Without waiting for her response, Wickham strode back towards the ballroom, leaving Elizabeth alone on the terrace.
She watched him disappear through the doors, her mind reeling from what had just transpired. How could she have been so mistaken about his character? His proposal had been presumptuous beyond belief, his manner when refused almost threatening. What else had he told her that was mere calculation rather than truth?
Rather than following him immediately inside, Elizabeth turned towards the garden. She needed air, needed a momentto compose herself before facing the ballroom’s scrutiny. The moonlight cast everything in silver relief, and she walked slowly along the stone balustrade, trying to make sense of the evening’s revelations.
She would advise Mr Bingley against keeping such company, she decided. There was something unsettling about Mr Wickham’s manner when thwarted, something that made her resolve never to be alone with him again.
Lost in these troubled thoughts, she did not hear the approaching footsteps until it was too late.
Strong hands seized her from behind, spinning her around. Before she could cry out, a mouth pressed against hers with bruising force. The man’s cologne was familiar—the same scent she had noticed during their dance. Wickham. It had to be Wickham.
Stop!” Elizabeth gasped, pushing against his chest with all her strength. “Let me go!”
But he only held her tighter, his kiss becoming more demanding. Elizabeth fought frantically, her heart racing with terror and indignation.
Suddenly, the man was torn away from her with violent force. Elizabeth stumbled backward, catching herself against the stone balustrade as a dark figure grappled with her attacker.
“Get away from her,” Darcy’s voice carried deadly quiet fury as he struck the man with a resounding blow. “Leave these grounds immediately, or you will regret it.”
Elizabeth lost her footing entirely, tumbling to the ground as the two men fought. Her attacker broke free and fled into theshadows of the garden whilst Darcy remained, breathing heavily from the exertion.
Darcy immediately knelt beside her, his face filled with concern as he gently touched her head. “Are you harmed? Lady Elizabeth, are you injured?”
“No… no, I think not,” she managed, though her hands trembled violently.
The ballroom doors burst open as a lady guest appeared, she paused, inhaling the air and then, upon clasping her eyes on the scene before her, called out. “Good heavens! What has happened?” The woman called back into the ballroom. “Come quickly! Lady Elizabeth needs assistance!”
Had she seen Wickham attack her? For it had to have been Wickham? Or? Goodness, did she think Darcy was the assailant? She saw it before her. Her on the ground, he above her. Or did she think something else was afoot?
Darcy immediately withdrew his hand and moved to help Elizabeth to her feet as Lady Hartford rushed onto the terrace, followed closely by Lord Hartford, Mr Bingley, and several other guests.
“Elizabeth!” Lady Hartford’s shriek pierced the night air. “Good God, what has happened here? Everybody back inside!” she commanded, advancing on the gathering crowd with desperate authority. “Back inside this instant! There is nothing to see here!”
But it was too late. Elizabeth could see the knowing looks, the whispered exchanges, the scandalised expressions that would fuel gossip for months to come. She saw what they saw—her dishevelled on the ground, Darcy kneeling beside her in the moonlight.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Hartford’s voice cut through the commotion with quiet authority that demanded answers. “Elizabeth, are you harmed?”
She struggled to her feet with Darcy’s assistance, acutely conscious of her tousled state and the watching eyes. “Papa, Mr Darcy saved me. Mr Wickham—he tried to force his attentions upon me. Mr Darcy drove him off.”
“Wickham?” Lord Hartford’s face darkened as he looked to Bingley. “Your guest? Where is he now?”
“Gone. He ran into the garden,” Elizabeth said urgently, though she realised with growing unease that she hadn’t actually seen her attacker’s face clearly. The cologne, the build, the familiarity—it had to be Wickham. Who else could it have been?
“I shall go after him at once,” Darcy said. “Bingley, will you come?”
“Of course,” Bingley agreed, and the two men rushed towards the garden to fetch their horses.
“Lizzy, how reckless of you to be alone in the garden. You must hope that we find that scoundrel for if we do not, then it will look as though you were in the arms of the steward, in the dark garden.” Her mother shook her head.
“Now, now, Lady Hartford,” her father said as he examined her. “We shall not speak in such a manner. Darcy and Bingley will find him and bring him back to us to deal with. We will ensure everyone knows there was a crook in our midst who sought to harm our daughter and our steward only did was he was trained to. Protect her.
Watching them go, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself. “If we can find Mr Wickham and make him confess what he attempted, if we can prove that Mr Darcy acted only to protect me all shall be well, yes Papa? If he confesses?”
“Of course he will confess,” her father said grimly. “He will be sent away for a long time. Between your word, Lizzy, and Mr Darcy’s, there is no doubt in my mind.”
“I was foolish to walk alone in the garden. I should have gone inside at once. Mama is right.”
“Yes,” Lord Hartford said, his gaze sweeping the assembled guests who still lingered despite Lady Hartford’s commands.
