Posted on: 2010-04-04

"Off to Lambton?"

"Indeed," was the pithy answer. He would have explained more, but Bingley's 'Ah...' in response signified well enough that gentleman's understanding. While he didn't think Charles suspected the depth of his attachment to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Darcy knew that Jane Bennett was never far from his thoughts and, by extension, her sister.

A grin broke out across Bingley's features. "Let's ride together, shall we?"

Darcy admirably fought back a flinch. So died his impulsive plan to capture the hand of the woman he loved. Well. Perhaps this was a sign that his intention was premature. No need to be hasty. "Of course."

It was a fine day, windy and pleasant. Tethering their horses, both men trotted up the stairs to the Gardners' lodgings with a light step. Bingley's was naturally so. Darcy didn't delude himself into blaming his own on the lingering pleasure of a fast ride.

The unconscious smile in his eyes faded with one look at Elizabeth's features. Both men glanced at each other, but Darcy was a step faster into helping her into a seat, his murmured "Good God" still hanging in the air. She was too pale, and he pulled a chair close to her.

Voice a tremor, Elizabeth related the entirety of her sister's tragedy and Wickham's part in it. Bingley interrupted her story with dismayed cries. Darcy stayed silent, his sister's sweet face playing in front of his eyes, the heartache he'd so recently felt crushing down on him. To have saved Georgiana and sacrificed his Elizabeth in her place.

One of his hands tensed at his side. "You've long been desiring our absence..."

This seemed to stir Bingley, who sat up straighter to add, "You must allow us to help you, Miss Bennett."

"There's nothing to be done," Elizabeth contradicted on a stutter, too-wide eyes flickering between both men.

"No," Bingley continued, his impulsive energy directed forward in one direction – helping a woman, a friend, in need. "I insist."

Elizabeth's features, once pale, now took on a mottled flush. Darcy's voice came as the one of reason, even as he envied Bingley's ability to instantly grasp the important point of the issue and act on it, "We do not wish to intrude on your family's affairs." A pause. "But if you'd permit it, we have many acquaintances in London with whom we could make inquiries. Discretely."

With the shock still heavy in her eyes, a bit of Elizabeth's more accustomed fire cracked through the surface. "You'll forgive me, Mr. Darcy, if I don't believe my sister to be travelling in your Circle."

"Quite," Darcy replied looking to her shoulder and keeping his face guardedly neutral. She wouldn't ask for his help or accept it, but he was not going to let her suffer. Not for this.

His darker thoughts distracted him enough to not realize that Bingley was about to whack him in the chest with his hat. "Come, Darcy," Mr. Bingley directed as he stood. "We can leave this afternoon. " The ladies of his family would be comfortable here, but he barely paid them a thought.

"Why would you do this?" she asked of him incredulously. Darcy snapped out of his reverie to notice the tightening of Elizabeth's mouth and predicted that having her family's shame paraded about London was the last thing she wanted, however incredible the gesture was.

"Because I –" The question brought Bingley up short. He looked to Elizabeth with bewildered confusion. He had no earthy idea why, except that it was the right thing to do. And her eyes, if they were blue instead of brown, would be so much like her sister's. "Because I insist." He said it with enough firmness to mask some of the ridiculousness.

Her head turned, fixing her gaze on Darcy with vulnerable uncertainty. He'd seen this look once before – except then she had been silently pleading with him to stop talking. Now she seemed to be asking for words, for explanation.

Of its own volition, Darcy's hand slipped forward, covering her own and the letter contained in it on the table. A small comfort for them both. "Let us help you, Miss Bennet."

Eyes watering with fresh tears, she opened her mouth to speak,. The Gardners' arrival prevented her, however, and Darcy pulled back on a start with the thud of the door hitting wall.

The gentlemen stood, already planning on how they would leave and untangle this mess. The lady accepted the hug of her favorite aunt, but her eyes never left Mr. Darcy's hat on the table. She wouldn't lose him. Not now, when she'd only just learned how important he was to her. She wouldn't.

The sound of doors slamming would have woken a more intent sleeper than Henry Tilney. He groaned, blearily, a hand running down an unshaven face. Was it too much to hope that his father would have been delayed on the road for another day?

Dream and reality slowly untangling, Henry propped himself up on his elbows. Well. His parish would suffer for it, but he could take comfort in having had this last night before the General's arrival. Better that he stayed here rather than doing what he'd had every intention of doing – turning his back on Miss Catherine Morland and her impossibly frustrating naivety to throw his heart into his work.

She'd looked miserable over dinner, and Henry didn't realize until that moment what it meant to be changed by love. Any other person and his own ego involved and he'd have tormented them, torn them down, to his sardonic satisfaction. Now, all he wanted to do to her was protect her.

Even though she was a damned fool.

Even though she was a just a girl.

Even though she understood the nightmare that was his father, despite every attempt to pretend as though everything was well.

He'd gone from hating her, to hating the situation that lead to the argument, and finally to hating himself. If Eleanor were less patient with his own impertinent follies, he'd have lost her love a long, long time ago. Instead, she only seemed to love him more because of them.

Over dinner his charm and silent forgiveness perked Catherine's spirits with little effort. No, he was glad he stayed.

Ruefully, Henry did have to admit that he would have been gladder still to not be woken. In the dark his eyes attempted to focus when he heard, of all things, his sister's voice in supplication with the blustering General.

His heart stilled in his chest. He knows about Eleanor's lover. Surely her unlucky paramour hadn't come back prematurely!

Half-dressed and a fire in his eyes, Henry stormed into the hallway to defend his too-good sister. What he heard brought him up short.

"At once, Eleanor! I will not have that gutter-snipe harlot spending one more moment in this house!"

Eleanor Tilney stared at her father with complete misery, hair in disarray and shoulders cowed. "I cannot send her alone on the post in the middle of the night."

"You can and shall." He stopped yelling, the fury in his eyes brooking no argument.

But, then, when had that ever stopped his son?

"She can and shall not, father," Henry spit out, forcefully interjecting himself between his sister and his father.

The fury reappeared. "I will not brook this disobedience!" The story of his misestimation of Miss Morland's financial situation and Henry's sneering, cutting interjections as to his blind ignorance dissolved into a shouting match. Eleanor kept two hands linked around Henry's arm to keep him from assaulting their father.

"I'll go!"

Everyone in the hall fell silent. Standing in a doorway, white hands clutching the sides, Catherine Morland looked on with horror. She was a few seconds away from crying.

"No." Henry backed away from his father to storm closer to Catherine. "No, you will not."

"I will," Catherine fought him.

"She will!" the General's voice overshadowed her.

"No," Henry repeated through gritted teeth, one hand touching to Catherine's waist. He'd turned his back on his father's horrifying arguments.

"You have to stop fighting," she pleaded, tears falling truly now. He could feel her shaking beneath his hand. "I'm so sorry."

Henry swallowed back the venom her words created. "I won't lose you."

She set her jaw, trying to look firmer than she felt. "But..."

He was furious at everything, but mostly at the pain in this brave woman's eyes. His jaw hurt from clenching it. "I love you. I love you, and I will not let you go."

The uproar that followed was great indeed.

August 19, 1808
Market Cross, Portsmouth

Frederick