by Brigid Huey
Darcy had nodded absentmindedly. That was rather unlike Elizabeth. She loved being out of doors.
“Is she with my sister now, Carter?” Darcy had asked.
“No, sir. Your sister is practicing her music. Miss Bennet has, I believe, retired to the gardens once again.”
Darcy had smiled then. That had been a mere twenty minutes ago. He tried to return to the accounts, but his mind strayed to the garden. Perhaps all he needed was a good stretch of the legs.
He met Clarabelle and Daisy in the front hall. They were returning from their afternoon walk, and it was evidently time for Daisy’s nap. Darcy tarried a moment with the child, enjoying her little hand wrapped tightly around his finger. Her great big blue eyes looked at him with such concentration. Who was her father? How could he abandon a child? All who met Daisy seemed to fall under her spell immediately. He himself had grown attached to her in such a short time; it had only been a matter of days, and yet he felt completely devoted to her.
Clarabelle waited a moment longer then excused herself and Daisy, taking the child to the nursery. Daisy needed no other nursemaid; Clarabelle was perfect for the position. She had proven her devotion to the babe, and her skill was obvious. Darcy hesitated one moment more, glancing outside at the abundant sunshine. A walk was exactly what he needed.
The garden was empty of female company, but the air was warm, and the sun plentiful. Darcy took his time as he walked across the lawn toward his mother’s rotunda. The lavender was in full bloom at this time of year, and the rotunda was easily his favorite place to sit and enjoy a moment of quiet solitude.
He was a few paces away when he noticed bright yellow skirts peeking out from behind one of the old stone pillars. Elizabeth.
He held his breath, approaching slowly. Would she regret his interruption? He hoped not. Indeed, over the past few days, he had felt a warming of her opinion of him. Their mutual agreement to begin anew lightened his heart. He meant first to earn her friendship, for a man could build much upon friendship.
A moment before he reached the rotunda, he heard a startled cry that stopped him at once.
“Oh! Where is my uncle?” Elizabeth rose and turned toward the step, a letter in her hand. She froze when she saw him. For a moment they only looked at each other. He took in her tear-streaked face and pallor; Elizabeth stared at him, her lip trembling, her eyes filled with tears. Darcy’s heart twisted.
“Miss Bennet?” he said softly. She swayed, leaning against the pillar for support.
In a moment, he was by her side, holding her arm and leading her to sit once again on the stone bench.
Darcy glanced down at the letter still clutched in her hand. She must have received very ill news indeed.
“Is it your father?” He blurted the question without thinking.
“My father?” she said weakly.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to pry. Please, allow me to fetch Mr. Gardiner at once.”
Elizabeth clutched at his arm, and he stilled.
“Do not go,” she whispered.
He stared down into her eyes for a long moment. How badly he wanted to hold her, to tell her that he would make everything right again, no matter how difficult. He would never leave her if she desired him to stay.
A noise brought his attention to the garden beyond them.
“A moment, Miss Bennet,” he said, rising and offering her his handkerchief. He turned and left the rotunda in search of the gardener he knew he had heard. He would instruct the man to locate Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner at once.
***
Elizabeth’s mind was in a state she had never known. Such news she had received! She knew only that she wanted Mr. Darcy to stay, that she could not bear to be alone. As promised, he returned after a brief absence and, to her surprise, sat down again beside her.
“Please, Miss Bennet, tell me what I can do to ease your suffering. Shall we not walk to the house? Or do you not feel able to at present? Truly, you look very ill.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. The man seemed worried, indeed. “There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well. I am simply distressed…by such dreadful news that I have just received from Longbourn.”
More tears began to fall, and Elizabeth clutched Mr. Darcy’s handkerchief to her face. He waited patiently for her to collect herself. With some difficulty, she ceased her crying and looked at him again.
“It is not my father, though I shudder to think what he must be feeling at this moment. No. We are all well in body.” She heard him release a breath as if in relief. She must tell him the truth though she knew in her soul that everything would be different once the contents of the letter were known.
“I have just received a letter from Jane. She writes to tell me that…that my youngest sister—” She paused, taking a steadying breath. “My youngest sister has left all her friends. Has…has eloped with none other than Mr. Wickham.”
A heavy silence descended upon the little rotunda. There was only the sound of the honeybees buzzing around the lavender. She peeked up at her companion, only to be crushed again by the look of dismay upon his face.
“Dear God,” he whispered. “I am grieved indeed. Is it certain?”
“Yes, I am afraid it is all too certain. They left Brighton together on Sunday night. They were traced as far as London but not beyond. I do not believe that they have gone to Scotland. In fact, I have no doubt that Mr. Wickham does not intend to keep Lydia with him for any length of time.”
The look Mr. Darcy gave her communicated quite well that he believed the same. For however optimistic Jane had tried to be in her letter, Elizabeth knew in her heart that Wickham had no intention of marrying Lydia.
“And what has been done to attempt to recover her?” Elizabeth flinched at the tone in his voice. How disgusted he must be with her sister. Did this disgust extend to her now as well? Her entire family would be shunned by any good society. No one would receive them now.
“My father has gone to London to search, and Jane writes to beg my uncle’s immediate assistance. I hope that we shall leave immediately. And yet I know in my heart that there is nothing to be done. I hope for Lydia’s return, but her disgrace is irreversible.”
“I have stayed too long,” Mr. Darcy said, rising from his bench. “I shall leave you now, for I see the phaeton approaching the house. Your aunt and uncle will be here momentarily. I have no doubt that the three of you have much to discuss, and I have no wish to create an awkward scene.”
Elizabeth’s heart sank. How badly she wished that he would stay! His imminent departure revealed to her that which she had been struggling to comprehend these past few days. She cared for him—more deeply than she had allowed herself to feel until this moment when all was lost.
Her regard had grown since the moment he found her in Pemberley Woods, and she knew now that what she felt for him was much more than respect, more even than friendship. Yet there could be no connection between them, not with her sister in disgrace. The despair she felt was enough to make her eyes fill with tears once again.
“Thank you for your kindness, sir,” she managed to say.
He bowed rather stiffly, looking much more like the man she had known in Hertfordshire. Nevertheless, she stopped him again.
“Before you go sir, may I ask…that is…?” She took a steadying breath and started again. “Miss Darcy promised to write to me about Daisy’s progress once I returned to Longbourn. I know that is impossible now. Might Mrs. Reynolds be prevailed upon to—?”
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said abruptly, “if you think that I will allow Wickham to come between you and my family, you are gravely mistaken.”
Elizabeth blinked in astonishment. Words failed her as she took in his serious demeanor. Could he truly be in earnest?
“Do I presume too much, Miss Bennet, to hope that you and I are friends at last?”
Elizabeth stared at him, his handsome face pinched with anxiety. Oh, how wrongly she had judged him all those months
ago in Hertfordshire!
“No, indeed, sir. I would be honored to consider you a friend.” She looked down, trying to hide the blush heating her face. She glanced up in time to see him smile. His whole face changed when he smiled. It was at once welcoming and intimidating—as if this softer demeanor was meant only for her—and she was unused to accepting such intimacy.
“Your friendship is more important than society, Miss Bennet. I understand that now with utmost acuity.”
To this, she could not trust herself to reply. Could it be that he still cared for her? It mattered not: he could offer her friendship, perhaps, but no more.
“Thank you, sir,” she finally whispered.
Mr. Darcy suddenly sat down next to her, taking her hand in his. This unexpected gesture sent her heart racing, and Elizabeth found herself quite discomposed.
“Miss Bennet, I can offer you no assurances but one: you are not alone.”
She gazed at him in confusion as a traitorous tear slid down her face.
“It is my sincerest wish that these events may resolve to a happier ending than now seems possible.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
He stood and, with one last long look, left the rotunda. She heard him speaking in hushed tones with her aunt and uncle, who had rushed to be with her. Oh, what happiness they had enjoyed these past few days! Would they ever feel such felicity again?
***
Darcy took a moment to reassure Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner that Elizabeth was well though deeply distressed by some shocking news she had received from home. He left them to tend to her, removing himself to his library. Once there, he sent immediately for Mrs. Reynolds then sat down to pen a letter to his steward.
Damn Wickham! Yet again, he had managed to cause pain to a loved one. Darcy’s thoughts drifted to Elizabeth. A loved one indeed. She was so precious to him. To see her so distressed was painful. It had taken all that he had not to gather her in his arms, to kiss away her tears.
He wished that he had been able to offer her something, some assurance for the future. But experience had taught him caution. He would find Wickham if he had to search the entirety of Britain. Yet, would it be possible to bring about a happier ending for Miss Lydia than what currently lay before her? Would he be able to ease Elizabeth’s pain and worry? He was far from certain.
A knock at the door brought his attention back to the present. It was Mrs. Reynolds.
“Mrs. Reynolds, I believe that Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Bennet will be leaving today. Urgent business calls them home.”
If Mrs. Reynolds was surprised by this, she did not show it but merely nodded her understanding.
“I shall be departing for London as soon as our guests have left.”
“Of course, sir. I shall send word to Mrs. Smith at Darcy House immediately.”
“Thank you,” Darcy replied. “And please inform my valet of our planned departure.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I inform Miss Darcy as well?”
“No, I shall tell her myself. Is she in the music room?”
“I believe so, sir.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. That will be all.”
Darcy finished his letter then went to find Georgiana.
***
Lizzy was relieved to tell her aunt and uncle all that she knew of Mr. Wickham. Once he had all the information, Uncle Gardiner moved into action, thereby relieving Lizzy’s feelings of utter helplessness. They were to leave for London at once. Uncle Gardiner was determined to find Lydia, and there was no time to lose.
Their things were packed and gathered by the coach within half an hour. Mr. Darcy had graciously offered them the use of his own carriage, which would convey them directly to Hertfordshire. Her uncle would then travel to London and commence his search for Lydia.
Elizabeth’s heart was full as she prepared to board the coach. The servants were strapping their trunks onto the back with skill and efficiency when Mr. and Miss Darcy came out to wish them farewell. Miss Darcy held Daisy in her arms. How Lizzy wished this business had never happened! Now she was to say farewell to her dear Daisy, and who knew when she may see her again? Would she ever be allowed that privilege?
“Goodbye, Miss Bennet,” Miss Darcy said in her usual gentle tone. “I hope the business that calls you home is resolved quickly.”
“As do I, Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth replied, feeling slightly guilty about keeping the truth from her young friend.
She bent and gave Daisy a kiss. The little babe looked up at her with her clear blue eyes, and Lizzy swallowed hard to keep from crying.
“I shall write you often, Miss Bennet,” Miss Darcy said.
“Please, call me Elizabeth,” she replied.
The young woman smiled in response. “And you must call me Georgiana.”
Lizzy nodded then turned toward Mr. Darcy. She was scarcely able to look at him, so ashamed was she about the manner—and cause—of their leaving.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, “I wish you a safe journey.”
“Thank you, sir,” she whispered.
“Mr. Darcy, thank you for your hospitality,” her uncle said.
“We hope that we shall meet again soon,” her aunt added.
“You and your family are welcome at Pemberley at any time,” Mr. Darcy said. He turned again to her, and to her surprise, took her hand, lifting her fingers to his lips.
“Goodbye, Miss Bennet. Our thoughts go with you.”
She stared at him, her heart beating wildly. Unable to speak, she simply nodded then hurried into the carriage so he would not see her tears.
***
Darcy watched the carriage until it was out of sight, Georgiana holding a sleeping Daisy beside him.
“You are for London now, Brother?” she asked. Something in her tone led him to believe that she was not ignorant of the connection between the Gardiners’ departure and his own.
“Yes, dear. I have a pressing matter of business.”
“I understand. We shall miss you.”
He turned to her then. “I am most sorry to leave you both, but it cannot be helped. I shall leave within the hour.”
At that, he walked her into the grand hall. She handed Daisy to Clarabelle, and he hurried to his study. There were a few last-minute instructions to leave for his steward. He also penned a note to his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. He knew the Colonel would be a great help to him in persuading Wickham to see reason. Or, at least, his presence might convince Wickham to accept Darcy’s threats to court-martial him as genuine.
The journey to London felt terribly slow. He did not overtake his own coach as he had delayed his departure from Pemberley just long enough to ensure that he would not meet Elizabeth on the road. That would lead to questions he did not wish to answer.
The weather was fair, and he was pleased to reach his London home by the evening of the second day. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had received his express earlier that afternoon, was waiting for him.
“Darcy! Whatever is going on? Is Georgiana well?”
Darcy had only just arrived, and covered in road dust though he was, he was eager to get to work.
“Georgiana is quite well, Fitzwilliam, but I do need your help. Please allow me to refresh myself from my journey, and I promise to tell you all over a late dinner.”
He instructed his housekeeper to have a plate prepared for him then left an impatient Colonel Fitzwilliam in the library.
Over dinner, he told the colonel all about Wickham and Lydia Bennet. He explained how he must find them both and make sure that Lydia and Wickham were married.
“You mean to set him up? After all that he has done?” Colonel Fitzwilliam was incredulous.
“I have to. I cannot abandon Miss Lydia Bennet to her fate.”
“Bennet? Is she the sister of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, then?”
“Yes. One of four of Miss Elizabeth’s sisters. And they will all suffer the same fate of social exile unless I can fix this. I owe Miss Elizabeth that much.�
�
“Indeed?” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, clearly intrigued. Darcy could not bring himself to care. He was so fatigued from the journey and the events of the day that he could no longer bother to hide his feelings from his cousin.
“Yes. I must protect her and her family from Wickham. It is my duty.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked curious, but he wisely said nothing.
“I propose we start with Mrs. Young.”
“An excellent plan, though I am loath to see that woman again.”
“Likewise,” Darcy agreed. He hated the woman and was not sure he could trust his temper around her. But she was his best lead, and he must find Wickham.
Colonel Fitzwilliam rose from the table.
“I shall call for you first thing in the morning then Darcy, and we shall discover what there is to know from Mrs. Young.”
An hour later, Darcy took his weary self to bed. Only three days ago, he was hosting Elizabeth in his home, beginning to hope that she might indeed start to view him as a friend. Old hopes were slowly growing stronger within his breast. And now here he was, alone in London.
Chapter Nine
It did not take long to find him. It was almost too simple, really. Mrs. Young had been willing enough to share his location—for a fee. Darcy had gladly paid though it disgusted him. And now here they sat in a dingy tavern, in a disreputable part of town, across the table from Wickham himself. God, how he hated the man.
Wickham looked at him steadily, a gleam in his eye that caused Darcy’s insides to clench in anticipation. He knew that look. Wickham had something, something of value, something that could hurt him. Darcy knew it with such surety that he was almost—almost—unsurprised at the scoundrel’s next words.
“Do you not have a child now, Darcy? Residing with you at least in Derbyshire?” Wickham looked like a cat that had just got into the cream.
“What of it?” Darcy replied, his voice tight with controlled emotion.
“She’s mine you know. My daughter.”
A heavy silence descended upon the small room. Behind him, Darcy felt rather than saw Colonel Fitzwilliam stiffen.
