His body and mind unified in approbation, and ‘cannot have’ became ‘must have’.
It was with a mixture of relief and regret he had watched her depart the following morning. That had been two lonely days ago, as the gentlemen had refrained from visiting Longbourn until Miss Bennet had completely recovered. Deeming that sufficient time had passed, they were riding into the town when Swiftsilver slipped on a patch of ice. Bingley shouted in concern, which did not aid the situation. The horse shied, coming dangerously close to the riverbank, and Darcy dreaded he might get that bath he had wished for. Fortunately, the beast recovered, managing to save him from an ill-fated dip in the icy waters.
Relief flooded his veins when he entered the steady ground of Meryton’s town square, though the hustle and bustle had increased since the militia encamped on Mr Goulding’s northern field had arrived. Today was no exception, but a musical laugh drew his eyes to a cluster of females, particularly an ivy-green bonnet he had seen before. Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s mahogany ringlets bobbed beneath the rim of the offensive accoutrement; if not for the blasted hat, he might have been treated to a glimpse of those striking green eyes, the turned-up nose, or the lush rosy lips beneath it. Speaking of beneath… There was nothing wrong with her form—nothing at all!—but it was her startling cutting wit, hinting at an even more interesting intellect, than most tempted him, even more than the handsome eyes and enticing bosom.
Darcy wrenched his eyes from the last part of Elizabeth that had occupied his thoughts, and they landed on a tall, heavy-set gentleman wearing a clergyman’s collar. By the looks of it, he was escorting the Bennet sisters. The ladies were engaged in a lively conversation with a trio of officers from the aforementioned militia. Elizabeth stood by herself, a bit to the side of the group of Bennets and strangers. Her face lit up in a beckoning grin that chased away all the petulance the last two days had compelled.
Bingley was lost to everything but the presence of the ethereal Miss Bennet. She was uncommonly beautiful but much too serene and composed for Darcy’s personal taste. It was infinitely more pleasurable to laugh with Elizabeth than smile with her elder sister.
It was not until he had dismounted his horse and tossed the reins and a penny to a young lad that he noticed the most unwelcome sight smirking in their midst.George bloody Wickham!The man even had the audacity to tip his hat to him as if nothing were amiss. Darcy barely touched his own in response and sought out Miss Elizabeth.
His first inclination was to punch the blackguard, but he could not create a scandal in the middle of a busy square. Wickham might stoop to shouting lewd profanities about his sister’s indiscretions for everyone to hear; or would he keep quiet for his own good? If it were the first, Georgiana’s reputation would be utterly ruined, and in the case of the latter… He dared not depend upon it. It was best to notify Colonel Fitzwilliam by express as soon as he returned to Netherfield, but first, he must warn Elizabeth about Wickham’s debauched proclivities. A sharp knell of jealousy startled him. The reprobate’s charm was innate—honed by desperation and need, sharpened by application—and dangerous. His hand fisted and bile rose in his throat at the mere thought of his despicable nemesis importuning the lovely lady, which in turn prompted him to act. Miss Elizabeth must be protected by any means necessary. It had not escaped his notice that Mr Bennet had not been present at the assembly, nor had he joined them in Longbourn’s parlour when the gentlemen visited. He had attended the dinner party at Lucas Lodge but had made no effort to converse with either Bingley or him. No, Mr Bennet was not the sort of man he could trust to safeguard his dearest Elizabeth…
“Miss Elizabeth!”
Darcy offered the lady his arm, and she accepted it with a furrow of confusion between her brows. He may have spoken her name too harshly, but it was of the utmost importance to lead her out of hearing range of the officers, to warn her about Wickham’s substantial debts, gambling habits, and disgraceful conduct towards ladies in general. Perhaps with the exception of his attempt to elope with Georgiana. It was not that he did not trust Elizabeth; in view of the clandestine kiss they had shared in Bingley’s library, he was already bound to her by honour, but the fewer who knew about Georgiana’s shame the better. Besides, he argued with himself, it was not his story to tell.
Miss Elizabeth’s responses were everything he expected from a sensible and tender-hearted woman. They had known each other for about a month, yet their connection felt like an acquaintance of much longer duration. Their characters were much alike, and she was simply the most excellent example of genteel English womanhood. She was loyal and trustworthy, and before he knew he had begun, the entire sordid tale from Ramsgate escaped his lips. He waited with bated breath for her judgment of both his sister’s folly and his failure to guide her.
“I am shocked and aggrieved. What a blackguard, to prey upon a young girl’s heart. The man should be hanged, drawn, and quartered!” Elizabeth exclaimed with tears in her eyes. “How is poor dear Miss Darcy?”
“The ordeal left her in the deepest despair, but my aunt assures me that she can detect small improvements. Distance from the brother she so fervently disappointed has been good for her.”
“I hope with all my heart that time will mend you both. If there is anything I can do to relieve either of your suffering, please do not hesitate to ask.”
What were once his objections to the lady had faded in the joy of engaging with this woman. What were fortune and consequence to the delight of Elizabeth’s company? Nothing! Nothing at all when he already considered her as the mother of his children. With the compassion residing in her heart, as proved by tending her sister, she would not confine her offspring to half-hour visits until they grew into their senses. Oh no, she would be an affectionate, playful, and loving parent. Household matters would be resolved to perfection with her capable intellect, which would serve him famously on those dreary evenings with nothing to do—if he did not hie her off to his chamber to explore that enthusiastic nature simmering beneath her faultless comportment.
“On a happier note, Bingley intends to deliver your family an invitation to a ball on the twenty-sixth of November. I would be delighted if you would grant me your first set.”
“With pleasure.” Elizabeth beamed at him. It was a joy to watch her turn from serious contemplation to liveliness in an instant.
Deliberately, slowly, gently, his arm sloped, allowing him to slide his fingers into hers until their hands were woven into a single knot.
“And the supper set?”
Elizabeth nodded and gained a lightness to her gait that bespoke her pleasure at being asked. Would she be shocked, displeased, or delighted at his next request?
He brought their intertwined hands to his lips for a brief kiss.
“I have one more application to make of you before we join your sisters, and I want you to consider the implications before replying.” He waited for Elizabeth to agree with a slight dip of her head. He had better hurry because she was holding her breath, and it would not do for her to swoon in the middle of the street. “Would you do me the great honour of dancing the last set with me?”
Elizabeth’s bosom heaved in a rush of contained air. “Are you conscious of the consequences of such a request?” she whispered.
“I am,” he replied with all the confidence he could muster.
Elizabeth’s dimples made a rare show; they only came out with her brightest of smiles. “So am I. I shall gladly save all three sets for you.”
The acknowledgement of their understanding shattered him and released a torrent of physical warmth, mental calm, and emotional lightness.
With his heart thundering in his ears, they returned to Elizabeth’s sisters. Wickham was nowhere to be seen, and everything was right in the world. After escorting the Bennet ladies to their aunt’s house, he challenged Bingley to race him home, and they flew across the field by the shortest route to Netherfield. He won, and once ensconced in his room he wrote a letter to the colonel, begging him for aid in apprehending Wickham. His cousin was the only person besides Elizabeth and the culprits who knew what had happened. As he was also Georgiana’s guardian, he had a right to know. In a postscript he remembered to ask him to collect his mother’s set of pearls from Darcy House and sent the missive by express.
Incessant rain kept Darcy inside for the next three days. He reasoned that the muddy roads must be why he had yet to hear from his cousin. Being constrained in a house with the cloying Miss Bingley, an increasingly restless Mr Bingley, and the insipid Hursts made him feel more and more like the caged animals at the royal menagerie. A slight lull in the rain on the fourth day prompted him to saddle his horse for an impromptu ride to London. With only one day to spare before the ball, he rode directly to Matlock House and pounded on the door—soaked to the skin.
The stoic butler’s expression cracked for a second before his indifferent mien returned.
“I need to see Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Darcy demanded as if nothing was amiss.
“You have unfortunately missed him. The colonel left three days ago on an urgent errand for his general.”
