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Chapter 50: Comfort

Posted on 2009-07-25

Elizabeth felt Darcy's hand move to her shoulder, and she shivered when his thumb began to draw slow circles there. He then slid his palm to her back to draw her closer, and she raised her left hand to his jaw, pressing her fingertips to it. Even through her gloves, she could feel the warmth of his skin, and she sighed against his mouth as he deepened their kiss. Darcy started at the sound, and fearing he had frightened her with his ardor, he pulled back slightly so that he might look at her. Her eyes remained closed, and Darcy was alarmed to see several tears fall from their corners.

"Why do you cry?" he asked softly, moving his hand over her back in the hope of soothing her.

Elizabeth's eyes opened slowly, and she raised them toward his voice. She lifted one hand to her cheek to stop the tears, as her other laid against Darcy's chest. She concentrated on the sensation of the gentle thrum of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingers.

"I was so afraid," she began, her voice a mere whisper. "I could not help but worry that I would never feel this again."

Darcy remained still as she laid her palm more firmly against the area above his heart. He drew a long breath, enjoying the feeling of the slight weight of her hand there. Raising his hand, he drew his fingers through the few dark curls that surrounded her face. He watched her drop her hands and pull them from her gloves before tossing them to the ground. She raised her hands and settled them on the sides of his neck and allowed her thumbs to caress the skin just above his collar.

"To be forced to do nothing was utter agony," she continued. "You must have been in such pain. I wish I could have been with you."

"You were," Darcy declared, recalling the moments he had imagined her presence, heard her voice, and felt her soothing touch.

Elizabeth's brow furrowed in confusion, and her hands settled on his shoulders. "Whatever do you mean?" she asked.

Darcy took her hand in his left and led her to the stone bench she had vacated just moments ago. He pulled her down to sit beside him and wove his fingers through hers, studying their smallness and committing the smoothness of her skin to memory.

"You were with me last night," he said without removing his dark gaze from their interlocked hands. "I was in pain and required a diversion."

Raising his eyes to her countenance, he confessed, "You were that diversion."

Elizabeth felt his gaze on her, and her color heightened as she realized the import of his words. Darcy smiled and continued, "I remembered our moments together. My first vision of you when you censured me for my riding, your touch upon my arm as we wandered Netherfield's paths that morning, and your voice saying my name; all these I thought of with perfect clarity. I thought of what our life together will be and…"

Darcy paused, for he felt his throat tighten with emotion. He realized that Wickham's actions the previous night almost robbed him of his future with Elizabeth. He unconsciously clasped her fingers more tightly. Elizabeth felt the change in him, and returning the strength of his hold, she raised his hand to her lips. She kissed each knuckle reverently, enjoying the warmth of them. Darcy closed his eyes and laid his forehead against hers.

Wishing to ease his mind, Elizabeth observed lightly, "I am happy I could be of such service. With your memories of me, and your cousin there, I suppose you did not need me after all."

"Believe me, my love," Darcy began, raising his head to look at her. "I would have preferred your company over Richard's."

Lifting his hand to her cheek, he leaned toward her ear and whispered, "Your presence is far more distracting than his."

Elizabeth smirked, but before she could respond, she felt Darcy press his lips firmly to hers. She held his face as her lips caressed his own, and was delighted when his left arm snaked around her waist to pull her closer. Her mind warned her to be conscious of his injury, but her hands moved of their own volition and settled upon his shoulders. She became aware of her mistake when Darcy grunted in pain and tore his lips from hers.

"Oh, Fitzwilliam!" she cried in surprise. "Forgive me; I did not realize that…"

"No, no," he answered, pressing his hand to his shoulder in an effort quell the slight throb. "You could not have known."

Elizabeth turned her eyes to the ground, chastising herself for her thoughtlessness. She started when she felt Darcy's finger beneath her chin, willing her to raise her face to him.

"Your thoughts were more agreeably engaged," he added. "I have no cause to repine, and neither should you."

Elizabeth's frown softened, and lifting her hand, she reached out slowly until her fingertips grazed his right shoulder. She moved them slowly over the area, and unconsciously over the wound at the back of it. Darcy watched her movements, and reflected that even through the wool of his greatcoat and jacket, he could feel her warmth.

"What is being done?" she inquired as her fingers continued their ministrations.

Darcy closed his eyes, knowing exactly where her mind had turned. Shaking his head, he declared, "Fitzwilliam, Colonel Forster, and some of the regiment are searching for him."

Elizabeth nodded and asked, "What will become of him when they find him?"

"He will be arrested," he answered quickly, and opening his eyes, he studied her reaction. "That is, if my cousin does not find him first."

He was not surprised to see Elizabeth's brow rise in astonishment and he continued, "Do not think less of him; if it were Richard who was injured, or you, I do not know how I would act."

Elizabeth felt his fingers curl around her own protectively, and she listened as he continued, "No; that is not true. I would punish Wickham on my own."

"What makes you believe so?" she asked, sliding her hand along the sling that held his arm until her fingers settled on the back of his hand.

He turned his eyes from her to study the great oak across the lawn, and he felt his heart quicken as he thought on a frightening possibility that had plagued him since his departure from Hertfordshire. Closing his eyes, he recalled the sounds of laughter dissipating as he made his way down the darkened hallway. He flinched, recalling Elizabeth's cry of distress and her tears that followed Wickham's departure.

"Had he harmed you in any way the night of the Netherfield ball, I would have called him out immediately," he confessed, his jaw setting at the thought. "And I would have killed him."

Elizabeth remained silent, focusing on the sound of his breathing and thinking on his words. Darcy noticed her reticence, and not wishing to alarm her further, he stood and began pacing in an attempt to quiet his resentment. Elizabeth listened to his movements and folded her hands in her lap waiting for him to speak again.

When he did not, she asked, "What troubles you, Fitzwilliam?"

Darcy paused and looked toward her; her green eyes were wide with concern and she chewed her lip anxiously. Sighing, he admitted, "I feel the same way now. I rushed here because I feared what he might do."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed, and seeing her confusion, he continued, "He has attempted to injure me in so many ways, and I could not risk having him harm that which matters most to me."

He moved back to her side and traced her jaw, declaring, "I had to see you, and be assured that you were well."

Her eyes softened, and smiling slightly, she asked, "You were injured; attacked just last night, and you wanted to be assured that I was well?"

Raising her hand until it encountered his cheek, she added, "As much as I am overjoyed to have you with me, I know you should be abed."

Darcy huffed and said, "You and Mr. Jones share a similar opinion."

Elizabeth's eyes widened and she cried, "You ignored his recommendation!"

"I did not ignore it," he asserted. "I heard every word of it, and determined I simply could not do as he asked."

Before Elizabeth could argue, he continued, "I have never been a very good patient, and if I recall correctly, you are not one either."

Elizabeth blushed, remembering that day at her uncle's when Darcy discovered her venturing downstairs while Jane was occupied. "Perhaps that is so," she admitted.

Darcy smiled, entirely bewitched by the rosiness of her cheeks, but before he could speak again, he heard Elizabeth's name called from across the lawn. Realizing they had been obscured by the branches of the elm they sat beneath, he knew he had only a few moments before they were discovered. He slid away from Elizabeth and quickly passed his left hand over his waistcoat to smooth its creases. He raised his hand to better secure his greatcoat over his right shoulder before rising. Breathing deeply, he hoped he looked vaguely presentable.

Elizabeth listened to his swift movements, and smirking slightly, she called, "I am here, Jane."

She heard Jane's gentle tread and the graceful sweep of her skirts as she approached them. Elizabeth imagined the astonishment on Jane's countenance when she ducked under the branches to see Darcy present, and she was not surprised when Jane inhaled sharply.

"Mr. Darcy!" Jane exclaimed, her light eyes widening.

Darcy bowed low and declared, "It is a pleasure to see you, Miss Bennet."

Recognizing that her mouth hung agape, Jane closed it quickly and felt her color heighten, for she feared she had interrupted the pair's reunion. She watched her sister's intended and immediately perceived his pallor and the dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Forgive my not greeting you properly," she said, her gaze leaving his countenance to study his injured arm. "We have been so concerned for you. Seeing you here is quite comforting."

Darcy noticed her troubled expression and the direction of her gaze, and wishing to ease her worry, he professed, "It appears far worse than it is."

Jane smiled and watched Elizabeth rise from her seat and reach out her hand until her fingers encountered Darcy's greatcoat. When she felt its fine wool, she stepped to his side and laid her hands gently on the forearm of his wounded arm. He did not hesitate to lay his hand atop hers and press her fingers comfortingly.

He leaned toward Elizabeth and whispered, "I am well."

He said a few more words to her and Elizabeth nodded, but remained by his side. He smiled, a soft smile that lit his tired features. Jane observed the tender scene, and was grateful for Mr. Darcy's arrival, for despite Elizabeth's assurances, she had noted her despair the previous evening.

"Will you not come inside, Mr. Darcy?" Jane inquired after a few moments. "I am certain our mother would not forgive us if she knew we kept you out of doors for so long."

Darcy looked toward Elizabeth, and noticing her smile, he accepted. He invited Jane to precede them, and together, the three made their way along the path that wrapped about the house. When they entered the foyer, Hill appeared to help them off with their things, moving deftly from Jane to Elizabeth before offering to help Darcy from his greatcoat. Darcy stepped back when she raised her hands to take the garment, remembering he had been unable to don his jacket that morning.

"I am afraid I am not dressed properly," he confessed, looking down at his arm and feeling heat rise to his cheeks. "This posed quite a challenge."

Hill smiled at the young man's worry and assured him it was all right. "No one will notice, sir," she added, lifting the coat from his shoulders.

She immediately set to hanging it, and Elizabeth spoke quietly with Darcy, leaving Jane to study him more closely. Though he wore no jacket, she found nothing lacking in his attire, for his cravat was tied neatly, and he wore a fine, dark green waistcoat that hugged his frame. His upper arm was bound tightly to him to limit his movement, and a piece of white linen bore the weight of his forearm. She noticed the painful strain on his countenance, but her inspection was interrupted by her mother's entrance from the parlor.

"Mr. Darcy!" she exclaimed, pressing her hand to her chest and falling against the doorframe. "Oh, heavens! Where ever did you come from? Were you not injured? How long have you been here? Is your cousin not with you?"

Darcy prepared to answer, but when her gaze fell upon his injured arm she continued, "You traveled all alone in your state? Elizabeth, why have you not invited Mr. Darcy into the parlor? Would you have him stand here all day long to catch his death?"

Elizabeth bristled at her mother's tone, but Darcy laid his hand against the small of her back to calm her. "I thank you for your concern, Mrs. Bennet, but I assure you I am in no danger. Mr. Jones is confident I am at no risk for infection."

Mrs. Bennet's ire quieted at hearing the physician's name, and she resorted to twisting her handkerchief uneasily. "One cannot be too careful though," she asserted, feeling that she wanted nothing more than to usher Mr. Darcy into the parlor and see him seated comfortably.

As if understanding her dilemma, Darcy drew a long breath and thanked her gracefully. "You are perfectly right, madam," he continued evenly. "Perhaps I have been too careless. Do I impose too much to ask for some tea? It would be greatly appreciated."

Mrs. Bennet's mouth moved wordlessly, an occurrence that much to Elizabeth's dismay, happened too seldom, and she reflected that she had never heard Mr. Darcy speak so many words so close together before. "Of course," she said, gesturing for him to follow her into the parlor.

Jane smiled and followed after her mother, as Elizabeth smirked at Darcy's triumph, for she had never witnessed anyone so effectively quiet her mother's tongue in so gentile a manner. Her father, of course, had shown some expertise in the practice, but his method was to confuse or irritate her. Darcy's manner was entirely genuine, and his voice soothing and grateful. For a moment, she wondered how so great a feat was accomplished, but she soon realized the truth; disguise of every sort was abhorrent to Darcy, and he measured his own conduct by the same standard. He was being entirely sincere. She was startled from her thoughts when she felt him wind his arm through hers. She felt the warmth of his arm beneath the fine linen of his shirtsleeve, and she drew a long breath in an attempt to quiet her racing heart.

"That was well done," she observed, willing her voice to remain steady.

Darcy smiled and declared, "I would not have your mother blame you for my obstinacy."

"So you admit that you were wrong by not following Mr. Jones's advice?" she inquired lightly, falling in step beside him.

"Not at all," he asserted, looking toward her. "I am merely admitting that I am willful to a fault."

She grinned, and halting their progress, she said, "You are in good company then."

Darcy's eyes traced her features, and he leaned forward to press his lips to her temple. "I am in the best company," he declared, drawing back.

"Ah, Mr. Darcy," Mr. Bennet called, striding down the hallway and causing the younger man to jump.

He arrived before the pair and studied their blushing countenances, his brow furrowing skeptically. Darcy turned his eyes to the floorboards to avoid Mr. Bennet's stern gaze, for he knew he had been reckless.

"I am gratified you think of our company in such a way," Mr. Bennet declared. "But to enjoy such company, is it not necessary to be among it rather than lingering in the hallway?"

Darcy nodded, bearing his censure silently and feeling deserving of it. Elizabeth must have sensed the change in his mood, for he felt her press his arm in encouragement. He glanced briefly at her before turning his gaze to her father.

"Perhaps you might indulge me and accompany me to my library," Mr. Bennet said before looking toward his daughter. "Elizabeth, you may join your mother and sisters."

Elizabeth knew better than to question her father when he was in such a temper, and she stepped away from Darcy reluctantly. "Yes, Papa," she declared.

With that, she departed, sliding her fingers along the wall. Darcy watched her go, and only when she disappeared into the parlor did he return his attention to Mr. Bennet.

"Sir, I…" he began.

Mr. Bennet raised his hand to silence him, and gesturing for Darcy to follow him, he walked down the hallway toward his library. He opened the door and ushered Darcy into the room. Darcy listened to him close the door firmly, the latch falling securely into place. He breathed deeply to calm his racing heart, and wondered what he might say to lessen Mr. Bennet's displeasure, but he was prevented by Mr. Bennet striding past him to take his seat behind his desk.

"Please sit, Mr. Darcy," he declared quietly.

Darcy detected the command in his voice and obeyed, lowering himself into the chair closest to him. In his distraction, his elbow hit against the arm of the chair, sending a painful burn up his arm and to his wound. He gritted his teeth, and despite his best efforts, he inhaled sharply. Mr. Bennet prepared to rise from his seat to offer his aid, but Darcy shook his head and settled back into his chair. Mr. Bennet's brow remained knitted in worry as he adjusted the tails of his coat and resumed his seat.

"You seem quite unwell," he observed.

With great effort, Darcy straightened and said, "It is not so very bad. Wickham has done me no permanent harm."

Darcy faltered, recalling the difficulty he had with his right hand. Laying his left hand over it, he prayed it might repair itself.

"I am happy to hear that," Mr. Bennet declared, noticing Darcy's movement. "I wonder at your coming though; surely Mr. Jones instructed you otherwise."

Mr. Bennet watched the younger man blush, and having his suspicions confirmed, he shook his head and continued, "I suppose the promise of our company was so tempting that you decided to ignore your own wellbeing."

Darcy drew a long breath, and admitting the truth of this, he declared, "So it would seem."

"But I suspect there is another reason for your being here that is less pleasant," Mr. Bennet speculated. "What is it?"

Darcy reflected that the man before him was as observant as Elizabeth, for she, too, detected his uneasiness. Moving his fingertips over the edge of his sling, Darcy answered, "I cannot be certain what Wickham will do now. I feared for Miss Elizabeth's safety."

Mr. Bennet paled and he asked, "Do you think him capable of harming her?"

Darcy mind filled with the tragic possibilities, making him dizzy. In an effort to escape the images, he stood abruptly and walked to the window.

"I do not know," Darcy confessed. "But I refuse to risk it. Until Wickham is found, I will not be easy."

Mr. Bennet observed him; Darcy's form was rigid and his mouth set in a determined line. Despite his injury, Darcy's strength was still apparent as his left hand curled involuntarily, turning his knuckles white. His dark eyes were hard, and he scanned the landscape outside carefully.

Clearing his throat, Mr. Bennet said, "I suppose it would do no good to turn you from the house and order you to return to the comfort of your bed. I dare say you would refuse to leave."

Darcy looked toward him and declared, "I wish to remain for as long as possible. As I cannot go after Wickham myself, I would at least like to see that your family is safe."

Mr. Bennet rose from his chair and strode toward Darcy. "I thought as much," he declared.

Darcy released the breath he had been holding and bowed his head, silently thanking Mr. Bennet for his understanding. He listened as Mr. Bennet continued, "But I must ask that you check your behavior toward Elizabeth."

Darcy stiffened and said, "I meant her no disrespect. I would never harm her."

"Of that I am certain," Mr. Bennet asserted. "You are a man of the world and guardian of your young sister. Pray; how would you react were you in my position? Would you overlook such behavior?"

Wickham's visage flashed through Darcy's mind, and he reluctantly admitted that he would not. "No, sir," he answered.

"So what is to be done then?" Mr. Bennet asked, stepping away from Darcy to pace in front of the hearth. "Fetch Elizabeth; she should be present for this discussion."

Darcy bowed low and fled from the room, returning moments later with Elizabeth on his arm. Her eyes were wide with concern, and she held his arm surely, her fingers holding fast to his shirtsleeve.

"You wished to see me, Papa?" she inquired, stepping closer to Darcy's side and taking comfort in his warmth.

The action did not go unnoticed by Mr. Bennet, and his gaze softened as he watched Darcy escort Elizabeth to a seat. He did not sit beside her, but moved to stand behind her chair; his tall figure towering protectively over her. Despite his disapproval of their actions, he could not deny that he liked Darcy very much.

"I am afraid I have been quite remiss in my duties as a father," he began, delighting in the surprised expressions of the young people before him.

"You must not blame Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth asserted.

"His actions are inexcusable," he said, making his voice sound far darker than his mood. Quelling a slight smirk, he continued, "And they leave me very little choice."

Elizabeth inhaled fearfully, and Darcy immediately laid his hand on her shoulder to calm her. He did not remove his gaze from Mr. Bennet, for he detected something in the older gentleman's eyes that was familiar to him; it was the same glint that lit Elizabeth's eyes whenever she was teasing him. Darcy's heartbeat steadied and his shoulders relaxed.

"Papa…" Elizabeth began.

"No, Lizzy; I am quite determined in this," Mr. Bennet declared. "We must set a date for your marriage."

He watched in amusement as Elizabeth's countenance became brighter. "I expected we might wait until the summer to discuss this, but it would appear I ask too much of the two of you," he said.

He watched the pair blush; Elizabeth turned her face toward the floorboards in an effort to hide her heightened color, and Darcy's gaze was riveted on her. The darkness that had enveloped his air earlier dissipated, and despite his embarrassment, he smiled peacefully.

"If that is what you wish," Darcy declared evenly.

Mr. Bennet sighed and moved to sit beside Elizabeth. She was surprised by his arrival, and her brow knit in confusion.

"I had hoped you would visit Mr. Darcy's home before marrying," Mr. Bennet said, cradling her hand in his own. "Will you be at ease if you do not?"

Darcy closed his eyes, recalling Mr. Bennet's concerns for Elizabeth's happiness, and his desire for her to become acquainted with Pemberley. He shook his head and chastised himself for his lack of restraint, fearing that it would now force Elizabeth to marry before she was prepared. Opening his eyes, he looked toward Elizabeth, waiting for her answer.

Elizabeth's eyes drifted closed and she pictured a gentle rise in green land revealing a grand structure, so happily situated that one did not mind it among the beautiful landscape. It seemed its natural partner, imposing nothing upon it and complimenting it. She smiled, feeling that she would find infinite pleasure walking its many paths. She opened her eyes, feeling Darcy's presence behind her. She had no doubt he would remain thus; always beside her and ever attentive.

Smiling, she pressed her father's hand and declared, "I am not afraid. I look forward to journeying to Pemberley, however soon it might be."

Darcy released the breath he had been holding, and he felt his heart swell with the knowledge that the next time he returned to his beloved estate, Elizabeth might very well be with him. He looked toward Mr. Bennet to see how he bore his daughter's response.

"You are certain, Lizzy?" he asked, studying his daughter.

"I am," she said.

Mr. Bennet stood from his seat beside Elizabeth and turned his grey eyes to Darcy. Darcy looked back, his gaze serious and unwavering. Mr. Bennet recollected Darcy's staunch insistence that Elizabeth would be cared for, and that he would never resent the time it would take her to become acquainted with her new home.

"Very well," he declared finally. "A wedding in the early spring should be rather nice. Shall we say a month's time?"

Darcy felt his breath leave him, for to hear the words that confirmed Elizabeth would be his wife in a few short weeks seemed fantastic to him, and for a moment, he could not be certain he was not dreaming. "A month's time," he managed to repeat.

Mr. Bennet extended his hand and laid it atop Darcy's good shoulder. He said nothing, but pressed affectionately and smiled. Darcy nodded, fighting the lump he felt rising in his throat.

"I feel myself in great need of a cup of tea," Mr. Bennet declared, dropping his hand and blinking quickly.

He proceeded toward the door, but before he reached the hallway, he turned and asserted, "I will expect you both to show some modicum of restraint over the next weeks. I have little desire to obtain a special license and have you married the day after."

With that, he departed, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth behind to blush at his words. Darcy was the first to recover, and he strode swiftly around the settee to kneel before Elizabeth. She sensed his movement, and leaned forward to embrace him, careful to avoid his wounded shoulder. She felt his left arm hold her securely about the waist, and he buried his face against her neck.

"Are you sure, Elizabeth?" he whispered.

Smiling, she released him so she could place her hands on the sides of his face. "There is nothing I desire more," she said, moving her thumbs over his jaw. "And nothing can persuade me otherwise."

Darcy eyes shone with joy, and he smiled. Lifting his hand to Elizabeth's cheek, he declared, "You will love Pemberley. I cannot wait to show it to you."

Darcy stood, and taking Elizabeth's hand, he drew her to his side. "You will be my wife," he said softly, shaking his head in disbelief.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it reverently. Holding it to his chest, he continued, "Once Wickham is found and dealt with, I will return to London to meet with my solicitor. There is much to be done to assure your comfort; a proper settlement must be drawn."

"I do not need any of that," Elizabeth professed.

"You shall have it all the same," he interjected, weaving his fingers through hers and starting toward the hallway.

They walked leisurely, for they were certain when they reached the parlor they would be drawn apart. "My mother will not be happy," Elizabeth observed. "She will claim that a month is not enough time to gather my trousseau. I have no doubt she expects me to visit every shop in London."

Darcy chuckled and asked, "And what do you want to do?"

"My tastes are simple," she answered, shrugging indifferently. "The shops at Meryton will suffice, and if there is anything I cannot find, I trust my Aunt Gardiner would do so for me."

"I am certain Georgiana will not forgive me when I tell her she will not have the opportunity to drag you to every milliner and tailor she frequents," he said lightly.

Shaking her head, she declared, "You may promise her that I will go wherever she likes after the wedding."

Darcy agreed to the plan just as they reached the parlor door. Realizing he would likely not have the opportunity to do so for some time, he dipped his head to capture her lips. The kiss was short, but full of feeling, and when the two pulled back, they understood it for what it was; a promise of all that was to come.

Lady Matlock drummed her fingers anxiously against the door of her grand conveyance. She turned her arresting eyes to her husband in a silent plea, encouraging him to urge the driver to go faster.

"It will do no good, my dear," he said, pressing her hand to comfort her. "The streets are crowded this time of day, and we will be of no help to Georgiana if our carriage tips over."

She sighed, and glancing out the window again, she was thankful to see the familiar edifices that lined her nephew's street. Soon after, the driver called the team to a halt, and one of Darcy's footman arrived at the door. Lady Matlock took his hand gratefully and stepped to the ground more quickly than was her custom. She did not wait for her husband, but picked up her skirts and hurried up the great stairs. On entering the foyer, she saw Georgiana's small form rushing toward her, her arms outstretched.

"Oh, Aunt!" she cried, throwing herself into Lady Matlock's embrace.

Lady Matlock noted that curled in Georgiana's hand was a missive, undoubtedly similar to the one she had received that morning from her son, Richard. "There now; all is well," she said, swaying Georgiana back and forth like a small child.

Georgiana stepped back and pressed her handkerchief to her swollen eyes. "Who could have done such a thing to Fitzwilliam?" she asked.

Before Lady Matlock could answer, her husband arrived behind the pair and laid his hand on his niece's shoulder. "Richard said nothing on that score in his letter to us," he asserted. "So we know no more than you."

Georgiana nodded mutely, and recalling her duties as hostess, she invited her aunt and uncle into the drawing room for tea. They readily accepted, and walked with her down the hallway. All the while, Lady Matlock retained her hold on Georgiana, for she knew how difficult such news was for her to bear. Georgiana gestured to the comfortable settees before the chimneypiece, and crossed the room to the bell while Lord and Lady Matlock seated themselves.

"I am so worried for him," Georgiana declared, returning to them and claiming the seat by her aunt's side.

"But Richard writes that the physician has assured him your brother will make a full recovery," Lady Matlock reminded her. "We must have faith and trust that Darcy will be well."

The earl settled back into his seat and observed, "Your brother is a strong man, and a stubborn one at that; no doubt he is already riding a horse."

Georgiana smiled at her uncle's supposition, praying that despite the wildness of it, he was right. "I wish I could be with him," she said.

"We would see you there if we were not expected in New Castle in two days time," Lady Matlock asserted.

Georgiana nodded and prepared to answer her, but paused when she heard the bell ring. Fearful it was another express bearing news, she paled and held tightly to her aunt's hand. She could not describe her elation when she heard Mr. Bingley's cheerful voice greeting the footman at the door.

"It is only Mr. Bingley," she breathed out in relief.

Wiping at her eyes, she stood from her seat to see a footman arrive in the doorway followed by her brother's dearest friend. "Mr. Bingley," she greeted, curtseying and extending her hand to him.

Smiling broadly, he stepped forward and clasped her hand. "It is good to see you, Miss Darcy," he declared, looking beyond her for the first time and noting the other occupants of the room. "Forgive me; I did not mean to interrupt your company."

Georgiana assured him he did not, and quickly reintroduced her aunt and uncle to him. "It is an honor to meet with you both again," he declared, bowing low.

Looking back to Georgiana, he detected her sadness, and immediately became concerned. "Are you unwell, Miss Darcy?" he asked.

When she did not answer, he realized who was missing from their company, and knew no news could unsettle Georgiana in such a way unless it was about her brother. She recognized the direction of his thoughts and reached out to press his hand.

"My brother has been attacked," she revealed, watching Bingley's countenance grow pale.

Before Bingley could respond, Georgiana quickly recounted Darcy's reasons for traveling to Hertfordshire, telling him of Lady Catherine's visit and her hasty departure for the country. Raising Fitzwilliam's letter, she read it aloud, for she did not feel herself prepared to describe the incident without it. When she finished, she folded the parchment and waited for Bingley's response. His light eyes narrowed and he walked slowly toward the window, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

"This is disturbing news, indeed," he said. "I am glad your cousin is with him. Perhaps I might assist him when I arrive in Hertfordshire, though I hope the man responsible is found before then."

"You are to go to Hertfordshire?" Georgiana asked, her eyes widening hopefully.

Bingley nodded and asserted, "I came here to say farewell to you both, for I am bound for Hertfordshire tomorrow."

Smiling slightly, he added, "I wished to prepare Netherfield for yours and your brother's arrival in a few weeks' time. Of course, we can delay that until your brother is feeling better."

Lady Matlock looked toward her husband, who nodded in approval, understanding the direction of her thoughts. Rising from her seat, she swept toward her niece, declaring, "Then I wonder if we may ask a very great favor of you, Mr. Bingley."

Bingley looked toward the woman, taking in her kind eyes. "I will do anything I can, madam," he said. "You need only ask."

"Will you see our niece safely to Hertfordshire?" she inquired. "We are unable to accompany her, but she would like to be with her brother."

"Of course you wish to see your brother," he said, smiling kindly at Georgiana. "I would be happy to escort you to Hertfordshire, Miss Darcy."

The late afternoon found Colonel Fitzwilliam riding up Longbourn's drive; he appeared tired and cross as he thanked the groom who appeared to aid him with his horse. Swinging himself down from his saddle with practiced ease, he pulled his gloves from his hands and tossed them carelessly into his hat. Much to his delight, he was greeted at the door by Miss Bennet, and despite his poor mood, he smiled.

"Miss Bennet, it is a pleasure to see you," he declared, bowing low. "A face as lovely as yours is welcome after so arduous a day."

Jane blushed at his compliment and said, "Thank you, sir. Please come in; you must be in great need of some refreshment."

Following her inside, he pulled his arms from his greatcoat and professed, "I have no doubt my cousin is still here. He was quite insistent on coming this morning."

Smiling, Jane answered, "He is in the drawing room."

Laying his coat, riding crop, and hat aside, he followed after Jane. "I am afraid I must look rather frightful," he declared, pulling at his waistcoat and jacket in an effort to rid them of the creases and bits of grass that clung to them as a result of his riding all day.

Jane laughed softly, recalling Darcy's worry over his own appearance that morning. "It is quite all right; we care little for such things."

They both started when they heard the front door fly open, and turning, they saw Lydia and Catherine enter. The younger girl tore her bonnet from her head and tossed it aside.

"It is not fair!" Lydia cried, stomping her foot. "Poor Sir William must be devastated."

Catherine untied her own bonnet, and shaking her head, she asserted, "He did not look so; and I agree that he should not have the party after all that has happened. Who can possibly think of dancing after what happened to Mr. Darcy?"

Lydia huffed and attempted to walk away, but Catherine moved in front of her. "Besides, Colonel Forster is quite occupied in his search for Mr. Wickham," she added pointedly. "He would not even be able to attend."

Lydia's countenance darkened and she said, "I am certain Mr. Wickham is not to blame for Mr. Darcy's injury. It is all some misunderstanding."

With that, she turned on her heel and fled up the stairs. Catherine watched her go, disappointed by her sister's willfulness. She sighed and turned to see Colonel Fitzwilliam and Jane, noticing that the former frowned deeply and shook his head.

"My youngest sister is easily disappointed," Jane declared softly.

Fitzwilliam nodded, but remained silent, for Lydia's defense of Wickham worried him greatly. He reflected that she could not have been older than Georgiana, and to see another so taken in by him was painful. He drew a long breath to calm himself and listened as the two sisters spoke.

"I assume your visit to Lucas Lodge was not all Lydia anticipated," Jane said, her light eyes looking up as she listened to Lydia's angry footsteps above stairs.

Catherine frowned and asserted, "She cares only for officers and dancing. I find it amazing that a group of men in regimentals can so disrupt our lives. I will be thankful when all of them are gone from Hertfordshire!"

Glancing toward Colonel Fitzwilliam and recalling his profession, she blushed. "Except for you, Colonel," she declared.

Fitzwilliam smirked and said, "Of course."

Raising his arm to her, he asked, "Shall we continue to the drawing room?"

Catherine took his proffered arm and nodded. Fitzwilliam smiled broadly, and with Jane on his other arm, the three of them made their way down the hallway. They entered the drawing room to see Darcy hunched thoughtfully over a chess board, his good arm poised to move his knight. Elizabeth sat across from him, her eyes shining wickedly.

"It is no use, sir," she asserted, waiting to hear him slide the piece into place.

Darcy turned his dark eyes to her, and smiling, he said, "I do not take defeat very well, Miss Elizabeth."

He slid his knight forward and declared, "Checkmate."

Taking Elizabeth's hand, he laid her fingers atop the black carved piece and watched in delight as her eyes widened in surprise. Mary watched the exchange from her place across the room, and laying her book aside, she observed, "It seems you have met your match, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth settled back in her seat and said, "So it would seem."

Darcy chuckled, but when his eyes encountered his cousin's form, his countenance grew serious. He stood from his seat and greeted Fitzwilliam.

"And this is how you spent your day," Fitzwilliam declared good-naturedly, despite the gravity of what he had to impart. "Perhaps I shall injure myself so I may have such lovely companions."

"Let us speak outside," Darcy said, ignoring his cousin's teasing.

He noticed that Elizabeth's gaze turned worriedly toward his voice, and he pressed her shoulder to calm her. Only when she nodded in understanding did he lead Fitzwilliam out into the hallway. Closing the door firmly behind him, Darcy turned toward Fitzwilliam.

"What news?" he asked.

Fitzwilliam sighed and declared, "We can find no sign of him."

"He has fled to London then," Darcy said, beginning to pace. "He knows full well where he can hide."

"What do you want me to do, Darcy?" Fitzwilliam inquired. "You need only ask; I will follow after him."

Darcy had little desire to send his cousin after Wickham, especially if he could not accompany him. Shaking his head, he resolved to wait.

"When I am recovered, I plan to return London," he asserted. "He is too much of a coward to venture anywhere else; he will remain with his friends in Town until at least then."

Fitzwilliam nodded, and was surprised when Darcy's countenance lightened. Smiling, Darcy continued, "Elizabeth and I shall marry at the end of next month."

If Fitzwilliam thought it too soon, he gave no indication, and instead smiled brightly. "Congratulations," he declared, laying his hand on Darcy's good shoulder. "After these last days, you and she deserve every happiness."

Darcy thanked him, but before they could return to the company of Elizabeth and her sisters, Mrs. Bennet appeared. So happy was she to see Colonel Fitzwilliam, for she hoped to secure him for one of her other daughters, that she immediately wound her arm through his and led him in the direction of the dining room.

"Hill has quite outdone herself this evening," she declared.

Darcy watched them go, and was amazed that Fitzwilliam conversed cheerfully as they disappeared around the corner. Turning, he reentered the drawing room and informed the ladies within that dinner was prepared. With Elizabeth on his arm, they made their way to the dining room. Darcy was pleased when Mrs. Bennet insisted he take the seat across from Elizabeth and thanked her sincerely. Mr. Bennet appeared soon after, and seeing the genial Colonel Fitzwilliam at his table, he smiled.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," he greeted, extending his hand to him. "You have come to see that we have taken good care of your cousin, I take it."

"I had no doubt on that score," Fitzwilliam asserted, his bright eyes filled with humor.

Mrs. Bennet smiled as she surveyed the scene; her table was the picture of domestic harmony. She picked up her wine, but paused when her gaze was arrested by an empty chair.

"Wherever is Lydia?" she asked, appalled that her favorite daughter should be so easily forgotten. "Kitty, go and fetch your sister."

Catherine laid her napkin aside, and smiling at Colonel Fitzwilliam, who sat beside her, she reluctantly departed. While she was gone, Hill saw the roasted bird was carved and served. Mrs. Bennet smiled proudly as her guests praised the meal, and hearing footsteps in the hallway, she looked up to Catherine reappear. Her brow furrowed as she took in her daughter's pale countenance.

"What is it, Catherine?" she asked, lowering her wine.

Breathing deeply, Catherine stepped further into the room and declared, "I am sorry, Mama, but I cannot find Lydia."

Chapter 51: A Resolve Like No Other

Posted on 2009-09-05

Mrs. Bennet frowned at this and declared, "You cannot have looked very well then, Kitty. If she is not in her room then surely she is in the drawing room; go and look there."

"We have just come from there, Mama," Jane interjected gently.

Rolling her eyes heavenward, Mrs. Bennet asserted, "Well then I do not know; she is surely somewhere in the house."

As his wife continued on, Mr. Bennet watched his second youngest carefully, noting that she did not answer her mother, but turned her eyes downward toward her hands. Before his wife could begin listing the possible places out of doors her youngest might have ventured, Mr. Bennet cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the company.

"Come here, my child," he said, beckoning Catherine to his side.

Catherine glanced at the faces of the others, for all watched her with a mixture of interest and worry. She crossed the room, and standing before her father's chair, she raised her hand and he perceived she held a letter. His countenance paled and he stood from his seat to take the missive from her. He paused before opening its hastily created seal and looked toward her in question.

"When I did not find Lydia in her room, I thought she might have been in mine, for she knows how much it vexes me," Catherine began. "But instead I found only this on my writing desk."

Fearing the note's contents, Catherine's eyes began to swim with tears. Jane perceived her sister's distress and took her hand to comfort her. She retrieved her handkerchief and pressed it into Catherine's palm. Catherine sniffed and thanked her quietly.

"What is it, Papa?" Elizabeth asked, beginning to dread the silence that descended upon the room.

Darcy straightened when he heard the apprehension in her voice, and though he wished to rush to her side, he remained in his seat, watching her father. Mr. Bennet tore the seal and his eyes roved swiftly over the few lines scrawled on the parchment. His color heightened dangerously and his fingers curled around the edges of the message. Darcy noted the change in him and looked at Fitzwilliam wearily. Both men straightened in their chairs, studying Mr. Bennet and waiting for his answer.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Mr. Bennet," his wife cried out. "You unsettle my nerves so with such suspense!"

Pressing his hand to his head, Mr. Bennet fell back in his seat. "Lydia has run away," he breathed out after some moments.

Before anyone could respond, Mrs. Bennet began wringing her hands wildly and she called for her smelling salts. "Oh, my Lydia! My poor girl! Whatever do you mean Mr. Bennet? How could this be?" she wept, pressing her handkerchief to her cheeks. "She is not the sort of girl to do this sort of thing! Surely you are mistaken!"

She continued to assert that Lydia had done no such thing and must be playing a very great joke on all of them. Mr. Bennet looked imploringly at Mary, who seemed the least affected by this news, and caught her gaze. She nodded, and rising from her seat, she stepped to Catherine's side and whispered to her. Catherine agreed to her sister's request, and together, they urged their mother to join them in the drawing room.

"Please, Mama," Catherine declared after her mother refused their first entreaty.

Mrs. Bennet continued to weep silently, but with great effort, Mary and Catherine coaxed her from her chair and lead her from the room. Jane watched them go, and only when she could no longer hear their steps, she returned her attention to her father.

"What does she say, Papa? What reason can she possibly give for such folly?" she asked.

Mr. Bennet's color returned and his mouth set in a firm line. Standing from his chair, he held the letter out to her and declared, "Read it aloud, Jane, for I do not have the strength to do so again."

When she took the missive from his fingers, he turned silently toward the window and watched the gathering twilight cast shadows over the drive and gardens. Jane unfolded the parchment, but paused when she recalled who else sat at their table. Puzzled by his daughter's silence, Mr. Bennet looked back and saw her troubled gaze turn toward Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam's worried visages.

"If the gentlemen do not object, I would have them hear it," he said before turning back to the window. "Perhaps they might offer me advice on how to proceed."

Darcy looked toward Fitzwilliam, and seeing no objection in his light eyes, he asserted, "We will offer any aid that is in our power to give."

He turned his dark gaze to Jane and nodded, urging her to proceed. Jane bit her lip and hesitated, moving her fingers over the edges of the note.

"Continue, Jane," Elizabeth said, her squaring her shoulders. "Mr. Darcy has no objection, so we must not either."

Jane drew a long breath, and turning her gaze to Lydia's words, she began:

Kitty,

You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise as soon as I am missed. I have gone to Meryton to board the post carriage and then we are bound for Gretna Green. If you cannot guess with whom, I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I love. Despite what you all may say, he is an angel and I know he cannot have done what he has been accused of. It pains me greatly to hear you all speak of him in such a cruel way.

I shall write again after the wedding, though married women have so little time to write. It shall be such a great joke when I sign my name...

Jane drew a sharp breath, her mouth falling open and she felt herself unequal to continuing. Her hands shook as her gaze drifted over the words again before raising to her father's countenance.

"It cannot be," she breathed out.

She watched her father nod solemnly, his grey brow knitting. He begged her to continue, and looking toward the rest of the company, her eyes settled on Mr. Darcy. Raising the letter once more, she continued:

It shall be such a great joke when I sign my name 'Lydia Wickham.' To think that I should marry before all my dear sisters! Our mother will be most pleased.

Your sister,

Lydia Bennet

Jane lowered the parchment and turned her tearful gaze to the others. Mr. Bennet stepped to his daughter's side and took the letter from her hands so that he might lead her to the nearest chair.

"Oh, Lydia," she whispered when her father wrapped her fingers around his handkerchief.

Darcy's gaze was fixed in astonishment and he stood from his seat, pressing his hand to his mouth to stifle a curse. He had barely contained his rage when Jane mentioned the surname of his old friend, and now that she sat before him, quietly stifling her sobs as Elizabeth held her hand, he moved toward the window in silence.

Elizabeth listened to his movement, desperately wishing to follow after him, but feeling herself unable to stand under the weight of her humiliation. "Thoughtless girl to have written such a letter at such a time," she whispered harshly.

"At least it shows she believes he will marry her, whatever his intentions might be," Mr. Bennet declared flatly.

Fitzwilliam shook his head in anger and bit out, "I have never known that blackguard to have any good intentions."

Mr. Bennet sighed and returned to the table. "So I feared," he said softly, massaging his forehead with his fingertips.

Darcy turned his eyes from the glowing torches on the drive and looked toward Mr. Bennet. The man was already affected by his young daughter's folly; the gentleman who enjoyed the clever banter of his close acquaintances and the simple pleasures of his library was entirely gone. In his place was a man who appeared far beyond his years and wearied by the knowledge that he had been too indulgent of his daughter's whims and too ignorant of her faults. In the firm set of Mr. Bennet's mouth, Darcy saw the same desperation and resolution he had felt the night following his discovery of Georgiana at Ramsgate. He shook his head, realizing that he might have prevented it had he exposed Wickham's crimes long ago. Breathing deeply, he stepped away from the window and drew himself to his full height.

"They will have gone to London," he asserted, the fingers of his left hand curling around the back of the chair before him. "He knows they can be well-concealed there."

Elizabeth pressed Jane's fingers more tightly and closed her eyes to listen to her beloved continue, "I must ask your forgiveness, sir. Had not my pride prevented me from laying my private actions open to the world Wickham would have been exposed and your daughter would be with you now."

"No," Elizabeth declared, frowning at Darcy's admission. "You are not to blame!"

Ignoring her exclamation, Darcy turned his gaze to Mr. Bennet and said, "I hope you will still accept what help I might give."

"You take too much upon yourself," Mr. Bennet answered, looking toward the young man and noting the look of anguish that crossed his face.

Darcy's stern mien faltered and he watched Mr. Bennet cross the room to stand behind his daughters. He placed a gentle hand on each of their shoulders and declared, "I shall journey to London tonight to speak with your Uncle Gardiner. We will begin our search at once. Jane, I trust you will see to your mother."

"Of course, Papa," she answered before drawing a long breath to calm herself.

She raised her chin and forced a small smile to her face in an effort to assure her father that he need not worry for the rest of his family. He smiled at her and touched her chin gently. He turned his eyes to Elizabeth, noting that her shoulders shook slightly and her countenance had paled. Taking this to be a result of her fear for her sister, he pressed her shoulder.

"Fear not, Lizzy," he declared. "God willing, Lydia will recognize her folly and return to us."

Elizabeth huffed in disbelief and turned her face away, attempting to hold back the tears she felt welling in her eyes. Mr. Bennet sighed, and turning on his heel, he retreated into the hallway to see that the carriage was prepared.

"How could she do this?" Elizabeth whispered, expecting no answer.

Darcy heard the grief in her voice and his color rose as he thought of the man who was the cause of it. His fingers tightened on the wood and his knuckles strained from the pressure.

'I will not let him hurt her in this way,' he reflected, his mind turning to what he would do to Wickham when he found him.

These thoughts were interrupted by Fitzwilliam, who cleared his throat lightly and stood from his chair. "I pray that this dreadful business will be resolved speedily," he declared. "We will not trespass on your time for long, for surely you wish to be with your family."

Looking toward his cousin, Fitzwilliam added, "I will see that my horse and the carriage are prepared."

Darcy nodded in agreement and watched Fitzwilliam stride to Jane's side. "Miss Bennet," he began. "May I escort you to the drawing room? I am certain your steady presence would do much to comfort your mother."

Jane smiled and agreed, before raising her hand and allowing Fitzwilliam to lay it on his elbow. The two walked toward the hallway, but Jane paused in the doorframe to glance back at Elizabeth. She opened her mouth to speak, but paused when she felt the colonel press her arm. Her brow furrowed, and looking toward him, she noticed that he looked pointedly at his cousin. Jane turned her gaze to Darcy and noticed that he studied her sister intently, his eyes soft and filled with regret. She recognized that Fitzwilliam's intention was to allow his cousin a moment with Elizabeth.

Jane's brow knitted in worry until the colonel leaned toward her and asserted softly, "I wish only to give them a moment. Darcy will have us leave for London tonight and we cannot know when they will meet next."

"But he has been severely injured," Jane answered. "He must be in great pain. Surely Mr. Jones would agree he could harm himself irrevocably if he traveled now."

"That matters not," her companion whispered. "He would endure anything if it meant sparing your family from this wretched business."

Jane nodded, for she had been assured of Darcy's devotion to those he cared for when they were in London. With a fleeting look at the pair, Jane smiled and followed the colonel into the hallway. Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Darcy remained silent, each uncertain what to say, for nothing could lessen the pain of what had occurred.

'What must he think?' she thought, her heart dropping at the idea of the disappointment and mortification he must be feeling.

Despite her best efforts, Elizabeth could not prevent a sob that escaped her and Darcy was startled from his reverie by the sound. His hand dropped from the chair and he moved swiftly around the table so that he might kneel before Elizabeth.

"I know it seems impossible," he began, raising his left hand to her chin and urging her to lift her face to him. "But you must have faith that this will all be resolved."

Elizabeth removed her chin from his grasp and stood. "I cannot help but feel she is lost to us forever!" she cried. "She has no money or connections; nothing that can truly tempt him. Why would he choose her?"

Darcy watched wretchedly as she walked toward the chimneypiece, her fingers outstretched until they touched the cool stone of it. She rested her head against her arm and wept softly.

Standing from his place, Darcy asked, "Can you think of no reason for him to prey on one of your sisters?"

Elizabeth shook her head, unaware that Darcy moved to stand behind her, for his steps were muffled by the rug. "Nothing?" he pressed on, laying his left hand on hers.

She sighed at the touch, welcoming the warm weight of his fingers and reflecting on his question. "It is my fault," she whispered, her throat tightening. "I should have taken better care to guide Lydia."

Darcy's eyes widened, and realizing his error, he quickly moved in front of her and pressed his hand to her cheek. "No!" he cried. "You misunderstand me; you are not to blame!"

"But…" she began, but she fell silent when she felt his fingertips press against her lips.

"What Wickham has done, he has done because of me," he asserted. "He knows that harming you and your family punishes me far more than what he did last night."

Stepping closer to her and dropping his hand to her neck, he added, "He knows now that I would die before I let anything happen to you."

Before Elizabeth could argue with him, he dipped his head to capture her lips with his own. Elizabeth's eyes drifted closed, and taking great care not to jar his arm, her arms settled around his waist. Darcy felt her touch like fire on his skin as her small fingers clung to his back. He felt his resolve to leave Hertfordshire melt away. Wishing nothing more than to remain with her, he pressed his lips more firmly to hers. Elizabeth sensed the desperate change in him and raised her hands to cradle his face. He sighed against her lips, and kissing her once more, he straightened. He remained close to her and guided her head to lie against his shoulder, moving his fingers idly through the curls at the back of her neck.

"Fitzwilliam and I will go to London with your father," he said, his breath still coming quickly. "I am confident I can find Wickham and if he has compromised your sister…"

He paused, for he felt Elizabeth stiffen against him. He kissed the top of her head and held her for a moment, waiting for her to calm.

Only when he felt her ready did he continue, "I will see that he marries her; you have my word."

Elizabeth raised her face and Darcy watched her brow crumple and her countenance pale. "Oh; how is this to be borne?" she cried, turning from him and covering her face. "It is too much!"

She stepped away and moved toward the window with shaky steps. Frightened by her outburst and perceiving her distress, Darcy followed after her. When she leaned against the window frame, he stepped just behind her.

"Elizabeth," he whispered, reaching his hand to touch her shoulder and pressing it firmly in an effort to soothe her.

She drew a long breath and raised her hand to cover his own while listening to his breathing so close to her. She shut her eyes and concentrated on the warmth and sureness of his fingers.

"He would be your brother," she barely managed.

Her words hit Darcy like a physical blow and he closed his eyes against them, reflecting that he never imagined such a connection. Hearing his silence, Elizabeth stepped out of his hold to lean her back against the opposing frame. Darcy opened his eyes to see her facing him, her green eyes filling with grief.

"You have had to endure so much at his hands," she asserted, her voice catching when she recalled her fear the previous night. "And in marrying me, you will be forever connected to him. How can you bear it?"

Darcy crossed the small distance between them and took her hand in his, moving his thumb over her knuckles. "You cannot imagine I regret my offer to you," he declared, his dark gaze studying her.

When Elizabeth attempted to turn her face from him, he touched her chin to stop her. "No; my love," he declared slowly. "I have no regrets or doubts on that score."

Though his study of her was no less intense, he felt his jaw tense. "I have little desire to call George Wickham my brother, but that will not prevent me from marrying you," he said firmly.

His fingertips trailed down to settle on her upper arm and he was pleased to feel the muscles there relax beneath his touch. "Nothing can," he added.

He embraced her then, his left arm wrapping tightly around her shoulders. He laid his chin atop her head, and pressing her to his chest, he prayed that she believed him. He could not be easy without assuring her that he would return to her. He felt her step back, and looking down, he was pleased to see her pallor lessen though her brilliant eyes remained clouded.

Placing his palm against her cheek, he declared, "We should rejoin your family; I wish to have the opportunity to speak with your father."

Elizabeth nodded and felt him drop his hand so that he might offer her his arm. Sliding her hand around his elbow, she allowed him to lead her from the room. The hour that followed afforded Elizabeth and Darcy no further opportunity to speak at length. After seeing her to the drawing room, he and the colonel joined Mr. Bennet in the library to discuss their intention of following him to London. Soon after the two gentlemen expressed a wish to retrieve their things from the inn and took their leave of him. Bowing deeply before recalling his arm, Darcy winced in pain and closed his eyes against the throbbing that shot through his shoulder and back.

Mr. Bennet caught his discomfiture, and looking up from his writing, for he busied himself writing an express to Mr. Gardiner, he declared, "Mr. Jones will not be pleased with your going, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy schooled his features and raised his chin. "That may be, sir, but I will not be swayed," he answered.

Nodding in resignation, Mr. Bennet wished them a good journey and returned his attention to his note. Darcy turned on his heel and fled into the hallway to conceal himself, for the pain in his shoulder made him breathless. Leaning against the wall, he gripped his upper arm. In an instant Fitzwilliam was by his side, his light eyes wide with worry.

"My God, Darcy; what is it?" he asked, his voice hushed.

Darcy shook his head, but could not prevent his cousin from guiding him away from the wall so that he might better study him. Fitzwilliam's brow furrowed and in the dim light he could perceive a small crimson stain beginning beneath his waistcoat.

"It has opened?" Darcy asked flatly, knowing the answer, for he felt the warmth of his blood gathering.

"Damn," was all Fitzwilliam could manage as he watched the growing stain.

Shaking his head, Darcy straightened and stepped away from Fitzwilliam. "It does not matter," he asserted.

Fitzwilliam followed after him and declared, "But we must have it seen to. I shall fetch Miss Bennet and surely she can have someone…"

"I would not disturb them," he whispered harshly. "They do not have to bear this as well."

Studying Darcy, Fitzwilliam knew too well to believe he could convince him otherwise. Darcy's countenance had grown fearsome in his pain, for he was no doubt reminded of the cause of all that had happened. Fitzwilliam sighed, and agreeing quietly, he watched Darcy continue down the hallway toward the drawing room.

Slipping into the room, Darcy's eyes took in the scene before him. Mrs. Bennet wept pitifully on the settee while her eldest daughters endeavored to calm her. Catherine sat across from them, her eyes wet and cheeks flushed from her crying. Mary prepared a cup of tea for her mother at the sideboard, and taking it up, she moved toward her.

"Here, Mama," she declared gently. "You must have some, for I am sure it will do you good."

"What good can it do? Your father is to go away!" Mrs. Bennet cried. "He will fight Mr. Wickham and Mr. Wickham shall kill him! Then where will we be?"

"Mama," Elizabeth began in an attempt to quiet her, for she heard Darcy and Fitzwilliam's steps and knew they observed her mother's irrational declarations.

Jane perceived the gentlemen as well, and smiling apologetically to them, she looked toward Mary. "Mary, Kitty; will you see our mother to her room? She will surely be more comfortable taking her tea there," she said.

The two girls agreed and led their mother from the room. Darcy and Fitzwilliam bowed as they passed and heard Mrs. Bennet wail, "Mr. Collins will turn us out of the house to starve in the hedgegroves before your father is even cold in his grave!"

Elizabeth felt her color rise at her mother's outburst, but her attention was drawn back to the gentlemen when Darcy spoke. "We must be away," he said. "We must leave for London as soon as possible."

"Of course," Elizabeth managed.

She did not hear him step away from his place at the doorframe and she wondered why he did not come closer or claim her hand. Her brow knitted in confusion, but before she could speak, he wished them a good evening.

Turning from the room, he paused and added, "I wish I could offer more at this time, but as it is…"

He could say no more, and with one last serious glance at Elizabeth, he strode out. Jane caught a glimpse of the unsettling red stain on his back, but before she could call after him, Fitzwilliam cleared his throat.

"I hope I shall have the opportunity to meet with you all again once this business is over," he declared, willing Jane to tear her eyes from his cousin's wound.

Jane did and Fitzwilliam continued evenly, "Have no concern for us and rest assured we shall do all we can."

Jane detected the pleading in the colonel's eyes, and realizing he meant to help his cousin conceal his condition, she nodded. He bowed and followed after his cousin.

"Safe journey," Jane called after them, watching Fitzwilliam help Darcy lay his greatcoat across his shoulder.

Elizabeth listened to the door close heavily behind them, and moments later, the steady pound of the horses' hooves as they departed down the drive. She sunk down onto the settee and laid her head in her hands. Noticing her sister's action, Jane moved swiftly to her side.

"Are you unwell, Lizzy?" she asked.

"No," Elizabeth answered. "I am only tired."

Jane agreed and continued, "What do you think will happen if they do not find her?"

Though Elizabeth did not even wish to entertain the possibility, she declared, "She will be ruined."

Rising from her seat in frustration, Elizabeth made her way toward the window. She fingered the drape absently and listened as Jane ventured, "Perhaps we will be lucky and she will be retuned to us. It may be that we can all go on as we were."

"Dear, Jane," Elizabeth began. "Can you not see that her returning to Longbourn or not matters very little? She has ruined herself and we will all partake in her disgrace."

Without another word, Elizabeth made her way into the hallway and toward the stairs. She paused when her fingers encountered the banister, wondering if she spoke too harshly of Lydia. Sighing, she determined that she could not feel otherwise; Lydia's behavior showed a shocking lack of care for them all and she could do naught but feel angered by it. Resolving to apologize to Jane before retiring, she made her way up the stairs. On reaching her room, she heard her mother crying fretfully for Hill, and feeling her breathing hitch in sadness, Elizabeth reached for the iron latch. She slipped into her chamber and closed the door behind her.

'How can he endure this?' she wondered, recalling Darcy's reticence before their departure.

Tearing her shawl from her shoulders, she stepped toward her bed and allowed herself to fall upon it. Closing her eyes, she felt a few tears slide down her cheeks to dampen the soft quilt beneath her.

The following morning found Georgiana surveying the few gowns her maid had laid out for her. Her light brown eyes moved over the fabrics and cuts distractedly, for she cared little for anything beyond journeying to Hertfordshire so she might be by her brother's side. Waving her hand, she accepted the selections and turned from the room without another word. She was anxious to depart, and hoped Mr. Bingley would arrive soon. She raised her hand to her neck and pressed the aching muscles. Her dreams the previous night had been vivid and disturbed her greatly. More than once she awoke, her forehead and neck damp from her fretful turning. She would move toward the small fire that still burned in her chimney and sit before it, recalling the unhappy images she endured a moment before. Shaking her head, she banished these frightful recollections and pressed her hands against her eyes.

"Calm yourself, Georgiana," she said, determining that she would be little help or comfort to her brother if she made herself ill with her worrying.

Drawing a long breath, she raised her chin and ventured down the great staircase. She arrived at the bottom, and fixing her shawl more tightly about her shoulders, she made her way to the parlor in the hope of finding Mrs. Annesley. She wished to inquire if she, too, was prepared to depart, for she did not wish to lose an instant once Mr. Bingley's carriage came. Arriving in the bright room, she was disappointed to find no one, and pursing her lips, she determined to try the music room. She moved back down the hallway, but as she crossed the foyer, she discerned the shouting of a coachman calling his team to a halt on the street. Within moments the footman to her left moved to open the door, and her eyes widened as she took in her cousin's form stepping through it and shaking himself from his greatcoat.

"Richard!" she exclaimed, stepping forward to greet him.

A tired smile crossed his features, and inclining his head to her, he stepped aside to reveal her brother. Georgiana halted as she took in Darcy's person; he had yet to notice her presence, and she felt free to study him. His handsome countenance was worn and his tall frame was slightly hunched from fatigue. He clenched his eyes shut when the footman lifted his greatcoat from his shoulders.

"Forgive me, sir," Fletcher declared, for he noted the pain he had inadvertently given to his master.

Shaking his head, Darcy assured him that he did him no great harm. He placed his hand on his upper arm, moving his thumb over it to quiet the ache there. Hearing a gasp, he raised his eyes and encountered Georgiana's frightened countenance.

"Fitzwilliam," she managed before crossing the distance between them. "Whatever are you doing here?"

Though he felt the weight of the previous night's sleeplessness bearing down on him, he managed a small smirk. "That is a fine welcome for your injured brother," he said lightly in an attempt to lessen his sister's worry.

He pressed his hand to her cheek and added, "I am well. Forgive me, my dear, but I have business that cannot be delayed."

With that, he moved passed her and began walking toward his study, calling for refreshments to be brought there at once. Georgiana glanced at Fitzwilliam, and seeing the disapproval in his gaze as he watched her brother, she set off after him.

"Surely your business can wait," she pressed, falling in beside him and struggling to keep up with his swift pace. "You must rest."

To her dismay, Darcy shook his head and continued on in silence. She looked over her shoulder and gestured for Fitzwilliam to follow, her eyes pleading with him to reason with her brother. Fitzwilliam sighed, and clasping his hands behind his back, he moved after them.

Preparing himself for Darcy's displeasure, he asserted, "Really, Darcy; I must agree with Georgiana."

"We discussed this, Richard," Darcy warned, halting and rearing on his cousin.

Fitzwilliam held his gaze and continued, "Mr. Jones was quite vehement when he insisted that you call for your physician as soon as you arrived here. He said you are by no means recovered. You must call for Mr. Byatt before we proceed!"

Darcy bristled at Fitzwilliam's insistence, and when Darcy attempted to step around him, Fitzwilliam stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. Darcy exhaled sharply and bit out, "We have not an instant to lose."

Georgiana's brow furrowed at her brother's distress, for his voice sounded tight, and despite his injury, his shoulders had set rigidly. Watching him, she asked, "What business can be so urgent?"

Darcy and Fitzwilliam froze, each looking toward her as they realized their error. During their journey, they had determined that news of Wickham would only pain her. Though they did not wish to, they decided to conceal the unhappy truth for as long as possible.

"I am on an errand for Mr. Bennet, and do not wish to disappoint him," Darcy answered evenly.

Darcy knew there were few souls in the world who knew enough of his temper to discern when he was concealing something, and knowing Georgiana to be one of them, he prayed that she would not question him in this instance. He saw her eyes move over his face, searching for what troubled him.

"I highly doubt Mr. Bennet would wish you to do yourself a further injury," she asserted.

Darcy prepared to answer her, but she ignored him and called for Fletcher. "Have Mr. Byatt sent for at once," she commanded, drawing herself to her full height.

Fitzwilliam smiled, feeling that his little cousin was every inch the mistress of this house. Glancing toward Darcy, he was delighted to see his cousin's eyes widen in surprise at her defying his wishes.

Watching Fletcher depart, Darcy declared, "I said I do not have time for Mr. Byatt."

"And I do not have the strength to do nothing when you are in obvious pain!" Georgiana cried.

The passion with which she spoke surprised even herself and she covered her mouth with her hand as her complexion paled. She noticed her brother's annoyance melt away and she felt tears gather in her eyes.

Swiping at them in vain, she whispered, "Forgive me; I have been most anxious since Richard's letter arrived. I do not know what came over me."

Darcy heard her draw a shaky breath, and regretting being the cause of such fear in her, he wrapped his good arm about her shoulders. "It is I who should apologize," he said softly. "You and Richard are correct; I will do no one any good if my arm worsens."

His mind turned to his useless fingers and the pain that pulsed through his arm when he attempted to curl them. As his dark gaze studied his hand, he added, "I am sorry you have been worried."

Georgiana leaned into Darcy and laid her head against him, welcoming the embrace. Realizing the siblings required some privacy so they might discuss all that had happened in Hertfordshire, Fitzwilliam cleared his throat.

"I shall go to see Mr. Gardiner and prepare him for Mr. Bennet's arrival," he asserted. "Join us as soon as you are able."

Darcy nodded, and stepping back from Georgiana, offered his arm to her. She took it reluctantly, her countenance curious.

"It must be something very particular to bring Mr. Bennet to London," she declared, watching the two gentlemen before her. "He told me he rarely travels here, and had not Miss Elizabeth's health necessitated it, he would not have come to Town this year."

Noting that Darcy and Fitzwilliam diverted their gazes, studying the oil paintings that adorned the walls and the polished wood beneath them, she added, "Yes; it must be something very particular indeed."

Realizing he best be off before Georgiana's inquiries turned toward the man who caused Darcy's injury, Fitzwilliam wished the two farewell and hurried away to retrieve his greatcoat from the young maid beside the door. He thanked her and moved out into the bustling street, the door closing behind him with a resounding echo that reminded Darcy he was left alone with his sister's questions.

"Come; let us wait for Mr. Byatt in the library," he declared. "I will be more comfortable there."

He started down the long hallway to their right, nodding at several servants who welcomed him home and expressed their concern for him. On reaching his sanctuary, he released Georgiana's arm and hurried toward his favorite chair, falling into it in relief. He was dismayed to realize he could not move his fingers over the worn edges of the right arm as he often did to calm his mind, and frowning slightly, he settled back into the seat.

"Will you not sit with me?" he asked, glancing toward his sister before pressing his fingertips against his forehead.

Georgiana quickly took up the chair beside him and they sat for some moments in silence until a maid appeared with a tray of tea, toast, and fruit. Darcy thanked her and instructed her to bring Mr. Byatt to them as soon as he arrived. After she departed, Georgiana quickly set to pouring out tea for her brother, and placing it on a saucer with several pieces of toast, she set it on the table beside him. He thanked her quietly and noted that her eyes did not leave his form. He was surprised when she rushed to kneel before him and laid her cheek against his hand.

"I am happy you are well," she declared. "I was so frightened by Richard's letter. It was so shocking. Is there no news of the man who has done this? Has no one found him?"

Darcy was thankful that she did not ask if he knew the man, and sighing, he answered, "No; he has not been found."

Georgiana moved back to her chair and chewed her lip in thought before asking, "Is Miss Elizabeth well?"

Smiling, for he was thankful for the pleasant distraction the mention of Elizabeth provided, he professed that she was quite well. "I was quite pleased to hear she was not harmed by her meeting with our aunt. I do not know what I would have done had someone spoken to me in such a fashion. I assure you I would not even be able to draw a breath, let alone defend myself as Miss Elizabeth did," she declared.

Darcy chuckled at the memory of his aunt's expression following her interview with Elizabeth, and though the memory of her treatment of his beloved still pained him, he was proud of Elizabeth's strength. "I know few people who could," he confessed.

Over the next hour that passed more easily for the two as Darcy told her of their plan to marry at the end of a month's time. Her surprise at this news was palpable, and she insisted Darcy tell her more of Hertfordshire since the ceremony would take place there in the small church Elizabeth had known since her childhood.

"Oh, this is a happy end to so trying a week!" Georgiana exclaimed, clapping her hands.

Darcy smiled at her excitement, pleased to see her earlier distress and her curiosity over his reason for coming to London forgotten. He listened to her speculate about the dress and flowers Elizabeth would choose and list the countless shops she would take her to when she arrived in London after the wedding. Shaking his head, Darcy felt that Georgiana's enthusiasm for acquainting Elizabeth with every milliner and seamstress in London would greatly harm his purse. He was thankful when he heard the bell ring, for Georgiana had just determined she would inquire about having their mother's chambers redone to suit Elizabeth's tastes.

"I wonder if she would prefer French silk?" she asked, pressing her hand to her chin.

Chuckling, he confessed that he did not know and added, "I believe that decision will have to wait, for Mr. Byatt has arrived."

Georgiana rose from her seat, and nodding, she determined she would ask Mrs. Annsley her thoughts on the matter. She made her way to the door, but paused in the doorway to look back toward her brother.

"I am sixteen years old," she said simply.

Darcy's brow furrowed at so curious an observation and he asserted, "I would be a very poor brother indeed if I did not know that."

"I have no doubt you know my age," she answered. "But I wonder if you really acknowledge what it means. I know you do not wish to tell me what business brings you back to London, but I do wish you would unburden yourself."

Knowing not what to say, for he did not wish to grieve her with the truth, he only managed, "Georgiana…"

She raised her hand and declared, "I only wish I could help. I shall be in the music room should you require anything."

With that, she turned and departed and he heard her greet Mr. Byatt. He sighed and sunk back into his seat. He felt his muscles tense and ache with even his slightest movement, and when he heard a knock on the door, he could not bring himself to straighten or stand.

"Come in," he called, massaging his right shoulder with his fingers.

He glanced up to see Mr. Byatt appear in the place his sister had just vacated; the older gentleman smiling and greeting him with his usual sedateness. "I cannot recall a time when I was ever called upon to see to your health, Mr. Darcy," he declared, moving further into the room and arriving before his patient.

His eyes fell upon Darcy's bound arm and the easiness of his expression immediately vanished to be replaced by concern. He immediately set to helping Darcy straighten in his seat and carefully unwinding the linen sling from his arm.

"What has happened?" he asked, guiding Darcy's wounded arm from his shirtsleeve and pulling the garment over his head.

Darcy winced at the twinge of pain he felt when Mr. Byatt moved his arm and answered tightly, "I was attacked."

As Mr. Byatt pulled away the final bandages to study the marred skin of Darcy's shoulder, he shook his head and declared, "You were stabbed."

He did not wait for Darcy's answer, but stepped away to retrieve his bag from its place on the ground. He returned with clean strips of bandage and a vial, and fixing his spectacles upon his nose, he urged Darcy to move forward in his seat. Darcy did as he was bid and closed his eyes when Mr. Byatt prodded the wound gently.

"Would I be accurate in saying that you already caused the wound to reopen once?" he inquired, shaking his head in disapproval and looking to Darcy's face. "You need not answer; your countenance says it all."

Darcy felt his cheeks aflame and declared, "Unfortunately, it did reopen. Mr. Jones was not pleased."

"Anyone with any sense would not be pleased," Mr. Byatt bit out. "You should be in bed."

"That is not possible," Darcy answered, and Mr. Byatt recognized that his patient was in no mood to be contradicted.

Sighing, the physician returned his attention to the wound, and after some moments, straightened and moved to stand before Darcy. "You are very lucky it is not infected," he declared. "This Mr. Jones did a fine job ensuring that, though you did little to help him."

Darcy turned his hard gaze to the gentleman before him, feeling himself in little temper to be chastised. He was thankful when Mr. Byatt set to laying fresh bandages over the wound, and after helping him on with his shirt, wrapping new linen around his chest to keep the arm steady.

"Thank you," Darcy said, moving his left hand over his upper arm and feeling the neatly wrapped material beneath his shirtsleeve.

Mr. Byatt nodded, but as he moved back toward his bag, he noticed the slight quake in Darcy's right hand. Darcy noticed the direction of his gaze and tucked the hand more closely to his stomach to steady it. The movement did not escape Mr. Byatt and he kneeled before Darcy.

"May I see your hand, sir?" he asked, reaching out to touch Darcy's hand.

Darcy could do naught but consent, and allowed Mr. Byatt to study it. He felt nothing unusual when Mr. Byatt touched his palm, but when he took hold of his fingers and bent them slowly, Darcy cried out. He attempted to wrench his hand away, but Mr. Byatt held fast to it.

"That pained you greatly," he asserted.

Darcy nodded and answered, "I cannot even grip a pen."

Mr. Byatt returned Darcy's hand to his side, and rising from his position, he declared, "The wound is still fresh and the damage done by it may be greater than you imagine. You must take care. It will not heal if you continue to abuse it and push yourself."

Drawing a long breath, Darcy confessed, "I am certain you are correct, but I cannot rest yet."

"You are just like your father," Mr. Byatt observed, holding the vial out to his patient. "Like him, you will refuse to use this."

Darcy smiled, recalling his father's final illness and how even in his pain he refused anything that would keep him from the business of his estate. He took the small bottle and studied it.

Mr. Byatt took up his satchel and bowed low, before adding, "Though I know my telling you will do very little, I must insist you rest as much as possible. Refrain from exerting yourself and keep the wound from reopening. I shall return tomorrow evening to check on your progress."

Darcy thanked him and wished him a good day. The older gentleman sighed, for he knew the Darcys to well to assume that his patient would do as he asked.

'A young man should not have so much responsibility,' he thought sadly, his mind turning to the elder Mr. Darcy's early death. 'Even now he bears some heavy burden.'

Glancing once more at Darcy's tired countenance, Mr. Byatt turned from the room. Darcy watched him go, before dropping his gaze to his hand once more. He resolved to be mindful of his condition, but he refused to yield in his decision; he would join Mr. Bennet, Mr. Gardiner, and Fitzwilliam in their search for Wickham. He rose from his seat, and striding into the hallway, he called for his valet as he made his way above stairs. His mind raced, recalling the taverns, inns, and houses that Wickham had frequented during their days at Cambridge when they were on holiday. On entering his chambers, he moved to stand before the fireplace and he watched the fire churn behind the grate as he planned how to proceed. Unconsciously his grip tightened on the vial Mr. Byatt had given him, and raising it, he threw it into the flames.

Chapter 52: With Little Alternative

Posted on 2009-10-16

Not far from Darcy's home, Bingley called for his own valet. His light eyes darted between the two trunks that sat before him in the foyer of his sister's home, and huffing in frustration, he threw up his hands.

"Pickering!" he cried again.

A moment later, the man appeared before him with his breath coming swiftly. He bowed clumsily, nearly dropping the small valise he carried as he greeted his master.

"Why are these not on the carriage already?" Bingley asked, his characteristic good humor tempered by the knowledge of his friend's injury. "At this rate, I will be here until sundown!"

Pickering smiled apologetically and declared, "The horses were not yet watered this morning, and John has only just arrived with them."

"Not yet watered?" Bingley repeated, his eyes wide with wonder. "But it is nearly ten o'clock!"

"It seems Mr. Hurst never requires them earlier than that," Pickering answered, laying the valise aside.

Bingley sighed, recalling his brother-in-law's penchant for good brandy in the evening and his need for a lengthy repose the following morning. Shaking his head, he declared, "Please see that everything is prepared at once. I would not keep poor Miss Darcy waiting."

"Yes, sir," his man said.

Bowing low, Pickering strode off to carry out his master's orders. Bingley watched him go, and resolving to break his fast before departing, he turned to join his sisters in the dining room, but halted when he saw his sister watching him from her place near the grand staircase.

"This is truly upsetting," she asserted, pursing her lips. "Poor Mr. Darcy! To be injured in so savage a place as Hertfordshire. Surely you agree he must come to London if he is to receive proper care. You must convince him at once."

Bingley moved toward his sister and asserted, "I certainly shall not; I am certain he is being very well looked after. Colonel Fitzwilliam and the Bennets have no doubt found him the best of care."

Miss Bingley scoffed and asked, "What care can be got in Hertfordshire? A country doctor? Why, I wager he has seen to more injured horses than humans."

"Caroline…" Bingley began, his voice tinged with warning.

"Oh, Charles; you know I am right," she said, moving past him to continue down the hallway.

Bingley bristled at being so easily dismissed and declared, "I most certainly do not. Besides, Miss Darcy will be with him by evening and will help tend him."

Entering the dining room, Miss Bingley drew the attention of Mr. and Mrs. Hurst by asserting, "What a trying time this must be for dear Georgiana. Are you certain you do not wish me to come as well? She will surely want for company."

"Her companion is to accompany her, and I am certain Miss Elizabeth will be happy to see to her comfort," Bingley observed, taking up his chair across from Mr. Hurst.

He was not surprised when his sister's countenance darkened at the mention of Darcy's intended, but only for a moment. She schooled her annoyance and trained her features into a cool mask of disinterest.

"Of course," she said, lifting her cup delicately to her lips.

Mrs. Hurst smiled at her sister's sudden silence, feeling that her sister must have recalled their brother's warning to her. "And Netherfield will be ready for your arrival?" she asked, attempting to ease the atmosphere at her table.

After thanking the footman who placed several sausages upon his plate, Bingley asserted, "It will not be as ready as I should like, but it will suffice. I do not require every room being opened until you join me there after Easter."

Miss Bingley's eyes widened in panic, and looking toward her sister, she asked, "We are spending the spring in Hertfordshire?"

Mrs. Hurst pressed her napkin to her lips to hide her amusement at her sister's distress as Bingley answered, "Hurst expressed an interest in doing some shooting."

"Best place for covies I have ever found," Mr. Hurst added brusquely.

Miss Bingley remained silent, entirely untouched by her brother-in-law's interest in sport, for she knew it would force her to endure the company of Hertfordshire's populace. Before she could think how to answer the company, her brother's valet entered and informed him that the carriage was prepared. Bingley gulped down the remainder of his coffee, and wishing them a good morning and thanking the Hursts for their hospitality, he bound toward the door.

Pausing in the doorframe, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he declared, "If you do not feel inclined to join the Hursts in Hertfordshire, Caroline, you could always visit our cousins in Scarborough."

His smile widened as the color drained from his sister's complexion. Turning on his heel, he slipped into the hallway, and was met by Pickering, who held out his greatcoat to him. He wished Bingley a safe journey before resolving to meet him in Hertfordshire in a few days' time with the rest of his things.

Darcy emerged from his chambers, and having traded his wrinkled and dust-covered clothing from the previous day for a fresh linen shirt, waistcoat, and new breeches, he felt himself much refreshed. His valet had taken great care in preserving Mr. Byatt's handiwork, and helped Darcy secure a sling about his shoulder. He closed his door behind him, and drawing a long breath, he tucked his right hand more closely to his stomach and strode toward the staircase. He resolved to sit with Georgiana for a time before departing for the Gardiners' house in an attempt to ease her worry for him, and provide himself with a few moments of respite. Arriving at the bottom, he perceived the light notes of the pianoforte that filtered toward him and made his way toward the music room. He paused in the doorframe, watching Georgiana bite her lip in concentration as she studied the composition before her. Her fingers faltered, and with a sigh of annoyance, she began the measure again. Darcy shook his head, reflecting that Georgiana had always taken her musical endeavors seriously and practiced tirelessly. He moved further into the room until he arrived just behind her. So absorbed was she, that she did not notice his arrival, and he reached his left hand out to strike a few notes on the lower chords. She smiled in response and glanced up at him.

As they finished the measure and lifted their fingers from the keys, she declared, "It has been some time since we have played together."

Nodding, Darcy stepped back and confessed, "I am afraid that it will be a little longer before we can do so as well as we used to."

Georgiana noted that he touched the elbow of his arm and his brow furrowed in thought. "I am certain it will be sooner than you believe," she said.

Darcy nodded and crossed the room to take a seat near the window, his eyes studying the scenery beyond. Georgiana followed after him, and sweeping her skirts to the side, she lowered herself onto the settee as well and studied him.

"Are you sure you must visit Mr. Gardiner?" she asked. "I spoke with Mr. Byatt before his departure. He was quite upset with your unwillingness to rest."

Sighing, Darcy looked toward her and declared, "You have my word that as soon as my business is concluded, I will rest."

Georgiana only nodded, and Darcy still perceived the disappointment in her countenance. Unable to pain her with his secrecy, he laid his left hand on her arm and began, "My errand for Mr. Bennet is of the utmost importance. It is imperative that I help his family for all their sakes."

"Whatever has happened?" Georgiana asked in wonder, her light brow rising fearfully. "It is not Miss Elizabeth, is it?"

Darcy smiled at her care for her future sister and answered, "No; it is not. Dearest, it seems that Miss Lydia has…"

Before he could continue, Bingley was announced and Darcy watched his friend stride into the room with his customary energy. "Miss Darcy, I am so sorry for the delay," he declared, unaware of her brother's presence.

Straightening from his bow, his light eyes fell upon Darcy's form and they widened in surprise. Georgiana recognized her error and exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Bingley! It is I who should apologize; I should have informed you of my brother's arrival."

Bingley waved his hand and asserted, "That matters not. I am only happy to see my friend on the mend!"

He stepped toward them and extended his hand to Darcy. "This is extraordinary indeed," he continued. "After Fitzwilliam's letter, we thought we would find you languishing away in Hertfordshire, and we resolved to make for the place this afternoon. But here you are!"

"Good morning, Bingley," Darcy said, returning the pressure of his friend's hold.

"Caroline feared you would not find a suitable physician in the country," he confessed, taking up the chair across from them. "Is that why you have come to Town?"

Darcy shook his head at Miss Bingley's supposition and answered, "If only it was that."

He drew a long breath, and ignoring the curious stares of his sister and friend, he stood and began pacing across the rug. His left fingers played idly with the linen of his sling, and he resolved to tell them both the horrible truth. He prayed Bingley would be willing to aid him in his search, and he could no longer bear Georgiana's disappointment over his silence. His companions watched him for several moments, frightened by his distress and noting that his countenance darkened considerably. His mouth worked wordlessly and he shook his head, obviously conflicted.

"Good God, Darcy," Bingley began, for he had not seen his friend in such a state since the night of the Netherfield Ball. "What has happened?"

Realizing he must speak, Darcy paused before them and slowly met their stares. He professed, "I am afraid it concerns Miss Lydia Bennet."

"Miss Lydia?" Bingley asked, recalling the youngest Bennet girl.

Darcy's countenance grew more serious as he nodded and continued, "Last evening, she left her family and threw herself into the power of an unscrupulous man."

Georgiana inhaled sharply, and her hand flew to her mouth at this news. Her brother's eyes settled fully on her, their darkness growing concerned and soft. Her brow furrowed, and wondering at his worry for her, she asked, "Fitzwilliam?"

"She has run away with George Wickham," he whispered finally, swallowing hard.

Georgiana felt herself grow cold; her ears rang with her brother's words and her throat tightened. "What?" she breathed out.

Darcy moved to her side and clasped her hand. "I am sorry, dearest," he said, moving his thumb over the back of her hand.

Bingley's expression turned stormy and he rose from his seat. "I can hardly believe it," he declared.

Georgiana's jaw tightened, and with tears gathering in her eyes, she declared, "Oh, I can."

She pressed her brother's fingers more tightly, drawing support from their strength. Turning her face downward to hide her sadness, she felt him move to sit beside her. She felt his gaze on her, and the sensation caused her tears to spill down her cheeks.

Darcy saw her sorrow, and dropping her hand, he wound his arm about her shoulders. "I should not have told you," he observed.

Georgiana could only shake her head, for she did not trust her voice if she spoke. Bingley turned his gaze from the scene, his resentment for Wickham growing as he watched the pair.

"What is being done to recover her?" he asked as Darcy drew back from Georgiana to retrieve his handkerchief for her.

"Fitzwilliam will aid me in searching for them," Darcy answered as he pressed Georgiana's cheek.

His gaze on her did not waver, and only when she assured him that she was well, did he stand from his seat. Glancing once more at his sister, he continued, "I have no doubt I can find Wickham, but I would not have Mr. Bennet or Mr. Gardiner venturing where we must."

Bingley paled, recalling the pungent air and the clamorous and crowded streets of the less wholesome districts of London. "You believe he would take Miss Lydia to such a place?" he asked in disbelief.

"Where else could they be so well concealed," Darcy answered bitterly, beginning his pacing again. "No; I will not allow Mr. Bennet to accompany us. I wish to spare his family as much as possible."

Closing his eyes, Bingley's thoughts were filled with the soft eyes and the pleasant smile of Jane Bennet. He opened his eyes, his resolve to aid Darcy growing with the realization that doing so would shield her as well.

"I shall accompany you," he asserted.

Darcy's countenance relaxed and he declared, "I confess that is what I hoped. Thank you, my friend."

Bingley nodded, and looking toward Georgiana, noted that she watched her brother anxiously. Resolving to give the two a moment alone, he said, "I will speak with my driver and inform him of the change."

"Of course," Darcy answered.

He watched his friend depart, his eyes remaining on the empty door a moment before turning to Georgiana. Her light brown eyes were filled with unshed tears, and not wishing to leave her in such a state, he swiftly moved to her side. His eyes fell to her right hand which gripped the cushion of her seat tightly, and covering her fingers with his own, he remained silent. The two sat together for some time, each ruminating on the man who had been the cause of so much pain.

Only the sound of a footman's steps in the hallway drew Darcy from his reverie, and he professed, "I am sorry I told you of this dreadful business."

"I am not," she whispered. "It confirms what I have long known; he was never a man worthy of my affections."

She felt her brother's hold on her tighten at her words, and covering his hand with her other, she continued, "I assure you I rarely think of him."

Darcy released the breath he had been holding, and leaned toward her to kiss her cheek fondly. Georgiana smiled slightly and continued, "I am heartily sorry that Miss Lydia should have to endure this."

Sighing, Darcy rose from his seat and declared, "If the letter she left her family is any indication, I fear she does not even recognize the dangerous nature of her situation. She is so very young."

He moved his fingers to his right hand, and touching the ring on his small finger, he worked it slowly over his knuckle. He winced as it came free, and was relieved when he held it in his palm. His gaze studied the gold form thoughtfully before he slid it onto his left small finger, reflecting that the feeling of it there was foreign to him.

He lowered his hand, and shaking his head to rid himself of the discomfort, he continued, "I will do everything I can to secure Miss Lydia's reputation, but I fear..."

"That they must marry," Georgiana finished for him, dropping her gaze to her hands.

Darcy closed his eyes against the words, but before he could answer, Bingley returned. "Shall we away?" Bingley asked, looking between the siblings. "Are you prepared, Darcy?"

Darcy began to protest, feeling he should remain with Georgiana after the revelation they had shared. He halted when Georgiana rose from her seat.

Placing her hand on her brother's arm, Georgiana declared, "He is."

She caught Darcy's gaze, and nodding, she silently assured him that he need not worry for her. As the gentlemen prepared to depart, Georgiana moved out into the foyer with them. She watched as a footman laid her brother's slate grey greatcoat over his shoulders and held out his hat to him. Darcy thanked him quietly, and stepping to Georgiana's side, he pressed her hand before stepping out into the sunlight, followed by his friend. Georgiana stood in the doorframe, watching as they ascended into Bingley's carriage. Only when the team pulled away did Georgiana retreat, allowing the footman beside her to close the door.

When the sun fell away behind the stately edifices in London on the third day since his arrival, Mr. Bennet made his way up the stairs to his brother's home. Mr. Gardiner walked beside him, and lifting his hat, he pressed his handkerchief against his forehead to relieve the dampness there.

"Madeline will be pleased we are joining the family for supper," he declared, his voice tired and strained.

Mr. Bennet only sighed in answer, his disappointment over the little progress they had made weighing on him. As they stepped into the dimming front hall, they were met by Mrs. Gardiner, whose eyes were wide with the hope that they had heard some news of her niece.

"Is there any news?" she asked, helping her husband from his coat.

"I am afraid not, my dear," he answered, shaking his head sadly.

Taking her brother's coat as well, Mrs. Gardiner's eyes grew sad. She laid the gentlemen's coats aside, and ushered them down the hallway and into the warmth of the drawing room. She crossed the room to the bell and rang for tea.

Returning to her husband's side and joining him on the settee, she asked, "And can we be certain they are still in London?"

"I cannot imagine them traveling anywhere else," Mr. Gardiner answered. "From what Colonel Forster told us in his letter, Mr. Wickham left Hertfordshire with very little money."

"And Lydia?" she pressed on.

Her husband could not answer this and the pair turned their gaze to their brother, who stood by the window. His arms were crossed in front of him in dissatisfaction and his countenance bore the effects of his sleepless nights. He became aware that they waited for him to speak, and pressing his fingers to his forehead, he massaged it before turning toward them.

His frown deepened as he confessed, "I have no doubt she had little more than a few shillings when she left Longbourn. Lydia has never been prudent."

Shaking his head in disgust, he added bitterly, "It seems she and Mr. Wickham were made for each other."

"Have Mr. Darcy or Colonel Fitzwilliam visited today?" Mr. Gardiner inquired, rising from his seat and making his way toward the sideboard, where a carafe of brandy waited.

Feeling he and his brother would benefit from some, he lifted it and poured out two generous tumblers before continuing, "The colonel sounded quite hopeful last evening when he came to speak with us."

"They have not come today," Mrs. Gardiner answered, fearing that the young men, like her husband and brother, had had little luck in their search.

Mr. Gardiner sighed, and after handing Mr. Bennet a glass filled with the golden liquid, he raised his own to his lips and welcomed its biting taste. He resumed his seat and noticed that his companion stared idly into his tumbler, his mind obviously occupied with his fears for his daughter.

"Do not lose hope, Thomas," he said, though he knew such words would give little comfort. "Mr. Darcy and the colonel assured us they will find her."

Mr. Bennet withdrew from his reverie, and raising his tired grey eyes to his brother, he asserted, "They should not have to bear such a burden. Is it not a father's duty to bear the full weight of so unfortunate a situation?"

He did not wait for an answer, but instead returned his attention to the window. Closing his eyes, he turned his thoughts to Darcy's visit two evenings ago. The young man had sat across from him in Mr. Gardiner's study, assuring him that he would not yield in his search for his daughter. Mr. Bennet sighed, wondering where the colonel and Mr. Darcy had ventured that day, for they had not shared their plans. He swallowed hard, feeling certain that there had been a reason for their reticence.

'I would be a fool if I believed she was lodging somewhere respectable,' he thought bitterly.

Opening his eyes, he returned his gaze to the glass he held. He tilted the glass, watching the liquid swirl as his mind filled with images of the squalor of London's boarding houses. He shivered, and praying that they might at least preserve some semblance of Lydia's reputation, he raised the tumbler to his lips.

In an area of London far different than the warmth of Mr. Gardiner's home, Darcy gazed out of the carriage window and into the twilight. His dark eyes traced the nondescript outlines of the buildings, and watched as smoke curled from their chimneys. The edifices were crowded together, and Darcy perceived that their windows were lit with only a shrinking candle or the globe of a weak lamp. The small square they had just entered thrummed with life; tradesmen, entertainers, and urchins bustled about, calling out to passer-bys or attempting to scrape together a few coins for supper. He settled back into the seat of the coach they had hired, feeling it heave through the rutted streets. They had determined not to use his carriage, for it did not give them the anonymity they sought. He sighed, recalling their discussion with Mrs. Younge only an hour earlier. He had sat across from her in her small parlor; her eyes narrowed as she studied her former employer and wondered at his sudden appearance.

"To what do I owe this unexpected visit, Mr. Darcy?" she had asked, her tone flat and biting.

Darcy had stiffened at the sound, reflecting that he had not heard it since the night following his arrival in Ramsgate. "I am in need of your assistance," he answered, shifting his injured arm beneath his greatcoat.

She watched his movement, her fair brow rising in wonder. "My assistance?" she repeated. "You made it quite clear last summer that the service I could provide was no longer necessary."

"And it is still not needed, for you will never be in my sister's company again," he had asserted, his voice dropping dangerously and his eyes flashing.

Mrs. Younge pursed her lips and inquired, "Then what assistance can I provide?"

"Wickham," was all he had said in answer.

The carriage jolted to the right, forcing Darcy's body into the side of it and jarring his arm painfully. He winced as he was brutally snapped from his reverie, and his left hand immediately flew to his shoulder. Fitzwilliam had been roused from his sleep by the movement and inquired if they had arrived. Thankful that his cousin did not notice his discomfort, for he surely would have criticized his insistence at coming, Darcy turned his eyes to study the street outside.

"We are not far," he declared, feeling the throbbing in his arm quiet.

"Excellent," Fitzwilliam said.

Darcy watched as Fitzwilliam pulled on his gloves, but was surprised when he drew his pistol from his coat to tend to it. Fitzwilliam perceived his companion's surprise and added, "Given Wickham's past behavior towards you, I will take no chances with your safety."

Shaking his head, Darcy observed, "He will not do anything in so public a place."

His gaze was then arrested by the inn they had been searching for, and Darcy quickly directed his cousin's attention toward it. He nodded, and rapping on the roof, called the carriage to a halt. He descended and waited for Darcy to do so as well.

"Do you think she will welcome your aid?" Fitzwilliam asked, studying the worn shutters that hung about the windows of the building.

"I can only hope she does," he confessed. "But I fear that her cooperation will do little to change what must be done."

Fitzwilliam knew the two must marry, for he and Darcy had discussed the necessity of it. Together the two gentlemen walked forward, and ringing the bell, waited for the proprietor. The man who answered was far more gentlemanly than Darcy expected, and he quickly inquired if Wickham was in residence. Darcy noticed that the man's brow knitted in suspicion as he studied him and Fitzwilliam, undoubtedly wondering as to what business they had with one of his customers. Holding out his left hand to Fitzwilliam, Darcy waited as his cousin produced a small bag of coins and dropped it into his palm.

"I would be most grateful for any help you can give," Darcy professed, holding out the bag to the gentleman before him. "I assure you, I shall do nothing to harm the integrity of your fine household."

The man pressed his chin thoughtfully, and nodding, stepped aside to invite Darcy and Fitzwilliam into the foyer. He watched in delight as Darcy stepped to a nearby table and turned the leather pouch he held upside down, allowing the gleaming sovereigns to fall out.

"He is here, sir," the innkeeper admitted. "And his young wife; they arrived two days ago. Shall I announce you, Mr…?"

Darcy knew what the man desired, but he asserted, "That will not be necessary."

Reaching into the pocket of his greatcoat, he drew out his own purse and tossed it to the man before him. The man's brow rose in surprise at the weight of it, and after thanking Darcy, he stepped aside and gestured for him to proceed down the hallway. He did so immediately, followed by Fitzwilliam. They arrived before the door at the end of the hall, and glancing over his shoulder, Darcy saw that the man had disappeared. He felt no easier at what was to come, and only when Fitzwilliam touched his shoulder did he return his attention to the door before them. Raising his left hand, he knocked lightly and listened to the shuffling that ensued on the other side. After some moments, the door opened slightly to reveal the young face of Lydia Bennet.

"Mr. Darcy!" she cried incredulously, her eyes widening. "Whatever are you doing here?"

Darcy gazed at her, taking in her form and condition of her hair and dress. "Miss Bennet," he declared, bowing low. "I hope you are well. You will remember my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam."

Lydia looked beyond him and nodded at the colonel, before answering, "I am quite well. What are you doing here though?"

"We came to London with no other design than speaking with you," Darcy asserted, watching Lydia.

Her brow rose at this, and stepping aside, she invited them into the small sitting room. Darcy and Fitzwilliam moved into it tentatively, their eyes searching the room for the man they sought. With all the pomp of a London hostess, Lydia swept about the room, straightening the pillows of the old settee and removing several plates from the small table before the fire.

"I cannot imagine what you can have to speak with me about," she declared, occupying herself with closing the valise that lay open on the chair.

"Your family is most anxious for your return," Darcy observed, moving to stand in the center of the room as Fitzwilliam took up a seat near the door.

Darcy's deportment softened when he saw the effect of his words on her; she paled slightly and her hand faltered with the clasp of the bag she held, causing the contents to tumble to the ground. He crossed the small space between them, and kneeling before her, he lifted a bonnet that lay beside his boot. Lydia thanked him, her voice no more than a whisper, and Darcy was suddenly reminded of how young she truly was. He felt his chest tighten in pity, and he held the bonnet out to her, studying her as her fingers wrapped about its brim.

"Miss Bennet, you must…" he began, but he halted when he heard a step from within the bedroom.

He drew himself to his full height and watched as Wickham appeared in the doorway. He wore no jacket or cravat, and his waistcoat was unbuttoned. His face bore signs of a sleepless night, and glancing to his left, Darcy noticed the table was littered with papers and a well with a pen beside them. Believing these were evidence of Wickham's debt, Darcy felt grateful for the possibility of having some leverage, for he had no doubt Wickham could not pay what he owed. Darcy drew a long breath, and turned to meet the gaze of his old friend. Wickham wavered for a moment, but schooling his features, he forced a congenial smile to his face and entered the room fully.

"This is quite a surprise," he said flatly, looking beyond Darcy to see Fitzwilliam rise from his seat. Returning his gaze to Darcy, he added, "I would have imagined you unable to make such a journey…"

When he saw Darcy's eyes flash, he was satisfied and continued, "For you are always so busy with the affairs of your estate."

Ignoring Wickham's impertinence, Darcy asserted, "I would speak with you."

"I have said all I wished to say to you," Wickham observed, recalling the vision of Darcy falling to his knees in pain.

Fitzwilliam watched his cousin's countenance darken, and feeling what would follow would be nothing the young Miss Bennet should witness, he smiled and called for her attention. "Have you had your supper, Miss Bennet?" he asked.

He was unsurprised when she shook her head, and holding his arm out to her, he continued, "I am quite at a loss, for I have never been here. Will you be so kind as to show me the way to the dining room? I am famished, and in great need of respite."

Lydia looked to Wickham in confusion, but seeing no objection in his eyes, she agreed to the colonel's scheme. "I suppose I will have something as well," she declared, laying her hand on Fitzwilliam's arm and following him to the door. "Wickham, are you and Mr. Darcy not coming?"

Wickham assured her they would follow soon after, and noting she pursed her lips in objection and stomped her foot, he sighed in relief when she departed. He watched the slatted door click shut behind them, and he was immediately aware that Darcy had moved to his side.

"What the devil are you doing?" he asked harshly, his dark brow knitting in anger.

"I have done nothing wrong," Wickham answered, shrugging and stepping around Darcy's form and moving to stretch out on the settee. "Lydia was quite agreeable to the scheme."

"Miss Lydia," Darcy asserted, his annoyance with Wickham's nonchalance growing.

Wickham chuckled and declared, "Very well; Miss Lydia had no objection. In fact, I would dare to say she almost suggested it."

"She is sixteen years old," Darcy bit out as his left fingers curled.

Rolling his eyes heavenward, Wickham answered, "So I have daily proof; I would have been much better off had Kitty taken a fancy to me."

"You will not speak of any of my sisters in so informal a manner," Darcy said, his voice slow, and his eyes studying Wickham's reclined form.

"They are not your sisters yet," Wickham observed, rising from his seat and crossing the room to retrieve a decanter of brandy.

Darcy noted that the chipped container was nearly empty, and he watched in disgust as Wickham drained the rest of the contents into the glass he held. Though he attempted to quiet his racing heart, he could not help but feel his breath leave him as Wickham continued, "Perhaps I may have found Miss Lydia even more desirable had she been your sister, for you know how much I love a relation of yours."

Unable to hear more, Darcy flew at Wickham, and before either realized it, Darcy's left fist connected with Wickham's jaw. Darcy heard a sickening crack, and was uncertain if it was Wickham's bone or his own fingers, but cared nothing for it. Wickham covered his face and fell to his knees to avoid another hit, but much to his dismay, Darcy followed him. Seizing his collar, Darcy forced him to look at him.

"You shall not speak in such a way about my family again," he said, watching blood gather at the wound on Wickham's lip. "And the Bennets will be my family; therefore, Miss Lydia falls under my care. What is left of her reputation will be preserved."

"Send her back to her family then," Wickham said, rubbing his jaw and feeling it click beneath his fingertips. "She is not worth the trouble."

Darcy shoved Wickham away from him and stood to tower over him. "No; returning her to Hertfordshire will do nothing to protect her. She will be at the mercy of the gossips."

Shrugging, Wickham asserted, "I will be damned if I have another solution to her problem."

"Have you no regard for her at all?" Darcy asked, though he knew the answer.

He merely hoped that Wickham cared for the girl in some way, for such feelings would go a long way to making Lydia happy in the life she had chosen for herself. He felt his heart twist when Wickham declared, "She is spirited, but beyond that there is little to attract the eye or heart. She is not like her older sisters, for at least they have some semblance of sense and their figures are pleasing. Had she been more like Elizabeth…"

Before he could finish, Darcy struck him again, knocking him backward and causing him to skid into a chair leg. Darcy's breath came in short gasps as his jaw tightened dangerously.

"Perhaps I should have aimed for your left shoulder," Wickham groaned, rubbing the back of his head.

He spat on the ground, for the blood from his nose and lip filled his mouth. Darcy remained unaffected by the scene before him and he declared, "We both know you were not aiming for my shoulder at all, and if you refuse to marry Miss Lydia Bennet, I will be certain the constable knows of it."

Wickham's eyes flew to Darcy's face and Darcy was thankful to see panic and defeat fill them. Reaching into his waistcoat, he withdrew his handkerchief and held it out to Wickham, who eyed it speculatively before taking it.

"I will also see that every creditor in Hertfordshire and London knows where to find you," he continued, watching as Wickham pressed the linen to his bruised face. "I will see that the only way for you to escape debtor's prison is to sail for the Americas and pray to God that you do not die on the voyage."

Wickham thought on Darcy's words, and after a moment, he asked, "If I do marry her, what will be done for me?"

"You need not know the particulars now," Darcy asserted, tucking his right arm more securely to his side. "You need only say; 'yes.'"

"Yes, then," Wickham said finally.

Darcy nodded, and turning from the companion of his youth, he added, "And if you harm Miss Lydia in any way, even if it is only speaking ill of her, or if you attempt to harm any of the Bennets, I will call you out without hesitation. I will heal, George, and seeing you properly punished would give me no small amount pleasure."

Wickham remained silent; he saw the unyielding strength in Darcy's shoulders and heard the quiet determination in his voice. He knew Darcy to be a man of his word, and he reflected that perhaps this time he had pressed him too far. Rising from his place on the ground, he watched Darcy lift the latch of the door.

"I will expect you in the dining room momentarily," he declared, stepping out into the hallway. "I know Fitzwilliam is anxious to speak with you as well."

With that, Darcy closed the door tightly behind him. Leaning against it, he closed his eyes and turned his face upward, reflecting on all that had just passed.

"Forgive me, Elizabeth," he whispered. "I cannot do more for her."

Passing a tired hand through his hair, he pushed himself away from the door and turned his eyes to his fingers. They were already bruising and their knuckles swelling. He flexed them and straightened them, and though they ached from the force they had dealt, he was convinced they were not broken. Satisfied, he raised his chin and strode down the hallway toward the sounds of laughter and clinking glass.