“I do not understand what you saw in her, sir. I have believed you so grave and proper, I would never have thought a wanton like her could have attached you.”
Darcy countered. “I was a different person then, Elizabeth. I was a boy. Sheltered and naive. And she was an innocent girl, not as she is now. It appears she has set aside all her scruples and is behaving in a manner meant to shock rather than please.”
Elizabeth said, “I could easily believe she has been with many other men since her tryst with Mr. Wickham. She has no sense of modesty or decency.”
Then she raised a hand to cover her eyes; her expression was comical. Groaning softly, she said, “Oh dear, I have done it again.” His eyes were laughing.
“I do apologize, sir, most humbly. I have come to realize that many of my strongest opinions are not supported by evidence. Please pardon my ill-judged remarks about Miss Ashbrook. I have been prejudiced.” Mr. Darcy took her hand and leaned in to kiss her. After that, neither of them spoke, and Miss Ashbrook was entirely forgotten.
The following morning, Elizabeth walked out to Georgiana’s treehouse and sat on the little bench to read. She left Mr. Lewis pacing the library, unable to give him news of Mary. Elizabeth pursed her lips, not knowing what to think about him. He seemed to be too easily angered, and she feared her sister would be made unhappy as his wife. She deliberately put thoughts of Mary and Mr. Lewis aside, reminding herself that Mary’s relationship was not her concern, and she would be better served by learning to mind her own business. She settled into her book.
“Wickham, what are you doing here? Fitzwilliam has banned you from Pemberley.”
“My, my, Georgiana, you have grown into a judgmental baggage. Have you become as officious as your brother?”
Georgiana stepped back from him. He was sneering at her, and his presence was menacing. He drew nearer, and she backed away to maintain the distance between them.
Wickham? Could this be the same Wickham who was wagering to take Lydia’s virtue? Elizabeth crawled to the edge of the treehouse and peered over the half wall. The man was threatening, and fear shot through her frame. She looked around for something to use as a weapon should they need to defend themselves. Was he meaning to force himself upon her sister? There was nothing in the treehouse that would serve, except perhaps her book.
She crept down the stairs that were built on the far side of the thick tree trunk, hidden from Wickham’s view. When she reached the ground, she tried to think how best to approach the man, but then she watched as he reached out and seized her sister by the arm.
“Let me go. I have heard all about you and how you force yourself upon women.”
He laughed. “Georgiana, do not tell me you listen to sordid tales. That lessens you in my eyes. Your mind ought not to be dragging through the gutters, my dear. Do you not remember what the good book says? Whatsoever things are pure, think on these things.”
“What do you know about the good book? Nothing, nothing at all.” Then she cried out. “You are hurting me. Let go of my arm.”
Wickham said, “I am going to do much worse to you, my girl, and then your brother will have no choice but to give you to me. If he will not, he will pay handsomely for my silence.”
Georgiana said, “You are despicable.”
Elizabeth crept closer to the pair, and as she moved through the tall grass, she searched the ground for a stone or a piece of wood to use as a weapon against this blackguard. Anger had replaced the fear. She saw a round stone and picked it up. It was too large and heavy to hold easily, but it was all she had.
Then Georgiana caught sight of her. Elizabeth raised her finger to her lips to signal her to keep silent. The girl lowered her eyes, but Wickham had been alerted. He half turned, still holding her by the elbow.
Elizabeth realized it must be now or never. She had lost the opportunity to strike him with the stone, so she dropped it andhurled herself with all the force she possessed against his legs, aiming for the level of his knees. She struck him from his left side, full on his left knee.
He crumpled to the ground and shrieked, “Ugh! My knee. You little devil.”
Georgiana had gone partway down with him, but she scrambled out of his grasp.
He grabbed Elizabeth’s arm as she struggled to her knees, but her gown tripped her up.
Then he caught her by the hair. Georgiana ran, picked up the stone, and struck him with a glancing blow to the head. He fell back, releasing Elizabeth, and she threw herself out of his reach.
Then she clambered to her feet and took Georgiana’s hand. “Come, let us find Fitzwilliam.”
They had just begun to run when they heard a voice behind them. Miss Ashbrook stepped out from among the trees. She was laughing at Wickham, who lay curled on the ground, groaning. She stood over him and said, “So the devil got his comeuppance. How dare you come to Scotland to threaten me after all these years?” She was screaming at him. “At last, you will be taken to prison. You meant to kidnap this child.”
She turned to the women. “Bring Fitzwilliam before this revolting coward escapes. He is nothing better than a lecherous criminal.”
Elizabeth and Georgiana ran through the meadow, and when they reached the side entrance of the house, they hurried through the library and burst into Darcy’s study.
Startled, he rose to his feet and became alarmed at the sight of Elizabeth’s grass-stained gown and unkempt hair.
“Fitzwilliam,” she said, “A man named Wickham is here. He tried to kidnap Georgiana and threatened to force himself upon her. He is out by the treehouse.”
Bingley had risen as well, and now both men rushed out of the room.
