He would write to his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, detailing the truth. If the duel went poorly, at least one man of integrity would know the truth, both of Darcy’s proposal and of Wickham’s character.
He would send Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley tonight with the letter. Wickham’s invasion of Netherfield was reason sufficient, and his sister need not know about the duel.
And he would provide for Elizabeth Bennet, should everything go wrong.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE PRICE OF HONOR
Elizabeth had always foundpeace in early morning walks. Amid the suffocating shame that had enveloped her these past weeks, the solitude of dawn offered brief respite from pitying glances and whispered gossip. This morning, she convinced Jane to accompany her to Oakham Mount, desperate for exercise and distraction.
“The air seems particularly fine today,” Jane remarked as they followed the familiar path up the gentle slope. Her pretty face was turned toward the sunrise, its golden light softening the shadows that recent events had etched beneath her eyes.
“A fitting reward for rising so early,” Elizabeth agreed, though in truth, sleep had become increasingly elusive. Guilt and regret made poor bedfellows. “Besides, the view from the summit is particularly fine at this hour.”
The morning was indeed uncommonly lovely. July dew sparkled on the grass, and mist clung to the distant valleys, creating the illusion that Oakham Mount was an island floating above a sea of clouds.
“Mr. Bingley seemed quite pleased with your improved spirits yesterday,” Jane ventured, her cheeks coloring prettily at the mention of his name.
“And you seemed quite pleased with Mr. Bingley’s attention,” Elizabeth replied with the first genuine warmth she had felt in days. “Although he seemed a fair bit reserved last night?”
“I’m sure he did not like to exclude our family from his garden party,” Jane explained. “And it pains his kind heart. Given our circumstances, his continued friendship is more than we might have expected.”
“This censure from polite society is my doing,” Elizabeth said. “You should not have to suffer for it. I pray Mr. Bingley can see past my errors to appreciate your innocence.”
“I know you regret your indiscretion.” Jane reached over and took Elizabeth’s hand. “And Bingley knows it too. Did you notice his solicitous inquiries about your health? How you were feeling?”
“I did not realize my health required such frequent inquiries from a gentleman,” Elizabeth let out a laugh. “You’d think I was on my deathbed of regret and social isolation.”
“Bingley has been very kind, considering everything.” Jane picked a flower and tucked it into Elizabeth’s hair. “There, my healthy, lively sister.”
“Yes, Bingley is either uncommonly loyal to you or uncommonly disloyal to his friend,” Elizabeth observed, more sharply than she intended. “He understands I regretted my indiscretion, but as an honorable gentleman, he would never speak of it to Darcy.”
“No, I don’t suppose he would,” Jane said gently. “He knows Darcy’s pride and how his words wounded you and our family.”
She broke off, her head turning toward the summit. “Do you hear that?”
Elizabeth paused, listening. The distant murmur of male voices carried on the still morning air. Not laborers—the voices were too cultured, the words indistinct, but the cadence unmistakably that of gentlemen.
“Who would be at Oakham Mount at this hour?” Jane wondered.
“Evidently, we are not the only early risers in Hertfordshire,” Elizabeth replied. “Shall we see who else appreciates the beauty of dawn?”
“Lizzy, we should not intrude?—”
The voices grew clearer as they approached, and Elizabeth’s blood turned to ice as she recognized the speakers. Through the screen of leaves and morning mist, she could see four figures arranged in a rough circle on the flat expanse of ground that topped the mount.
“The ground is prepared,” a crisp voice announced—Captain Denny, Elizabeth realized with surprise. “Ten paces, as agreed.”
“And the weapons?” Mr. Darcy stood with his back rigid, his face thunderous.
“Inspected and loaded by both seconds,” Captain Denny replied. “Mr. Bingley has examined Lieutenant Wickham’s pistol, and I have examined yours. All is in order.”
“Dear God,” Elizabeth breathed, her hand flying to her throat as the terrible reality crashed over her. “Jane, they mean to duel.”
“Lizzy?” Jane whispered, her hand clutching Elizabeth’s arm. “We should leave immediately. This is no place for ladies.”
But Elizabeth could not move. As if in a nightmare, she drew closer, slipping behind the broad trunk of an ancient oak where she could glimpse the clearing beyond without being seen.
