. The poor butler was slumped against the wall behind it, his feet splayed wide. Blood dripped from a wound on the side of his head. She could not tell whether the man still breathed. Her fear mounted.

  “Let me go!” she shouted. She began to twist, trying to free her arm. “Miss Darcy!”

  The man behind her laughed; the sound was cruel and rough against the back of her neck. Elizabeth stopped twisting as a deeper fear bloomed beneath her outrage.

  “No need fer yellin’, miss,” said the man as he tightened his grip on arms. “Wouldn’t want to be drawin’ any undue attention, mind. Besides, your friend’ll be along in a tic.”

  “You have Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth said. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “Now me, miss, I just want me a warm meal and a damned drink right about now,” he said, grumbling. “But as for the rest, I’ll let you ask the Captain, when he gets around to showing his pretty face.”

  “I am not a captain.” This second man’s voice was a shock. His speech was startlingly more educated than the man holding Elizabeth captive. The owner of the other voice came in to view.

  He was handsome, almost dashingly so, as he bowed deeply before her.

  “George Wickham at your service, my lady,” he said, his tone smarmy.

  “You say you are not a captain – I am not ‘my lady’,” she said. This man’s insolence offended more deeply than the ruffian who still held her by the arms. “You have mistaken me for someone else.”

  “Not at all, Countess, we know precisely who you are,” said George Wickham. Just then a shriek sounded abovestairs, followed by a crash. It sounded like furniture being toppled.

  “Sounds like your little dove’s got a mind to keep her rooms,” said the ruffian.

  “She’d have come quietly if you and your friend hadn’t shown up here,” said George Wickham, turning to snarl at his compatriot.

  “What have you done to Miss Darcy?” asked Elizabeth. The girl was only sixteen.

  “Why, nothing at all,” said George Wickham. “I’d die before any harm comes to Georgiana. After all, we’re to be married soon.”

  “We are not to be married,” came a stern female voice. The voice was strong and clear and deeply vexed. “I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth, George Wickham.”

  A second rough looking character descended the main stairs just then, dragging along a young woman in his wake.

  She was perfectly lovely, and visibly shaking. Whether the shaking came from f
ear or rage was difficult to discern. The young woman met Elizabeth’s eyes.

  “You must be Elizabeth,” she said, giving her a sad smile.

  “I am,” said Elizabeth.

  “And that’s all we need to know,” said the ruffian who held Elizabeth. “Time to go, gents.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” said Georgiana.

  “You already said that, chit,” said the third man. “So shut it already.”

  “Georgiana, if you’d please just listen,” said Wickham.

  “Stow it, you lot,” said the man behind Elizabeth. “This one managed to kick up a noise while the door was open. Best we get moving now, in case anybody else comes along.”

  George Wickham opened the front door slowly, glancing up and down the street.

  “Now’s good for it,” he said. “They’re all sitting down to supper soon. Not much traffic.”

  “Well, la di da, Captain,” said the man who held her. “Ain’t you just a Mayfair toff? Now listen, yer ladyship,” he said in her ear. His voice took on an edge, making Elizabeth tremble. “Yer comin’ with us just now, and I don’t want no fuss about it. The Captain here’s got some business to mind, and you fine ladies are just along for the ride. No need to fear, not even a little.”

  The man tightened his grip and yanked her back suddenly; Elizabeth cried out at the pain. “So best you mind us and come along quiet-like.”

  Wickham glared at the man behind Elizabeth. “I am not a Captain.”

  “No,” said Georgiana. “You’re a fool, and a liar, and I would I’d never laid eyes on you.”

  “Come, darling,” he replied. “We’ll discuss it in the carriage.”

  Chapter 15

  “Poor Andrews,” said Georgiana some time later.

  “Who is Andrews?” asked Elizabeth.

  They’d been shuffled down a side street and into a dirty carriage, travelling in silence until well after dark to a part of London Elizabeth did not recognize. She and Miss Darcy were bundled into a nondescript building through a battered wooden door, behind which were the smallest living quarters Elizabeth had ever seen. Their captors had argued briefly over who got to stand watch over their pretty cargo; the man who’d accosted Miss Darcy was at last dispatched to report their arrival to someone. The other man stood just outside the ancient door, on guard in the event Elizabeth or Miss Darcy managed to unlock it. George Wickham had not been seen since their arrival.