He stretched and turned to look at Elizabeth, who was huddled away from him against the side. He was not the sort of man to engage in fisticuffs. Boxing held no interest for him, and he had even shied away from boyish scuffles. But he had been ready to tear that young man from the coach piece by piece if he had to.
Some men were capable of despicable behaviour.
They had quarrelled after, he remembered, as more of the long previous day came to mind. Upon proper reflection, Elizabeth was right about Georgiana. She must have been meeting with Wickham in secret or, at the least, writing to him. All of those letters she pored over and hid were part of his scheme to win her over. Mrs Younge had been entirely wrong about their relationship.
He sat up with another realisation. Was Mrs Younge’s complete unconcern misjudgment, or had he been deceived in her character? Had she placated his concerns because she had encouraged Wickham and Georgiana to be together? And where was Mrs Younge now?
The mail coach stopped, and he heard the guard call that they had six minutes. Darcy stretched his legs one last time because more passengers would board now. His height was not an advantage in this cramped space.
Elizabeth nudged his foot roughly. “I need to get out.”
He was surprised. “It is only a six-minute stop; why must you get out?”
The look she threw at him made him feel like he was a child about to be scolded. “I have not stepped out of this carriage since we boarded it twelve hours ago. Why do you think I need to get out?”
He felt his cheeks heat, and he opened the carriage door and alighted. Elizabeth hurried into the coaching inn, and Darcy followed as far as the door, making certain no one watched her or followed her. He had been complacent by keeping his distance as they travelled, and complacent in even allowing her to come.
Her reputation was in danger as much as her person.
He had felt helpless when he realised what Georgiana had done, and he now felt guilty for relying on Elizabeth and agreeing to her scheme. But if he sent her back alone, she could come to even more harm. For better or for worse, Elizabeth had to stay with him until they recovered his sister.
She had been impulsive to ask for his help with Lydia and to offer her own when they were in London. And he had been an impulsive fool to take hers. He had only thought of protecting his sister’s good name.
Shock had overwhelmed him when he read those letters from Ramsgate. And Elizabeth’s plan was a good one to keep his sister’s reputation intact. He felt sick all over again to remember the horror of the moment of realisation. Wickham was certainly the worst man he had ever known, and it nearly broke him to know his sister was alone with him.
Why had he taken comfort in the sympathetic and equally distressed look on Elizabeth’s face in the coaching inn? Dread had made him nearly immoveable. He could not think. He could not plan. He could not act. Never had he felt so powerless, so unlike himself.
But Elizabeth had leapt into action while he felt numbed. She had not cried or thought of her own cares or even the relief she must have felt at the news it was nothersister who ran off with a syphilitic blackguard. All his strength had felt gone, and then her rash idea made allthe sense in the world. He was drawn into her impetuous energy, and it gave him hope. A way to race to Gretna Green, the expectation of beating them there, the chance of protecting his sister and preserving his family’s good name.
He had hope, but to the outside world, this would look horrendous if he failed to bring his sister home. What would happen to Elizabeth, to them both, if they were unsuccessful?
The horses were nearly in place when Elizabeth came out. She stopped short at the sight of him, but then stalked toward the carriage, saying, “Why are you not in the coach?”
Following her, he said, “Because if you dallied and the mail coach left without you, I was not about to leave you here. We must stay together.”
She gave him a disbelieving look, but said nothing and they got in. Elizabeth pointedly looked out her window as he sat next to her.
She was angry with him, as she had every right to be. Last night had shown, once again, he had been too candid with this woman. This trip would be even more taxing if they could not get along. And, he realised, she deserved an apology. There was no need to be antagonistic, and not only was she right about Georgiana, she still wanted to help him protect her.
And there was just one option that preserved their reputations if they failed in Gretna Green. He could not let a respectable woman’s good name fall because he had allowed her to act selflessly. He must act honourably.
“I am sorry for what I said about Lydia,” he said when they were underway. “I did not want to face the truth that Georgiana agreed to throw away her credit and my respect to elope with a man I told her to stay away from.”
He was certain his heart stopped beating while he waited for a reply.
After a moment of hesitation, she turned to face him. “You have suffered a great disappointment, so I forgive you.”
“I also realise that you were right,” he went on. “She must have been writing to him while I was with them at the seaside.”
“Where do you suppose Mrs Younge is?” she mused.
“I have begun to fear she and Wickham were in collusion. She likely helped him along, and has now fled.”
She thought for a moment. “Mrs Younge expected a part of Georgiana’s fortune if she helped him?”
He gave her a sideways glance. She had something of quickness. “I suspect that might be the case. My mother’s marriage articles settled thirty thousand pounds on her children after her and my father’s death.” He had always intended for Georgiana to have the full amount upon her marriage, but perhaps there was a way to keep Wickham from it.
“Well, we will get there in time and convince her to leave him, and he will then be stranded in Scotland without a penny.”
