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Chapter 48: An Approaching Storm

Posted on 2009-06-15

Jane turned the page of her book noiselessly, but her attention was drawn away from her reading when her gaze caught the figures of her sisters across the garden. Elizabeth reclined in a chair their father had seen brought outside for her, while Mary sat comfortably on the ground, reading aloud to her. Unlike her sisters, who wore only shawls over their shoulders, for the day was mild, Elizabeth was dressed warmly; her grey traveling coat falling to her ankles and a light blue scarf tucked securely about her neck. She pulled at the garment in annoyance, and heaving a great sigh, she pushed away the quilt that covered her legs.

"It is stifling under all these layers!" she cried. "How am I to enjoy being out of doors if I cannot even feel the air?"

Mary closed the volume she held and declared, "You could catch a chill, Elizabeth."

Holding up her gloved hands before her sister, she asserted, "I do not believe that is possible with all I am wearing. If I did not know any better, I would think it snowing!"

Jane smiled, and rising from her seat, she moved toward her sisters. "We only wish you to continue to get well, and do not wish to see that hindered," she said in an attempt to calm her sister.

Elizabeth took up her bonnet, and standing, fixed it over her dark curls. "Let us at least walk; I cannot imagine Mr. Byatt would object," she declared.

Raising her arms, she added wryly, "He cannot say I am not properly dressed."

Looking toward Mary, and seeing she shrugged slightly, Jane agreed. Elizabeth's smile widened, and she listened as Mary rose from her place and straightened her skirts. She tied the ribbons of her bonnet hastily, and counted her steps down the walk.

"If you are at all chilled, we are coming home immediately," Mary declared, walking after her with Jane. "Can we not just walk about the house?"

"It is not the same," Elizabeth answered simply, closing her eyes and turning her face toward the sky.

Jane shook her head and asked, "And where are we venturing?"

Elizabeth turned toward her sister's voice, and reaching out expectantly, she waited for Jane and Mary to place their hands in her own. When they did, she passed her arms through theirs and settled herself between them.

Pausing their progress, she declared, "I would like to stroll just down the lane."

"Perhaps we might visit with Charlotte," Mary offered, tucking her novel more securely beneath her right arm. "It may be our last opportunity to do so for some time."

Elizabeth's bright smile fell and she nodded, declaring, "You are right, Mary."

Realizing Elizabeth was as concerned for Charlotte's happiness as she was, Jane pressed her arm. "I am sure Charlotte would appreciate that," Jane said. "And I would very much like to see her new gowns."

Elizabeth heard the tightness of Jane's voice, and recognizing she wanted only to comfort her, she forced a smile to her face. "Yes; I should like that as well, for we are likely to have little opportunity at tomorrow evening's party," she observed.

"Will Mr. Darcy and his cousin accompany us, do you think?" Jane inquired.

"No; they are leaving for Town quite early," Elizabeth answered.

In an attempt to quell the melancholy she felt at the idea, she added, "Mr. Darcy has much to do if he is to join Mr. Bingley at Netherfield in a few weeks."

Jane's color heightened at the mention of the young gentleman, and she turned her eyes toward the lawn in the hope of calming herself. Mary caught Jane's distraction and the wicked smile that lit Elizabeth's face.

Shaking her head, Mary continued walking and said, "I wonder if he means to stay long in the neighborhood."

"Mr. Darcy says Mr. Bingley wishes to make something of his land," Elizabeth declared, patting Jane's arm. "I believe that bodes well."

"Does Mama know this?" Mary asked warily.

Before Elizabeth could answer, Jane declared, "No; thankfully she does not. We would have no peace at Longbourn if she did."

Jane's fair eyes widened and she pressed her hand to her mouth in surprise at her own admission. Mary's mouth fell agape at her eldest sister's candor, and Elizabeth laughed heartily.

Wiping at her eyes, Elizabeth managed to breathe out, "She would have your trousseau ordered by the end of the week."

Despite her best efforts, Mary's composed expression gave way to a small smile and she giggled. She was not surprised when Jane looked at her darkly, and she shrugged, pointed to Elizabeth, who covered her face with her hands in an effort to hide her mirth. Jane crossed her arms and raised her chin.

"I am happy to bring you so much amusement," she said evenly, watching her sisters in disapproval.

Elizabeth bit her lip to stop her laughter, and folding her hands innocently before her, she declared, "Forgive me, Jane."

Jane remained silent, but the slight grin that lit her countenance hinted that she already forgave her sister. Elizabeth waited, her green eyes beginning to move anxiously as she waited for Jane's voice. Noticing Elizabeth's smile had fallen, Jane quickly reached out to grasp her hand.

Pressing it fondly, she said, "Sadly, I fear you are right; Mama would have the village believe me engaged to Mr. Bingley with the way she would persist."

Elizabeth perceived the slight sadness in Jane's voice, and returning the pressure of her grasp, she declared, "You must at least admit the possibility that Mr. Bingley's returning to Hertfordshire is due to you."

Jane secured Elizabeth's hand at her elbow and continued walking. Mary followed after them and observed, "I agree with Elizabeth; I think it quite possible. Netherfield does not possess much land, and what it does have does not have the appearance of being very fertile."

"I do not know much about that," Elizabeth confessed. "But I find it difficult to believe he would come all the way back here just to plant a few fields of wheat!"

Releasing a frustrated sigh, Jane said quietly, "I will not raise my hopes, and I will ask you not to either."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, but felt Mary touch her elbow urging her to refrain. Realizing that her sister still doubted the depth of Mr. Bingley's affection, Elizabeth remained silent, and instead chose to cover Jane's hand on her arm. Jane's eyes drifted to Elizabeth's hand, and she smiled at her sister's gesture.

"I find it horrible that a young man cannot come to a house he has legally rented without all this speculation," she declared casually.

"Unfortunately, to Hertfordshire society, any single man of large fortune who comes into the county must be in want of a wife," Mary observed dryly. "And, therefore, is the subject of much conjecture."

Jane reached out to encircle Mary's shoulders, and with her favorite sisters on either side of her, she smiled. Drawing a deep breath, she began laughing, and soon Mary and Elizabeth joined her. Together, the three women walked briskly down Longbourn's drive toward the road.

Darcy picked up speed, hearing only the surrounding reeds slap against his boots and the heavy breathing of his steed. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed Fitzwilliam was not far behind him, and smirking, he goaded his horse into a swifter run.

"Oh, come now, Darcy," Fitzwilliam called, his own horse falling farther behind. "I am unfamiliar with the country, and if I lose sight of you, what will I do then?"

Chuckling, Darcy reined his horse slightly and turned him about to trot back toward his cousin. "The countryside here is not so very large," Darcy chuckled. "I believe you could find your way."

Fitzwilliam halted his horse and glanced about, seeing nothing but fields and trees. He shrugged slightly, reflecting that he saw nothing distinctive about the landscape that surrounded him.

Darcy watched his cousin's bewilderment, and shaking his head, he added, "You have spent far too much time in London. You cannot appreciate anything wild."

"Believe me, old man," Fitzwilliam began. "I have had plenty of excursions abroad for the sake of King and Country to last me a lifetime. I believe I have earned the comforts that Town has to offer."

Darcy laughed, and taking up his reins, he prepared to continue on, but paused when he heard someone call for him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw two riders not far from them. Shielding his eyes from the midday sun, he watched as they conversed.

Fitzwilliam followed his cousin's gaze and observed, "Very well; should we become separated I shall simply have to depend upon the kindness of those strangers to find my way back to town."

Darcy remained silent, and he quickly discerned that beneath their greatcoats they wore brilliant scarlet regimentals. Lowering his hand, he gripped his reins tightly and waited as the two men trotted toward them.

"I was certain it was you, but it was my friend here who confirmed it. Good day," Colonel Forster declared, stilling his horse as Mr. Denny halted by his side. "We were not expecting to see you in Hertfordshire again, Mr. Darcy."

Recalling his previous meetings with both gentlemen, Darcy's jaw tightened and he inclined his head. "May I introduce my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam," he declared, noting that the younger gentleman watched him warily.

"It is a pleasure, sir," Fitzwilliam asserted, extending his hand with his usual enthusiasm.

Colonel Forster studied Fitzwilliam before introducing the man by his side. Fitzwilliam recognized him as one of Wickham's companions, and glancing quickly at Darcy, he greeted him.

"A pleasure," Denny answered, tipping his hat.

Darcy nodded toward him and listened as Colonel Forster continued, "I am afraid that I do not have time for pleasantries, for my friend has just been telling me a story that has disturbed me greatly. I understand that you had a confrontation with one of my men last night."

Darcy inhaled sharply, and his mouth fell into a thin line. He said nothing, but turned his dark eyes toward Denny and wondered what he told his colonel of it. He had hoped revealing Wickham's deception would change the young man's opinion of his friend, but he felt certain he was about to be disappointed. Squaring his shoulders, he returned his attention to Colonel Forster.

"Unfortunately, yes," he answered evenly.

The older gentleman watched Darcy carefully and asserted, "I know not what was said, but I must tell you I do not approve of such shows of disagreement in public. You are a gentleman, Mr. Darcy. I would expect more from you."

"And I would expect more from a soldier in the King's Army," Darcy bit out, his color heightening as he thought of Wickham's words.

Colonel Forster straightened in his saddle, and Fitzwilliam and Denny stiffened, hearing Darcy's annoyance. Wishing to support his cousin, Fitzwilliam declared, "I assure you, his reaction was not unwarranted, sir. Mr. Wickham was insolent; I would not have tolerated his words either."

"This is not the first time you have found fault with Wickham's behavior, Mr. Darcy," Colonel Forster observed.

Darcy looked out over the field in an effort to calm himself, and listened as Colonel Forster continued, "I cannot begin to truly know what occurred between you and Mr. Wickham in the past, but Mr. Denny tells me that he has been cheated by him."

"I am certain it was not the first time," Fitzwilliam said dryly.

Denny dropped his gaze and felt his cheeks burn as he reflected on his blindness. He had little doubt his friend had deceived him on more than one occasion.

"It seems we were deceived in his character," Colonel Forster reflected. "I have had many in the village express their concerns over his debts. You were right in your advice to me in November, and I hope you will accept my apology for so readily dismissing it."

"I imagine his debts are far greater than his commission can pay," Darcy declared, feeling somewhat gratified by the colonel's regret.

Colonel Forster nodded gravely, and Fitzwilliam released a sigh of disgust. Denny looked toward Darcy and said, "You seem unsurprised by this news."

Leveling his gaze on the younger gentleman, Darcy answered, "George Wickham is capable of anything. His transgressions no longer surprise me, for I have too long been repairing the injuries caused by them."

Darcy twisted his reins mercilessly, and noticing his frustration, Fitzwilliam moved his horse alongside Darcy's and reached out to press his cousin's shoulder. Darcy thanked him softly and waited for Colonel Forster to continue. The gentleman straightened his cuff buttons thoughtfully before removing his hat and smoothing the black plume that extended from it.

Tucking his hat beneath his arm, he finally declared, "Rest assured, he shall be reprimanded severely, and he will pay what he owes, even if that means he is stripped of his earnings for the next year."

This promise did little to quiet Darcy's concern, for he knew Wickham too well to believe he would follow through with any obligation. "You leave for Brighton on Saturday," he asserted.

"We do," Colonel Forster answered.

Darcy reflected that Wickham's habits would not be improved by the move to Brighton, but recalling Fitzwilliam's words the previous night, he closed his eyes and reminded himself that he could not forever fear Wickham. Opening his eyes, he studied the leather wrapped about his fingers and listened as the other gentlemen conversed.

"I hope you will watch Wickham closely while you are there," Fitzwilliam declared.

"I shall," Colonel Forster assured him. "But should he amass a similar debt, I will see him in debtors' prison before allowing him to remain in my regiment."

Looking toward Denny, he added, "I would not wish my younger men to emulate him."

Denny reminded his colonel that they were expected back at camp within the hour. Colonel Forster fixed his hat upon his head, and securing his reins, he asked, "Shall we see you tomorrow evening at Sir William Lucas' party?"

"No; I have business in London that prevents it," Darcy answered.

"I wish you a good journey then," Colonel Forster declared.
Tipping his hat, he bid them a farewell and goaded his horse forward. Denny moved to follow him, but paused and looked toward Darcy.

"My apologies, Mr. Darcy," he declared.

Darcy's brow furrowed and he asked, "Why do you apologize?"

Denny's color heightened as he confessed, "I am afraid I did nothing to discourage Wickham's words against you in the fall."

Watching the young soldier's countenance and noting the sincerity in it, Darcy said, "There is nothing to forgive. You were not the first to be deceived by Wickham, and I fear you will not be the last."

Before Denny could answer, Colonel Forster called for him. He bid the gentlemen before him farewell and hurried to rejoin his colonel. Darcy watched as the two men departed, and he was barely aware when his cousin spoke, for his mind was too full of Wickham's actions since his arrival in Hertfordshire.

"This is proving to be a productive day already," Fitzwilliam declared lightly. "And I feared the country would bore me. Why, I would venture to say that the conversation is just as diverting here as it is in Town."

Darcy nodded slightly, watching as Colonel Forster and Denny picked up speed. Fitzwilliam recognized his cousin's distraction, and wishing to divert his attention from such unpleasantness, he took up his riding crop and snapped it against Darcy's leg. Darcy started before looking dangerously at Fitzwilliam.

"What the devil are you doing?" he asked hotly.

Fitzwilliam smirked and declared, "That is the second time today I have had to take extreme measures to secure your attention."

Rubbing the slight soreness in his thigh, Darcy frowned deeply. "Very well; what is it that is so important?" he inquired.

"I merely want you to stop thinking on Wickham," Fitzwilliam answered. "It is for your sake."

Darcy guided his horse forward, aware that Fitzwilliam followed after him. His shoulders relaxed, the annoyance that was there earlier dissipating as he realized the truth in his cousin's entreaty. He recalled more simple days when he was a boy of ten, walking along one of Pemberley's many paths and seeing his companion following closely behind him. They made their way toward the east orchard, and George Wickham told him fantastic stories. His grin held nothing but boyish naivety and warmth; there was nothing calculating or assuming about him. Darcy heard his friend's crisp laughter, but the pleasant scene was interrupted by the memory of Georgiana's tears. He slammed his eyes shut against the vision and reined his horse abruptly for the vividness of the recollection caused his breath to hitch painfully.

Fitzwilliam halted beside him and called, "Darcy?"

Opening his eyes, Darcy twisted the reins about his hands and bit his lip thoughtfully. "You are perfectly right; I ought not to think on Wickham's misdeeds."

Fitzwilliam smiled in relief, but was displeased when Darcy continued, "But I cannot turn him from my mind."

Noticing his cousin was prepared to argue with him, he raised his hand to silence him and continued, "I know I could not prevent his transgressions, but I cannot forget his friendship."

"He never deserved your friendship; he was always unappreciative of it. Even as a child, he cared little for you. Do you not remember how often in our youth he told falsehoods? He never appreciated how often you protected him," Fitzwilliam declared, watching his cousin intently.

"I cannot help but feel I have failed him," Darcy confessed, his dark eyes saddened.

Fitzwilliam moved his horse closer to Darcy's, and placed his hand firmly on his. Darcy raised his gaze to him and listened as his cousin said slowly, "You give so much of yourself. You cannot possibly believe you are to blame. What else could you have done?"

Darcy remained silent, but Fitzwilliam pressed on, adding, "You may feel for him, and I even give you leave to pity him, but I refuse to allow you to believe yourself the cause of his depravity."

Fitzwilliam watched Darcy's mouth work wordlessly as he thought on his words. Slowly his countenance lightened, and Fitzwilliam smiled at his handiwork.

Patting him on the shoulder, Fitzwilliam asserted, "Come; let us enjoy the rest of our afternoon. Then we shall away to Longbourn so that you might enjoy Miss Elizabeth's pretty smiles and remarkable witticisms."

He was not disappointed when a slow smile spread across Darcy's face. Darcy suggested they ride to the small stream he had noted nearby on his last visit to Hertfordshire, and together the two men rode off. Unbeknownst to them, another rider observed them from his place on the hill. He drew an angry breath and his eyes narrowed as he watched their forms become indistinguishable as they rode down the lane. He turned his eyes toward the west, and noted that Colonel Forster and Denny had already disappeared over the slight rise in the land.

Looking back toward Darcy, Wickham whispered, "Damn him."

Cursing once more, he raced swiftly across the field toward Meryton. Meanwhile, Elizabeth concentrated on her steps, ensuring with each one that she found sure footing, for the drive to Lucas Lodge was full of ruts. Despite the unpleasant sounds of her boots pushing into the dark mud, she turned her face upward and enjoyed the light breeze that grazed her cheeks. She listened to the steps of her sisters beside her and breathed deeply, savoring the simplicity of the moment.

Jane smiled as she observed her sister and declared, "I am pleased to see you so content, Lizzy."

Elizabeth's grin broadened and she answered, "I cannot help it when I am in such wonderful company."

"And there is no other reason for your feeling so?" Mary asked knowingly. "Not the promise of a certain gentleman visiting Longbourn this evening?"

Elizabeth's color heightened as her mind turned to her beloved. She smiled and said, "Perhaps it does a little."

Jane smiled at her sister's happiness, and glancing up, she noticed Lucas Lodge appeared before them. Craning her neck, she was pleased to see Charlotte appear in the doorway.

"Good day!" Charlotte called, stepping out onto the drive.

She moved forward to take Elizabeth's hands and she kissed her cheek lightly. "I am pleased to see you all," she declared, smiling at each of them. "I have been most anxious for company."

Pressing Charlotte's hands, Elizabeth answered, "We have been out walking, and thought we might visit with you."

"I am happy to hear it," Charlotte confessed, tucking Elizabeth's hand at her elbow. "And I am certain my mother will be pleased to see you; she has been asking after you since Lady Catherine's visit. She will be pleased to see you well."

Charlotte paused, recalling Mr. Collins' lack of empathy for his cousin, and she felt ashamed for it. She involuntarily held Elizabeth's arm more closely to her and declared, "I am pleased to see you well."

Elizabeth heard the regret in her friend's voice, and though she still could not fully approve of her choice, she patted Charlotte's hand. "I am quiet well," she assured her. "Lady Catherine said nothing to me that I had not already heard."

Smiling broadly, she stepped forward toward the house and added, "My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me."

Charlotte chuckled, her distress quieting under Elizabeth's easiness and she declared, "I am glad to hear it."

Charlotte led her friends into the foyer, and realizing their maid was quite busy in the kitchen, she helped them off with their coats. Laying Elizabeth's coat and bonnet aside, she inquired, "Was Lady Catherine everything you expected her to be?"

"Oh, she exceeded my expectations," Elizabeth answered, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.

Charlotte smiled at this, but before she could answer, she paled when she saw Mr. Collins stride into the hallway. His eyes alighted on his cousins, and he watched as Mary and Jane curtseyed in greeting.

"I am happy to hear that, Cousin Elizabeth," he declared coolly. "I know many who have found themselves in awe when introduced to her. You should count yourself very fortunate to have had so lengthy an interview with her."

Realizing for the first time that her cousin was before her, Elizabeth's lips pursed in displeasure. She lowered herself into a brief curtsey before asserting, "I am quite aware of the very great honor of being treated to her forthright conversation."

Mr. Collins looked pleased at this, feeling he did not expect such sentiments from Elizabeth. He clasped his hands behind his back and smiled amiably, but his countenance fell when Elizabeth added, "She informed me herself of how honored I should be by her visit. Believe me, Mr. Collins, I am quite aware that I may very well never enjoy her company again."

Her cousin knew not what to say to this, and instead stepped aside as his intended ushered her guests toward the parlor. He followed after them, ruminating on Elizabeth's words and listening as Lady Lucas greeted them.

"Hello, my dear girls," she said happily, laying aside her embroidery and rising from her seat by the window.

She crossed the room in a few strides and took Elizabeth's arm. Leading her toward the settee, she declared, "I am pleased to have you here, for I am in great need of fresh opinions. I believe I have quite exhausted Maria with my questions."

"No, you have not," Maria asserted. "I have told you what I think; I cannot be blamed if you will not take my advice."

Elizabeth smiled and professed, "I am happy to be of service, though I know not what service I might be."

With a brief glance at Mr. Collins, and noting the look of worry on his face, Charlotte gestured for Jane and Mary to take the two chairs near the hearth. "Shall I fetch tea, mother?" she asked.

When her mother agreed, she walked toward the bell, passing in front of Mr. Collins. She paused when she felt his hand on her arm, and she raised her eyes to him.

"Lady Catherine made it very clear she disapproved of my cousin, Elizabeth," he whispered, his gaze filling with both concern and derision. "And given my cousin's good spirits, I can only conclude that she did not listen to her ladyship's fears regarding her match with Mr. Darcy."

Charlotte shrugged her arm from his grasp and asked, "You expected her to release Mr. Darcy from his promise to her?"

"Of course!" he asserted. "How could she deny the sense in Lady Catherine's concerns?"

Charlotte stepped past him and rang the bell. Noting that her mother was pressing her friends for their thoughts on whether she should serve fish the following day, Charlotte felt she could speak freely.

Drawing a deep breath and turning toward Mr. Collins, she declared, "I am happy Elizabeth has decided to marry Mr. Darcy."

Mr. Collins' eyes widened in surprise and he asked, "But what of Lady Catherine's wishes? She is very right; my cousin will know nothing but scorn as a result of her decision. Lady Catherine has made it quite clear that she will not be welcomed by Mr. Darcy's acquaintances, and she is a fool if she believes differently."

Charlotte turned her gaze to her dearest friend and watched her laugh heartily with the rest of the company. She recalled Elizabeth's restlessness during the autumn and was pleased to see the liveliness in her countenance and the happiness in her manner. Returning her attention to the man beside her, she reflected that her own marriage would not bring such feelings. She hoped only to find security, and in time, a sense of companionship with Mr. Collins. He was a foolish man who had few opinions of his own, but she hoped she might have a hand in changing him. Without Lady Catherine's constant advice and demands, he could be a respectable man.

'Perhaps someday,' she thought, watching him twist his handkerchief fretfully.

Breathing deeply, she leveled her gaze on him and declared, "Elizabeth does not require a kind reception from or the approval of Mr. Darcy's acquaintances."

Mr. Collins shook his head vehemently and asserted, "It is absolute folly. I fear she shall regret it."

Charlotte stepped away, but paused and turned back to him. "You may ask Elizabeth about the state of her marriage when she visits us this summer, for I plan on inviting her," she said slowly. "Better yet, you may ask Mr. Darcy, for as her husband, he shall surely wish to accompany her."

With that, she swept away from him to rejoin her friends. Glancing over her shoulder, she was pleased to see Mr. Collins' eyes widen in wonder at her words before pressing his hand to his mouth.

"Oh, dear; oh dear. I had not thought of their visiting Hunsford," he murmured. "Her ladyship will be most displeased."

He scurried out into the hallway, and Charlotte heard his quick steps upon the stairs. She chuckled lightly to herself and lowered herself beside Elizabeth on the settee. Elizabeth turned her eyes toward the sound and asked, "Does the subject of fish amuse you so?"

Before Charlotte could answer, Lady Lucas cried, "This is exactly why I am in need of your opinions, Elizabeth! Charlotte and Maria do not take my concerns seriously at all."

"We do indeed, madam," Charlotte said evenly. "I simply do not believe Colonel Forster will resolve never to come to Hertfordshire again simply because you decided to serve fish instead of pork."

Despite her best efforts, Elizabeth laughed openly at such a notion. Jane, Mary, Maria, and Charlotte followed soon after, leaving a befuddled Lady Lucas to wonder what was so humorous about serving fish.

Hill leaned forward to light the candles above the small mantle, humming pleasantly to herself. Her tune faltered as she heard the sharp squeal of Lydia's laughter from above stairs followed by Catherine's reprimanding her. She shook her head and lit the final candle before using her sleeve to polish a slight blemish on its brass base. Smiling in satisfaction, she turned to see Sarah stepping into the room bearing several settings.

"You can get to setting them out," Hill declared. "I will retrieve the others and bring the napkins. See that you do not chip anything."

Sarah nodded, and Hill hurried into the hallway where she was met by her mistress. Mrs. Bennet glanced fretfully into the dining room, and seeing Sarah only then preparing the table, she twisted her handkerchief.

"Oh, Hill!" she cried. "However are we to be ready for when Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam arrive? The girls are not even half dressed, and look at the state of the table!"

Many a housekeeper would be unnerved by such a worrisome mistress, but Hill smiled reassuringly and guided Mrs. Bennet toward the parlor. "All shall be well; I will see that Sarah joins the Miss Bennets above stairs once she is done with the settings."

Mrs. Bennet chewed her lip, thinking of what other disasters might arise. "You are certain you have all you need for dinner? I am sure Mr. Darcy and his cousin are used to the finest, but I will not have them returning to London with the impression that I do not know how to plan a grand supper."

"They will have no such impression," Hill asserted, patting Mrs. Bennet on the arm to comfort her.

Before Mrs. Bennet could continue, Mr. Bennet strode into the hallway and declared, "We shall have no dinner at all if you do not allow Hill to return to the kitchen, though I should not care either way. I would much rather spend the evening in my library. I am certain Mr. Darcy would agree with me that conversation at the dinner table is rather tiresome. Perhaps he and his cousin would prefer joining me for brandy and chess instead."

"Mr. Bennet!" Mrs. Bennet cried, her eyes widening in shock. "You cannot be serious!"

"I am merely stating another option should Hill be prevented from completing the preparations for supper," he said innocently.

Mrs. Bennet's lips pursed in determination and she hurried Hill toward the kitchen. "I shall send Sarah to you at once! The girls will be just fine dressing on their own," she said. "Off you go now!"

Hill smiled at Mr. Bennet and nodded her gratitude. He waved his hand and laughed lightly, for he knew how difficult his wife could be before a party. In all things she sought to outstrip Lady Lucas, and though Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam would not be at the Lucases' party for the militia, Mrs. Bennet would not be comfortable unless she felt her meal surpassed that which Lady Lucas planned to serve.

Mr. Bennet grinned in satisfaction and declared, "Well, I suppose my wish shall not come to pass; I will be in my library until the gentlemen arrive then."

With that, he turned on his heel and departed, leaving Mrs. Bennet quite satisfied that once again she had shown the prudence of a proper mistress. Pleased with her decision, she picked up her skirts and made her way into the parlor.

Meanwhile, Darcy tightened the knot at his throat and secured the final closures of his light grey waistcoat. He assessed his appearance in the simple mirror and pushed a hand through his unruly dark hair.

"I really must call for my barber when I return to London," he mumbled.

Sighing, he pushed his arms through the sleeves of his black jacket and moved toward the door. He descended the stairs quickly, and made his way to where his cousin waited for him. He greeted him and watched as he laid down his hand of cards on the table.

"There!" Fitzwilliam said, his smile widening in triumph. "I have bested you again!"

The older gentleman frowned in disappointment and retrieved three pounds from his coat. Fitzwilliam stayed his hand, and winking, he declared, "Do not trouble yourself; I merely play for the thrill of the game. I trust you will have a more peaceful evening at home if you return there with your purse full."

The man grinned as Fitzwilliam bowed and bid him a farewell. Darcy smiled at his cousin's goodness, and nodding toward his opponent, he followed Fitzwilliam out the door and into the twilight.

"That was well done," Darcy observed as he greeted his horse with a gentle pat.

Fitzwilliam shrugged and lifted himself into his saddle. "If I wished to be more like my brother, I would take more pleasure in gambling," he declared. "But, as my father reminds me often, I am not like Edward."

Darcy smiled wryly and glanced up to see an angry black sky. The clouds rolled swiftly, and Darcy hoped that they could make their way to Longbourn before the rain.

"We should make haste," he said, gripping the sides of his saddle.

Before he could swing himself up onto his horse, he heard his name called. He froze, recognizing immediately who was behind him, and glancing over his shoulder, he saw Wickham standing not far from him.

"Good evening," Wickham said, his voice low as he stepped out of the shadows and into the golden glow of the lamplight.

Darcy turned toward him fully and studied him, noting that he staggered slightly. Wickham's brilliant scarlet coat was unbuttoned and his cravat missing. Darcy frowned at his appearance, and was doubtless that Wickham had already been enjoying the good ale the tavern had to offer, despite how early in the evening it was. He nodded to greet the man before him, and he glanced warily at Fitzwilliam.

Wickham took a long sip from the flask he held and declared, "I just had a most enlightening conversation with my colonel. Would you care to hear the subject of it?"

Darcy straightened to his full height and said, "Very well."

"After being reprimanded for cheating my fellow soldiers out of a few gold coins…" Wickham began.

"I am certain it was more than a few," Fitzwilliam scoffed, his light eyes narrowing as he watched the scene.

Darcy looked pointedly at him to silence him, but Wickham continued untouched by the comment. "Colonel Forster wishes to see me reassigned to the far north," he declared. "I am certain he told you of it when you met with him this afternoon, or perhaps you even requested it."

"I did nothing of the sort," Darcy asserted, his annoyance rising with the knowledge that Wickham had observed his chance meeting with Colonel Forster and Denny. "Though I cannot disagree with his thinking; you have made enough trouble for yourself here."

Wickham laughed, and glancing at his watch, Darcy determined it would do no good to continue such a discussion at such a time. With Wickham in such a state, Darcy felt nothing could be accomplished but angering Wickham more. Breathing deeply to calm himself, Darcy returned his gaze to Wickham.

"I feel sorry for you, George," Darcy said, his dark eyes softening. "I always have and I always will."

Darcy turned to tighten his saddle's belt and heard Wickham declare, "I do not need your pity."

Shaking his head, Darcy focused on the task of mounting his horse, and was entirely unaware of the glint of light that reflected off of something Wickham gripped in his left hand. Before he could lift himself off of the ground, he felt a blinding pain tear through his right shoulder as Wickham plunged the blade he held into it.

Chapter 49: Giving Chase

Posted on 2009-06-29

Darcy gritted his teeth and his gaze clouded when he heard the sickening sound of the steel pushing into his flesh. A mere second later he felt it burn his skin again as Wickham withdrew it. He pressed his hand to his upper arm, his fingers straining desperately toward the wound, but unable to reach it. He raised his dark eyes to the man who stood before him, and squinting, he could just discern Wickham throwing the knife aside and turning on his heel.

"Darcy!" Fitzwilliam cried, leaping from his horse and pulling his pistol from his saddle pack.

Darcy barely heard him or the shot he aimed at Wickham's retreating form and he staggered back against his horse. The great animal was surprised by his master's sudden movement and reared in fright leaving Darcy to tumble to the ground. He hissed in pain when his injured arm connected with the gravel road and he clenched his eyes shut in an attempt to quiet the throbbing. He heard Fitzwilliam arrive by his side and he opened his eyes to see his cousin pointing in the direction Wickham had fled.

"That man, there!" Fitzwilliam shouted at the three townsmen who watched the scene in wonder. "Go now!"

Fitzwilliam was a man torn as he watched the men charge away. His mind screamed for him to follow them and put a pistol between Wickham's eyes, while his fear for his cousin kept him kneeling beside him. Breathing deeply to calm his rage, he turned his gaze back to Darcy.

"Help me stand," Darcy said quietly, pressing the hand of his good arm against the ground in an effort to raise himself.

Fitzwilliam laid a gentle hand on Darcy's chest and attempted to ease him back down, declaring, "No; you must stay."

Fitzwilliam continued to speak, but Darcy heard nothing. Shaking his head vehemently, Darcy pushed past Fitzwilliam to kneel. He wavered for a moment, feeling sweat gather on his forehead. He fought back the dizziness he felt and gazed down at his limp arm, his brow furrowing as he felt a warm wetness gathering on his sleeve. He raised his left hand to it and his fingers came away with blood on them, the acrid and metallic smell of it making him nauseous.

Fitzwilliam's light eyes widened in worry at the amount of blood and he immediately set to helping Darcy to his feet. "Mr. Harding has already gone for the physician, but I think it best we get you to your room now," he said, his voice calm despite his rising panic.

Darcy nodded mutely and winced when Fitzwilliam jarred his arm. He looked at him darkly and Fitzwilliam shrugged apologetically as he guided Darcy into the inn. Mrs. Harding met them at the door, her arms full of clean strips of linen.

"To have such a thing happen!" she cried, following him and Fitzwilliam up the stairs. "We shall have you right as rain in no time, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy thanked her for the sentiment, but feeling a wave of faintness pass over him again, he gripped the banister tightly. He stumbled and Mrs. Harding and Fitzwilliam immediately grasped his arms to support his form. He cried out when Fitzwilliam's fingers curled around his upper arm, but realizing it could not be helped, he bit his lip to contain his agony. When his companions aided him across the threshold of his room and sat him upon his bed, he thanked them earnestly.

Mrs. Harding studied Darcy's countenance and her eyes widened in fright when she noticed his pallor. "We must slow the bleeding as well as we can until Mr. Jones arrives," she said, her mouth set in determination.

"Mr. Jones?" Darcy asked, his mind immediately turning to that faithful day in autumn when Elizabeth revealed the cause of her blindness to him. Though her words and the knowledge of her pain had saddened him greatly, he counted that morning as one of the happiest of his existence. He recalled it fondly, knowing that her telling him of it was a sign of her faith in him, and though she did not know it at the time, her care. She wished him to know her better and Darcy looked forward to meeting the gentleman who aided her through such a dark time.

Mrs. Harding nodded while striding across the room to fetch the bowl and pitcher near the window. "He is a fine physician; just as good as any in London, I wager," she asserted.

Through his haze he noted her tone, and not wishing her to think his question a sign of distrusting the country doctor, he declared, "I have heard much of him from Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Mrs. Harding's smiled sadly and said, "You could not have heard of him from a more faithful source."

Darcy nodded as Fitzwilliam set to helping him with the buttons of his jacket. He focused on Mrs. Harding's movements to distract himself, for though Fitzwilliam pulled the garment from his arms with great care, he felt it acutely. He heard Mrs. Harding draw a sharp breath of surprise and he lifted his gaze to Fitzwilliam, whose eyes widened in terror before narrowing angrily.

Breathing deeply, Darcy turned his gaze toward his wounded arm and was surprised to see the stark white linen of his sleeve entirely altered; it appeared bright with his blood. He felt a new ache when Fitzwilliam peeled his waistcoat away and he cried involuntarily, "Stop!"

Fitzwilliam and Mrs. Harding startled and noticed what Darcy must have felt; though the wound was still covered with his shirt, blood flowed steadily from it. Fitzwilliam pressed clean linen to it to abate it and settled behind Darcy so that he might put more pressure on it.

"Now will you give me leave for asking you to hate him?" he said, his voice low and his jaw tightening with rage.

Darcy's head fell against his cousin's chest, and looking up at him, a ghost of a smile softened his features. "Perhaps," he whispered before his dark eyes drifted closed and he gave in to the weight of his pain.

Fitzwilliam's paled in fright and he listened intently for Darcy's breath. Discerning that Darcy's chest still rose and fell, albeit far more unsteadily than he wished, Fitzwilliam turned his eyes to Mrs. Harding and smiled reassuringly. Before either could speak, Mr. Harding appeared in the doorway.

"My dear, Mr. Jones has arrived," he declared.

He stepped aside to admit an older gentleman, whose countenance appeared kind and wise. His grey eyes settled on Fitzwilliam and Darcy, and fixing his spectacles upon his nose, he pushed past Mr. and Mrs. Harding and made his way toward his patient. He nodded toward Fitzwilliam and asked him to aid him and turning Darcy onto his back.

Once this was accomplished, he said, "We are in need of a bottle of whiskey, Mrs. Harding."

Feeling thankful for the task, Mrs. Harding assured him they had some and departed swiftly. When Mr. Jones could no longer hear the swishing of her skirt, he turned his eyes to Fitzwilliam, who stood across the bed from him.

"I do not wish to frighten her," Mr. Jones declared, taking up his scissors and cutting away Darcy's shirt.

He pulled the material slowly away from the injury and instructed Mr. Harding to soak several cloths. Pausing in his task, Mr. Jones reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a small bottle.

"You must wake him," he declared, handing the vile to Fitzwilliam. "I must have him conscious no matter how much pain it will give him."

Fitzwilliam took the bottle of smelling salts warily and nodded in understanding. Lifting its stopper, he began passing it under his cousin's nose. Mr. Jones watched as the young man before him placed his hand comfortingly on his patient's good shoulder. Feeling pleased to have so dedicated a family member with him, he returned his attention to Darcy's injury. He deftly cleaned the area, washing away the frightening crimson to reveal the damage of Wickham's blade.

"It is quite deep; I must cauterize the wound," he asserted, his eyes tracing the length of the mark.

Fitzwilliam merely nodded, for he was watching his cousin's eyes open slowly. Darcy's brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before he glanced over his shoulder at the doctor leaning over him.

"Damn," he groaned.

"I wish we could have met under more agreeable circumstances, Mr. Darcy," Mr. Jones smiled. "But unfortunately I have little time for pleasantries."

He turned toward the small fireplace, and noticing a poker there, he placed its tip in the middle of the flames and added another log. Satisfied that the fire would soon be blazing, he returned to his patient.

"Will you allow me to give you laudanum?" he asked, hoping to ease his patient's discomfiture.

Darcy's jaw set firmly and he shook his head. "I would have my wits about me," he said evenly. "Wickham cannot be allowed to get away; he is too dangerous."

"You are in no condition to go after him," Fitzwilliam observed. "You will leave that to me."

Mr. Harding offered to see if the men Fitzwilliam had sent after his cousin's attacker had returned, for he grew quite weary at the sight of blood. Before Fitzwilliam could answer, Mr. Jones waved his hand and said, "Yes; out with you, Harding. It will not for me to have two patients on my hands."

With a swift apology that he could not do more, Mr. Harding hurried from the room and set to the task of finding out what became of Wickham. Mr. Jones watched him go, and shaking his head, he returned his attention to Darcy. He studied the young man before him, happy to finally lay eyes on him. He had heard his name mentioned often by his wife, whose penchant for gossip kept him apprised of all that occurred in Hertfordshire. That morning she had told him of his abrupt return to the country the previous day.

"Lady Lucas' maid tells me that this Mr. Darcy is to marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet!" she had cried, clearly surprised that so illustrious a gentleman would deign to marry a woman of little fortune, let alone a woman of Elizabeth's situation. "Does that not surprise you, Mr. Jones?"

At the time he had said nothing and continued with his breakfast, but he reflected that such news did surprise him, and turning his gaze back to the fire, he determined he wished to know more about the extraordinary young man. Moving toward the hearth, he grasped the handle of the poker and withdrew it from the flames, satisfied by its glowing orange tip. He strode back to the bed and breathed deeply to return his mind fully to the task at hand.

"You may wish for something to bite down on," he confessed.

From his present position, Darcy could not see what the doctor held, but the man's recommendation left him in no doubt of what it was. Darcy shook his head and gripped the coverlet beneath him.

Fitzwilliam's eyes widened and he asked, "You are certain, Darcy?"

Darcy merely nodded and closed his eyes. Mr. Jones gestured for Fitzwilliam to help hold down his cousin before raising the tip of the scolding iron instrument a few inches above Darcy's skin. Without warning, for in his experience such a practice was best, he pressed its length against the wound and held it firmly. Darcy made not a sound and held tight to the quilt, twisting the fabric mercilessly in his fingers. He felt his cousin's weight against him and he gritted his teeth.

He breathed deeply as his mind whispered, 'Think of Elizabeth.'

He choked back a sob and turned his mind from the pain and the smell of his burning skin to imagine her steady voice and the slight turn of her mouth as she teased him. He heard nothing but her laughter and the first peal of thunder beyond his room's window that signaled the beginning of the storm.

The mantle clock struck eight and each chime echoed painfully in Elizabeth's ears. She closed her eyes to it and laid her head against the window pane, drawing a slow breath and willing herself to calm.

'They are kept away because of the rain,' she assured herself.

She listened to the harsh pounding of the rain against the drive and wondered at the condition of the road. She felt that undoubtedly the torrents had cut wide ruts into them and she prayed that Darcy and the colonel did not attempt to traverse them. A sudden strike of thunder shook the window and she started away from it, pressing her hand lightly to her ear, for it rang from the power of the crash. Realizing her brooding did little to abate her fears, Elizabeth rubbed her ear once more and determined to turn her attention to Mary's gentle playing, but before she could even discern its melody, her mother swept into the room.

"Oh, Mr. Bennet!" Mrs. Bennet began, wringing her hands. "Everything is quite ruined! The fish shall be dry if we eat it now and then what will Mr. Darcy think?"

Mr. Bennet set aside his paper and raised his eyes to her, watching as she twisted her handkerchief. "As our guests have yet to arrive, I do not think that our greatest concern should be what Mr. Darcy would think of the fish. I believe the better course is to be concerned for their welfare," he said wryly.

Mrs. Bennet's brow furrowed before her eyes widened in understanding. "Heavens, you are right my dear!" she cried. "Whatever do you think has happened to them?"

This question did nothing for Elizabeth apprehension and she twisted the edges of her shawl in an attempt to quiet her fears. Jane watched her sister's movements, and wishing to prevent her mother from continuing, she rose from her seat beside Catherine.

Taking her mother's hand, she asserted, "I am certain they are only delayed by the weather."

Mrs. Bennet looked doubtful, her mind filling with the possible tragedies that may have befallen her future son-in-law. Smiling comfortingly, Jane added, "Why do you not ring the bell for tea? I am certain that will make us all feel better."

"I am certain it shall not make me feel better," Lydia declared hotly, from her seat at the table. "I am certain I shall faint for want of food!"

Jane sighed and looked toward her youngest sister. "Surely you can wait a little longer," she declared.

"Surely I cannot!" Lydia cried, rising and stomping her foot. "I have not eaten since having tea with Mrs. Forster."

Catherine frowned at this, recalling her sister's behavior earlier that day. Lydia seemed to have the same thought, for she looked toward Catherine darkly and added, "And I was unable to even enjoy it much."

Jane caught the look that passed between her younger sisters and wondered at the cause of it. Unaware of the tension, Mrs. Bennet crossed the room and rang the bell.

Smiling nervously, she declared, "I am certain you are right, Jane. A little tea will do wonders for my nerves. Lydia, be a dear and fetch my new tonic."

Thankful for the opportunity to escape her sisters, Lydia answered, "I shall be happy to, Mama."

Lydia looked once more at Catherine before stomping from the room. Catherine watched her go and listened as her father asked, "Was the cake Mrs. Forster served not to Lydia's liking?"

Catherine's brow furrowed at so curious a question and declared, "I do not believe so. Why do you ask?"

"Lydia said she was unable to enjoy it," Mr. Bennet professed evenly.

He watched his daughter carefully, for he felt that Lydia's foul temper had little to do with the cake. He noticed that Catherine's eyes widened in understanding before she dropped her gaze to the floor.

Catherine felt her color heighten and she mumbled, "I am uncertain, Papa; I did not have any."

Elizabeth wondered at the trepidation in Catherine's voice, but before she could press her for an explanation, she heard the bell ring and Hill hurry into the foyer. Elizabeth stood and felt her earlier anxiety dissipate. She smoothed the creases of her gown and pressed a hand to her hair to ensure its tidiness. She listened for her beloved's deep voice greeting Hill or the colonel's light laughter, but heard only Hill speaking quietly with their visitor. When she heard the absence of steady footsteps after the door was shut, her chest tightened with worry.

Hill appeared in the doorway, her countenance serious. "Yes, Hill; what is it?" Mr. Bennet asked.

With a glance at Elizabeth, Hill declared, "There is some news from Meryton. Mr. Harding sent his man to deliver this missive from Colonel Fitzwilliam."

Mr. Bennet stood from his comfortable chair, his brow rising in concern over Hill's fearful expression. He took the letter from her and did not hesitate in opening it, his eyes studying the lines rapidly. He was barely aware that Lydia had returned and stood waiting in the doorframe.

"Are they not coming?" she asked. "May we eat then? I feel myself quite faint and…"

Mr. Bennet silenced her with a stern look and he distractedly folded the message, smoothing its edges. He could think of nothing to soften the news of it and he looked to Jane first. She immediately detected the severity of the letter's contents from his expression and she quickly crossed the room to Elizabeth's side. Elizabeth was aware of her sister's movement and was not pleased when she felt Jane gently take her hand. She inhaled sharply and pulled her fingers from Jane's grasp before turning toward her father.

"What has happened to him, Papa?" she asked, her voice shaking with each word.

Mr. Bennet stepped forward, and taking Elizabeth's hand, he pressed it gently. "Colonel Fitzwilliam writes that Mr. Darcy has been attacked," he began.

Elizabeth felt her knees buckle and she slid her hand from her father's to resume her seat. Her breath came in short gasps and she felt her heart race.

With her blood pounding in her ears, she whispered, "He lives, though."

It was not a question, but an affirmation, for Elizabeth felt it was nothing less than that. She felt implicitly that had he…

'No,' her mind interjected before she could turn her thoughts to such a tragedy.

Elizabeth closed her eyes tightly and listened as her father declared quickly, "He does, but he was wounded rather severely."

At this Mrs. Bennet cried, "Oh, Heavens! Severely, you say? What has been done for him?"

"Mr. Jones has already been to see him," Mr. Bennet answered. "According to Colonel Fitzwilliam, he is resting comfortably."

Elizabeth nodded, but this news did nothing to assuage Mrs. Bennet's fears. "I hope Mr. Jones will take great care to see that Mr. Darcy does not get an infection," she exclaimed. "For if that happens, then where will we be?"

Elizabeth's brow furrowed and she repeated, "Where will we be, mother?"

"Why, yes!" Mrs. Bennet asserted.

Elizabeth turned her eyes toward her mother's voice and Mrs. Bennet immediately perceived a fire in them. She was uncertain of what to make of such anger, and attributing it to her fear over her intended, she fell silent.

Elizabeth breathed deeply and said, "You said he was attacked. Who attacked him?"

She felt tears spring to her eyes and she added, "Why would someone attack him?"

Mr. Bennet kneeled before her and touched her chin, waiting for her to raise her face to him. When she did he continued steadily, "It would seem that he was attacked by Mr. Wickham."

Her mother and sisters gasped, but she felt her father's declaration like a physical blow. She flinched and her mouth opened wordlessly.

"Mr. Wickham?" Lydia asked incredulously. "That cannot be!"

"Lydia, please," Jane said gently in attempt to quiet her.

Lydia pursed her lips in annoyance and declared, "You are all determined to think the worse of him. I am certain whatever happened to Mr. Darcy had nothing to do with Mr. Wickham."

Mr. Bennet stood and held out Colonel Fitzwilliam's letter to her. "Perhaps you should read this then if you are so willing to disbelieve the colonel's words," he said. "It seems he was mere feet from Mr. Darcy when it occurred."

Lydia stared at the letter before raising her chin in defiance and turning on her heel to flee the room. Mr. Bennet watched her go and heard her slippers pounding on the stairs before she closed her chamber door. He shook his head and sighed, determining he would speak with her the next day. He returned his attention to Elizabeth and was unsurprised to see her jaw set in annoyance and her eyes riveted forward.

"Tell me everything, Papa," she said, her voice low and determined.

Jane realized her sister would not be swayed, and wishing to give her privacy, she asked, "Mama, do you think it best we eat now? Mary, Kitty; are you not hungry?"

Mary and Catherine quickly agreed to the scheme, realizing what Jane intended by it. Noting that their mother did not hear Jane and looked at her husband with interest, for she, too, wished to know more of the incident, Mary hooked her arm through her mother's and guided her from the room.

"Come, Mama," she asserted. "You must eat something, for I read recently that it can greatly improve your nerves."

Mary shrugged when Jane, Catherine, and her father looked at her strangely. Catherine moved to follow her, but paused and returned to Elizabeth's side.

"Mr. Darcy will be well, Lizzy," she declared. "I am certain he will."

Elizabeth thanked her quietly and felt Catherine touch her shoulder before departing. She did not hear Jane's footsteps follow and raised her hand so that Jane might take it. She heard Jane cross the room quickly and felt the warm reassurance of her fingers wrapping around hers.

"Please, Papa," Elizabeth whispered, pulling Jane more closely to her side. "Will you read it to me; I wish to hear what has happened to him."

Mr. Bennet glanced at Jane, and seeing her cover Elizabeth's hand with her own, he unfolded the letter. Reaching into his jacket, he retrieved his spectacles and fixed them upon his nose.

"He does not write much," he began.

Elizabeth nodded and pressed Jane's hand more tightly. Mr. Bennet drew a long breath and began:

February 15th

To Mr. Thomas Bennet,

Forgive the brevity of this missive, sir, but it cannot be helped. Mr. Harding has been good enough to see this brought to you immediately and for that I am grateful, for your family must be wondering what has caused our absence from your home this evening. I have the grievous charge of informing you that as we prepared to depart Meryton for your home my cousin was attacked by George Wickham. I cannot tell you the reason for his actions, for we have yet to discover him, but from the severity of Darcy's injury I can only assume Wickham intended to do him irrevocable damage. While Darcy was seeing to his saddle, Wickham came upon us. He and Darcy spoke briefly, but as Darcy attempted to depart Wickham raised his knife to him.

Mr. Bennet paused here and turned his eyes to Elizabeth to see how she bore it. Her countenance heightened in anger and she released Jane's hand so that she might grip her seat more tightly, her knuckles whitening with the pressure.

Inhaling deeply in an effort to calm herself, she said, "Go on, Father."

Mr. Bennet returned his attention to the parchment and continued:

Wickham's aim leaves something to be desired and the wound was only to Darcy's shoulder. Mr. Jones was sent for and is with Darcy even now, for he is concerned that the amount of blood he lost may impede Darcy's ability to ward off infection. He shall remain with us until morning and I hope I may then have better news to impart. I am certain my cousin would wish me to send his regards and be assured I shall send word of his progress.

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam

Mr. Bennet returned his spectacles to his pocket and waited for Elizabeth to speak. She remained silent for some time, her eyes and mouth working as she thought on the colonel's words.

Jane stood from her seat and paced across the room, wringing her hands in agitation. "I cannot believe Mr. Wickham would do such a thing," she declared, her good nature astounded that such wickedness could exist in the world.

"I can," Elizabeth said, rising and counting her steps toward the hearth.

"Poor Mr. Darcy," Jane continued, entirely unaware of her sister's declaration. "And they have not yet discovered Mr. Wickham. Do you think Mr. Darcy is safe? Whatever can be done, Papa?"

Mr. Bennet shifted his gaze from his careful study of Elizabeth to Jane, and reaching for her hand, he pressed it reassuringly. "I am certain Colonel Fitzwilliam is doing all he can to see to his cousin's welfare," he assured her. "Men like Mr. Wickham cannot hide for long; he shall find that his number of friends in Hertfordshire has greatly diminished by now. They know now what he is."

He and Jane were startled by Elizabeth shouting in frustration. "They should have discovered that long ago!" she said hotly. "To be so foolish as to care only for his good humor and be so prejudiced against Mr. Darcy because of his quiet manner."

She paused, her mind moving swiftly through her moments in Mr. Wickham's presence.

Mr. Bennet watched her and declared, "I am afraid one has all the goodness and the other all the appearance of it."

Elizabeth turned toward her father's voice and professed, "Yes; exactly."

"If you will remember, we did not distrust him in the beginning. It took Mr. Darcy's telling you of Mr. Wickham's treachery last summer for us to understand his true nature," Mr. Bennet observed. "I think we must be understanding of the rest of the populace."

Elizabeth recognized the sense in his words and reluctantly schooled her annoyance. She pressed her hands to her cheeks in an effort to rid them of their warmth.

"I wish that I might visit him," she confessed. "To hear his voice would be most comforting."

"I am afraid there is little we can do tonight," Mr. Bennet said, his eyes filling with sympathy. "Colonel Fitzwilliam assured us he will keep us apprised of Mr. Darcy's progress."

Elizaberth nodded mutely and felt her father take her hand. "Come; let us go to supper," he finished, winding her arm through his own.

Wiping away a tear she felt gathering at the corner of her eye, Elizabeth allowed herself to be led from the room and laid her head against her father's shoulder.

Sleep and mild weather did little to calm the minds and tongues of Meryton's society. By the hour the shops had opened in the morning, the townspeople talked of nothing but the attack of Mr. Darcy. Some still staunchly defended Mr. Wickham, for they recalled nothing artful in his interactions with them and felt certain the disagreeable visitor from Derbyshire must have done something, undoubtedly sinister, to deserve such treatment. Unfortunately for Colonel Forster, his wife was one of these individuals.

"But he is such an agreeable man," Mrs. Forster asserted before taking another bite of her toast.

Her husband sat across from her, idly pushing his bacon about his plate. He was in little humor to argue with his wife, for at Colonel Fitzwilliam's request and through his own sense of responsibility he had spent much of the previous night scouring the town and neighboring farms for Wickham.

"I told you of Lieutenant Denny's complaint against him," he declared.

"Yes, but men gamble," she observed. "I am certain Mr. Wickham is not the only man in your regiment to have a debt."

Rising from her seat, she walked to the sideboard to refresh her cup of coffee and continued, "He is so amiable; I am certain Mr. Darcy did something to provoke him. For all his wealth and consequence he seems a harsh sort of man."

Colonel Forster dropped his fork to his plate with a loud clatter, starling his wife. "I assure you that of the two men Mr. Darcy is the more trustworthy one," he asserted, leveling his gaze on her. "I am only sorry it took me until recently to recognize that."

Standing from his seat, he swung his jacket about his shoulders, declaring, "I have quite lost my appetite and I must meet my men so that we might continue our search for that scoundrel."

He strode past Mrs. Forster and out into the foyer with his wife following fast upon his heels. "My goodness; whatever do you intend to do to him when you find him?" she inquired, pressing her hand to her chest.

"He will be arrested," he answered evenly as he hastily pushed his arms through the sleeves of his greatcoat.

She inhaled sharply and watched her husband rush out into the street toward his horse. She followed after him and called, "What about the party this evening?"

Colonel Forster paused, and looking over his shoulder, declared, "There are far more pressing matters to be concerned with."

With that, he mounted his horse, and turning him about, raced toward the barracks.

"Whatever does that mean?" she cried after him. "What of my new dress?"

He did not answer her and she watched his form until he rounded the corner. Stomping her foot, she huffed in annoyance and walked back to the house.

"Poor, Sir William Lucas," she said as she crossed the threshold. "He shall be quite heartbroken."

At the inn Fitzwilliam cared little for Sir William's party, though he knew nothing of the man or the evening of revelry he was planning. Instead he watched Mr. Jones reapplying his cousin's bandages and wrapping the long strips of linen around Darcy's chest and shoulder. He raised his gaze to Darcy's face and was pleased to see his dark eyes alert and studying the doctor's movements. Fitzwilliam drew a long breath and settled himself more comfortably in his chair.

Darcy heard the movement, and looking toward his cousin, asserted, "Why do you not go and rest, Richard? That chair seems hardly accommodating."

Crossing his arms contentedly, he said, "I have been in it for most of the night and this is the first you have said of it."

"Forgive me," Darcy quipped, a slight smile lighting his pale countenance. "I was preoccupied."

Fitzwilliam shrugged and watched Mr. Jones make the final adjustments to the bandages before stepping back. Fitzwilliam straightened and awaited the physician's assessment of his cousin.

"I am satisfied that no infection has set in," Mr. Jones declared, pressing an even hand to Darcy's forehead and withdrawing it.

Taking Darcy's hand, he moved the fingers gingerly until Darcy winced. Mr. Jones looked at him seriously and continued, "But my greatest concern is your mobility."

Darcy remained silent and turned his eyes to his arm, straining to curl his fingers. He gasped in pain when he attempted to turn his palm upwards and cursed under his breath. Darcy allowed his head to fall back against the pile of pillows behind him and turned his gaze to the ceiling in frustration.

Mr. Jones placed his hand over Darcy's forearm and waited for the younger man to turn his eyes to him. When he did, he said slowly, "It is far too soon to tell; you cannot hurry such an injury. You were quite lucky."

Darcy looked away, his mind returning to Wickham and the previous night. He recalled little of the hours following Mr. Jones' arrival; Fitzwilliam's departing periodically to seek out Mr. Harding and Mr. Jones pressing on his wound to check his dressings. He had fallen in and out sleep, his body giving in to the strain it had suffered. When he awoke in the early morning he inquired after Wickham and was displeased to discover that he had yet been found. Such an idea terrified him, for the Wickham he had seen last night was one entirely new; no longer was his old friend merely idle and dissolute. Now he was quite dangerous, for Darcy had no doubt his actions had made him desperate.

"I shall leave you for now," Mr. Jones declared, moving away from Darcy and taking up his satchel. "Do not take my absence as an invitation to disobey my orders."

Darcy blushed and Mr. Jones chuckled before confessing, "I have two sons and am aware what they would do in such a situation. I know you were planning to spring from that bed the moment this door closed behind me."

"I was thinking no such thing," Darcy mumbled, returning his gaze to his arm.

Mr. Jones shook his head and looked toward Fitzwilliam, declaring, "See that he does nothing rash. If he tears the wound he will bleed again."

He waited for Fitzwilliam to nod in agreement, and fixing his hat upon his head, he grasped the latch and moved out into the hallway. Darcy listened for his footsteps on the stairs and only when they diminished did he swing his long legs over the side of the bed.

"Help me to dress, Richard," he said, wincing slightly as he sat up.

Fitzwilliam watched him press his left hand to his shoulder in an effort to quiet the pain. Shaking his head in disbelief, he raised his hand to halt his cousin's movements.

"Did you not hear a word Mr. Jones just said?" Fitzwilliam asked.

Darcy's jaw set and he declared, "You cannot have imagined that I would remain here while you searched for Wickham."

Fitzwilliam stood before him and asserted, "And you cannot believe I would allow you to risk injuring yourself further. I promised Georgiana I would see you to Hertfordshire safely; I would appreciate it if I could see you home safely as well."

Darcy pushed past Fitzwilliam to stand and made his way to the chest at the foot of his bed. Mrs. Harding had seen that a new shirt and waistcoat had been brought from the milliner and that his jacket had been laundered. Darcy studied the neat piles and thought on how he might dress without aid. He fingered the white linen sleeve of the shirt and heard his cousin move to stand behind him.

"You cannot ride in your condition," he asserted. "I will not have you on a horse if you cannot grip the reins fully."

Darcy ignored his words and raised the shirt with his good arm, managing to get it over his head. "I shall not remain idle," he said firmly. "I should have seen Wickham punished long ago."

He pushed his left arm through the sleeve, but paused when he realized he could not do so with the other. He released a sigh and was displeased when he heard Fitzwilliam chuckle.

Darcy looked toward him and bit out, "I am happy I amuse you so."

Fitzwilliam smiled and stepping forward he secured the button at Darcy's throat. "Forgive me, but you are as stubborn as my father," he declared. "You cannot deny it."

Darcy thanked him quietly for his aid and listened as he continued, "And you also cannot deny the severity of your injury. Trust me to find Wickham."

Touching his shoulder lightly, Darcy said, "Of course I trust you; I wish only to go to Longbourn and see Elizabeth."

"You will remain here," Fitzwilliam argued. "I will not allow you to harm yourself irrevocably. Mr. Jones said that…"

Darcy reared on him and cried, "I will not leave Elizabeth alone! I wager Wickham knows there is no way to injure me more acutely than to harm Elizabeth."

Pressing his hand to his forehead, his mind wondered back to Ramsgate and he reminded himself why Wickham engaged Georgiana's affections. More than her fortune, what Wickham truly sought was to revenge himself.

"This is nothing like Ramsgate," Fitzwilliam said gently, for he knew where his cousin's thoughts had gone.

"Perhaps," Darcy began. "But I cannot risk it."

Darcy lifted the waistcoat and held it out to Fitzwilliam so that he might help him. "I will go to Longbourn," he added.

Fitzwilliam studied him, and plucking the garment from his fingers, he shook his head before declaring, "Very well; I must meet with Colonel Forster to see how his men get on with their search. Do you think you can make it to Longbourn without any more excitement?"

Smirking slightly, Darcy professed, "I think I can manage that."

Fitzwilliam chuckled and tucking the waistcoat beneath his arm, he set to helping Darcy prepare to depart. Within a half hour, the two cousins appeared below stairs and much to Mr. Harding's surprise requested the use of his carriage.

Elizabeth tucked her shawl more tightly about her shoulders and played idly with the closures of her gloves. She had escaped the house before her mother could insist she don her traveling coat and bonnet. She breathed deeply and counted her final steps toward the stone bench. Reaching out, she waited until her fingers encountered its cold slate and she sat upon it. She raised her face and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on it. She was thankful that the rain of the previous night gave way for she had always enjoyed the heady scent of the ground following a storm. She listened closely to discern if any of her family had followed, for as much as she appreciated their care of her, she needed her solitude at the moment. Her body felt the effects of the previous night; she had been unable to sleep, for each time her mind slipped into its dreams she saw nothing but Mr. Wickham coming upon her beloved. She started awake several times during the night, her cheeks wet with tears and her chest tight with the pain she imagined Darcy must have felt.

"Fitzwilliam," she whispered.

She was surprised to feel a few tears escape from her eyes and she pressed her fingers to her cheeks in an effort to catch them. She released the breath she had been holding and her fingers curled involuntarily.

"Why has no word come?" she wondered, hitting her fist against her stone seat.

She knew not what to think, and though she did not wish it to, she could not keep her mind from turning to the tragic possibilities. "I would know though," she declared firmly. "Certainly I would know somehow; I would surely feel it."

New tears came to her eyes and she said wryly, "I could always walk to Meryton myself."

She heard a low chuckle from behind her and she straightened, her breath catching in emotion. She turned and waited to hear more. She could not have known the pleasing picture she made to Darcy, who stood not far from her. His dark eyes traced her face, watching as her cheeks heightened in color and her clear, green eyes turned toward him. He smiled and stepped forward.

"I hope you would at least ask one of your sisters to accompany you," he declared lightly, pausing but a foot from her. "It would be most improper for the future Mrs. Darcy to walk about the country on her own."

Elizabeth stood though she felt her legs trembling with anticipation. She opened her mouth to reply, wanting nothing more than to laugh with him and hear his laughter again, but she could find nothing to say. She managed only to nod mutely before her face crumpled and sudden sobs wracked her body. Darcy responded immediately, dropping his hat and crossing the short distance between them. Elizabeth felt his left arm slide about her waist and draw her toward his chest. She immediately noticed his right arm bent and tucked securely against his body. She laid a gentle hand against the forearm of his wounded arm and traced her fingers down until they encountered his own. Darcy closed his eyes at the sensation, wishing desperately to clasp her hand in his. He attempted to, but inhaled suddenly through his teeth when he felt a piercing pain shoot up his arm. Elizabeth started in fear that she had caused it and attempted to step back from him, but was prevented by Darcy's firm hold of her with his good arm.

"It is nothing," he said, wishing to ease her concern for him. "I only wish I could embrace you properly."

Elizabeth heard the regret in his voice and wiping the dampness from her cheeks. "It does not matter that you cannot," she confessed. "You are here; that is all require."

Darcy drew a long breath, and leaning down, he pressed his lips to one of her tears before whispering against her skin, "I love you; I will always be here."

He felt Elizabeth begin to smile and was pleased when she raised her face to him. He traced the fingers of his left hand along her chin before lowering his lips to her own.