Foiled Elopement: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Author: McMann, Renata; Hanford, Summer
Date: 2017-06-17

Foiled Elopement

by

Renata McMann and Summer Hanford

Sign up for our mailing list and get your Thank You gifts!

From Ashes to Heiresses

In the wake of a devastating fire at Longbourn, Elizabeth and Jane are taken in by their aunt and uncle in Meryton. Concerned about their situation, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley come to Hertfordshire, but not before Mr. Wickham attempts to use Jane’s heartache to his advantage.

PLUS

Eat Like Jane Austen for a Day

Your shopping, preparation and dining guide to eat like Jane Austen for a day, without a household staff.

Sign up for Renata McMann’s New Releases emailing list and get free copies of Ashes to Heiresses: a Pride and Prejudice Short Story and Eat Like Jane Austen for a Day: a How-to Pamphlet.

Click here to get started:

http://www.renatamcmann.com/news/

With special thanks to our editor, Joanne Girard

Cover by Summer Hanford

Copyright 2017 by Renata McMann & Summer Hanford

All rights reserved

Table of Contents

Prologue - Elopement Discovered

Chapter One - Help Arrives

Chapter Two – Aid Offered

Chapter Three – Plans Laid

Chapter Four – Elopement Foiled

Chapter Five – Rescue Arranged

Chapter Six – Challenge Issued

Chapter Seven – Duel Fought

Chapter Eight – Proposal Planed

Chapter Nine – Proposal Issued

Chapter Ten - Elopement Begun

Chapter Eleven – Elopement Succeeds

Chapter Twelve – In-laws Met

Chapter Thirteen – Pemberley Reached

Chapter Fourteen – Library Discovered

Chapter Fifteen – Resolve Tested

Chapter Sixteen – Strife Ensues

Chapter Seventeen – Advice Given

Chapter Eighteen – Impasse Reached

Chapter Nineteen – Questions Answered

Chapter Twenty – Departures Made

Chapter Twenty-One – Hertfordshire Reached

Chapter Twenty-Two – Justice Done

Epilogue: Wedding Planned

By Renata McMann and Summer Hanford

About the Authors

Prologue - Elopement Discovered

Darcy enjoyed the solitude of his ride to Ramsgate, and the anticipation of surprising his sister, Georgiana. He was looking forward to spending some quiet days with her before they returned to Pemberley. A sort of calm before the storm, as it were, though the storm was only Bingley, his sister Miss Bingley, and the Hursts. Bingley, one of Darcy’s closest friends, was pleasant company, and Mr. Hurst amiable enough. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were well mannered, which made them tolerable for the sake of the gentlemen.

The trouble was, Georgiana didn’t care for Miss Bingley or her sister, Mrs. Hurst, and was quite withdrawn in their company. Therefore, Darcy had elected to retrieve her from Ramsgate himself, lingering there with her for a time before heading to Pemberley. Georgiana could show him her newest paintings, for she quite enjoyed the activity. They could take walks by the sea. He would even escort her to shops, if she so desired. All by way of apology and to fortify her for her role as hostess to his guests.

The change from rumbling over dirt roads to clattering on cobblestone alerted him when they entered Ramsgate. Darcy didn’t pull back the curtain, as he would have years ago. He wasn’t a child, to gawk at the sea or buildings. Instead, he tugged at his coat sleeves and adjusted his cravat, making sure he was in good order. It was several hours since they last stopped.

His carriage came to a halt and Darcy alighted in a pleasant frame of mind. He was looking forward to Georgiana’s pleasure at seeing him. As they’d been apart for some time, she was sure to be joyful at his presence. It gratified him to know he was one of the few people whose company his sister cared for. It made him feel as if he’d done well by her since their parents passed.

Darcy’s pleasant feeling lasted even after there wasn’t an immediate response to his knock. When seconds turned into minutes and repeated knocks brought no answer, he frowned, trying to imagine what would cause both Georgiana and all her servants to be gone. Whatever the trouble was, he could easily smooth it over. For his little sister, Darcy would mend any ill. He was, after all, wealthy and competent enough to do so.

It wasn’t until hours later, when increasingly frantic inquiries yielded little information about where his sister was, but much about with whom, that Darcy realized the full scope of the disaster.

Chapter One - Help Arrives

Elizabeth pressed herself as firmly against the wall of the carriage as she could without appearing to do so. She didn’t wish to give offense, but the woman she shared a seat with, Mrs. Muir, took up nearly the length of it. Turning toward the window to watch the passing landscape helped, but Elizabeth also didn’t wish to appear to rudely ignore the cheerful conversation about her.

Across from her, Mr. Muir filled a similar amount of his seat, leaving their daughter, Miss Phoebe Muir, in the same predicament as Elizabeth. She felt more sympathy for Miss Muir than herself, for Miss Muir must always ride with one parent or the other. Elizabeth need only endure the journey this one trip, to and from Scotland, and they were already embarked toward home. Of course, Miss Muir wouldn’t be riding with her parents much longer. She was to be married soon, for the Muirs’ trip to meet Miss Muir’s fiancé’s family and to see the home their daughter would live in had been a resounding success.

“Miss Bennet,” Miss Muir said.

Elizabeth turned her head, relinquishing a view of rolling hills, dotted with flocks and neatly parceled by low stone walls.

“Scotland is beautiful. Don’t you agree?” Miss Muir accompanied the question with a nod toward the window.

Elizabeth used the fact that Miss Muir was catty-corner from her as an excuse to angle her shoulders nearly parallel to the window she turned from. She reminded herself she’d endured the journey north and so could endure the return south. Above, the carriage creaked. She had the momentary vision of it collapsing under the combined weight of their luggage strapped to the top, the footman and coachman sharing the driver’s seat, and those within. “Yes, Scotland is very lovely.”

“How was your visit with your aunt, dear?” Mrs. Muir asked Elizabeth.

“It was very pleasant. Thank you again for taking me. I hadn’t met any of my cousins before, or seen my Aunt Beth since I was too young to recall. She’s lived in Scotland nearly all my life.” Her father’s older sister, for whom Elizabeth was named, had married a Scott, as Miss Muir intended to.

“It’s a shame she didn’t visit you more, but then travel was difficult in our youth,” Mrs. Muir said. “We’re fortunate it’s easier now. I’m sure we’ll be making many trips to visit our Phoebe, although this trip was a bit more expensive than we expected. You’re welcome to join us again sometime, dear, isn’t she, Mr. Muir?”

“Quite right. Miss Bennet is always welcome, Mrs. Muir.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, offering a smile. “That’s very generous of you.”

Mrs. Muir had a kindly face, as did her husband. Both had greatly impressed Elizabeth’s mother, these friends of the Gardiners who’d agreed to take Elizabeth north to visit her aunt. Mrs. Bennet had proclaimed that anyone who ate as well as the Muirs was surely wealthy and it was a shame they had only a daughter, not any sons. She’d then gone on to lament daughters as a general rule.

“And I shall make the journey as well,” Miss Muir said. “You’re always welcome to join us.” She blushed. “Well, not when we return together after the wedding. I think then I shall want to be alone with my new husband.”

“Phoebe,” Mr. Muir said, looking a bit shocked.

“Well I shall, Papa. I’m a grown woman now.”

“Not yet you aren’t,” Mr. Muir said. “Not until after you wed. Right now, you’re still my little girl.”

“Of course, I am, Papa.” Miss Muir offered him an indulgent smile, then rolled her eyes at her mother.

“How many cakes shall we have at your wedding breakfast?” Mrs. Muir asked.

“I should think three at least,” Mr. Muir said, his eyes bright. “No daughter of mine is having any fewer than three cakes, don’t you agree, Mrs. Muir?”

“Oh, I quite agree, Mr. Muir. Three cakes at the least.”

“And drinking chocolate,” Miss Muir said. “I should very much like to have drinking chocolate.”

The conversation, as it often did with the Muirs, turned to a detailed discussion of food. Elizabeth returned to her study of the Scottish countryside, wanting to capture it in her mind. For all their kindness, the Muirs had taken her with them as a favor to her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner and would be under no obligation to bring her again. Elizabeth may never have the opportunity to return to Scotland.

There were similarities to England, to be sure, but she could pick out differences as well. Scotland was more rugged. The hills higher and steeper, some of them grown right up into mountains. There was a certain wild, misty quality to Scotland that Elizabeth hadn’t observed in the parts of England she was familiar with. She could see how it pulled on the imagination and lent itself to the sort of romanticisms and myths the northern region was known for. She was happy to be going home, but she could understand how Scotland had captured her aunt, and why Miss Muir was more than pleased to wed her Scottish suitor.

Elizabeth had spent a very enjoyable month visiting her Aunt Beth and her cousins, five of whom still lived at home. They lived near enough to Glasgow for several day trips to explore the city, yet far enough out to be immersed in the beauty of the countryside. In Scotland, everything was new and interesting to Elizabeth, who had never travelled so far before. Her aunt and cousins had kindly taken her on tours of the nearby sites and invited other young people for Elizabeth’s entertainment, as if five cousins at home and three more nearby didn’t offer enough amusement.

Elizabeth smiled, anticipating being home. As alluring as Scotland was, she missed Longbourn, her father and her sister Jane. Elizabeth had obeyed her father’s instructions to learn what she could and behaved in a way that made her aunt assure her that she was welcome to visit again. She looked forward to reporting the details of her visit to him, conveying his sister’s regard and proclaiming the journey a success.

Her smile widened. She hadn’t obeyed her mother’s instructions to come back engaged to, or even married to, a wealthy man. Her mother would lament that. Never mind that Elizabeth hadn’t met a man she felt any stirring of interest for. Her mother had five daughters and wished fervently to see at least one of them wed.

Elizabeth’s smile faltered. While it was amusing to contemplate her mother’s silly ravings and her father’s acrid interjections, such thoughts did touch on a deep worry. Home, in Hertfordshire, Elizabeth didn’t fancy a single gentleman and never had. Not to please her mother, but herself, she’d hoped being among so many new faces would lead her to someone who drew at least a spark of feeling. Her four sisters, even Jane, had all fancied themselves attracted or in love at one time or another, but Elizabeth never had. She was beginning to wonder if something was wrong with her.

They rolled into a forested area, cutting off the more sweeping views, and Elizabeth wriggled back around in her seat. The Muirs went on to talk about smoked and salted fish. Elizabeth joined in. Anything was better than worrying over how she, at barely twenty, had yet to make herself properly foolish over a man.

They came to a small town when the sun was low in the sky. They passed a busy inn called the Red Lion, where the southbound stage was discharging passengers, and continued the short distance toward another, the Sleeping Cat, which had been recommended to them. As the Red Lion was at one end of town and the Sleeping Cat at the other, Elizabeth could observe the whole of it as the coachman maneuvered them down the rutted street. It was little more than a village, in truth, obviously surviving on the business of those traveling in easy stages, but the people she saw appeared pleasant enough.

While the first inn had looked crowded to the point of riotous, the Sleeping Cat was quiet, living up to its name. It’s location on the far side of town was slightly removed from other buildings, further set apart by a large innyard. Elizabeth let the footman help her down with a murmur of thanks and carefully hidden relief. She resisted the urge to arch her back or stretch her arms over her head. She wouldn’t behave so poorly in public, or insult the Muirs by letting on how cramped she’d been.

“Take a turn about the yard with me while father arranges for rooms?” Miss Muir asked.

“Certainly,” Elizabeth agreed, pleased the yard was so large.

Mrs. Muir waited on the porch while they headed toward the far end of the dusty innyard in silence. Elizabeth had noticed on the journey north that her companions grew quiet as evening arrived. It was as if they exhausted all topics for the day by supper. Elizabeth knew she did. As a result, Mr. Muir was spared the expense of a private dining room. He, Mrs. Muir and especially Miss Muir quite enjoyed dining in common rooms. They ate well, spoke little, and absorbed what went on around them. Anything interesting noted was sure to be the first topic brought up once ensconced in the carriage the following day.

“They make an odd couple, don’t they?” Miss Muir asked when they turned back toward the inn.

Elizabeth looked through the fading light to find a man and woman walking up the inn steps. They quickly disappeared inside, but not before she observed the miserable expression on the young woman’s face. The man, handsome even from a distance, appeared quite cheerful. “They do seem rather opposite in feeling.”

“Not only that,” Miss Muir said, lowering her voice. “She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and he at least a decade older.”

“It does happen.” Though Elizabeth felt, privately, that it was generally an error to permit a very young girl to marry. “Perhaps he’s her brother?”

“Perhaps,” Miss Muir agreed, though her tone was at odds with the word.

Elizabeth concurred. Something about the possessive way the gentleman looked on the girl didn’t speak to her of brotherly affection. She shrugged. “I daresay it’s none of our concern.”

Miss Muir looked at her askance. “No, I suppose it isn’t.”

Miss Muir’s prim tone relayed that she was insulted. Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. She hadn’t meant her words as censure . . . except that she had. She considered the Muirs’ habit of eavesdropping and gossiping ill-mannered, especially in Miss Muir. Where Mr. and Mrs. Muir were both generous of heart and meant no harm by their chosen amusement, Miss Muir was more liable to judge and condemn those she listened in on.

Mr. Muir joined Mrs. Muir on the porch, waiting while Elizabeth and Miss Muir walked back to them. “I’ve rooms for us, if you wish to freshen up, and I’ve ordered dinner,” he said when they drew near.

Entering the inn, Elizabeth took in pleasant white walls delineated by thick wooden beams. The ceiling was a bit low, but the windows wide and made up of many rectangles of leaded glass. There was a vast fireplace at one end of the common room, in front of which two gentlemen played backgammon. A polished bar stretched the length of the back wall. She was surprised to catch sight of a pianoforte at the end opposite the fireplace, near where the couple they’d seen enter now sat.

The instrument recalled to mind the sheaves of music Elizabeth had with her and how long it had been since she’d practiced. Her aunt, once an accomplished player, had no access to a pianoforte. As a parting gift, she’d given Elizabeth much of her sheet music, lovingly kept these many years. Ascending the steps to the room she would share with Miss Muir, Elizabeth wondered if the nearly empty common room would afford her the opportunity to play.

Once in their room, Miss Muir gave every indication of being over her pique as she and Elizabeth readied for dinner. When they headed back down, it was with the appearance of being cheerful companions. This lasted until after dinner, when she turned to Elizabeth with a guarded expression.

“I thought I might retrieve the playing cards,” Miss Muir said, eyeing Elizabeth meaningfully. “Would anyone be up for a hand or two?”

Elizabeth recognized the look and knew what was required of her. “No, thank you. I believe I shall attempt the pianoforte, if the innkeeper agrees. I’m going to fetch the sheet music my aunt gave me. Shall I bring you the cards?”

“That would be very kind,” Miss Muir said, looking relieved.

Elizabeth excused herself to retrieve the music and deck, hearing Mr. Muir call for his footman as she headed up the steps toward her room. She considered herself perfectly adept at whist, but wasn’t up to the standards of the Muirs and their footman. When Elizabeth joined them, Mr. and Mrs. Muir always insisted she partner Miss Muir, citing age. With the less skillful Elizabeth on her side, Miss Muir was hard pressed to win against her parents. They didn’t play for money, but took the activity very seriously. Elizabeth knew where she wasn’t required. Far from resentful, she was relieved for the excuse to spend a small amount of time on her own.

Returning to the common room, Elizabeth deposited the cards with the Muirs and went to speak with the innkeeper, a Mr. Buchanan, who stood behind the brightly polished bar. Neat rows of glasses and tankards lined the shelves beyond him, along with some choice liquor. He had an apron tied round his waist and a white cloth draped over his shoulder. All in all, Elizabeth felt the recommendation of the Sleeping Cat to be a good one. It was a clean, pleasant inn.

Mr. Buchanan offered a friendly smile as she approached. “What can I do for you, Miss Bennet?”

“I was wondering if I might play your pianoforte,” she said, gesturing toward the wall where the instrument stood, near the table occupied by the couple. She held up the sheet music. “I’m afraid there’s little here I know, but much of it looks simple enough to learn quickly.”

“Of course, Miss. It would be a delight, I’m certain.”

“Thank you, sir, and the moment you realize it is not a delight, be sure to approach me. I shouldn’t wish to drive off your customers.”

“Oh, I hardly think you’re in danger of that.”

Elizabeth retired to the bench to sort through the music. Selecting a simple piece, she tested the keys. She was pleased to find the instrument mostly in tune.

The piece she’d selected, like all of the offerings that weren’t church music, was one popular in her aunt’s youth. Elizabeth played it haltingly at first, running through it once quietly. She played it again, in better time. She began a third pass in full time and gave the pianoforte its voice.

“I want to go home,” the young woman seated at the table near the pianoforte whispered, likely thinking Elizabeth couldn’t hear her over the music.

“Georgiana, your home is with me.” The man’s voice was a mixture of ingratiating and demanding. “As soon as I get your dowry, I’ll buy you a home. With thirty thousand pounds, I’ll buy you two if you like.”

“I don’t want you to buy me a home. I want to go back to mine.” The girl sounded on the verge of weeping. “I should never have agreed to run off. Mr. Greyson was right about you.”

“You’re art instructor?” The man spoke with derision. “A gentleman who would give up his place in society to instruct witless, spoiled girls? I find it difficult to believe he could be right about anything.”

“Well, he was right about you. He said you were dangerous to me.”

The man snorted. “And I suppose you think he was right when he said you have real talent, too? He’s no different than I am, saying what you want to hear to get his coin. Listen to me, Sweetie, for this is the truth.” His voice was low, almost menacing. “The only thing dangerous to you would be leaving me.”

Elizabeth finished the song. Instead of playing it a fourth time, she switched to one she knew well enough that she didn’t need music or even thought. She realized she was doing precisely what she’d condemned the Muirs for, eavesdropping, but any care she had for her pride in the matter was being rapidly replaced by worry for the girl, Georgiana, seated behind her.

“I don’t want to marry you anymore,” Georgiana whispered. “You’re unkind to me.”

“If you don’t marry me, you are ruined.” He sounded smug.

“I don’t care. Take me home. My brother will take care of me.” From Georgiana’s voice, Elizabeth wouldn’t be surprised if she turned to find the girl’s face streaked with tears.

“Maybe. I’m sure he’ll see you won’t starve.” The man’s words were clipped, his voice cold. “But you know how proud he is. You know how he’ll look at you after what you’ve done. Likely as not, he’ll shut you away in some little cottage with a caretaker who will insist you spend your days in prayer. You will be a shameful secret to him for the remainder of your life.”

In the silence that followed his words, Elizabeth thought she heard muffled sobs.

“Or you could stay with me.” His tone was coaxing. “If you’d be a bit more accommodating, I could teach you how fun life can be, Sweetie.”

“No. I . . . I don’t want to do that again.”

“But you did it once.” His voice was very low. Elizabeth had to remind herself to keep playing. “And once is all it takes. You have spent your greatest gift, your virtue. Even more, you know you could be with child. Do you really want your child to be a bastard?”

“No.” Elizabeth barely made out that whispered reply.

“Think on it, Sweetie. I’m not going to take you home. I worked too hard to get you for that. If you have your head on right, I’m sure you’ll realize you’re better off with me.”

“My brother won’t lock me away or be ashamed of me. He loves me.”

“More than he loves his pride?”

Silence met his question. Elizabeth wondered at this brother, and which of the two spoke the truth. Georgiana was obviously naive, but equally obvious was that her companion was cruel.

“Dry your face. You’re hideous like that,” the man said abruptly. “I’m going to see if I can find some fun, somewhere away from your maudlin looks. There’s a group playing cards over there and I fancy a few extra coins. If you don’t want to start behaving like a dutiful wife, you can spend the night in the common room, for all I care. When you realize you are alone, friendless, and without money, you’ll get on the stage with me tomorrow. In fact, if you did have any money, I’d wager five pounds you’ll be in our room, in bed, waiting for me, before I’m in for the night.”

Elizabeth heard the scrape of his chair as he got up. Behind her, Georgiana heaved quiet, muffled sobs. Elizabeth’s heart went out to this girl, hardly more than a child, who’d obviously been seduced for her dowry. She kept playing, but she turned her head half-toward Georgiana.

“Miss Georgiana?” Elizabeth said in a soft voice. “Perhaps you would like to sit with me. I don’t know if you play, but one of the pieces I have is a duet.”

The girl looked up, surprise clear in her red-rimmed eyes.

“I couldn’t help overhearing. You don’t have to be friendless and alone. I may be able to help.”

Georgiana stared at her, still looking stunned. Turning back to the pianoforte, Elizabeth found the duet and started playing the part for the high notes. She heard Georgiana push her chair back and felt a twinge of sorrow at the thought of the girl returning to her inn room to await that man.

Chapter Two – Aid Offered

To Elizabeth’s surprise, Georgiana settled onto the bench beside her. Now that they were seated side by side, Elizabeth could easily read how young and afraid the girl was. She was also sure Miss Georgiana was of a very similar age to Lydia, Elizabeth’s youngest sister. She could so readily imagine Lydia getting herself into a similar terrible predicament, though Lydia had little in the way of a dowry to tempt such a man, that her heart went out to Georgiana even more. Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Georgiana’s companion approach the Muirs, taking the footman’s place in the game.

With fine-boned fingers, Georgiana picked up where Elizabeth was and kept pace with her halting attempt. Without saying anything more than words that applied to the music, they repeatedly played the piece. Each time through, Elizabeth improved and Georgiana incrementally relaxed. Her tears stopped, then dried, but she didn’t look at Elizabeth.

“Play something else,” a man’s voice called, though not unkindly, when they finished a fifth rendition of the duet.

Elizabeth gave an apologetic shrug of her shoulders and fished through the unfamiliar sheets of music.

Georgiana reached out and plucked one up. She set it on top. “This one.”

“It looks too complicated,” Elizabeth said. It also wasn’t meant for two, but she didn’t point that out. Georgiana’s obvious skill spoke of someone who would recognize that.

“We’ll each play one hand. Which one do you want?”

“The left, please,” Elizabeth said, for it looked easier. By now, she had no illusions about their relative abilities.

Elizabeth stood to switch places, Georgiana hesitating only a moment before sliding over. As they settled back onto the bench, Georgiana’s companion tossed down his cards. Getting up from the Muirs’ table, he crossed to seat himself with the men playing backgammon. One wore ecclesiastical garb, the other the trappings of a gentleman. Angling her shoulders more fully away from them, Elizabeth began to play.

By the time they played the piece through for a third time, she felt they were doing pretty well, largely thanks to Georgiana’s skill. So as not to antagonize the other patrons, Elizabeth selected another piece. Elizabeth still playing the left hand, they kept going. It would be an exaggeration to say Georgiana was cheerful, but when Elizabeth stole glances at her playing partner, there was less a feeling of utter woe about her.

Loud clapping sounded immediately behind them as they finished the piece. They both swiveled to find Georgiana’s companion standing there, his expression sardonic. Georgiana wilted visibly at the sight of him.

“I’m glad you aren’t moping anymore,” he said. He cast a disgusted look about the underpopulated common room. “I’ll be in the Red Lion. I understand they have real card games there.” He turned and sauntered out.

Georgiana dropped her gaze to her hands, resting in her lap, spirit drained once more. Her shoulders slumped. She squeezed her eyes shut. Elizabeth didn’t doubt it was in an effort to hold back tears.

Coming to a decision, Elizabeth gathered the music into a neat pile. She closed the instrument and stood, taking up the pages. If Georgiana couldn’t help herself, Elizabeth would have to help her. “Come with me,” she said authoritatively to Georgiana.

The girl looked up, surprised. “Where?” she whispered.

“To that table, where my travel companions are.” Elizabeth kept her voice low. “I really didn’t mean to overhear, but I have, and I can’t leave you here with that man. If you wish to get away, to go home, here is your opportunity. My friends and I will help you.” At least, Elizabeth hoped they would.

“Why?” Georgiana asked, looking confused.

Elizabeth offered a sympathetic smile. “Because it’s very clear you’re in need of help.”

Georgiana bit her lip, looking down. “What if my brother does do the things George said he will?”

“George?” Elizabeth asked, though she felt she knew who owned the name. Georgiana and George. If that wasn’t a sure sign the union would be doomed, she didn’t know what was.

“Mr. Wickham.” Georgiana said. “My . . . the man I was with. His name is George Wickham.”

“Do you believe your brother will do the things Mr. Wickham said he’ll do?”

Georgiana looked up, her gaze searching as if she could divine the answer in Elizabeth’s face. Finally, she shook her head. “No. He always takes care of me.”

Not well enough, Elizabeth thought, but kept the words to herself. “I’m Elizabeth Bennet.” She held out her free hand to Georgiana. “Come with me.”

Elizabeth kept her proffered hand out, waiting. Finally, Georgiana took it and stood. Elizabeth led her over to the Muirs’ table. The footman, who’d retuned when Mr. Wickham departed, got up when they arrived. Elizabeth handed Georgiana into the vacated seat. The footman carried over another chair then tactfully withdrew to stand by the wall, out of earshot but on hand if needed. The Muirs watched in silence as Elizabeth sat.

“These are the Muirs,” Elizabeth said. She took a breath and addressed herself to Mr. and Mrs. Muir. “This is Miss Georgiana. She has a problem.”

Georgiana stared down at her clasped hands resting on the tabletop.

“And what is that, dear?” Mrs. Muir asked. She and her husband wore matching sympathetic looks. Miss Muir appeared more suspicious.

“Would you like to tell them?” Elizabeth asked Georgiana.

Georgiana didn’t look up. She shook her head vigorously, pretty curls bouncing.

Elizabeth nodded, having expected that response. “Correct me if I have anything wrong.” She turned back to Mrs. Muir. “Miss Georgiana agreed to elope with someone but has changed her mind. She is an heiress and he deceived her into believing he loved her, but he’s only after her dowry. Is that right?” she added, turning back to Georgiana.

Georgiana nodded.

“Was that the man who clapped and left?” Mr. Muir said. “A Mr. Wickham, didn’t he say his name was, Mrs. Muir?”

“Yes, that’s what he said, Mr. Muir,” Mrs. Muir agreed.

Georgiana nodded again.

“I didn’t care for him, if you don’t mind me saying, child,” Mrs. Muir said. “He joined our game amiably enough, but he kept badgering us to play for money. Well, we don’t you see. It’s not our way, is it Mr. Muir?”

“That’s right.” Mr. Muir nodded sagely, jowls bunching above his cravat. “Grew quite put out with us, he did. Then he went off to badger those men playing backgammon. I gathered they didn’t care to wager either.”

“I didn’t like him at all,” Miss Muir said. Her tone was prim. She looked down her wide nose at Georgiana, who still studied her clasped fingers.

“Where did he get off to, then?” Mrs. Muir looked about, as if Mr. Wickham might be hiding somewhere nearby. She frowned, her gaze going to the open doorway.

“He said he was going to the Red Lion,” came Georgiana’s whispered reply. “I suspect he’s gambling,” she added, stating what was obvious to everyone at the table.

Miss Muir gave a disdainful sniff.

“Did you know he was a gambler before you agreed to elope with him?” Mr. Muir asked, his look kind.

Georgiana shook her head.

Elizabeth reached out and placed a hand atop Georgiana’s clasped ones.

“What did you know about him?” Miss Muir asked in an exasperated, superior sort of voice. “Clearly not enough.”

Georgiana’s head snapped up. Her blue eyes were round and ringed in red. Tears leaked down her cheeks. “I . . . I thought I knew everything. He’s always been around, my whole life. He often spent time with me. He was my father’s godson and favorite. My father even paid for him to have a gentleman’s education.”

“So, he is not a gentleman?” Miss Muir asked.

“Obviously not, dear, given his behavior,” Mrs. Muir said. Her words were mild, but the look she gave her daughter held reprimand. She turned back to Georgiana. “And you had no idea Mr. Wickham wasn’t an honorable man when you ran off with him?”

“He was my brother’s dearest friend.” She blinked several times. “That is, he used to be. They had a falling out. I thought it was something silly, because my brother can be very upright and Mr. Wickham has always been more . . . free thinking. But I didn’t realize. . . This morning we were eating a meal, and a man left his gloves on his table. Mr. Wickham picked them up. The man came back, looking like he was trying to find his gloves, but Mr. Wickham did nothing. I asked him why he hadn’t returned them, and he said, ‘They fit me.’”

Miss Muir sniffed, and said, “So you eloped with a thief.”

Elizabeth frowned at her. She squeezed Georgiana’s hand comfortingly.

Georgiana turned a pleading look on Miss Muir. “You don’t understand. Mr. Wickham was our constant companion. He and my brother are much older than I am, and my brother rarely had any time for me, but Mr. Wickham always did. Then they had their disagreement and Mr. Wickham disappeared, and there was no one who had time for me.”

Elizabeth could hear the loneliness in Georgiana’s voice. She didn’t need to ask if it was just the two of them, Georgiana and her brother. Elizabeth had caught the way Georgiana referred to her father in the past tense, and doubted the girl had any other siblings, or a mother to look after her, or she likely wouldn’t be in the predicament she was in. Elizabeth wondered again at this brother, who would neglect his sister so. Then, what man did have time for a younger sister?

“That doesn’t explain how you ended up here, dear,” Mrs. Muir said.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Georgiana turned to her. “I was upset Geo . . . Mr. Wickham was gone, but I knew he’d return, so I’d made my peace with his absence. My father left him a living, you see, so he was bound to come back. When the incumbent died, though, my brother gave the living to someone else. I was very upset. I missed Mr. Wickham.” She grimaced, as if unable to reconcile that recalled emotion with her present circumstance. “I asked my brother about it, but he became so closed off each time Mr. Wickham’s name came up that I gave up trying. Then, Mr. Wickham met me when I was visiting Ramsgate.”

Elizabeth felt Georgiana’s hands clench under hers. She squeezed them, wishing she had more comfort to offer. Across the room, the two gentlemen still played backgammon. Several other tables were occupied by those lingering over food and drink, but none near. Mr. Buchanan was behind the bar, drying glasses. Elizabeth thought, and hoped, that only she and the Muirs could hear Georgiana’s low words.

“When we met in Ramsgate, Mr. Wickham told me my brother had denied him the living. He said Fitzwilliam, my brother, had sent him away because he wouldn’t promise not to love me. Mr. Wickham said he was denied the living for not giving up his love for me.” She sighed. “No one had ever given anything up for me before, and Mr. Wickham said my brother would never consent to our marriage. I’m fifteen. Six years seemed so long to wait when he’d already given up so much.”

Elizabeth shook her head. For all she was meek where Elizabeth’s sister Lydia was bold, Elizabeth could see the same youth, the same naivete. Although something in Elizabeth had recoiled at the tone in Mr. Wickham’s voice from the onset, he would hardly have used that tone with Georgiana before getting her to run away with him. Even if he had, she was obviously too young to know better. Had she no governess to look after her?

“Six years is a long time to wait, but most feel the law was made with good reason,” Mr. Muir said, looking to his wife.

“Yes, yes, they do,” Mrs. Muir agreed. “In this case, they may be right. By not waiting six years, you could end up living thirty or more with a gambler who married you for your money.”

Georgiana pulled her hands from Elizabeth’s to cover her face with them. “What am I going to do?” she choked out.

“It seems to me you’ve made your choice,” Miss Muir said. “You must marry Mr. Wickham.”

“But you don’t know the rest,” Georgiana said. “Mr. Wickham lied to me. He told me the real reason he didn’t get the living my brother promised him was he took money for it. He asked for, and got, three thousand pounds for it. Then he used the money to pay my governess to permit us to spend time together and allow us to elope.” She gave a hiccupping sob. “He bragged to me about it after . . . after--”

Realizing Georgiana was about to confess the extent of her compromised state and how much trouble she might truly be in, Elizabeth pulled her into a hug. “They don’t need to know,” she whispered into Georgiana’s ear. “It will be alright,” she said aloud, silently cursing the girl’s corrupt governess.

Against Elizabeth’s shoulder, Georgiana nodded. Elizabeth gave her another squeeze and let her go. Mr. Muir leaned across the table, proffering a handkerchief, which Georgiana took with a grateful, trembling smile.

“There now, dear, we’ll think of something,” Mrs. Muir said. “Won’t we, Mr. Muir?”

“Yes, yes, we certainly shall, Mrs. Muir.” Mr. Muir’s wide face pulled downward in thought.

“I just want to go home,” Georgiana whispered.

“Will you even be able to?” Miss Muir asked. “You said this brother of yours is quite proper. Will he take you back after what you’ve done?”

Elizabeth frowned at the condemnation in Miss Muir’s tone.

Georgiana dropped her gaze to the table again. “He will take me back. He can be aloof, but that’s just his way. He loves me.”

Elizabeth wondered if he loved her enough to care for her if she turned out to be carrying Mr. Wickham’s child. It was obvious no love was lost between Georgiana’s brother, this Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Wickham. That, however, was for Georgiana to work out. The key was to get her away from Mr. Wickham before he forced her to wed. It was obvious being bound to him would bring a lifetime of misery to a shy, soft spoken girl like Georgiana. Elizabeth looked to Mr. Muir, finding his features still twisted in thought.

“Perhaps the footman could remain behind and Miss Georgiana could come with us?” Elizabeth suggested tentatively.

“Absolutely not,” Miss Muir said, clutching at her mother’s arm. “Remember what happened to Aunt Silvia? I am not riding about without proper protection.”

Elizabeth didn’t know what happened to Miss Muir’s Aunt Silvia, or care. She could tell by the sage nods of Mr. and Mrs. Muir that they agreed. She understood their attitude. Their coachman was not young, and having one able-bodied young man did make sense.

“Buchanan,” Mr. Muir called toward the bar.

Setting down a glass and his towel, Mr. Buchanan hurried over. “Can I help you, Mr. Muir?”

“Tell me about the stage that stops at the Red Lion. We saw it on the way in. Is it always that late? Are there others?”

“No sir, not usually,” Mr. Buchanan said. “The northbound, the one you saw, usually arrives midafternoon. It was late today because it lost a wheel and couldn’t continue to Scotland. The southbound arrives about an hour later.”

“Is it always as full as we saw today?” Elizabeth asked, recalling the mass of people disembarking from every inch of the coach.

Mr. Buchanan nodded. “The inside seats are generally taken this time of year. Usually, there aren’t even outsides seats left.” He frowned, looking between Elizabeth and Georgiana. “Do you mean to take the coach, miss? It’s not what I’d call safe for a well-bred lady alone.” Even if it were safe, Georgiana was unlikely to have the strength to resist Mr. Wickham, especially if she had to wait a day for a seat on the stage.

“No, but thank you for your concern,” Elizabeth said.

Georgiana stared at her hands.

“Yes, thank you,” Mr. Muir said.

“Happy to be of service.” Mr. Buchanan nodded and went back to the bar.

“Mr. Wickham has seats for us on the northbound stage,” Georgiana said in her quite voice, once Mr. Buchanan was back behind the bar.

“Even if there is space, putting you on the southbound stage wouldn’t help,” Mr. Muir said, his frown back. “That Mr. Wickham’s no fool. If you aren’t on the northbound stage, he won’t take it, and he’ll watch the southbound like a hawk, waiting for you to try to board.”

“We could make sure she gets on it, and he doesn’t,” Elizabeth said. “I could go with her. We’d be safe enough together.”

Mr. Muir was shaking his head. “How would we accomplish that? We’re not going to restrain the man. We can’t be brawling in the streets.”

“And if there’s rarely one seat, well, we can hardly expect two, can we?” Mrs. Muir asked.

“I don’t care if we can or not,” Miss Muir said, sounding alarmed. “We can’t afford to wait until afternoon to leave. I need time to get ready for the wedding. There’s hardly enough time as it is. We’d lose nearly a day, assuming there’s anywhere to stay the night if we set out that late.”

“Can’t I come with you?” Georgiana pleaded, raising weepy eyes to Mrs. Muir. “Please, I won’t be any trouble.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t be, dear, but we can’t fit you into our carriage,” Mrs. Muir said, not unsympathetically. “There simply isn’t room. And Phoebe is correct, we can’t really stay an extra day.”

Elizabeth looked about the table. No one offered anything else by way of a solution. Beside her, Georgiana wept in silence. All Elizabeth could see was one of her younger sisters in such a predicament. She’d like to think someone would help.

Elizabeth took a deep breath. Only one solution presented itself to her. She’d be a coward not to offer it. “I will stay here.”

Chapter Three – Plans Laid

Four sets of eyes turned to stare at Elizabeth with varying degrees of surprise. She shrugged. “I can give Georgiana my place in the carriage. It’s not as if I’m in danger of being carted off to Scotland and forced to wed anyone.”

“You could ruin your reputation,” Miss Muir said, aghast.

“Better a ruined reputation than a ruined life.” Even the little she’d seen of Mr. Wickham assured Elizabeth that a ruined life was exactly what Georgiana would have with him as her husband.

“She made her bed,” Miss Muir said. “She should lie in it.”

“Phoebe Marie Muir,” Mrs. Muir said. “Just because you haven’t made any terrible mistakes in your life, doesn’t permit you to be intolerant of those who have. Miss Georgiana made a mistake and is courageously trying to correct it. Have some pity.”

“Why? No one else here has made such an abysmal error,” Miss Muir said, her temper rising. “Neither my wedding preparations nor Miss Elizabeth’s reputation should have to suffer for what Miss Georgiana has done.”

“Lower your voice, dear,” Mrs. Muir said, her tone mild again. “And don’t be so sure of yourself. Everyone makes mistakes.” She and Mr. Muir exchanged a look of wry amusement.

“Well, I haven’t, and Miss Elizabeth hasn’t.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Muir raised her eyebrows. “I seem to recall a girl of fourteen who kissed one of the stable boys.”

Miss Muir’s eyes widened, her face turning red. “I didn’t think you knew.”

Mr. Muir snorted. “Knew, and found him another position, far from you, girl.”

Georgiana didn’t look up, but Elizabeth thought she saw a slight smile in her lips.

“I truly could remain here,” Elizabeth said. “The innkeeper seems helpful, and the establishment pleasant and well kept. I suspect arrangements could be made. I’ll write my father and Uncle Gardiner. One of them will come for me.”

“Oh no, dear, that wouldn’t be right,” Mrs. Muir said. “We promised we would take care of you.”

“Suppose I promise to disappear for a few hours tomorrow?” Elizabeth said. “With Miss Muir’s rigorous schedule, you would have to leave without me, in which case you may as well take Miss Georgiana.”

Mr. Muir heaved a sigh. “I suppose we must delay the wedding. I can write to your betrothed and explain what’s happened, Phoebe.”

“But Papa, you know that won’t work,” Miss Muir wailed. “Uncle Muir made arrangements for someone to take over his business so he can attend the wedding. He couldn’t change the day. And Aunt Silvia is returning home with a group of three carriages, since her recent experience frightened her.”

Mr. and Mrs. Muir exchanged a glance.

“You are right. Changing the day would inconvenience many people,” Mr. Muir said.

“Please, Miss Muir is correct,” Georgiana said. “I created this difficulty for myself. I won’t permit it to interfere with her wedding.”

Miss Muir’s triumphant look only doubled Elizabeth’s resolve to help Georgiana. “I will remain so Miss Georgiana may travel with you. That’s all there is to it. If you don’t agree, I’ll simply hide until you leave with her.”

Mr. Muir studied Elizabeth’s set features. Finally, he nodded. “Buchanan,” he called again.

The innkeeper hurried over. “Yes, Mr. Muir?”

“We’re going to leave Miss Bennet behind when we go tomorrow morning. Her family will be coming for her. I know it’s too late to place her this evening, but is there a family we could leave her with, where her reputation will be safe?”

Mr. Buchanan frowned, his gaze going around the table. “I don’t mean to pry, Mr. Muir, but that’s a fairly large request. May I inquire why you would leave Miss Bennet behind? Has she committed a transgression?”

“Heavens no,” Mrs. Muir said, looking startled. “Miss Bennet is a sweet girl. We’ve nothing but good to say about her.”

“It’s my fault,” Georgiana said, her features showing resolve. “I let Mr. Wickham talk me into eloping, only now I realize it was a terrible mistake. I can’t keep him from taking me to Scotland and marrying me. He won’t listen to a word I say, and I’ve no money, and no one to turn to, except Miss Elizabeth. She offered to stay so the Muirs can take me away from him, and you must help, please. Don’t make me marry that man.” Her resolve crumbled, tears overtaking her.

Mr. Buchanan stared down at Georgiana, looking both startled and concerned.

“You see, the Muirs need the room in their carriage,” Elizabeth clarified, putting an arm about Georgiana. “So, they may take Miss Georgiana. I mean to remain behind to give her my place, and send for my family to retrieve me. It might not be too bad, if the trip could be done in a day, but it can’t.”

“I see,” Mr. Buchanan said. He rocked back on his heels, looking a bit bereft. “Let me ask my wife.”

Elizabeth would have detained him, not wanting news of Georgiana’s circumstance spread, but he hurried away. In truth, she wouldn’t have admitted Georgiana had eloped at all. The girl’s lack of sense and willingness to trust people was endearing, but disheartening. Obviously, she’d lived a sheltered life and should not be out in the world.

They sat in an awkward silence, but the circumstance didn’t last long. Mr. Buchanan returned with a short, rosy-faced woman. “This is my wife, Mrs. Buchanan.”

“Mr. Buchanan told me what this is about,” she said. “That Mr. Wickham, is it, trying to take advantage of this poor girl?” She gestured to Georgiana, who was looking down again. “I can’t say I like him. Not from the moment I spied him through the kitchen door. He’s a scoundrel if ever there was one. Written all over his face, it is.”

“So, you know a place I may stay?” Elizabeth asked.

Mrs. Buchanan shook her head. “Can’t say as I do.”

“What about the Davies?” Mr. Buchanan said.

“Once they learn why Miss Bennet remained, they’ll turn her out. They’re very straight-laced and won’t participate in stopping a marriage. From their point of view, Miss Georgiana’s made her decision and must live by it.”

Miss Muir gave a sniff, shooting the rest of them a triumphant look.

Georgiana sniffed too, but to hold back more tears.

Mrs. Buchanan shook her head. “I’m sorry to say it, but anyone I can think of with room doesn’t have a proper chaperone, or has that sickness that’s been going around, or, well, wouldn’t agree to it. She’ll have to stay here and share a bed with Jenny.”

“Jenny?” Elizabeth asked.

“Our daughter. She’s thirteen. Ever since her sisters married and moved away, we let her have a lock on the door. Some so-called gentlemen don’t believe a girl when she says no. You can’t stay alone in one of the guest rooms, Miss Bennet. I can’t think of anyone to hire as a chaperone for you. Even if I could, it’s not good for your reputation, an inn room.”

Mr. Buchanan was nodding along with his wife’s words. His face brightened. “If you play the pianoforte for two or three hours every evening, we won’t charge you for staying with Jenny.”

Elizabeth hadn’t expected she would have to pay to share a bed with their daughter. Suddenly, she hoped she could afford to remain until her father or uncle arrived.

“We won’t charge you for the room and we’ll provide breakfast,” Mrs. Buchanan said with greater generosity, likely reading the worry on Elizabeth’s face.

Mr. and Mrs. Muir exchanged a glance.

“Let me examine the room,” Mrs. Muir said, standing.

“This way.” Mrs. Buchanan led Mrs. Muir away.

“Buchanan, a word,” Mr. Muir said, getting up. “Promised my friend Gardiner to look after his niece. Promised her father, too.”

The innkeeper nodded. The two men retreated to the bar to speak in low voices.

Miss Muir leaned across the table toward Elizabeth. “You really mean to do this?” she whispered.

Georgiana looked back and forth between them, her eyes wide.

Chapter Four – Elopement Foiled

Elizabeth reached out and patted Georgiana’s tightly clasped hands reassuringly. “Yes, I really mean to do this.”

“You don’t even know her,” said Miss Muir.

Georgiana’s cheeks colored.

“I know enough about her, and Mr. Wickham, to see Georgiana shouldn’t bind herself to that man for the remainder of her days,” Elizabeth said firmly.

Miss Muir stared at her for a long moment. Finally, she shrugged. “Well, if you’re going to attempt this, you may want to consider how she’ll manage to sneak out of her room come morning.”

Georgiana looked up, startled. Panic formed in her eyes. She turned to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth frowned. “Is Mr. Wickham a heavy sleeper?”

“She shouldn’t admit to knowing that,” Miss Muir hissed. “It implies she’s done more than just run off with him.”

Georgiana’s face turned a deep red. Miss Muir gave her a disgusted look.

“Is he a heavy sleeper?” Elizabeth repeated.

“Yes. Especially . . . that is, he’ll be well into his cups, I imagine, by the time he returns.”

Elizabeth had expected as much. Few men gambled sober. “Then we shall remain here until after he’s gone to sleep.” She turned to Miss Muir. “Georgiana won’t go to the room, so she won’t need to sneak out. After he goes up, she can go to your room, and I will go to Jenny’s.”

Miss Muir shrugged, giving Georgiana a flat look. “I suppose that’s fine. Even if my parents wish to go to sleep, we’ll be safe enough here.” She gestured to the room.

Elizabeth hadn’t noticed, but most of the patrons had left during their discussion, leaving the room nearly empty. There was only Buchanan and Mr. Muir near the bar, and the two gentlemen playing backgammon on the other side of the room.

“If that’s the plan, we should find some way to pass the time,” Elizabeth said. Her eyes fell on the pianoforte. “I may as well practice while there are few people about to be annoyed by my attempts.”

Georgiana looked back and forth between Elizabeth and Miss Muir. “If I might use some drawing supplies, I could draw you, Miss Elizabeth?” Her tone was tentative.

“So long as you don’t mind if I play while you do so.” Elizabeth looked to Miss Muir, who must be the source as Elizabeth didn’t draw.

“Yes, I’ll fetch some,” Miss Muir said, standing. She looked down at Georgiana and sighed. “You better come with me. Before that Mr. Wickham returns, you’ll want to pack your things and put them by the door. I’m sure we can slip them out quietly enough come morning. Removing them now would give even a drunkard pause.”

“Yes, thank you.” Georgiana cast Elizabeth a worried look and followed Miss Muir away.

Elizabeth returned to the pianoforte to practice, sorting the pieces by difficulty and selecting some that she could sing to while she played. She knew her voice was on par with her playing, inoffensive but nothing to heap praises on. She hoped, and assumed, her efforts would be acceptable for the few evenings she would be at the inn.

Miss Muir and Georgiana returned a short time later with drawing supplies, and both sat nearby to draw Elizabeth. When Mrs. Muir returned, she reported Jenny and her room suitable. Bidding the three young women goodnight, the elder Muirs went to bed.

Mrs. Buchanan went to bed, but Mr. Buchanan and the two backgammon players stayed. Elizabeth was getting tired and began making more and more mistakes in her playing. Eventually, Mr. Wickham came back. Georgiana, who’d been engrossed in her drawing, shrank back when he leaned over her, swaying on his feet.

“Good news, Sweetie,” he said. “I won tonight. I’m four shillings ahead. Come to bed. We can celebrate.”

She cringed and shook her head.

“All right. We’ll celebrate tomorrow, when we’re married. You won’t be able to say no then.” He gave her a leer and left the room.

The three of them remained in the common room for a short while longer. By the time they went up, Elizabeth felt asleep on her feet. She quickly packed up the few belongings she had unpacked. Georgiana helped her carry them to Jenny’s room, both tiptoeing down the hall as silently as they could. A sleep-befuddled Jenny unlocked her room to let them carry the case in. When that was done, Elizabeth walked Georgiana back to Miss Muir’s room.

Georgiana paused outside the door, turning to Elizabeth. “I don’t know how to ever thank you,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to. Anyone can see you can’t be with him.” Elizabeth wondered if she would ever see Georgiana without tears streaming down her cheeks, or ever again, for that matter.

The tall girl flung her arms around Elizabeth. “I wish you were my sister.”

Elizabeth hugged her back. It was a lot like hugging Lydia, who was tall and slender, like Georgiana. “You remind me of mine, in a way. Sleep well, and good luck with your brother.”

“Thank you.” After another squeeze, Georgiana stepped into the room. She didn’t shut the door, waiting while Elizabeth walked away and slipped into Jenny’s. With a last exchange of smile, they both closed the doors to their room. Elizabeth turned the key in the lock, slipped into her nightgown, and crawled into bed beside Jenny. She was so tired, she immediately fell asleep.

A soft knock on the room’s door woke her. She looked around in the dim predawn light. She could make out the blinking form of a girl beside her and remembered she was in Jenny’s room, in the Sleeping Cat Inn. Her trunk sat near the door. The knock sounded again.

Elizabeth slipped from the bed and crossed to the door. “Who is it?”

“Mrs. Muir,” came the quiet reply.

Elizabeth cracked the door open.

Mrs. Muir looked slightly wan in the gray morning light, as if she hadn’t slept well. “We’re leaving now, dear. It isn’t too late to change your mind. Miss Georgiana got into this predicament herself. No one will think badly of you if you come with us.”

“No one except myself,” Elizabeth said.

“You realize you might do irreparable harm to your own reputation?”

Elizabeth did, and she could also already hear her mother’s lamenting. She hoped her father and Jane, though, would understand that she had to help. “I can’t imagine anyone being married to that man, let alone a gentle soul like Georgiana,” Elizabeth said. “I believe I’m doing the right thing.”

Mrs. Muir nodded. “So do I, or we wouldn’t be letting you do it. I hope you don’t have occasion to regret it, dear, I really do.” She gave a little shake of her head, looking sadder than Elizabeth would have thought her jolly face could. “Good bye, Miss Bennet.”

“Good bye, Mrs. Muir.” Elizabeth closed the door softly and climbed back into the bed. Jenny had already rolled over and returned to sleep.

Elizabeth would like to sleep, but found she couldn’t. Mrs. Muir’s sorrowful expression haunted her. Looking at the woman’s face, one might believe someone had died.

Elizabeth sighed. Not someone, but something. Her reputation. It very well might suffer irreparable harm from what she was doing.

Unanswered questions swirled in Elizabeth’s head. How long would it be before her father or Uncle Gardiner came to fetch her? She would write them today and send the letters on the midday posts, using some of her scant coin to buy paper and ink. They would have to get the letters and make arrangements. There would be expenses involved. Would her father be angry, or would he understand? How many days at the inn could her reputation survive?

She reminded herself sternly that she was doing the right thing. A ruined reputation would make it more difficult for Elizabeth to marry, yes, but what was difficulty in finding a gentleman compared to an innocent girl, hardly more than a child, being bound to the likes of Mr. Wickham for life? Besides, Elizabeth had yet to meet any man she would consider and had begun to feel she never would. It was likely she wasn’t giving up anything at all, for she was destined to be a spinster.

She turned on her side, but more questions bubbled up in her mind, preventing sleep. Would Georgiana make it home safely? How would her brother, this Fitzwilliam, treat her? Would Georgiana have a good life, or would Fitzwilliam truly lock her away? Worse, would she repeat her mistake, making Elizabeth’s sacrifice meaningless?

Elizabeth didn’t realize she’d managed to fall back to sleep until she woke to the sound of a man cursing and shouting. It didn’t take her long to realize it was Mr. Wickham. From the sound of it, he was stomping up and down the hall, trying doors and haranguing people.

Elizabeth stayed in Jenny’s room, silently thanking the innkeeper and his wife for putting a lock on their daughter’s door, especially when it rattled as Mr. Wickham attempted to open it. Beside her, Jenny sat up to glower at the door. When he moved on, she climbed over Elizabeth and went to the window, peering out. In the hall, Mr. Buchanan’s voice rose in anger. A door slammed. Silence fell.

“We’d best ready for the day,” Jenny said, though the look she cast the hall door was leery. “I eat in the kitchen, so I think you must as well. I’m supposed to keep you with me.”

Elizabeth nodded. She would prefer to be in the kitchen, out of sight of Mr. Wickham. She got up and dressed.

In the kitchen, a hot, stuffy room in the back of the inn, Mrs. Buchanan served Elizabeth a hearty meal, claiming it was her free breakfast. Elizabeth was grateful, for she would have little coin left after sending her letters. If she ate so well every morning, she would be able to make do with a little bread for the rest of the day.

After breakfast, Jenny started scrubbing pots while her mother cooked and her father served the guests. Elizabeth offered to help Jenny, feeling she could hardly sit at the table and watch the others work. Her offer was accepted. Once the pots were done, dishes began coming back. After that, there were vegetables to slice to ready for the midday and evening meals.

The only break from kitchen work Elizabeth took was to write and post her letters, Jenny obviously happy that the excuse of escorting Elizabeth gave her a break as well. It wasn’t until evening, when it was time for Elizabeth to play, that she entered the common area of the inn. To her relief, she didn’t see Mr. Wickham anywhere.

The next several days kept Elizabeth busy. When she sang and played in the evening, Mr. Buchanan told people she was singing for her supper. She rather thought she was singing for her breakfast, but didn’t contradict him. He placed a cup near the pianoforte and a few small coins found their way there. At the end of each evening, Mr. Buchanan took the coins and removed one or two, but gave her the remainder. He would then serve her a light supper, which he said the coins paid for.

Although scrubbing and chopping were tedious work, Elizabeth soon came to enjoy her time in the kitchen with Jenny and Mrs. Buchanan, who were both cheerful workers. On the first day, she leaned they had a son, who was fifteen and helped his father about the inn. On the second, she learned Jenny and her brother had two older sisters, both married to men they’d met at the inn.

“I never stopped to think about it,” Elizabeth said, looking up from chopping. “If a girl lives and works in an inn, and finds a suitor among the patrons, it’s quite likely she shall move away, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Buchanan let out a gusty sigh. “It is at that. All the fellows are only passing through, as it were.”

“There are men in town,” Jenny said. She made a face. “A few.”

“Aye, but most of them work at the Red Lion. Can’t have my daughters marrying the competition, now can I?” Mrs. Buchanan’s tone was amused enough that Elizabeth felt her words were in jest.

“So you plan to leave too, Jenny?” Elizabeth asked.

“Well, I don’t plan to marry any of them from over at the Red Lion, I can tell you that. Tommy Piper always pulls my hair, and his little brother spits. No one wants to marry a spitter.”

Over the girl’s head, bent to her work, Elizabeth exchanged an amused look with Mrs. Buchanan.

Mrs. Buchanan’s smile fell and she shook her head sorrowfully. “I don’t object to my girls marrying well, of course not, but I’m sorry they live so far.”

“I wasn’t sorry when Martha left,” Jenny said. “The bed was too crowded with three of us. I cried, though, when Lucy went, because then I was all alone.” She brightened. “But now you’re here, Miss Elizabeth, and you chop better than Martha did.”

“But not better than Lucy?” Elizabeth asked, amused.

“That bed was plenty big enough for three girls,” Mrs. Buchanan interjected.

“It does seem that way,” Elizabeth agreed, for she and Jenny together had more than enough room.

“Maybe three thin girls,” Jenny said. “But Martha was not thin,” she added in a whisper to Elizabeth.

Although Elizabeth had hoped to keep Georgiana’s abortive elopement somewhat secret, it soon became apparent that everyone in the town knew why Elizabeth had stayed on at the inn. It was also obvious that Mr. Wickham was rapidly making a nuisance of himself, offending nearly everyone, and racking up debts. Elizabeth didn’t know if he was staying on in the town because he hoped to learn something or because he had nowhere to go, but she felt safer every day. It was obvious that if he discovered her role, any attempt at retribution would be met by resistance from the townspeople.

In fact, Elizabeth found herself half-adopted by the locals. She played for hours in the evenings and worked or practiced all day. The two backgammon players, Mr. Gregory and Mr. Matthews, were the rector of the parish and a local landowner, who was also the magistrate. They were both widowers without children. They came to the inn regularly. It soon became apparent that they especially, along with Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan, considered Elizabeth their joint responsibility.

Elizabeth collapsed into bed every night, utterly exhausted, wondering how long it would be before her father or uncle came for her. If they didn’t write or appear, should she use the few coins she was earning to write again, or try to make the journey herself? According to her calculations, it would be months before she could earn enough money to attempt the journey. She chided herself for such thoughts. Soon enough, someone would come for her.

Chapter Five – Rescue Arranged

Mr. Bennet sat at his desk in his library, sipping a glass of sherry from his private bottle, the one he kept hidden from his wife. His latest acquisition, a newly drawn map of the world, was spread out before him, taking up the entire desk. Books weighed down two corners, a letter opener the third and a bottle of ink the fourth. He was attempting to trace the route taken in Anabasis. He had the book itself open as well, so he might scour it for details. His knowledge of the classical Greek language was not sufficient for him to read it as fast as he read English, but it was fast enough so it was a pleasure, not a chore.

He smiled, perfectly content. This was the happiest time of day, when his wife and daughters left him in peace and he could indulge his mind, something impossible with any of them underfoot. He did miss Elizabeth, since she had not yet returned from visiting his sister Beth. He could have taken Elizabeth, and Jane too for that matter, and visited Beth himself. But then he could not afford to indulge himself by buying as many books, maps, or good quality bottles of sherry.

Mr. Bennet shook his head. He wrote to Beth quarterly. That was enough.

The crossing of deserts and snowy mountain passes by an army without a country or purpose was an enjoyable topic to read about from a comfortable chair in his own library, with a glass of sherry and a small fire to hold off the slight summer chill. To actually travel, however, was never as agreeable as reading about it. Actual travel came with real troubles, and Mr. Bennet had enough trouble bearing the company of Mrs. Bennet and their three silly daughters. He didn’t like to invite more by leaving Hertfordshire unnecessarily.

A polite knock caused him to look up. He wasn’t perturbed by the interruption. It was obvious from the lack of wailing or pounding it was either a servant or Jane, not Mrs. Bennet, Mary, Kitty or Lydia. “Come,” Mr. Bennet called, his eyes on his map.

A footman entered, deposited a letter on the desk and left again. Mr. Bennet recognized Elizabeth’s handwriting immediately. He didn’t open the letter, pushing it out of the path of Xenophon’s army. He enjoyed hearing from Elizabeth, and missed her, but he’d had a letter from her a few days ago detailing the projected stages of her return. She couldn’t possibly have anything new or interesting to say. After all, at this point she should be several days on the road, spent watching the scenery and avoiding the Muirs’ tendency toward gossip and talk of meals, reported in her letter sent home upon arriving at Beth’s.

No, there couldn’t possibly be any real reason to write. Nothing of interest at all . . . Mr. Bennet’s eyes snapped to the envelope, his favorite daughter’s handwriting so clear upon it. At least, there shouldn’t be any reason to write, and Elizabeth wasn’t frivolous. A tentacle of worry snaked through him, winding like Xenophon’s path around the northeastern Mediterranean.

He took up the letter and opened it. It was filled with reassurances, but the long and short of it was that Elizabeth had deliberately remained behind at an inn to the north, just outside of Scotland. She’d given up her seat to a girl they’d found stranded there, though she didn’t give details as to why. She’d gotten the Muirs to agree to this, somehow, and was now staying in an inn called the Sleeping Cat under the protection of the innkeeper, his wife, and their thirteen-year-old daughter. She’d written to Mr. Gardiner as well and hoped either he or Mr. Bennet would come for her.

Mr. Bennet dropped the letter to his desk. He rubbed at his forehead, feeling a throbbing there. It wasn’t like Elizabeth to be troublesome, and this was troublesome indeed. It involved travel, finance, and, worst of all, telling Mrs. Bennet why he must take their carriage and leave.

Mr. Bennet downed the remaining sherry in his glass. It was best to get the latter done and over with. Taking the letter, he marched into the parlor where his wife and four other daughters congregated, engaged in various tasks. He walked over to Jane, the only sensible one, and handed her the letter.

“Elizabeth is stranded in a roadside inn,” Mr. Bennet said.

“What?” Mrs. Bennet’s wail was immediate, and piercing. “Stranded? Why? How?”

“She says here it was her choice,” Jane said, looking up from the letter. She passed it to Mary.

“The Muirs left her at an inn?” Mrs. Bennet cried. “How could they? I never liked them. Not from the moment I set eyes on them. It’s obvious all they care about is their next meal, not my Lizzy.”

“Her letter does not say why she remained, other than to give her seat to someone who was stranded.” Mr. Bennet tried to keep his own tone reasonable.

“Why does Lizzy get to have all the fun?” Lydia said. “I wish I could be stranded at a roadside inn. Imagine all the gentlemen who must pass through.”

“No, oh no,” Mrs. Bennet wailed. “She’ll be ruined. How can she be properly chaperoned at an inn, with all those gentlemen passing through? She doesn’t have anyone to help her maintain her respectability.” She turned a glare on Mr. Bennet. “I told you not to send her to your sister. No good could come of it. That’s what I said. No one listens to me.”

Mr. Bennet exchanged a look with Jane. He was sure Jane also remembered that Mrs. Bennet had encouraged the trip. Insisted on it, in fact, saying Elizabeth might have the opportunity to meet an eligible man in Scotland, since she’d put off every potential suitor in Hertfordshire with her aggravating, headstrong ways.

“She does say she remained of her own free will,” Mary said. She frowned down at the letter. “It’s not very good of her. I’m surprised Elizabeth would be so irresponsible.”

Lydia took the letter from Mary, holding it out for her and Kitty to read. “It’s not fair. I never get to have any fun,” she said.

“Yes, we never get to have any fun,” Kitty echoed.

“And what about my poor Lydia?” Mrs. Bennet said. “Elizabeth’s disgrace will make it impossible for her to marry, or for Jane to. None of them will ever find wealthy husbands with such a scandal in the family.” Her glare darkened to a glower, which she turned on Mr. Bennet. “You let her run wild, traipsing all over the countryside. It is your fault that it’s come to this.”

“Yes, I was sure it would be,” Mr. Bennet said.

“Well, why are you standing there? You must go get her. Every moment your daughter remains in that inn makes it that much more difficult for Jane and Lydia to marry.”

“And me, Mama,” Kitty said.

“I’m afraid there’s no hope for you and Mary now, Kitty. Only Lydia is pretty enough to attract a gentleman in spite of what Elizabeth has done to you all, and only Jane is sweet tempered enough. With your cough, you’ve no hope at all.”

Kitty’s face crumpled as she began to cry. Mary rolled her eyes, taking the letter back from Lydia, who preened. Jane, of course, had a slight frown on an otherwise smooth face, as if rational thought went on inside her head.

Mrs. Bennet continued her rant, but Mr. Bennet stopped paying attention as his mind turned to what must be done. He’d informed her, as was his duty. There was only one last hardship to endure before he could quit the room. “I’ll be taking the carriage,” he said, breaking into some nonsense about Elizabeth being too well read for any worthwhile gentleman to take her.

“The carriage?” Mrs. Bennet stopped babbling to look at him in shock. “But, how long will you be away?”

“Quite some time, I imagine. Over a week.” He resisted the urge to quote a greater absence in order to torment her. He liked to think, in spite of the way she elected to express herself, that Mrs. Bennet’s concern for Elizabeth was real. It therefore behooved him to be kind.

“A week without a carriage? A week?” Her voice went up several octaves.

“A week, Papa?” Lydia cried.

“Oh, but Papa, a whole week?” Kitty sobbed?

“I can’t believe the two of you would begrudge Elizabeth the carriage,” Mary said to her sisters, quite prim.

“Elizabeth did this on purpose, that vindictive girl,” Mrs. Bennet said. “She planned this. She knows how much we need the carriage. Why, Jane wrote to her of the events we’re to attend. Lizzy obviously did this to punish Lydia for being prettier. That mean spirited, headstrong--”

Mr. Bennet left the room. He had much to do if he was going to leave before it grew too near dark. He went back to his library and firmly closed the door. Rolling up his new map, he unrolled a more worn one, a map of England.

There were decisions to be made about which servants to bring and what could be done on the farm in his absence. He would use his own horses until he could change them. Then he would rely on post horses. It would be expensive, but if Mrs. Bennet had anything right, it was that the more time Elizabeth remained at the inn, the worse off they would all be. He called in servants and began relaying instructions, both to prepare for the journey and on what to do in his absence. He was nearly ready to go when Jane slipped into the library. She waited until he dismissed a footman with instructions to one of his tenants before stepping up to stand before his desk.

“I want to go with you,” she said, preempting his words.

“I can’t wait for you to get ready,” he said crisply.

“I’m packed and dressed for the journey.”

He looked at her, having hardly noticed before what she was wearing. He wasn’t certain where she obtained the ugly brown dress she had on, but it was a sensible one to wear on the trip. “I need you here. There has to be someone with common sense in this house.”

“Mary is more sensible than you give her credit for, Papa. A plain face can still house a worthy mind.” Jane’s tone was sharp.

Mr. Bennet blinked. Jane was never sharp. Furthermore, her reprimand stung slightly with its truth. He did look on Mary and see only mediocrity and it was in large part because of her outward appearance.

Jane’s expression softened. “I’ve given Mary detailed instructions on how to manage here without us, and how to manage Mama, Kitty and Lydia. She knows what she needs to do. I also wrote a letter to send to Uncle Gardiner.” She handed him a letter.

Mr. Bennet realized in his rush, he hadn’t informed his wife’s brother of what he was doing. Since Elizabeth’s letter said she was also writing her uncle, it was important to let Mr. Gardiner know Mr. Bennet was on his way to retrieve her. There was no reason for both of them to make the journey north.

Mr. Bennet flipped open Jane’s letter. In addition to telling Mr. Gardiner where he and Jane were going, she suggested it would be helpful for Mrs. Gardiner to come to Longbourn. Jane didn’t say Mrs. Gardiner would be needed to bring some common sense into the house, but it was true. Mr. Bennet forwent pointing out that requesting Mrs. Gardiner belied Jane’s words of faith in Mary.

Mr. Bennet folded the letter, which already proclaimed Jane was going with him, and scrutinized his eldest daughter. Jane rarely demanded anything. “Why are you needed with me, not here?”

Jane sighed. “I’m worried about Elizabeth. I know she wrote that remaining was her idea, and I’m sure the details about this individual who needed her space in the carriage will prove to be convincing, but I’m worried about her, Papa. She’s brave, and bold. Perhaps too much so. I’m worried what state we may find her in and that, well . . .” She looked down for a long moment before meeting his eyes again. “If any ill has befallen her while residing at this inn, with only strangers to look after her, she might need me there. I don’t even want to permit myself to think what might happen that you couldn’t mitigate, but I very much feel I should go.”

Jane’s fears echoed Mr. Bennet’s concern. No matter how many reassurances were in the letter, Elizabeth was staying at a roadside inn with only strangers to protect her. They might be kind people, even good people, but they had little motivation to care for her. “You may come, but we’re leaving now.”

He headed for the front parlor, curious if Jane truly was ready. She followed him, staying in the hall when he stopped in the doorway. Mrs. Bennet reclined on a sofa with a handkerchief over her face, issuing a cacophony of wails and moans. Kitty and Lydia sat together on the couch across from her, sorting ribbon. Mary was nowhere to be seen.

“Jane and I are off,” he said, cutting into the caterwauling.

Mrs. Bennet let out a loud sigh. “And now you’re taking Jane from me. What shall I do? How will I manage?” she asked from under the kerchief.

“Jane gets to go?” Lydia cried, looking up from her ribbons.

“Why does Jane get to go, Papa?” Kitty asked.

“Lizzy and Jane have all the fun,” Lydia said, her mouth forming into a pout.

“We’ll send word when we reach her.” Mr. Bennet turned and walked out, pausing only to gather his coat, gloves and hat.

Jane followed suit, asking one of the footmen to take her trunk out.

He climbed into the carriage, Jane behind him. She carried a basket which, if his nose was any judge, contained provisions for the journey. Mr. Bennet was pleased she’d thought of it, for he hadn’t. He could hear the footman fixing her small trunk to the outside of the carriage. Within moments, they set out.

Chapter Six – Challenge Issued

Elizabeth sat down at the pianoforte, attempting to hide her grimace. She’d come to loathe the sight of the sturdy little instrument and the conundrum it presented. Her playing wasn’t quite up to the standards of some of the patrons, yet she was never permitted to play a piece more than twice in a row before someone would call out for change. How they expected her to improve while constantly switching music she didn’t know, but they obviously did. The few coins she got each evening to pay for her dinner hardly seemed enough compensation for her troubles. The only bright side was that she hadn’t seen Mr. Wickham about in a couple days.

She opened the pianoforte, staring down at the keys. If only she could practice during the day, but there was no time. She helped Jenny clean the guest rooms and the common room, and bring in firewood. They chopped and scrubbed in the kitchen, and boiled water to wash linens. Elizabeth had no notion how Jenny usually accomplished it all on her own, for the work was endless. That afternoon was the earliest Elizabeth had managed to get to the pianoforte since arriving. She’d hoped to find the common room empty so she could practice, but that hope went unrealized. Still, there was only one table of regulars at a late midday meal, and the nearly constant presence of Mr. Gregory, Mr. Matthews and their backgammon board.

Elizabeth organized her sheet music. With the help of Mr. Buchanan, whose knowledge of the roads was surprising for a man who never actually traveled on them, Elizabeth estimated the earliest day she could reasonably expect her father or uncle was tomorrow. She refused to console herself by thinking there was only one more night. There were dozens of possibilities that might make either’s journey take longer. She could be stuck there playing for days more.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” a voice hissed.

Elizabeth turned to find Mr. Wickham looming over her. He stood between her and the bar, cutting off the reassuring view of Mr. Buchanan. She slid to the other end of the bench and stood, trying to keep the low seat between her and Mr. Wickham. She didn’t care for the smell of liquor on his breath or the hateful glint in his blue eyes.

“I’m afraid your question lacks detail, sir, making me disinclined to answer it,” she said, a quick glance assuring her Mr. Buchanan was on hand and watching.

“Don’t be coy with me. It was you who got Georgiana out of here. She went with those people you were with.” He circled the bench, crowding her against the pianoforte.

Elizabeth didn’t reply. She edged along the pianoforte toward the bar.

Mr. Wickham waved in that direction. “The innkeeper said an expensive carriage came and took Georgiana away. He said there were four horses and it was too dark for details.” Wickham shot a glare in Mr. Buchanan’s direction. “No one else saw the carriage, but they did see that family you came in with in the company of a tall girl wearing expensive looking clothes. I tracked them down. They stopped to rest their horses in the next town south.”

That was how the Muirs traveled, not wanting the expense of post horses. Elizabeth wished they’d pressed on, just this once. At least the mystery of where Mr. Wickham had gotten to was resolved, though she wished he’d simply left for good, not been out investigating. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with the Muirs or what they are or aren’t doing.”

She took another step, nearly free of the pianoforte and its bench. She would feel safer over by the bar, with Mr. Buchanan beside her. Mr. Wickham glared at her through narrow eyes.

His gaze slid past her, toward the entrance. His eyes flew wide. Elizabeth turned to see what attracted his attention. He struck her, hitting the side of her head. She was flung against the pianoforte, crashing into it with nearly as much force as his blow. Men’s voices rose in surprise and anger.

“You’ve ruined my life,” Mr. Wickham yelled. “In a few more hours, I would have had thirty thousand pounds and my revenge.” He raised his hand to strike again. “You little chit, you…”

“Have my gratitude,” said a deep baritone voice. A large hand fastened around Mr. Wickham’s arm as he swung at Elizabeth a second time. Mr. Wickham was wrenched back, away from her.

Elizabeth blinked rapidly, stunned, taking in a tall stranger. She pushed herself upright, unsure which hurt more, her head or her ribs. Mr. Wickham pulled away from the stranger. To her shock, he lunged toward her again, hand raised. This time, the stranger stepped into Mr. Wickham’s path. He didn’t restrain Wickham again. Instead, he cocked his arm. His fist connected with Mr. Wickham’s face.

Mr. Wickham stumbled backward, careening away from Elizabeth. Mr. Buchanan, Mr. Gregory and Mr. Matthews were all there, surrounding her. Some of the other regulars got between Mr. Wickham and the tall stranger, who glared at Wickham with eyes that promised murder.

Elizabeth brought tentative fingers to her head, grimacing. She was lucky she’d turned to look when she had, or Mr. Wickham would have hit her full in the face. All about her, the men of the town were shouting, some for calm, some in anger.

Mr. Wickham shrugged free of the two regulars on either side of him. He rubbed his jaw. “I accept your challenge,” he said to the tall man. Wickham spat on the inn floor, his saliva tinted red. “It’s customary to deliver just a slap. I think you loosened a tooth.”

“You’re not worthy of a challenge,” the man said, his deep voice like a winter frost. “I was protecting the lady.”

“Lady.” Mr. Wickham aimed a sneer at Elizabeth. “I don’t see any lady, only a tavern whore.”

That elicited a babble of outrage from the gathered men.

“You retract that or I’ll challenge you,” Mr. Buchanan said, loudest of the lot.

“Why challenge him? Let’s take him outside and teach him a lesson,” another man yelled.

“Now, now,” Mr. Gregory called over the uproar.

The stranger cast a quelling look around the room. Elizabeth was surprised how quickly the other men stilled under his gaze. Finally, it came to rest on her. She realized she still had a hand to her head and dropped it to her side, feeling oddly nervous under the weight of that look. Something softened in his expression for a moment, hardening again when he turned to Mr. Wickham.

“There is no need for any of you to take action against Mr. Wickham,” the stranger said. “I shall meet him at the location and time of his choosing and dispense retribution for his transgressions.”

Still rubbing his jaw, Mr. Wickham smiled in satisfaction. “I pick now, with swords.”

“That isn’t how gentlemen conduct duels,” one of the men said.

“Gentlemen conduct duels in any way they agree to.” Mr. Wickham put an odd emphasis on the word gentlemen.

“You need seconds to discuss the details,” another of the regulars said.

“Why wait? Let this fellow take on Mr. Wickham, or I will. He struck Miss Bennet,” another of the townsmen said.

The stranger turned his assessing eyes on her once more. Elizabeth studied him. He was taller than any of the other men, with dark hair and brooding eyes. His countenance was exceedingly pleasing, his form upright and strong. Why Mr. Wickham wanted to pit himself against a man so assuredly his superior she didn’t know, but it was obvious he did. Elizabeth could only conclude that here was Miss Georgiana’s brother, Fitzwilliam, and the ill-will between him and Mr. Wickham ran deep.

“Sir, do you have a second you can call?” Mr. Buchanan asked Georgiana’s brother.

“I do not.” He turned a look of distaste on Mr. Wickham. “Neither of us has anyone here to be our second, I imagine. I, because my friends aren’t near, and you because you have no friends.”

Mr. Wickham scowled. “After saying that, you can’t deny me satisfaction. We settle this now. We should be able to find seconds here.”

“Sir,” Mr. Buchanan said to Georgiana’s brother. “I am not a gentleman, but I would be pleased to be a second for the man who protected Miss Bennet.”

“And I will second Mr. Wickham,” Mr. Gregory said. Everyone looked at him in surprise. “Being a clergyman, I feel I can best do the chief duty of a second: try to talk some sense into his head.” He turned to Mr. Wickham. “You must see that you deserved to be struck for attacking Miss Bennet.”

“I concede no such thing. I will have satisfaction,” Mr. Wickham declared.

“Dueling is illegal,” Elizabeth said, turning to Mr. Matthews. As the local magistrate, it was his place to step in. Though Georgiana’s brother appeared formidable, Mr. Wickham knew him well and was obviously confident he would win a duel. On top of that, if word got out that Elizabeth had been fought over, people would assume the worst of her.

“The law can be very blind to duels,” Mr. Matthews said, aiming a glare at Mr. Wickham. Then he brightened. “In fact, I have a pair of swords that might serve.” He waved over a servant, sending the man for them.

Mr. Gregory drew Mr. Wickham off to the side, speaking rapidly to him. The other men began to disperse. Elizabeth touched her head again, finding the area tender.

Mr. Buchanan turned to Georgiana’s brother. “By your looks, you must be Miss Georgiana’s brother,” he said in a low voice. “She went south with a family named Muir. I’d hoped she was reunited with her family by now.”

“She has been,” he said.

“You should know she never gave her last name, sir. To preserve her reputation, we didn’t try to find out what it was,” Mr. Buchanan said. “I feel it will be impossible to keep this duel or your identity a secret, but if you do not choose to proclaim yourself Miss Georgiana’s relation, to protect her last name from being spread, I can assure you I will never make mention of it again.”

“That would be well done of you, Mister?”

“Buchanan.” Mr. Buchanan stood up straighter under the stranger’s praise.

The man nodded. “Georgiana spoke of your kind assistance as well. While I shall not proclaim myself her brother, I am Mr. Darcy. You may refer to me as such. I doubt Wickham will forgo the use of my name. I can only hope he will not publicly connect me to Georgiana.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Darcy, and to learn Miss Georgiana is safe.”

“How is she?” Elizabeth asked. “I’ve been worrying about her.”

“She’s been worrying about you,” Mr. Darcy said, his expression once again warming as he turned to her. “She is contrite and unhappy, but well, thanks to you.”

“You know who I am?” Elizabeth asked.

“I feel it is obvious, but I also have Georgiana’s drawing of you to go by. She is very skilled. She captured you nearly to perfection.” He turned to Mr. Buchanan. “May I have writing materials? I should like to put my affairs in order, in case the worst comes to pass.”

“Yes, yes of course.” Mr. Buchanan hurried off.

Elizabeth stared at Mr. Darcy, disturbed by his request. He didn’t seem worried, but his practical measure of calling for pen, ink and pages redoubled her fear of him being injured or killed. “Is this truly worth it? From what I know, Mr. Wickham isn’t even a gentleman. You don’t have to duel him.” And further malign her reputation in the process.

The look Mr. Darcy turned toward Mr. Wickham was implacable. “He eloped with my sister,” he said in a low voice only Elizabeth could hear. “And he struck you. His actions are unforgivable.”

Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. He was correct, of course, and there was no way for Mr. Darcy to back out of the duel now without bringing shame on himself. He’d struck Mr. Wickham, and agreed to the duel. She supposed, if Mr. Darcy won, she would at least have the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Wickham punished for hitting her.

Still, Elizabeth was far from pleased. Had Mr. Darcy even considered her reputation? He was outwardly calm, but she could read the raw anger in his eyes. Perhaps Mr. Gregory was trying to talk reason into the wrong man, but it was too late now, and Mr. Darcy appeared in no state to listen. She cast a look Mr. Wickham’s way, finding him smug. Had he provoked Mr. Darcy into a duel for the purpose of further damaging her good name? Was it all part of Mr. Wickham’s revenge on her?

Mr. Buchanan returned with writing supplies, setting them out on a table. Mr. Darcy seated himself and prepared the pen. Unsure what else to do, Elizabeth took the chair opposite him. She sat straight, but her ribs hurt abominably where they’d collided with the pianoforte. She was sure they’d be black and blue by tomorrow.

Mr. Darcy looked up. “If I die, I would like to see you have money to cover the inconveniences you’ve suffered to help Georgiana. Could you spell your name and give me some identifying information so I may do so?”

“I can’t accept anything from you,” Elizabeth said, startled.

“You wouldn’t be accepting it from me, but from my estate.” He gave her a measured look. “Think of it as the last request of a dying man, for it will only matter if that turns out to be the case.”

She gave him the information. Her head ached. She felt dazed by the whole series of events, unable to think of a way to stop this additional damage to her reputation. It was obvious the anger Mr. Darcy held for Mr. Wickham ran too deep to be contained.

She sat quietly and watched as Mr. Darcy wrote out two copies of his instructions to see her compensated. She made no effort to read the words, unable to convince herself he would lose. He had three servants come in from his carriage to watch and had Mr. Buchanan, Mr. Matthews and Mr. Gregory witness the pages in writing. That done, Mr. Darcy sealed the codicils to his will. He handed one copy to Mr. Matthews and one to Elizabeth.

As she tucked the page away, Mr. Wickham sauntered up to the table. He had a large red mark on his jaw where Mr. Darcy’s fist had collided with it, but he was grinning. “Now that you’ve finished your bookkeeping, Darcy, let’s get to it before the light fades. I don’t want you to have any excuse.”

“I’m not looking for an excuse, George.” Mr. Darcy stood. “I’m looking forward to acquainting you with my outrage. For once, you will pay for your behavior.”

Chapter Seven – Duel Fought

Darcy didn’t expect to die, but if he did, he wanted to help Miss Bennet. He glanced toward where she’d tucked the page, wondering if he’d been generous enough. She certainly deserved every penny, and more. Few gentlewomen would have stepped in to rescue his sister, especially in peril of their own reputation. In truth, he didn’t believe he’d met another who possessed the combination of selflessness, intelligence and bravery required.

Luminous, worried eyes regarded him as she stood. Darcy had been traveling for several days, Georgiana’s drawing of Miss Bennet his constant companion as he sought for her to put things right. His sister had captured the beauty of Miss Bennet’s eyes, and the intelligence in their depths. She’d portrayed to perfection Miss Bennet’s elegant neck, bow-like lips and even, somehow, the faultlessness of her complexion.

What Georgiana hadn’t been able to transfer to the page was Miss Bennet’s spiritedness. Perhaps his sister yet lacked the skill, or maybe Georgiana was so lacking in spirt herself that she failed to recognize it in another. Meeting Miss Bennet, after studying her portrait minutely, Darcy was struck by the vivacity of her. In spite of Wickham’s attack and her obvious worry over the duel, her spirit remained unquelled. It called to him in a nearly irresistible manner.

He turned to follow Wickham and the townsmen out. It wasn’t until he realized Miss Bennet was remaining behind that the full consequence of his actions came to him. He was about to duel a man. Since Darcy had no intention ruining Georgiana’s reputation by stating that she was his sister, it would appear to the world at large as if they dueled solely over Miss Bennet.

In truth, she was much of the reason. When he’d entered the Sleeping Cat and finally set eyes on her, Darcy had been entranced. Then, to see George Wickham strike her . . . He’d fallen into such a blind rage, he didn’t recall crossing the room to prevent the second blow. Only his breeding had prevented him pounding the consciousness from Wickham in that moment. Darcy hardly knew what words left his mouth. He’d been nearly gleeful when Wickham persisted, providing the opportunity for a clean punch.

Darcy squared his shoulders. There was no help for it now. The damage was done. If he fell, she would be provided for by what he’d left her. Hopefully, that would mitigate the situation she would undoubtedly find herself in. If he was victorious, he would have to set things right in a different way. Was honor bound to, in fact, and didn’t find it to be that disagreeable a proposition. A man had to marry someday, after all, and Miss Bennet possessed many outward charms, as well as intelligence and a generous heart. In addition, the Muirs had made it plain Miss Bennet was a gentleman’s daughter. It bothered Darcy slightly that they apparently thought he would be less inclined to rescue her if she came from a family in trade, as the Muirs were.

Outside, Wickham stopped and turned to face him. “I think this will do well enough.”

Darcy looked about the large innyard, taking in the surrounding mass of villagers. A glance showed Miss Bennet, along with several other women, standing at the open windows of the inn. Obviously, Wickham didn’t wish for a private location. He wanted them to face off before half the town. “If this is your choice, then so be it.”

Mr. Gregory appeared at Wickham’s side. “Are you sure I can’t talk you out of this?” he asked Mr. Wickham.

“Perfectly. It’s time Darcy finally gets what’s coming to him.”

Darcy raised his eyebrows. “One of us will.”

Mr. Buchanan approached Darcy, holding two swords. “You’re going to put him in his place, aren’t you? For Miss Bennet.” He shot a glare at Wickham.

Darcy didn’t know if he should be amused his second argued in favor of the duel, or further dismayed at the damage he was doing to Miss Bennet’s reputation. He sought her eyes. She offered a nod, but not a smile. “Putting George Wickham in his place is something I should have done years ago. Had I, some recent unpleasant acts may have been prevented.”

“And swords are good for you, sir?” Mr. Buchanan asked.

Darcy nodded. “They are, but it isn’t my place to decide as I, apparently, issued the challenge.”

Mr. Buchanan turned to Wickham. “You select swords?”

“I do.” Wickham’s expression was calculating. “Furthermore, I’m not having any of this first blood business. Darcy already drew some when he challenged me. I expect this duel to go on until one or the other of us is well-bloodied.”

This drew a murmur from the crowd. Mr. Matthews looked worried, as well a magistrate might. It was obvious Wickham thought he would win. He was likely basing that assumption on the times he and Darcy had squared off in their youths. Darcy wouldn’t be sorry to disappoint him.

“Well-bloodied it is,” he agreed. He would take satisfaction in spilling Wickham’s blood. Part of him craved a fight to the death. He clamped down on that impulse. The local magistrate might look the other way when it came to a duel, but death by dueling was altogether different.

Nor did Darcy truly want to kill Wickham. It would dishonor the memory of his father, who’d loved Wickham like a son, and there was too much between them. Wickham was a part of Darcy’s boyhood. If he thought back to his early youth, Wickham was a pleasant companion.

When had things gone wrong between them? At Cambridge, perhaps, where Wickham began to fully recognize the consequences of his never having what Darcy was born to.

“Pick your sword, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Buchanan said, offering Darcy the choice of blades.

“Thank you,” Darcy said, picking the nearest one. The swords looked identical.

Darcy took several practice swings and lunges to get a feel for the blade and footing. Mr. Matthew’s sword was a well enough crafted weapon, though not quite what Darcy was accustomed to. The footing was good and provided few obstacles. The innyard offered more than adequate space, most of it even with little slope. The ground was dusty except for a slick patch the crowd avoided, runoff from the stable. Wickham would avoid that as well.

Darcy watched with mild disdain as Wickham made a show of stretching and warming up. He also paced the yard, studying it with apparent care. The spot he finally selected was slightly higher than the surrounding areas, which was laughable. Darcy could counter that meager advantage by taking a few steps back. From the look on Wickham’s face, he was out for Darcy’s blood. He was certain Wickham would follow him.

“You said you wanted to have this out before dark,” Darcy finally said in a bored tone he knew would aggravate Wickham.

Mr. Matthews, who was apparently officiating, looked at Darcy and gestured him to get into position. When the two men were in place, with Darcy on slightly lower ground, Mr. Matthews said, “Begin.”

Wickham lunged forward. The attack was furious and quick. Darcy defended and backed up a couple of paces until they were on even ground. As he suspected was the case, Wickham had not improved since they last fenced. Darcy fenced for sport and took pride in doing it well. When in London, he took advantage of going to the best teachers. The teachers attracted other serious fencers to pit himself against. Unlike in his youth, Darcy’s skills were honed and he regularly practiced a variety of styles.

He started out by using only what Wickham knew. Darcy was now better at it. He circled, seeing the worry mounting in Wickham’s eyes. Then, Darcy executed a sequence he suspected Wickham wouldn’t be familiar with, but backed off before striking.

“Why?” Wickham demanded. He was already breathing heavily. “You could have hit me.”

“Ah, but that attack wouldn’t have resulted in an ugly scar on your pretty face,” Darcy said. Even as he taunted, he realized he wouldn’t do it. “I don’t want you well-bloodied enough to end the match before I accomplish that goal. By the time we’re through here, one look at you will warn away any woman.”

Wickham lunged, then darted back. He lowered his guard, but Darcy didn’t fall for the trap. Again and again, Darcy demonstrated he had control over the match, but did not draw blood. Methodically, he maneuvered Wickham toward the muddy ground. With bad footing, Wickham was less able to defend himself. He was gasping for air by that point, not having kept himself in as good of physical condition as Darcy.

Wickham slipped on the mug, dropping to one knee. Darcy swung his blade low, aimed at Wickham’s face. Instead of attempting what would be an awkward and likely fruitless parry, Wickham flung his sword down and covered his face with his forearms.

“Don’t,” he pleaded. “Not my face. For God’s sake, Darcy, don’t maim me.”

Darcy had already stopped the blow, had never intended for it to land.

“I think he should be on both knees before you heed that plea,” one of the onlookers shouted.

Wickham dropped his second knee to the mud. “Please, don’t do it.”

Darcy stared down at his onetime friend. Wickham still had his arms up, his head bowed. He knelt in the muddy runoff from the stable, practically shaking. His borrowed sword gleamed dully where it lay in the muck, tossed away.

“Do you yield?” Darcy asked.

“Yes, yes I yield.”

“He must pay a forfeit,” someone shouted.

The crowd took it up as a chant. The word forfeit tolled through the innyard like a death knell.

“Mr. Wickham,” Darcy said forcefully. He could feel the anger in the crowd, their lust for blood. By now, everyone would know Wickham had struck Miss Bennet. If the initial reaction in the inn was any indication, they would be happy to take the matter of chastisement into their own hands. Wickham might not know it, but at this point, whatever punishment Darcy could think to apply was really meant to save him. “I want you to write that you will never harm or insult any woman, ever again, on pain of exile from England. Sign your name and date it.”

“Two hundred times,” someone shouted. “Two hundred and we’ll give one to every stage that passes through for months.”

“Fifty times,” Darcy said. “Do you agree?”

Wickham peered up through his arms. “Yes.”

“Get up.”

Wickham scrambled to his feet. He looked about at the angry crowd and grimaced. He didn’t meet Darcy’s eyes.

Mr. Matthews came forward. “I proclaim Mr. Darcy the winner by forfeit.”

The crowd cheered, though there was some grumbling and evil glances cast Wickham’s way. Darcy hoped glances were all it came to. He didn’t wish his actions to result in a lynching.

“I’ll see he’s supplied with pen and paper,” Mr. Matthews said, but his assessing gaze was on the dispersing populace as he spoke. “Do you want all the copies?”

“Five of them,” Darcy said, catching sight of Miss Bennet in the window of the inn. “Keep one yourself and distribute the rest as you wish.” He reversed the sword he held, offering it to Mr. Matthews. “Thank you for the loan. If you’ll excuse me?”

Darcy strode back to the inn, Mr. Buchanan on his heels. Inside, Miss Bennet tuned from the window, gently bathed in the rosy afternoon light. Around her, the other women melted away, scurrying off to whatever duties awaited them. Miss Bennet didn’t cross to meet him, as he half expected, but stayed where she was, watching him from afar, arms folded and expression inscrutable.

Darcy turned to Mr. Buchanan. “I would like to speak to Miss Bennet alone.”

Mr. Buchanan’s expression became mutinous. “You may speak where you won’t be overheard, Mr. Darcy, but I didn’t guard her reputation to have it ruined now. I kept her with my daughter Jenny all the time she wasn’t in the taproom.”

He nodded. “I understand, and applaud your care of Miss Bennet.” He turned fully to the innkeeper, scrutinizing him. “Regarding reputations, as we spoke of earlier, I should like to keep Georgiana’s as in place as possible.”

“We’ll do our best, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Buchanan said in a low voice, glancing around to ensure no one was near. “People have already been talking, though, about her arrival here, and her departure. Still, it’s new enough we may be able to shape what’s being repeated.”

“And the events of today?” Darcy asked, trying not to grimace at the idea they should modify the truth.

“As we spoke of, there’s no linking you to Miss Georgiana. That duel was fought over the insult to Miss Bennet, and we here have no way of knowing Miss Georgiana’s last name. I’ll let everyone know as much.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said.

Across the room, Miss Bennet’s frown deepened. Although not within earshot, it was obvious she had some inkling of what they spoke on. Finally leaving the window, she started toward them. Would she be willing to once again sully her reputation for his sister, by permitting everyone to believe the duel was over her alone? As soon as they were in private, Darcy would explain to her that she didn’t need to. As was his duty, he would set things right by her. Marriage to him would expunge many a sin.

“Miss Bennet,” he greeted when she reached them. “We were discussing how best to handle Georgiana’s reputation.”

“I’m sure you already realize, the whole town’s been talking,” Mr. Buchanan said to Miss Bennet. “Still, I think we may be able to shape the story, as it were.”

“So you realize it’s impossible to keep the story of her being here a secret?” she asked, her voice even quieter than Mr. Buchanan’s had been.

Mr. Buchanan nodded. “What’s needed is an explanation, as they’re already being invented.”

“I’ve already given it some thought, actually,” Miss Bennet said.

“And what explanation has that led you to?” Darcy asked, curious. He was not one for prevarication, but in the name of protecting Georgiana from Wickham’s treachery, there was little he wouldn’t force himself to do.

“I thought perhaps Miss Georgiana’s governess had gotten word a relative was dying. An uncle, perhaps? Maybe a grandfather would be better.” She smiled impishly. “Unable to leave Miss Georgiana alone, she packed them both up for the journey. Mr. Wickham--” Miss Bennet grimaced as she said his name, as if biting into something distasteful. “That is, an old family friend happened to be nearby, so she imposed on him to escort them. When this governess realized her grandfather died and she’d come into money, she left with the servants. Ignoring her duty, she abandoned Miss Georgiana to the care of Mr. Wickham. He tricked Miss Georgiana into getting on the northbound stage and tried to persuade her to elope, but she resolutely refused. She threw herself at the mercy of the Muirs, who agreed to take her with them. Georgiana was sufficiently afraid of Mr. Wickham so she didn’t want to stay here, and was too young to stay alone in the inn. I agreed to remain here and wait for an escort, since there was no room in the Muirs’ carriage. Anyone who saw the Muirs will understand that. Will that do? It has just enough scandal to satisfy people and not enough to do Miss Georgiana much harm.”

“I’d say that will do,” Mr. Buchanan said. “I don’t believe I know anything that occurred here to counter it.” He looked to Darcy for confirmation. “I will get Mr. Gregory and Mr. Matthews to help me. Can you give a description of the governess?”

Darcy gave a brief description, realizing that meant he had agreed to the deception. He doubted anyone would check, but it didn’t hurt to be accurate. The whole story came rather near the truth, as far as Darcy had been able to put together from Georgiana’s babbled, tearful explanation. Mrs. Young had come into money and then left Georgiana to Wickham’s machinations. The order of events was skewed and the money had come from Wickham, not a dying relative, but it was less of a lie than he’d feared.

There was but one problem, his actions. “It’s an excellent cover, but I’m afraid I may already have ruined it. I was chasing all over the country looking for them, more concerned about getting her back safely and unmarried than guarding her reputation.”

“You found her missing and heard she was with Mr. Wickham.” Miss Bennet shrugged. “You suspected he had designs on her dowry and wanted to find her and protect her.”

“I don’t care to lie,” Darcy admitted, but realized that statement was true enough for his conscience to stomach.

“You won’t have to lie. You can just refuse to answer. Everyone else can lie. Even Miss Georgiana can stay silent on the matter. I suspect she will blush very prettily when asked,” Miss Bennet said.

“I can see the story is spread,” Mr. Buchanan said. “I think it will work. Even if there are other versions, enough people will say this one is the truth for Miss Georgiana to go on as if it is.”

Darcy looked back and forth between them. Both appeared worried and earnest. He was grateful Georgiana inspired such care. “Then that is the story we shall go with. Thank you both.” He didn’t know if it would work to protect his sister’s reputation, but it was likely the best that could be done.

Mr. Buchanan nodded, looking pleased. “Do you still wish to speak with Miss Bennet, sir?”

“I do.”

Miss Bennet looked at Darcy with questioning eyes.

“There’s a room that I use for a private parlor,” Mr. Buchanan said. “If the door is kept open, the two of you can be seen. If you sit in the far corner of the room and talk quietly, you won’t be overheard, even through the windows.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said. He turned to Miss Bennet. “If you would accompany me to the parlor?”

Beguiling eyes alight with curiosity, she nodded. People had been filing into the common room while they spoke, though they’d left a polite ring of space about the three. Darcy realized many more curious eyes were on him than just Miss Bennet’s.

“The parlor is that way.” Mr. Buchanan pointed. “You know the way, Miss Bennet. I’ll see the story is spread,” he assured them again, in a whisper. With a smile and nod, he hurried toward his bar. Likely, he would sell many pints that day. By evening, the story Miss Bennet had come up with would be all over town and leaving on the stage with travelers, as would be the tale of Darcy fighting a duel over her.

He gestured for her to precede him. Miss Bennet’s reputation would be less easily mended than his sister’s, though she’d done nothing wrong while Georgiana had. Darcy shook his head as he followed her. That was society, full of pitfalls and foibles.

Darcy would set things right though, by making Miss Bennet his wife. An unexpected thrill went through him at the idea. He’d always expected to marry without love and for obligation, as he would now. He’d never expected this deep yearning to do so.

Chapter Eight – Proposal Planed

Darcy followed Miss Bennet into the private parlor, leaving the door open. She went to the far corner, away from both fireplace and windows, as Mr. Buchanan had recommended. As she sat, she pressed a hand to her side, pain momentarily sharpening her features.

“You’re hurt,” he said, worry stabbing at him.

“I shall be bruised, I’m sure. I knew I didn’t care for that pianoforte.” She offered a wry smile.

The pianoforte. She’d fallen into it when Wickham struck her. Anger filled Darcy. He turned toward the door, wondering where Wickham was. Perhaps another punch was in order. Or several to the ribs, so Wickham could know the pain he caused.

“Come sit.” Miss Bennet’s voice was quiet. “Tell me how Georgiana is.”

He looked between Miss Bennet and the door. Certainly, she was more pleasant company than Wickham, who was presumably with Mr. Matthews, writing. Darcy took a slow breath, tamping down his anger. A Darcy did not go charging off to punch people, no matter how much they deserved it. He crossed the room and took the chair beside Miss Bennet. In the hall, a servant passed by. He darted a quick look their way but didn’t slow.

“Georgiana is well,” he said. He stretched out his legs before him, realizing he was weary. So many hours spent in travel. Finding his sister gone. Reclaiming her. Racing off again to seek Miss Bennet the moment he knew Georgiana was safe.

“I’m assuming so. I can’t imagine you would leave her side if she needed you.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I would not. Not if I knew she did. She’s with our cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, in our home.” He studied Miss Bennet’s face. It would be her home soon. “Pemberley.” He stifled his mild disappointment that the name obviously meant nothing to her.

“I’m glad. She said she wished to return home.” She looked at him askance. “She assured me you would care for her. Assured me you would treat her well, no matter what her circumstance.”

“She was correct,” Darcy said, but he found her emphasis odd, especially coupled with the searching look she gave him.

Silence stretched between them for a long moment. Darcy wondered how he could move from the topic of Georgiana’s wellbeing to asking Miss Bennet to marry him. Speaking of Miss Bennet’s ruin seemed crass, as if he would threaten her into marrying him. Still, she must realize her circumstance. Was she waiting for him to offer?

He tugged at his cravat. He hadn’t expected to be so nervous. After all, he was helping her, in more ways than one. Not just her reputation saved, but a lifetime of wealth and security. “I wouldn’t have left Georgiana yet, but she was adamant I rescue you as soon as possible. She was worried Wickham would realize you’d aided her.”

“Yes, he seems to have pieced it together, and I’m grateful you intervened before he could strike me a second time. I don’t believe I would have been in physical danger if you hadn’t arrived, however.”

Darcy frowned. Wickham striking her was his fault? “Why do you say that?”

“The look on his face when he saw you, the one that made me turn to see who’d entered the room, and the way he made a third attempt when the second was met with your restraint,” she said. “He was provoking you to attack him. He wanted a duel.”

“You’re probably right,” Darcy said, and he’d given Wickham a reason for a duel. Darcy had uncharacteristically let emotion get the better of him. He’d already been angry on Georgiana’s behalf. Seeing Wickham strike Miss Bennet, that had been too much. No man could tolerate such an act. Even he didn’t possess the forbearance to let Wickham go unpunished.

Miss Bennet’s features took on a reproving cast. “You must realize my reputation is in shambles. Not because I stayed in an inn without a chaperone, but because a very public duel was fought over me.” She gave a slight shake of her head. “I can’t even counter it by claiming it was over Georgiana or her last name will be revealed.” She looked down at her hands. “Not to mention, I made it worse by watching. I shouldn’t have, but Mr. Wickham was so confident that I was concerned you might be killed.”

“I don’t think anything you did or didn’t do will have much effect on your reputation,” Darcy said. “Once the duel was fought, it wouldn’t have mattered if you hid. I should have insisted it be done properly, if at all. That may have mitigated the damage.” Also, Darcy realized, he could have let Wickham know how much his skills had improved. Wickham might have backed away from the duel. No, that wasn’t a good idea. Wickham would have picked pistols, and might have had a lucky shot.

Miss Bennet stared past him, out the open window on the far side of the room. Darcy could tell from the elongated rectangles of orange light and the cool breeze that sunset was upon them. Soon, candles would need to be lit for their conversation to continue, and the fire stirred to greater life.

Miss Bennet let out a small sigh. “It’s far too late for should have’s.” She turned her attention back to Darcy. “Although I appreciate your motives in protecting me from Mr. Wickham and punishing him, the result is not one I desired.”

It was an opening, but not one he could bring himself to use. Was there, though, any means of asking for her hand without dangling the threat of her ruin over her? Could a happy union begin in a way so akin to coercion? “You are correct, of course. Nor does it matter that the duel had little to do with you, that the enmity between myself and Mr. Wickham is longstanding.”

“Yes, Georgiana mentioned the living Mr. Wickham was to have.”

Darcy nodded. “I think that’s what spurred him to go after Georgiana.” Darcy should have realized Wickham would try something. He should have been prepared. “When my father died, Wickham received a legacy of one thousand pounds and the right to a living when it became vacant. When most of his money ran out, he asked for compensation to give up the right to the living. I admit, I was happy for the excuse to see him gone from our lives.” And naive enough to think he would be. “We agreed on three thousand pounds. When the incumbent died, Wickham demanded the living. I refused. That was about two months ago.”

“Was any of his anger justified?”

Darcy frowned at her. He was unaccustomed to people questioning his actions.

“Rather, was the living worth more than three thousand pounds?” she asked, her look assessing.

“Considerably more, but the incumbent died when he was forty-seven,” he said. “He was, as far as I know, perfectly healthy when Wickham gave up the living.”

She considered this for a long moment. Darcy was surprised by the urge to fidget, or offer a lengthier explanation. What did it matter if Miss Bennet found his behavior lacking? She was in no circumstance to be picky.

“It seems odd that he hated you for behaving as you did,” she finally said.

“He didn’t.” Darcy worked to keep relief from his tone. “He hated me because we were raised as brothers but his expectations were considerably less than mine.”

Again, his words were met with a contemplative silence. Darcy would never have imagined he would miss the fawning female chatter he was typically assailed by. Miss Bennet, whose keen intelligence, care for Georgiana and beguiling looks already made her opinion matter to him more than most, seemed to be a person who gave thought to the words she spoke.

“Why did he think he could win with swords?” she asked.

“I assume he thought himself better.” Darcy shrugged.

“Did he have reason to think that?”

“In our youth he usually won, but our fighting styles were very different.” Darcy had the odd feeling he was being weighed, as if Miss Bennet sought to measure whether or not he was a braggart. “We always wore padding and masks, and Wickham would take risks one wouldn’t without that protection. I preferred to fight as if I didn’t wear gear. The boldness his tactic lent him often gave him the appearance of being better.” He offered another shrug. “On top of that, I routinely fence for sport and have had excellent instruction. Wickham probably assumed I hadn’t improved. For my part, I assumed he hadn’t continued to practice and that he would have lost some of his skill.” Wickham had a lazy streak to him, and practice was hard work.

She offered a slight smile. “I am glad you proved more correct in your assumptions than he was in his, and it was very chivalrous of you to right a wrong done to me, even if it wasn’t truly in my best interest for you to do so.” She looked away. “I hope my father or uncle will arrive within a few days. I don’t think your presence will help things.”

Was she dismissing him? Between Wickham’s raving about thirty thousand pounds and a myriad of other clues, she must realize he was wealthy. Most women would hurtle his folly in his face, a demand for marriage on its heels. Could she possibly imagine her relatives wouldn’t approve of him? “Will your family be very upset with you?”

“Some of them will be. It’s my hope my father and uncle, and older sister, will understand. If they don’t, they’ll have considerable justification. Not only because of my behavior, but my selfishness. Coming this far is expensive enough that the whole family will bear the brunt of it.”

So her family was not well off, which made Miss Bennet all the more of a conundrum. One he felt deeply compelled to unravel. “Do you have the paper I gave you?”

She offered a fleeting smile. “I could hardly have misplaced it so swiftly.”

“Look at it,” he said, watching her intently.

She took out the paper and broke the seal. “Fifty pounds?” She read further. “Twice a year? To be payed from a sum of two thousand pounds, put in my name.” She looked up. “You would have so readily handed over two thousand pounds?”

“My estate, not me.”

Far from appearing pleased or avaricious, she glared at him. Standing, she crossed to the fireplace and threw the page in. She took up a poker and applied it somewhat viciously. The page turned to ash in a swirl of bright flames her ministration stirred to life.

“I can’t help but feel that was foolish,” Darcy said, staring at the last curling bits of the page in surprise.

She replaced the poker and turned back to him, eyes bright with anger. “Foolish not to permit the man who fought a duel over me to give me an income? If you are so eager to give your money away, you can reimburse my father for the expenses he incurs due to me requiring retrieval. I will not accept anything more. Are you trying to ruin me completely?”

Her rebuke stung, all the more so because he hadn’t thought of it in that light. “I’ll be happy to pay his expenses. I apologize for offending you.”

She drew in a breath, smoothing her skirt. “And I apologize for my outburst. That was very generous of you as well, if misplaced.” She shook her head. “Do you specialize in misplaced attempts at kindness?”

Darcy had no notion how to respond to that. Did he indeed?

Miss Bennet came back to sit beside him. “I’m sorry. That was an attempt at humor. I can tell it fell flat.” She looked up at him with an apologetic smile.

Her eyes held wry wit. Her lips were slightly upturned. Now was the moment, he realized. He would make this enchanting creature his. This time, his attempt at kindness would be far from misplaced.

Her face folded into serious lines. She brought her hands together in her lap, clenching them tight. He sensed she was trying to come to a decision. Could she be contemplating pressing him to make up for the damage done to her reputation? He felt a pang of lose. As perplexing as her behavior was, it pleased him she hadn’t leapt at the chance to force his hand. Had burning the paper been a ruse, meant to bring him to asking? It had nearly worked.

“I’m worried about Georgiana,” she said, to Darcy’s surprise. “I know it’s not my place but there’s . . .” Miss Bennet shook her head, darting a glance at him. “You’re her guardian.”

Darcy attempted to reorder his thoughts. “I am, and I failed that responsibility. Completely.”

“And you will care for her no matter what?”

Leeriness overtook him. He took in Miss Bennet’s searching gaze and felt there was a truth he didn’t know. “I will.”

“It’s not my place to get involved, and I feel it’s possibly a betrayal for me to tell you this, but having met your sister, I fear she won’t have the strength to speak to you until the situation is beyond salvaging.” Miss Bennet drew in a deep, steadying breath. “There is the possibility Georgiana is with child.”

Darcy shot to his feet. Fury filled him to the point of rising from his chair to take some kind of action, any action. Wickham. He’d dared touch Georgiana. Darcy would fight another duel, risk pistols and shoot to kill.

He drew in a deep breath, seeking calm. No, the duel had been fought. He’d known the loss of Georgiana’s virtue was a possibility. He’d certainly considered it before she returned. What he hadn’t considered was that she would not be comfortable confiding to him about it.

“Mr. Darcy?” A hand touched his arm, feather light. “Do sit,” Miss Bennet urged. “You can’t run off and strangle him.”

Strangling. Yes, that would be more satisfying than shooting him. Darcy would like to throttle George Wickham. But the moment had passed. He was a man bound by laws. He would not stoop to Wickham’s level.

“Is everything well here?” Mr. Buchanan said, appearing in the doorway. He looked between Darcy and Miss Bennet, who turned to him.

“Perfectly well, thank you,” Miss Bennet said. “Mr. Darcy was about to seat himself. He didn’t mean to alarm anyone.” She offered a commiserating smile. “I’m afraid my words have spurred him into renewed anger toward Mr. Wickham, but we both realize a duel has been fought and the matter is concluded.”

Mr. Buchanan nodded, his expression turning a bit grim. “Aye, it is, though I can sympathize with wanting to revisit it. Rarely have I met a more disagreeable man than Mr. Wickham.” He shook his head. “Will you be playing tonight, Miss Bennet? Everyone’s been asking.”

“She will not,” Darcy said, the words coming out harsh as he fought for control of his anger. He cleared his throat. “That is, our business is not yet concluded. I’m not certain how much longer we shall be speaking here.”

Mr. Buchanan raised his eyebrows, gave Miss Bennet a considering look, and nodded. “I’ll send someone round to light the candles soon,” he said, and left.

“Please sit, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bennet repeated.

Darcy nodded. He unclenched his hands, movements stiff as he retook his place. She settled into the seat beside him, gaze assessing as always. He drew in a long, slow breath.

“You said you would care for her no matter what,” Miss Bennet said. “I took you at your word when I gave you that information.”

“Does anyone else know?” His words were clipped, his voice harsh. He couldn’t seem to get the rage coursing through him to subside. At least he should be able to suppress the outward signs of it. He was not a man who let others see when he was in danger of losing control.

She shook her head. “Only me, Georgiana and Mr. Wickham. I overheard them speaking of it, but no one else was near enough to do so.”

There was that to be thankful for, at least. He took another steadying breath. “I’m even more grateful, and impressed, that you were willing to help her, knowing so much of her circumstances.”

“She was miles from anyone she knew and without money.” She shrugged. “Someone had to aid her.”

“Yet by doing so, you placed yourself in a similar situation.”

“The Buchanans have been very kind.”

“Yes, but you couldn’t have known if you could trust them.” In that moment, few people seemed trustworthy to Darcy.

“I felt Georgiana’s need was great enough, and myself resourceful enough, to take that risk. I also had the Muirs’ assessment of Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan and this inn, as well as my own.”

Say what she would, Miss Bennet had risked her future to save Georgiana’s, all the while aware of the full extent of his sister’s folly. No wonder she hadn’t yet attempted to wring compensation from him. She wouldn’t condescend to that. His esteem for her grew by the moment. Was there another woman alive who would show such courage and kindness? “You saved her from a life of misery with a dissolute gambler, even though you knew how fully she’d committed herself.”

“Georgiana is very young,” Miss Bennet said, her voice soft. “I have a sister her age. It’s nearly impossible to undo a marriage, but I was sure, if she is with child and later decides she wishes to marry Mr. Wickham, the marriage could still take place. Stopping it closed no doors, while permitting it to occur slammed nearly every door shut. I admit, it did not seem to me as if she loved him, not from the moment I saw them together. I likely wouldn’t have intervened if I thought she had any chance of happiness.”

“She didn’t.” Wickham was a man whose selfishness ruined all he touched. “She’s fortunate he managed to alienate her before they actually married. I am grateful, not only to you, but that he was so arrogant as to think she wouldn’t object to him when he showed his true colors. Even with that, she would have married him if it weren’t for you.” Darcy reached out to capture her hand. “I will be forever in your debt, though I wish to make this up to you, Miss Bennet.”

Chapter Nine – Proposal Issued

Elizabeth pulled her hand away. She stood and paced toward the fire. She didn’t turn back immediately, wanting to compose herself. Her skin still tingled from Mr. Darcy’s brief clasp. Why had he taken her hand? He couldn’t mean to propose to her. They’d only known each other for the span of hours. Behind her, he stood.

“Miss Bennet.” His deep voice swept over her, the hard edge gone.

A serving girl appeared in the doorway, candle in hand. She looked between them, clearly nervous. “Mr. Buchanan said I was to light the candles, sir, miss.”

“Yes, thank you,” Elizabeth said, relieved by the interruption.

The girl nodded, coming in to move about the room, lighting candles. Elizabeth stayed near the fire. Mr. Darcy crossed to the windows and began closing the shutters.

She wouldn’t let Mr. Darcy propose. She knew so little about him, and not all of that good. Yes, he was a dedicated brother, had a keen sense of honor, was a good fencer and possessed an intelligent mind. He was also an ineffectual guardian, appeared to possess a very serious nature and was accustomed to being obeyed.

If he proposed, she had little doubt it would be out of chivalry, something he’d already shown himself quite susceptible to. She wouldn’t marry a man she hardly knew because his sense of duty ordained it. Her conscience wouldn’t permit her to do that to either of them, even if she was reproachfully aware of his fine appearance and undeniably handsome face.

The trouble was that if he asked, that same conscience dictated she accept. She was aware how dire her circumstance was. Not only were her chances of a union in jeopardy, she’d put undue burden on her sisters as well. If Mr. Darcy was as wealthy as she assumed him to be, marrying him would mend her reputation and increase her sisters’ options, all in one stroke. In short, Mr. Darcy for a husband would repair all the trouble she’d created. For herself, she wouldn’t do it, but for her sisters . . .

“Do you need anything sir, miss?” the girl asked.

Elizabeth turned around, realizing the candles were lit. She shook her head when Mr. Darcy looked to her.

“No, thank you,” he said.

With a curtsey, the girl disappeared, along with Elizabeth’s time to wrestle with her conscience.

Mr. Darcy stood and crossed to stand with her before the fire, which had burned low again. “My sister was very taken with you. I hope you become friends with her. She’s been too shy and has had difficulty making friends.”

“I liked her. As I said, I have a sister her age.” Perhaps if they knew more about each other, her decision could be easier, or he would be dissuaded. “I have four sisters, actually, and no brothers. My father has never saved and his property is entailed to a cousin.” She scrutinized Mr. Darcy for a reaction. “I’m afraid we’ll be rather destitute when Father dies. My mother, a slightly silly woman, is desperate for the five of us to marry. My father has allowed all of us to be out at once, and my youngest sisters are rather flighty and ill mannered.”

His dark eyes told her little. “Georgiana needs someone like you to watch over her. Her governess, a reprehensible woman, is gone. There will be more men like Wickham.”

Elizabeth didn’t know if she was angry or relieved. He didn’t mean to wed her, but to employ her. Not angry, she decided, but insulted. “In the first place, I am not so desperate yet as to become a governess. In the second, I think Georgiana is too young and definitely too immature to be out.”

“That was not my meaning, and I agree with you on both counts.” A line appeared on his brow. “I’m not trying to employ you. I’m attempting to ask--”

“I think you are too quickly dismissing what could potentially be a serious problem,” she said, desperate to halt his speech. He was obviously determined to ask. She must learn more about him before he did. If anything would tell her the truth of who Mr. Darcy was, it was how he planned to treat his sister.

“A potential problem?” She could read his eyes now, for they held confusion.

Elizabeth looked toward the door, lowering her voice. “The situation Georgiana may find herself in. I should like to know how you plan to conduct yourself.”

He frowned, looking rather severe.

“There are several choices when an unmarried woman has a child,” Elizabeth continued “She can marry her seducer. She can marry someone else who is willing to accept her under the circumstances. She can have her baby in secret and send it away to someone who will accept a child for money. She can defy society, either with or without her family’s support, and raise the child as best she can. The child would never be fully accepted. Georgiana would have almost no chance of a happy marriage after publicly bearing a child in that case.”

He’d become unreadable once more, leaving her unable to tell which he favored.

“For Georgiana, only one of those choices seems remotely as if it would lead to happiness, but her shyness and recent actions make me suspect there isn’t a man waiting to marry her who is willing to accept her and her child,” Elizabeth concluded.

He shook his head. “I want Georgiana to marry someone who will make her happy, not someone I can find who will agree to take her for her thirty thousand pounds. Nor do any of the other choices appeal to me. I cannot imagine allowing my niece or nephew to be raised by strangers.” His dark eyes glinted.

Elizabeth searched his face. She tried not to be drawn in by his outward charms. Marriage was a decision that should be based on many things. Perhaps charm was one of them, but not the only or the most important.

A slight smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, in spite of their topic. “I have thought of one way to keep the child in the family,” he said. “A way which would also save Georgiana’s future by concealing who the mother is. I could marry immediately.”

She frowned. “I daresay that would work, and that you have someone in mind. As a fashionable gentleman, you must know many well-dowered candidates.”

“There are several society women who would marry me quickly, and some who might even agree to the three of us going for a long trip and returning with a baby, willing to name it as theirs, but I doubt any of them would have the compassion to care for someone else’s child as their own.”

The way he looked at her, his strong features outlined by the flickering candlelight, threatened to make her forget she needed to know him better. “Would you?” she asked. “If Georgiana bore a son, would you treat him as an elder son?”

He grew contemplative. “Somewhat. My estate is not entailed and I have a good deal of income from other investments. If I had other sons, and I hope I would, I could give a greater share of those investments to them. None of them would be poor. A daughter would be easier. She would be dowered the same as my other daughters.”

Was that his flaw, then, this nearly perfect seeming Mr. Darcy, that his world revolved around the material? “You talk about giving money, but what about love? Could you love Mr. Wickham’s child?”

“I believe I could love Georgiana’s.” He reached out and brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek.

Elizabeth went still in surprise. She knew she should keep talking, draw him out more, but her thoughts scattered with his touch. She couldn’t formulate the words.

“Miss Bennet, you cannot help but guess who I feel would be best, for both Georgiana and a child she might bear. I can think of only one woman I’ve met who is compassionate enough, and who I would trust.”

Elizabeth tried to steady her treacherous breath, which had quickened at his touch. She shot a glance toward the door. Where were the passing servants now? “Wouldn’t you want to be certain there is a baby? Why marry if you do not need to?”

He dropped his hand. “I understand it can be difficult to be certain a woman is with child for quite some months.”

She nodded.

“I would not embarrass my future wife by asking her to claim she gave birth five months after our vows, and it would necessitate more lies, mostly about when we met.” His eyes bore into hers. “Therefore, the wedding must be now.”

“But Georgiana may not even be with child,” Elizabeth countered. “Embarrassment and fabrication seem small prices to pay to ensure you don’t spend the rest of your life with someone you wouldn’t have chosen.” Was he mad? Yet, the way he was looking at her, she was hard pressed to think so. Difficult to comprehend as it was, he looked almost as if…

“We’re near enough to Scotland that we can be married tomorrow.”

Married tomorrow? The intensity of his gaze threatened to scatter her thoughts. Where was her reason when she most needed it?

“And there is the matter of your reputation. I am honor bound to repair it,” he said.

His honor again. What about her heart? Or his? She took a step back, to gain space to think. “Why would I consent to this?”

Incredulousness and hurt flashed in his eyes, quickly smothered. He shrugged, half turning from her. “If you do not consent, I will pay your family’s expenses in seeking you, as I agreed earlier. If you wish, I will find a woman to travel with us and take you south with me to meet them. I will also arrange for what you threw away, a hundred pounds a year. The money means little to me, and I suspect it would be helpful to you.” He turned back, eyes narrow. “If you do consent, I will put aside money for your mother’s and sisters’ care, should your father die without your sisters marrying. I believe five hundred pounds a year should be sufficient.”

Now he would bribe her. Had she not proven to him how little his money moved her? What sort of woman did he think she was? Elizabeth looked him up and down, taking in his fine clothing, his nearly haughty demeanor. She could guess where the chink in his armor was, his pride. “You would object to my family. My mother’s family is in trade and she is, as I mentioned, silly. I suspect you would find my three younger sisters poor companions for your sister.” She tilted her chin up. “I do not want to give up my family.”

“If I find myself unwilling to associate with your family, I will see that you visit them regularly without me,” he snapped.

His expression was hard. Elizabeth suspected he was unaccustomed to being told no. He contemplated her for a long moment. She kept silent, letting him reconsider what he was proposing.

“As you must realize, no matter what the two of us do, word will get out,” he finally said, his tone reasonable once more. “I’m only trying to do what is right, for Georgiana and for you. Not to mention, this will have an impact on your sisters.”

“You would hold their fates over me now?” It was nothing she hadn’t already considered, but she was angry he would use it to have his way.

“No. I am trying to be logical. I don’t know what society will think. If we marry hastily, there will still be rumors. I’m not saying it’s the perfect solution, only the best.”

Elizabeth sighed. If only she had time to think, to ask for advice. He made marrying him sound so reasonable, but how could running off to Scotland tomorrow ever be reasonable? “In some ways, I don’t care what society thinks about me, but there are people in my family I would like to know the truth. There are four people whose opinions I value and who would keep Georgiana’s secret.”

“You said your mother is silly.”

So, he had been listening to her objections. That reassured her. “She is not one of them. My father. My elder sister. My aunt and uncle who live in London.” The four people she couldn’t bear to think she’d be foolish enough to permit herself to be compromised by a stranger in a roadside inn.

“So many people can’t keep a secret,” he said.

“How many people in your life will know?”

“Only my cousin Richard and Georgiana.”

“And Mr. Wickham,” she pointed out, as he was hardly trustworthy. “Not to mention your servants. How many of them will know?” There was no way he could keep a pregnancy from his servants. While they very well may be loyal, he couldn’t deny her right to tell four people if his household knew.

“If there is a child, some of them will need to know. Many already know that Georgiana left with Wickham.”

“I need some of my family to know, too, so they can understand my actions,” she said.

A smile formed on his face, rendering him even more handsome. “We wouldn’t be having this discussion unless you’re considering the marriage.”

“I am.” Though she hadn’t fully realized it until he pointed it out.

“We could leave tomorrow morning for Scotland and return here before dark.”

“Why do you keep insisting on tomorrow? My father or uncle will be here soon, to give me advice.”

“If you refuse my proposal, I will have to find another woman, which will be a mildly time-consuming task.” The look he gave her held a strange intensity, belying his casual words.

He had an answer to everything. Well, he could at least give her until morning. “I need time to think about your proposal.” She shook her head, feeling befuddled. “I must admit, the day’s events have taken me by surprise. I realize women sometimes claim they didn’t see a proposal coming when an objective observer might say they should have known, but you must admit I couldn’t have anticipated needing to make this decision today.”

His smile was back, further derailing her thoughts. “I agree. Circumstances are unusual.”

She nodded. “I shall go play now. You will have my answer in the morning.”

“Early?”

She nodded, bemused by his insistence. “Yes, early. Now, I shall go play. If you will excuse me.” She turned abruptly, before he could compel her to remain. She needed time away from him to think. Somewhere where his strong features and compelling looks didn’t befuddle her.

She was surprised to find the common room relatively empty, eliminating her need to play. She expected after all the excitement, people would congregate to talk about the day’s events, but it was after dark and nights were short that time of year. There was a drunk patron asleep at one table. Two workmen ate a late meal in a corner. Mr. Matthews and Mr. Gregory were joined at their usual table by Mr. Buchanan. Mr. Gregory was writing something while the other two watched.

“No, it was the miller who told Wickham to kneel,” Mr. Buchanan said, shaking his head. He caught sight of her. “Miss Bennet, did you see who called for Mr. Wickham to kneel?”

“I did not,” Elizabeth said, crossing to their table. “What are you doing?”

“Writing up what happened,” Mr. Matthews said. “It’s always best to have accounts put down as soon as possible.”

“Why do you need accounts?” Elizabeth asked. “Was any crime committed?”

“Certainly not,” Mr. Matthews said blandly. “Otherwise, as magistrate, I might have to take some action. We want people who come through town to hear the real story. These things tend to get distorted, and it’s nice to get the truth down.”

“People who come through?” Elizabeth repeated, slightly alarmed. “You mean to deliberately spread the tale?”

“No, certainly not,” Mr. Matthews said, looking affronted.

“We do not,” Mr. Gregory affirmed. “It will spread, though, nonetheless, so it’s best to have an accurate account to refer people to.”

Elizabeth sighed. They were correct, of course. The duel was very public, the incident spurring it had taken place in the common room. The story would be spread. “Did you use my name?”

“We did, because it is so well known to the town, there is no point in attempting to conceal it.”

“We used Mr. Wickham’s as well, because he doesn’t deserve to have his name concealed,” Mr. Buchanan said. “Perhaps the account will warn others away from him.”

“But never fear, when we wrote up the information of how Miss G. was abandoned by her governess when she inherited enough to neglect her duty, and how Miss G. resisted the blandishments of the dastardly fortune hunter, Wickham, we called her Miss G. only,” Mr. Gregory assured Elizabeth.

“Yes, we thought that would be more discrete,” Mr. Matthews said. “Mr. Darcy will be Mr. D. and appears only in the account of the duel, not in any way connected to Miss G.”

“And we’ll have a copy made for you, and one for Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Gregory added.

“That seems reasonable, and considerate of you,” Elizabeth said. She sighed, looking about the room. She needed time to think over Mr. Darcy’s offer, but her mind was swirling and her head throbbed where Mr. Wickham had struck her.

“You looked troubled, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Matthews said. “Is it our accounts or did Mr. Darcy say something to make you unhappy?”

She hadn’t known the three men very long, but they’d already shown themselves intelligent, caring and honest. Perhaps, in the absence of her father or uncle, they would offer serviceable advice. “Mr. Darcy wants me to go to Scotland tomorrow and marry him. It’s come as rather a shock.”

“Why the urgency? Mr. Buchanan asked.

“He has good reason, but no matter how good the reason, he’s a stranger.”

“For what it’s worth, the postilion knows him,” Mr. Gregory said.

Mr. Buchanan nodded. “We inquired. He’s Mr. Darcy, a wealthy man with a large estate in Derbyshire.”

It hadn’t occurred to Elizabeth to doubt his identity, but the confirmation soothed her.

“You aren’t needed to play this evening,” Mr. Buchanan said. “I only came in to check on you. Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll send for your dinner?”

“Thank you.” Elizabeth realized she was feeling a bit fatigued by the tumult of the day. Not that sitting down to eat helped her escape it. Her mind still churned. If she didn’t marry Mr. Darcy, her mother would be livid with her for ruining her reputation. That anger would translate into endless criticisms and complaints. With her ruined reputation, it would be all but impossible for her to wed and escape her mother. To make matters worse, her standing would make it difficult for her sisters to marry. Did she have the right to do that? Kitty and Lydia, especially, would never forgive her. Her father and Jane would probably understand her actions, even if they didn’t approve, but would still suffer from them.

If she married Mr. Darcy, she would likely still be a distant scandal, but a well-placed and wealthy relation nonetheless. What’s more, if he was to be believed, her mother and sisters would live in greater comfort if her father died.

Elizabeth’s mind was still in turmoil when she climbed into bed beside Jenny later that evening. She rubbed her aching side. Her head throbbed. New fear crept in.

Mr. Wickham had sought her out. Not because she could bring Georgiana back, but because he blamed Elizabeth. His motive must have been revenge. The duel had likely added to Mr. Wickham’s anger, and Elizabeth doubted her father would be adequate protection. For all he’d failed Georgiana, Mr. Darcy would certainly be better able to guard Elizabeth from Mr. Wickham. Fear was a poor motivation for marriage, but the pain she was in was a strong reminder that Mr. Wickham meant her harm.

Elizabeth’s mind was too full for rest. She drifted in and out of sleep, fitful. The only constant during the long night was an image of Mr. Darcy, his eyes full of an intense emotion strangely reminiscent of affection, though he’d spoken of none. The only peace Elizabeth had all that night was when his visage fixed before her mind’s eye, his handsome face rendered even more so by one of his rare smiles.

Chapter Ten - Elopement Begun

At dawn, Darcy gave up on the pretense of sleep. He rose and dressed with greater care than usual, hoping it was his wedding day. He hadn’t expected to approach the fateful day with such anticipation, or nervousness. He’d expected a calculated, mutually beneficial joining of two well-connected and wealthy houses.

He brought everything to his proposed union with Miss Bennet, yet he found himself unexpectedly nervous, and hopeful. He couldn’t comprehend the hold she had over him. All he knew was that, after traveling with her image as his companion for days, to finally set eyes on her and find her even more beguiling than the drawing, had stunned him. If it hadn’t, Wickham wouldn’t have landed even a single blow.

It didn’t occur to him until he was on the staircase that the word early meant different things to different people. He entered the common room to find her seated alone at a table with a cup of tea and a plate of toast, which looked untouched. Catching sight of him, she offered a tentative smile.

Darcy crossed to her, bowing. “May I?” he asked, indicating the chair across from her.

“You may.”

He sat. Mr. Buchanan hurried over with more tea, more toast, and a sufficiently curious look that Darcy assumed the innkeeper knew what he’d asked of Miss Bennet. Darcy raised his eyebrows. Across from him, she shrugged.

She was silent while he fixed his tea. She sipped hers, still making no move to eat. Darcy lifted his cup, then set it down again. It was impossible to drink tea with the question that hung between them.

“Have you decided?” He cleared his throat, for his voice had come out in a husky rumble.

The look she gave him was grave. “I have, but there are several details we will need to clear up, most of a sensitive nature.”

Darcy mulled that over, trying to suppress a grin. “That sounds like a yes.”

“Provisionally.” She rubbed at her side, then seemed to realize what she was doing and stopped.

Darcy’s joy at her acceptance was dampened by a renewed desire to hunt Wickham down. He took a sip of tea, to buy time to rein in his anger. After all, the object of it was not before him, Miss Bennet was. “Are any of these details areas you expect we will be unable to come to an agreement on?”

She grew contemplative. “They are not. I feel we are both reasonable.”

“Then may I suggest we set out? We may discuss any lingering topics on our journey.” He had the oddest inclination to hold his breath as he waited for her reply. Once she entered his carriage with him, alone, there was no turning back.

She shook her head. “There are some things we must speak of here.”

“Such as?” he asked, aware he wasn’t hiding his displeasure well.

She drew in a slow breath. “For one, I’m agreeing in large part because all I know of you so far suggest to me that you are a man who will be kind to his wife.” Serious, assessing eyes met his squarely. “If that is not the case, please inform me now.”

She was afraid, he realized. Why wouldn’t she be? In what she’d done for Georgiana, he had indisputable proof of what nature of person Miss Bennet was. She had only the little she’d seen of him to go by. A man who’d let his sister be absconded with, by a man he knew to be a bounder, no less. A man who’d rashly fought a duel that had ruined her. As for the rest of it, she had only his word and Georgiana’s assurance he would care for her.

Darcy reached across the table and captured Miss Bennet’s hand. Her eyes went wide, but she didn’t pull away from him. “Miss Bennet, I know you have only my word in this, but believe me when I tell you, not only do I plan to be kind to you, but to cherish you.” How else could he treat the woman who’d saved his sister?

Miss Bennet looked down at their clasped hands, coloring slightly. “I will bear that in mind.”

“What else may I reassure you on?” he asked.

“If possible, I should like us to be married in a church by a clergyman.” She looked up, eyes still wide. “I know that’s not a legal requirement in Scotland, but I would prefer it.”

“I would also,” Darcy said. “I can’t guarantee it, but I will make an effort.”

She squared her shoulders, slipping her hand from his. “Also, I should like us to have many witnesses to the wedding. I don’t want to be in a position of not being able to prove I am married.”

Darcy pulled his hand back, offended. Was she implying he would change his mind? Worse, that he would go through the motions of being wed and then cast her aside later?

“I can see you are offended, but consider my position, sir,” she said. Her lips turned up in a wry smile. “I understand if your offense is so great that you no longer wish to marry.”

He gave her an assessing look. A test? A true fear? Did it matter? “On the contrary. I believe it is an excellent idea. I, also, wouldn’t want to be in a position where the legality of our union could be questioned. My marriage is of sufficient importance that there should be witnesses.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, my marriage is of sufficient importance to me,” she said sharply.

“Do you have a plan for procuring these witnesses?” he asked, equally sharp.

“How much are you willing to pay? You’ve made it clear on several occasions that money means little to you.” Her voce was cold.

Darcy lifted his teacup and set it down again. He leaned forward, frowning. “Are we arguing?”

She clamped her mouth closed. After a moment, she shook her head. “Let me rephrase. Can you get a large quantity of small coins? I’m talking about pennies and less.”

In answer, he stood and left the room, seeking calm while he walked. Finding his servants in the foyer, loading his carriage, he gave one the job of assembling the coins. He returned to find Miss Bennet had torn a piece of toast into small bits on her plate. He pulled out his char and sat. “Anything else?”

She nodded. “I should like to stop here overnight on our return. If my family is looking for me, I would like to make sure we don’t pass them by. If they are not here, I should like time to write to them.”

“That should only cost us a few hours,” he said. “I see no reason we wouldn’t be able to do so. I shall make the arrangements.” They would only need one room, he realized, on the return journey. She may have come to the same conclusion, for she blushed again, dropping her gaze. “Is there more?”

She looked up, her nervousness clear. “Where will we be going after we wed, may I ask?”

Any lingering annoyance Darcy held for her previsions evaporated. She was placing a great deal of trust in him. “To Pemberley, in Derbyshire.”

She nodded, standing. “I think the rest would be best discussed in the privacy of your carriage.”

He raised his eyebrows, but stood as well. “I will meet you here once I arrange for our room tonight and collect the coins you requested.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was steady, but her cheeks rosy with heat. She left.

Darcy watched her go, then went to make the arrangements. A short time later, he went out and found Miss Bennet waiting for him, looking composed. They descended the steps. He handed her into the carriage himself and he turned and smiled at him.

He was surprised how much that small gesture heartened him. He climbed in and took his place beside her. Her diminutive form didn’t even cover half the seat. Darcy rapped on the ceiling and they set out. His eyes came to rest on the rolled up drawing resting on the other seat.

They rode in silence through the town. He had the windows closed against the dust, and hoped the day wouldn’t grow too warm. He didn’t permit himself to turn to her until they were on the open road, the motion of the wheels a steady rumble. Even in the dimness of the carriage, Miss Bennet was beautiful.

“What’s that?” she asked, gesturing to the rolled paper across from them.

Darcy offered a slight smile, reaching for it. “My travel companion for the last several days.” He unfurled it, revealing her seated at the pianoforte in three-quarter profile.

She frowned, obviously confused, before understanding eased the expression. “Georgiana’s drawing?” Her voice held awe. “I hadn’t seen it. She’s very talented, isn’t she? It’s beautiful.”

“No more beautiful than her subject.” He let it roll back shut, observing her blush. “You are not accustomed to being told you’re beautiful? This surprises me.”

She put a hand to her hair, patting it to make sure it was in place, and winced as she hit the spot where Wickham struck her. “Because I am not. I am sharp, and witty.” She offered a shrug. “My sister Jane is sweet and beautiful. If you’d ever seen her, you wouldn’t be in this carriage with me.”

He angled toward her, to look her in the eye, their knees touching. “I assure you, I would be.” To emphasize the point, he took her hand.

Miss Bennet gave a nervous laugh. “You only say that because you haven’t seen her.”

“I say that because your beauty is the most alluring I’ve ever set eyes on.” Did she really think so little of her charms? It was refreshing, after the women he was accustomed to. When before had he met a female who touted herself more for her mind than what her form had to offer?

He looked down at her hand, clasped in his. She wore her gloves now, as did he. He resented the double layer of fabric between them. Releasing her, he shed his. She watched with those beautiful, luminous eyes as he recaptured her hands, one at a time, and peeled off her gloves. He ran his thumb over her knuckled, smoothing her silk-like skin, but that wasn’t enough. He raised her hand and kissed it. He could feel the staccato beat of her pulse in her slender wrist.

“That brings up the other thing,” she said, her voice low and breathless.

“Other thing?” If he tried to kiss her, would she let him? She had perfect, pink, bow shaped lips. They called to him, a siren’s call.

“Yes, that we must discuss.” She swallowed, nervous again.

Darcy caressed her hand, trying to focus on her words. She wished to discuss something before they married. How important could it be, though? She was already in his carriage with him. He dropped his gaze from her lips to watch the rapid rise and fall of her breath.

“Mr. Darcy?”

With effort, he returned his attention to her eyes. “I believe the mister and miss may be dropped now, don’t you, Miss Bennet?”

“Georgiana called you Fitzwilliam.”

Darcy leaned back against the seat, breaking all contact but their clasped hands. “She calls me that, and you are welcome to if you insist, but my friends call me Darcy. I should like if you would.”

“And I should like you to call me Elizabeth, Mr. . . . that is, Darcy.”

“Elizabeth,” Darcy repeated, trying the name. “What is it you wished to speak to me about in the privacy of our carriage?” He could tell by the way she stilled that she noted his use of “our.”

“It’s . . . that is . . .”

He didn’t need to look to know she was blushing again. He squeezed her hand in reassurance. “What is it?”

“If much of the reason we’re wedding at this time is to shelter Georgiana from the repercussions of what she’s done, well, we cannot do anything that would jeopardize that.”

He frowned, unable to gather her meaning from her rambled words. “Jeopardize that?”

“May I be plain?”

“Please.” Before his head began to throb.

“We cannot have a child,” she said, her words firm. “If Georgiana is pregnant and we mean to raise the baby as ours, we cannot have a child for nearly two years. Therefore, we cannot do that thing which would result in a child for at least nine months, but I should think twelve would be more advisable.”

Not do that thing? Darcy didn’t look at her, so she wouldn’t see the extent of his disappointment. Somewhere between getting Elizabeth to say yes to his proposal and removing her gloves, he’d forgotten that detail. “No, of course not. All the more reason to have many witnesses, for it’s possible we will both be able to swear the marriage is not consummated for some time to come.” A year? A year with his beguiling new wife by his side but not in his bed?

No, that wouldn’t do. There would be too much talk. It would be noticed. At the inn that night, for instance. They must share a chamber, at least. “However, I feel we must give the world the impression our union is complete. If we must claim a child, there must be no suspicion we couldn’t have produced one.”

“Yes, you are correct.” She darted a glance at him. “And that means?”

“We should share a chamber, at least some of the time.” Worse than a year with Elizabeth not in his bed, a year with her sleeping beside him, untouchable.

“Like tonight.”

“Like tonight,” he agreed.

She nodded, drawing in a long breath that turned into a yawn. “I’m sorry. I hardly slept.”

“It’s a long journey. You should rest,” he said. “Here.” He released her hand to wrap an arm about her shoulders, drawing her against him.

She stiffened, but didn’t protest. She lay her head against his chest. He could feel her relax incrementally with each breath. Her eyes drifted closed. Soon, she was asleep. He had not slept well since he was in Ramsgate, but somehow the time with Elizabeth in his arms seemed too precious to waste on sleep.

He watched her, wondering if he was mad to be hurrying off to Scotland to wed. How could he marry someone he’d known for mere hours? How could he inflict this stranger on Pemberley?

Georgiana wasn’t even likely to be with child. Very few brides had a baby nine months after the ceremony. He should have gambled on that and dealt with the situation if it arose.

But what if it did arise? He was at fault for his bad choice for Georgiana’s governess. He should bear the burden, not his sister. If she did turn out to be with child, the situation would be much worse if he did nothing now.

He went still, the thought coming to him that he had only Elizabeth’s word that Georgiana was no longer a virgin. He stared down at her, aghast. What if she’d lied? What if—

He shook his head. He was being foolish. Though he didn’t know her well, he was sure Elizabeth Bennet was not a liar. She wasn’t conniving, or if she was, she was by far the best actress the world had ever known.

Besides which, he’d told her they would wed. A gentleman didn’t go back on his word, especially not a Darcy. He couldn’t back out now. His honor forbade it, and it would destroy her. Her reputation was already in tatters. If he backed out now, it would be unsalvageable after their carriage ride. True, he could give her money, but that would not restore her good name. From what he knew of her, she likely wouldn’t even accept it.

Darcy rested his head against Elizabeth’s. Know her well or not, it almost ached, how right it felt to hold her. How had she managed, in a matter of hours, to enchant him so completely? Did it matter? They were on their way to be married. For better or worse, he would wed a woman he barely knew, but who held more allure than any before her. Soon, Elizabeth Bennet would be his wife.

Chapter Eleven – Elopement Succeeds

Elizabeth gazed out at the Scottish countryside. She’d left Scotland with the strong possibility of never seeing it again, yet here she was, not two weeks later. The countryside was as lovely as she recalled, but that didn’t soothe her. How had she gone from a reasonable young woman returning to her family to having her reputation in such shambles her only recourse was to marry a stranger?

She didn’t look at Mr. Darcy. She didn’t need to. His features were etched in her mind. She could feel his presence beside her.

It had been strange to wake up with his arm about her. Not unpleasant. More the opposite, which was odd in itself. She, who’d felt little for any man her whole life, had woken to his presence with a smile. This man, known to her for so short a time, roused more emotion in her than any she’d met before.

It wasn’t simply his outward appearance, and certainly not his wealth. It was at least partially because he exuded strength and competence, peace and a sense of safety. Mr. Darcy was a man who commanded not only through his social status, but by virtue of seeming worthy of respect. If he had one flaw, it was that he so wholly expected that respect, taking it as his due.

They overtook a wagon, piled high and moving slowly. Elizabeth could hear Mr. Darcy’s coachman asking for directions. Soon, they turned from the main road, heading down a well-worn track cut through a dense grove, which shielded their destination from view.

Mr. Darcy disembarked first, stopping to speak with his coachman before coming around to open her door. Elizabeth couldn’t hear all that was said, but gathered Mr. Darcy was sending the man on, to procure her requested witnesses. She felt a little silly for that, but she wanted to be intelligent about the folly she’d immersed herself in. Though Mr. Darcy seemed eminently upright, it was Elizabeth’s feeling that sometimes people had a way of talking themselves into believing what was best for them. Even a man who seemed honest, like Mr. Darcy, might argue himself around to discounting their union if required. Therefore, having as many witnesses as possible was paramount.

His business with the coachman concluded, Mr. Darcy opened the door beside her and handed her down. Elizabeth took in the small stone church with pleasure. It was set in a naturally idyllic location and the structure, though ancient, was well-maintained and possessing a great deal of archaic charm. If someone had drawn a church in a storybook, it couldn’t have been more perfect.

Behind them, the carriage moved away. Mr. Darcy didn’t relinquish her hand as they walked toward the church. Elizabeth had ample time to realize they hadn’t put their gloves back on, but couldn’t regret it. It felt right, her hand clasped in his.

Inside the small stone building they found no one, though she was pleased by how bright it was, the windows being formed of clear glass. Sunlight streamed in, fragmented by the beveled edges of the panes, to illuminate heavy wooden benches rendered smooth by years of use. Beyond the pews was a simple but elegant display. All in all, Elizabeth thought it a lovely place to wed.

“If only there was someone to officiate,” she murmured, looking about.

“That would assist the matter,” Mr. Darcy agreed in his deep, rich voice.

“Shall we take a turn around the outside in the hope of encountering someone?” she suggested.

In reply, Mr. Darcy turned them back toward the door, tucking her arm into his.

Outside, they walked the lawn, coming around the church to find a small rectory, complete with a garden. In that garden, wearing a broad hat to shield him from the sun, toiled a thin young man. He set aside his tools when he saw them, dusting off his hands.

“Can I assist you?” the man called as they neared.

“We’re seeking the parson,” Mr. Darcy said. “Would you be him?”

“Indeed.” The man offered his hand, Mr. Darcy leaving her side to clasp it. “Mr. Logan. What can I do for you?”

“We should like to be wed,” Mr. Darcy said.

Elizabeth stepped forward, adding a smile to his statement, lest Mr. Logan worry she might not want the marriage.

Mr. Logan looked them over. “Well, yes, of course. Arrangements can be made. I don’t believe we’ve met before?”

“We have not. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy. This is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. We wish to be wed now, today.”

“Before witnesses, in church,” Elizabeth added, lest the clergyman be too agreeable and marry them before the coachman and witnesses arrived.

Mr. Logan rocked back on his heels. “Today? Now?”

“I realize it will be an inconvenience to you,” Mr. Darcy said. “I am willing to donate fifty pounds to you, to use as best you see fit for you or your parishioners. Also, we will also be paying a penny to every witness. They should arrive shortly.”

“And I would like our names entered in the church registry, and the names of our witnesses, please,” Elizabeth said, worried anew. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Mr. Darcy was a man of too much status to be wedding the likes of her. Even if he didn’t attempt to discredit their union, there may be others who would.

“Well, yes, I think we shall manage that,” Mr. Logan said. “You sent someone to the village to bring back witnesses?”

Mr. Darcy nodded.

“Yes, well, it will be a good day for our small community, then, will it not? It seems Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet are of a generous nature.” Mr. Logan smiled. “If you’ll permit me to change, I’ll meet you in the church?”

“Of course,” Mr. Darcy said. He offered Elizabeth his arm again.

She took it, letting him lead her back. Soon the coachman returned, and witnesses began to arrive. The promise of money and the spectacle of a wealthy Englishman brought a crowd of about thirty to the church. Elizabeth was somewhat reassured by the number, though Mr. Darcy’s seemingly careless offer of fifty pounds to Mr. Logan still worried her. With the type of wealth she suspected Mr. Darcy of having, even thirty people could be bribed to say they hadn’t witnessed a wedding.

Elizabeth waited for the witnesses as they filed in. She had each child say, “I am here to witness the wedding between Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.” She had to coax the first child, but he eventually said it. She then gave him a farthing, with another farthing to his mother. One man left, muttering, “This is foolishness,” but the rest remained.

Mr. Logan performed the ceremony, which was brief. Elizabeth felt bereft in the sea of people filling the small church. So many faces, but none of them known except Mr. Darcy’s, and his not for long. It was with a strange sense of unreality that she found herself declared Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. She didn’t know if she was sad or relieved that Mr. Logan did not employ the controversial request for the bride and groom to kiss. She did know that Mr. Darcy smiled down at her in a way that unfurled warmth inside her.

After the ceremony, Elizabeth gave out pennies, this time requiring the witnesses to say, “I saw Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet get married.” She had Mr. Logan write down the name of each person who said it, asking that he make three copies.

Still, it didn’t seem like quite enough insurance. Before she went off with Mr. Darcy as his wife, she wanted to be certain his money, which he seemed too ready to spend, couldn’t later be used to make the truth of their union disappear. Yes, he seemed like a good man now, but if Mr. Wickham provided any lesson, it was that men could deceive.

Elizabeth questioned the milling witnesses, getting the name of the man who kept the local tavern, which doubled as a general store. Not giving her new husband a chance to argue, she suggested they all journey there for a celebratory meal. When they arrived, she approached the tavern owner and handed him one of the lists.

“We’re looking for a place to have a meal celebrating our union, but first, I’m going to give you enough money so each person here has a credit of,” she turned to Mr. Darcy, “how much?”

“One pound each,” he said.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in surprise. That would certainly be memorable for all involved, and become a story that would spread. She returned her attention to the tavern owner.

“One pound,” she reiterated. “But there is a catch. In order to receive the credit, they must say to you, ‘I witnessed Fitzwilliam Darcy marry Elizabeth Bennet.’ And a further restriction, they may draw as little or as much of the pound as they want, but each day, only one person can withdraw money.” She frowned, seeing a possible flaw in her hastily constructed plan. “Do you read and write, sir?”

“Aye,” he said, looking at the list in his hand.

Elizabeth smiled, relieved. “You will get one pound for your effort as well,” she added.

“Thank you, Mrs. Darcy.”

Mr. Darcy’s expression was, fortunately, one of mild amusement. “Not only are you limited to one person a day using their money, but once a person uses their money, they must wait until everyone else has a chance to use theirs. Because of the additional bookkeeping that will involve, I am going to overrule my wife. You will get two pounds for your efforts, but you will display a copy of the record of the transactions for all to see. Is this acceptable to you?”

“Aye,” he said with considerable enthusiasm. “And I’d be honored if you have your first meal at my inn. I can have something for you in a jiffy.”

“How long would it take you to make a meal for all these good people who attended the wedding?” Mr. Darcy asked, gesturing to the crowd of witnesses who’d followed them over.

“An hour, but it won’t be fancy.”

“That is acceptable,” Mr. Darcy said.

Elizabeth was relieved he was taking her extra precautions in good spirits. He had every right to be insulted, if he so chose. She didn’t want to begin her life with Mr. Darcy antagonizing him, but his obvious wealth made her nervous. It was easy to see she was wedding above her station.

While Mr. Darcy paid the money needed, Mr. Logan approached and invited him to the parsonage until the meal was ready. After turning to her to receive her nod, Mr. Darcy accepted the offer. The three of them left the crowded tavern and headed back toward the church.

When they got to the parsonage, Mr. Logan briefly excused himself and then returned. “My apologies, but I decided to start a rumor. My bed is made every morning by a maid whom I gave permission to help the tavern keeper with your meal. I went up to the room and messed up the bed. I will not talk about what you did here, but my maid is a gossip. I am perfectly capable of making the bed, and will do so if you request it, but if you want to make it seem like you started your married life here, that will help.”

Elizabeth was a bit shocked, but more amused. She looked to her husband, to gauge his reaction. She recalled Georgiana saying he had a reserved temperament.

“Do you have an opinion?” Mr. Darcy asked.

“Can you make it sloppily, so she’ll notice but assumed we wanted to conceal it?” Elizabeth asked Mr. Logan.

“Easily. I’ll do that now,” he said.

“Wait.” Elizabeth reached up, found a loose strand of hair and pulled it out. She handed it to Mr. Logan.

“Better,” he said with a smile.

“We are already committed,” Mr. Darcy said after Mr. Logan disappeared upstairs.

“Yes, but this adds some verisimilitude. Thank you for going along with it.”

He shrugged, leaving her wondering at his true thoughts on Mr. Logan’s initiative, and her actions.

Seeking a topic with less potential for disagreement, she gave him a mischievous smile. “I wonder how much prices will be raised while people have credit.”

“Enough to make the innkeeper happy.”

The meal, which Mr. Darcy paid for, consisted of too-salty, fried, sliced ham with fried onions and bread, washed down with poor quality ale. Leaning close, Mr. Darcy whispered to her that he’d eaten worse food at roadside inns, but not often. The witnesses ate with enthusiasm. Neither bride nor groom ate very much and they left after a short time.

When they entered the carriage, Elizabeth saw that someone had left flowers for them, probably a child judging by the selection and length of the stems. Elizabeth gathered together the pitiful collection and sighed.

Mr. Darcy watched her as the carriage started moving. “You are melancholy?”

“What?” She looked away. “No, not really. This simply isn’t what I envisioned for the happiest day of my life.”

He didn’t reply. Worried she’d insulted him, Elizabeth turned to face him. His expression contemplative.

“I never expected to have a happiest day of my life,” he said. “Not by wedding, at least. I expected to marry a woman who would advance my holdings and connections.”

“I’m sure you did.” She shrugged. How could she explain? “I know it’s silly to have expected love, and I’m not prone to silliness, I assure you. So many women think of little other than marriage. They long for a man with good looks, or with money, or social standing. I never sought any of those things. I always said I would marry only where my heart was engaged and the rest, well, I shouldn’t care one way or the other.” She shook her head, smiling slightly at her folly. “I thought that stance all but guaranteed me love.”

“Marrying to preserve your reputation was not a reason you expected.”

“No.” She studied his face, trying to know his mind. “It never occurred to me I should lose it, or that I would meet Georgiana and be part of a plan to save her from unhappiness.”

“So you agreed to marry me for your reputation and my sister’s happiness?”

Her wry smile grew. That was a question he should have asked before wedding her. “Yes, and for my sisters. I have every right to throw away my prospects, and an equal right to do no more for Georgiana, all but a stranger, than I have. I do not have the right to ruin my sisters’ chances.”

“So, I never hoped for love, and you assumed you would have it.” He turned to face her fully. “Are you certain, then, that you will never come to love me?”

She stared up at him, surprised. Was that sorrow in his tone? Did he, who never planned to love his wife, desire his wife should love him? “I don’t know you, Mr. Darcy. Without knowing you, how can I know if I shall come to care for you?”

He stared down at her, expression thoughtful. Reaching out, he grazed her cheek with strong fingers. “Perhaps there is a way to assess the potential for stronger feelings between us.”

“Such as?” she asked, suddenly feeling they were very much alone.

“This.” He cupped her cheek in his palm, bringing his mouth down to meet hers.

Elizabeth went still, unsure what to expect as their lips met.

His kiss was soft, feather light at first, taunting her with the promise of more. She leaned into him, seeking. His arms encircled her and held her against him. His mouth became more insistent, stirring an afore unknown wave of longing from somewhere deep within her. Elizabeth twined her arms around his neck, trying to draw him nearer still.

Suddenly, she jerked back, pain radiating outward through her ribs from where they’d collided with the pianoforte.

Mr. Darcy stared down at her, looking confused.

“My ribs,” she said trying to suppress a grimace.

“Yes, I forgot. I’m sorry.” His expression clouded with more than remorse.

She regretted her admission, aware she’d reawaken his anger toward Mr. Wickham. He turned to glower at the carriage wall across from him, leaning back. With empty space between them on the seat, she felt oddly bereft. After a short time, his breathing became even. He settled more firmly into his corner. His eyes drifted closed. Elizabeth realized he’d fallen asleep. She decided she would never tell anyone that she fell asleep on the way to her wedding and her husband fell asleep while returning.

Chapter Twelve – In-laws Met

Mr. Bennet arrived at the Sleeping Cat with a profound sense of relief. The journey had been blissfully uneventful. He offered Jane a smile. She made a pleasant travel companion, his eldest child. Perhaps he should have spent more time with her over the years. With her kind nature and pretty looks, she was sure to leave home soon, and take much that was sensible with her. He and Elizabeth would be alone in a sea of foolishness.

When they arrived at the Sleeping Cat Inn, Mr. Bennet was pleased to see it was a neat, well-maintained building. It stood a bit apart from the rest of the town, giving it a certain prominence. The wide porch, extensive stable and large innyard added to the general appearance of respectability.

Disembarking and sending his driver toward the stable to see to the carriage and horses, Mr. Bennet led the way inside. The large common room was airy, with wide windows along one wall to let in fresh air and daylight. A highly-polished bar stretched along the far wall, with a fireplace and pianoforte opposite each other at the two shorter ends of the room.

A man came out from behind the bar to greet them, further reassuring Mr. Bennet with his cheerful demeanor. “Welcome to the Sleeping Cat,” the man said. “I’m the innkeeper, Mr. Buchanan. How may we be of service today, sir?”

“I’m Mr. Bennet,” he said by way of greeting. “This is my daughter, Miss Jane Bennet. We’re here to collect another of my daughters, Elizabeth. She said she would be here.”

The man rocked back on his heels slightly, his expression clouding in a way Mr. Bennet didn’t care for. “Miss Bennet was here, and will return this evening, but she is not here now. She left for Scotland this morning.”

“Scotland?” She couldn’t be on her way to his sister, if she meant to be back by evening.

Mr. Buchanan nodded. He tugged at his collar. “She left in the company of a Mr. Darcy. They mean to marry.”

Jane gasped.

Mr. Bennet stared at the innkeeper. Mr. Buchanan could not possibly be correct. Running off to Scotland was something Lydia would do, not Elizabeth. She was the most intelligent of his daughters and not prone to flightiness at all.

“Mr. Bennet?” the innkeeper said, his voice sounding oddly far off. “Perhaps you should sit down, sir.”

“Papa, do sit down,” Jane said.

Mr. Bennet nodded, claiming the chair nearest him. “She’s gone to get married?” His Elizabeth wouldn’t do something so rash. As far as he knew, she’d never even fancied a gentleman. Who was this Mr. Darcy?

“Maybe it’s not so dire,” Jane said, taking the seat beside him. Her expression brightened. “Maybe Lizzy’s in love. It was bound to happen eventually.”

Mr. Bennet looked up at Mr. Buchanan. “Is my daughter in love?”

The innkeeper cleared his throat. “I couldn’t say, sir.” He glanced across the room toward a table where two respectable looking gentlemen sat at a gaming board. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Bennet, I think I may know a way to help. I won’t be long.”

Mr. Bennet nodded again, his mind churning. He was vaguely aware of Mr. Buchanan going to the table with the two gentlemen and then disappearing through a door in the back. Mr. Bennet frowned at the table, trying to comprehend what was taking place.

“Do you think it’s really true?” Jane asked. “It doesn’t seem like something Lizzy would do.”

Mr. Bennet shook his head. “I don’t know.” If it wasn’t true, what did that mean? Had something happened to Elizabeth and this was the innkeeper’s way of hiding it? Better the man’s words were true than that. He looked around the common room again, expecting it to appear more sinister than before, but nothing had changed. The two respectable looking gentlemen were watching him, though.

“I’m sure all will be well, Papa.” Jane covered his hand with hers where it rested on the table.

It didn’t take long for Mr. Buchanan to reappear with a dram of scotch and several sheets of paper. “Complements of the house,” he said, setting the scotch on the table. “This first is the tale of how Miss Elizabeth ended up remaining here. The second concerns Mr. Darcy’s arrival and the, uh, duel. It’s not for me to say if the two are related,” he added with a meaningful look that rather suggested they were.

“Thank you.”

Scotch in hand and Jane reading over his shoulder, Mr. Bennet read first the account of Elizabeth giving up her place in the Muirs’ carriage for a Miss G. who was in danger of being forced to elope with a Mr. Wickham. From what Mr. Bennet could tell, based on what was said and what was easily inferred, Miss G. was very young, afraid, wealthy and alone.

“Yes,” Jane murmured. “Papa, you can see why Lizzy had to help her. She couldn’t let that poor girl be carted off by Mr. Wickham. It’s obvious he was after her dowry and not a pleasant individual at all.”

Mr. Bennet nodded. It did, indeed, seem the sort of thing Elizabeth would be compelled to put right. He set the account aside, took a sip of scotch and began the second.

He nearly spat his scotch across the page when he read that Mr. Wickham had struck Elizabeth. Jane let out a startled squeak, indicating she’d reached the same information. Mr. Bennet quickly read on.

When he was through, he pushed the pages away, waving Mr. Buchanan over. “Thank you for giving me some insight into what’s taken place.”

“Of course, Mr. Bennet.” The innkeeper glanced at the two gentlemen. “You may keep those if you like. We have other copies.”

“Is this Mr. Wickham still about?” Mr. Bennet didn’t consider himself an aggressive man, or as having much of a temper, but he should like to give Mr. Wickham a sound tongue lashing. He could appreciate why Mr. Darcy had felt compelled to duel.

“No.” Mr. Buchanan shook his head. “No one would put him up, feed him or gamble with him after what he did. He left town as soon as he was finished writing.”

“What about what he was made to write out?” Mr. Bennet asked, tapping the pages which described the event and the punishment meted out.

“I can get you one of those, certainly. We’re dispersing them through the countryside and would be happy if you would take one with you.”

“Thank you. I think we should also like a meal. It seems we’ll be waiting for some time.”

The food at the Sleeping Cat was better than the typical inn fare. Mr. Bennet tried to put aside his worry for Elizabeth and enjoy the fact that he and Jane were someplace new, doing something rather more interesting than he really cared to do. As they were finishing their meal, the two respectable looking gentlemen came over and asked to join them. They turned out to be Mr. Matthews, the local magistrate, and Mr. Gregory, the local rector. Both were highly complementary of Elizabeth, and of Mr. Darcy, though they admitted to not knowing him well. When pressed, they wouldn’t confirm Mr. Bennet’s suspicion that Miss G. was related to Mr. Darcy, but they didn’t deny it either.

While various patrons came and went, it wasn’t until late afternoon that Elizabeth and a tall gentleman of perhaps twenty-seven or eight years entered the common room. Jane leapt to her feet, her face wreathed in joy. Mr. Bennet stood more slowly. Mr. Matthews and Mr. Gregory excused themselves.

“Lizzy,” Jane called, rushing to her sister.

Mr. Bennet watched his daughters embrace then turned to size up the man at Elizabeth’s side. His demeanor was a touch reserved, his carriage upright. If his tailoring was any indication, he was quite wealthy. On top of that, though Mr. Bennet knew he wasn’t the best judge, the man was rather well put together.

Mr. Bennet came to stand beside Jane. “Mr. Darcy, I presume?”

“I am,” he said with a nod, even those two words cultured. “Mr. Bennet?”

Mr. Bennet nodded back, vaguely amused to present a demeanor as stiff as Mr. Darcy’s. The man obviously took himself rather seriously. “Mr. Darcy, I believe you owe me an explanation.”

Another grave nod. Mr. Bennet wondered how Elizabeth would get on with such a formal gentleman. “I agree, but I would prefer to give it in private.” He turned toward the bar. “Mr. Buchanan, is your private parlor free?”

The innkeeper hurried over. “It is, Mr. Darcy. Would you care to use it?”

“We would. May we also have refreshments? We’ve eaten little today.”

“Certainly.”

“Mr. Bennet, is there anything you would care for?” Mr. Darcy asked.

“Tea would be fine, Mr. Buchanan.”

“And wine,” Jane said.

Mr. Bennet looked at her in surprise.

“We should toast Lizzy’s marriage.” Jane’s tone was firm.

“Yes, we should,” Mr. Darcy said. “Elizabeth deserves her wedding to be celebrated. I am pleased she has family here to do so.”

Mr. Bennet turned back to Mr. Darcy, surprised. He was looking down at Elizabeth, who was smiling at Jane, seeming completely oblivious to the love-struck expression on her new husband’s face. Mr. Bennet looked away, hiding a smile. He wouldn’t have thought it possible for anyone to fall in love so quickly, but Elizabeth was a unique young woman. Suddenly, Mr. Bennet felt considerably better about the entire situation.

“Right,” Mr. Buchanan said. “Tea, wine and supper for the newlyweds. I believe you know the way to the parlor?”

“We do, and thank you, Mr. Buchanan,” Elizabeth said.

She led the way to the parlor, which was spacious and comfortable. The windows were open, allowing for fresh air, and one of the seating areas was far enough removed from them that Mr. Bennet didn’t think anyone could listen in, were they so inclined. The fireplace was banked, and unlit candles abounded. All in all, as with other parts of the inn he’d seen, it was a pleasant room.

They were seated and Elizabeth introduced Jane to Mr. Darcy, who was cordial. Mr. Bennet watched carefully, but didn’t see the usual look overtake Mr. Darcy’s features, the adoring one that most young men got when speaking to Jane. They then proceeded to talk of nothing significant until their food, tea and wine were brought. The servants closed the door behind them when they left.

“Now,” Mr. Bennet said, making no move to eat or drink. “How is it I’ve arrived here to find my daughter married? To simplify things, you should know Jane and I have read both the account of how Elizabeth came to remain here and of the duel and what led up to it.”

Jane reached across the table to squeeze Elizabeth’s hand, her look one of sympathy.

Mr. Darcy turned to Elizabeth. “I believe you said your father and elder sister are two of the four people who can be trusted with the truth?”

Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows. He wondered if the other two were Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, or Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Phillips. Surely Elizabeth hadn’t included her mother or any of her other sisters in her list of most trustworthy individuals.

“That is correct.” Elizabeth offered Mr. Bennet a reassuring smile.

“I believe the description of how Elizabeth helped Miss G. avoid Mr. Wickham is entirely accurate,” Mr. Darcy said. “However, some of the claims therein are not, and some information was deliberately left out.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, having suspected as much. “You are her brother. Miss G. is Miss Darcy.”

Mr. Darcy nodded. “Yes. Furthermore, as I do not wish to begin my relationship with my father-in-law in lies, I believe you should know that Georgiana willingly eloped with Mr. Wickham. She did not realize, at the time, that he was not in love with her, but with her dowry. He made the mistake of telling her, once he felt she had no recourse, that he was wedding her for money and to spite me.”

“Which was why she was so miserable, Papa,” Elizabeth said, her demeanor earnest. “She’s only fifteen and a very young fifteen at that. Her governess permitted herself to be bribed into giving Mr. Wickham access to Miss Darcy. Though what you know of him doesn’t suggest it, I believe he could be quite charming if so inclined.”

“Poor girl,” Jane said, always ready to take the side of the wronged.

“Fifteen is old enough to know better and a more suitable governess should have been hired,” Mr. Bennet said. “She traded her mistake for your reputation, Elizabeth. I can’t immediately forgive that.”

Mr. Darcy stiffened, frowning.

“I can, Papa, and my reputation was perfectly salvageable until the duel.”

“Yes, the duel,” Mr. Bennet repeated, turning a hard look on Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy launched into a lengthy explanation, delving back into his and Mr. Wickham’s childhood and touching on many slights, not the least of which was a disagreement over a promised living. Mr. Bennet made no comment until the end of Darcy’s recital, except to glance occasionally at Elizabeth with slightly raised eyebrows, which caused her to nod in agreement. Finally, Mr. Darcy fell silent, looking a bit spent.

Mr. Bennet contemplated his new son. “You’ve had years to settle your differences with Mr. Wickham. Why did you permit him to finally draw you into a fight? You’ve done Elizabeth’s reputation great harm.”

“I lost my temper,” Darcy admitted. His eyes flicked toward Elizabeth. “When he struck your daughter . . .” He shook his head. “I finally lost my temper. He went too far.”

“Not far enough for you to kill him,” Mr. Bennet said. He supposed that was fortunate, because killing Mr. Wickham might very well have ended up with Elizabeth’s reputation ruined and no Mr. Darcy available to marry her. Murder was a hanging offense.

“No, not enough to kill him,” Mr. Darcy’s words were clipped, stiff. “I apologize, Mr. Bennet. I should have insisted on proper protocol.”

“From what you’ve said, Mr. Wickham is not a gentleman,” Mr. Bennet said. “You had no need to even consider dueling him.”

Mr. Darcy looked at Elizabeth again. “As I said, I was not thinking with perfect clarity. I wanted only to punish him for what he’d done.”

“I believe Mr. Wickham struck me with the intention of provoking Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, wincing as if in recalled pain. “He knows Mr. Darcy well. I’m sure he knew seeing a woman struck would drive him momentarily beyond reason. Once Mr. Darcy agreed, he couldn’t back out.” She offered her husband a smile.

Mr. Bennet suppressed a sigh. Young people and their ideals. “One lapse in temper caused Mr. Darcy to ruin you, shortly after one lapse in judgement brought Miss Darcy to the point of requiring your assistance. You can see, Lizzy, why I am not pleased with the Darcys at this juncture.”

To his surprise, Elizabeth lifted her chin, a familiar stubborn look molding her features. “I am a Darcy now, Papa.”

“I realize that, Elizabeth.”

Beside him, Jane made a sound that was oddly like a stifled giggle.

Mr. Bennet maintained his stern façade. “I can see, Mr. Darcy, why you offered to marry Elizabeth. That was nobly done of you, sir, and I thank you for it. I concede that it was likely the only way to salvage her good name.” He turned to Elizabeth, frowning. “Forgive me for asking this, Lizzy, but why were you willing to marry Mr. Darcy? You must have known I would rescue you and will always look after you.”

“I was concerned my ruined reputation would make it harder for my sisters to marry,” she said, looking down at her hands. “Also, Mr. Darcy promised he will give mother an annuity if you predecease her.”

Mr. Bennet narrowed his eyes. Was Elizabeth implying he hadn’t set aside enough to care for his wife and daughters? The accusation stung all the more for being true. He was unwilling to fight his wife over spending except to the point of not going into debt.

“Five hundred pounds a year,” Mr. Darcy confirmed. “I also promised her I would cover your travel expenses.”

“That isn’t necessary,” Mr. Bennet said, truly offended for the first time.

“It is if I’m to start out my marriage by keeping a promise I made my wife.”

Mr. Bennet held up a hand. He could see a lengthy discussion ahead, for he wouldn’t be a charitable endeavor for Elizabeth’s new husband, or permit Mr. Darcy to salve his guilt by paying off his new bride’s father. Mr. Bennet had a final question to ask first, though. He could sense a hole in their logic, and Elizabeth wasn’t given to faulty logic. As she didn’t wear a besotted look, there must be more to the story. “Before we discuss financial matters, I have one further question.” He adopted a stern expression. “Why did the marriage need to take place so hastily?”

Elizabeth looked to her husband, eyes questioning. Mr. Bennet felt a pang of sorrow. Already, she had secrets with Mr. Darcy. Already, she was no longer his Lizzy, one of the few bright points in his life, but this man’s bride. He suppressed a sigh. As Jane had stated, it was bound to happen eventually. Mr. Darcy gave a slight nod.

Elizabeth turned back to them. “There is one complication we haven’t told you, because it must remain the strictest of secrets.”

She grimaced, as if reluctant to voice the words. Mr. Bennet had the sudden fear his daughter really had compromised herself. Why, he would duel Mr. Darcy if that turned out to be the case, age and reason be damned.

“Miss Darcy may be with child,” Elizabeth said in a low voice. “If that is the case, we plan to raise the child as ours to protect her.”

Jane gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. Better she should cover her ears, Mr. Bennet thought. He raised his eyebrows. “I see. No need to say more, then, on that. We shall never speak of it again, shall we Jane?”

Jane shook her head vehemently.

“Thank you, Mr. Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said. “Now, as for the expenses of your journey.”

A lengthy argument ensued in which Mr. Bennet cheerfully, though not obviously so, tested his new son’s honesty and wit. He found both reassuringly strong. In the end, he did concede, though with a show of disgruntlement. Perhaps it wasn’t only the young who valued their perceived honor.

Mr. Darcy then offered to accommodate him and Jane at his home in Derbyshire, an offer Mr. Bennet readily accepted. As he now knew his daughter’s union was not wholly official, having taken place in Scotland, without his consent, and being unconsummated, he would cheerfully inspect this Mr. Darcy’s life for flaws before consigning Elizabeth to him forever.

Lastly, it was agreed that, after spending a brief time with her husband for the sake of appearance, Elizabeth would share a room with Jane, a plan they would follow for the entire journey to Derbyshire. That would ensure the marriage appeared official and save Mr. Bennet the additional expense of hiring one of the inn’s maids for the task of chaperoning Jane. Not that it mattered. It seemed Mr. Darcy would be settling the bill.

Chapter Thirteen – Pemberley Reached

Darcy had never imagined it would be so awkward to stand alone with his wife in an inn room. Elizabeth was looking at the floor, her color heightened by a slight blush. Darcy sought about for some topic but, never the most eloquent, he could think of nothing. All he could do was look at her, in her slender perfection, and think of the things people thought they were doing, but which they could not do.

She peered up at him through dark lashes. “How long, do you think?” she whispered. “That is, I don’t have any notion how long we should remain here for people to think . . .” She trailed off, her blush deepening.

If Darcy had his way, all night. Since he did not, he could at least salvage his male pride. “I should think the better part of an hour, at least.”

She looked up, eyes wide. “We’re going to stand here, hardly able to whisper for fear people will realize we aren’t . . . That is, we must stand here like this for an hour?”

Darcy couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “I would prefer it,” he said softly.

She threw up her hands. “This is absurd. Come, let’s move to the far corner where we can converse without being overheard. I will not simply stand here for an hour. We may as well have discourse.”

She led the way to the other side of the large bed. Darcy did his utmost not to look at it. They crowded into the far corner, beside a cracked and ancient looking painting of fruit. Firelight from both candles and the hearth illuminated Elizabeth’s delicate features, flickering across them.

“What did you wish to discuss?” he asked, leaning nearer than was strictly necessary. His eyes traced the long, slender curve of her neck.

“Anything, I suppose,” she said. Did he imagine the breathless quality to her voice? “Something to pass the time.”

Darcy could think of one way to pass the time. He lowered his lips to hers.

They didn’t end up spending an entire hour in his room. It took much less time than that for him to realize he needed to rid himself of the temptation of her. He liked to think he sent her away longing to remain, and with a newfound inclination to be pleased with their marriage. He knew he sent her away well-mussed, but as he watched her reach the safety of the room she would share with her sister, no one entered the hall to appreciate their subterfuge. After exchanging a last look with Elizabeth, Darcy closed his door and looked about his empty room. It was going to be a long journey to Pemberley.

Long, but not unenjoyable. Aside from his nightly moments alone with Elizabeth, something almost more akin to torment than pleasure, Darcy found the trip pleasant. Mr. Bennet was educated and well-informed. Elizabeth and her sister behaved with perfect propriety. Darcy couldn’t even object to the sleeping arrangements, knowing the temptation of having Elizabeth in his bed would be too much to resist.

Elizabeth proved just as witty and well-read as he’d hoped, with a mischievous streak that added a vivacity he hadn’t before realized his life was lacking. He recalled her claim he would prefer Miss Bennet, but couldn’t imagine doing so. While Miss Bennet was a great beauty, she was soft spoken and meek to the point of being invisible when Elizabeth was near. Elizabeth would not consent to have her opinions go unheard, which wasn’t an imposition as they were well thought out but not so fixed that she would not change them, if confronted with conflicting facts or better arguments. They spent the better part of a morning arguing over who was the protagonist in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. Elizabeth claimed it wasn’t Brutus or Caesar, or any single person, but rather, the conspiracy. Miss Bennet had read the play, but ventured an opinion only once.

As they neared Pemberley, Darcy’s anticipation grew. He knew his home was impressive. He looked forward to observing his new wife and her kin as they saw his estate for the first time. That should put to rest the lingering doubts he sensed Mr. Bennet had.

“The farms from here on are my tenants,” he told them when they reached the outskirts of his estate. He strove for a casual voice, but couldn’t quite contain his pride. His people were prosperous, their land neat and cared for. The roads were superior to those of any other part of their journey. He knew all of this was noticed.

On the day they were to reach Pemberley, Darcy took his driver aside and requested they pause in a location he knew offered a superior view of the manor. When the carriage rumbled to a halt and his wife and the Bennets looked out, he could see their awe. Darcy was gratified, but not surprised, that they were impressed.

His smugness lasted until they came to a stop before Pemberley. To his surprise, his cousin Richard came down the steps to open the carriage door. His look of confusion when he yanked it open was quickly masked, but Darcy knew Mr. Bennet, Miss Bennet and Elizabeth were all keen observers. Richard nodded to those within, handing Miss Bennet and Elizabeth down.

“Darcy,” Richard greeted once they were all standing in a loose semicircle before the house. “Does this mean your mission to rescue Georgiana’s savior was successful?”

Darcy turned to his wife. “Elizabeth, this is my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth nodded in greeting. “Richard, this is my wife, Elizabeth Darcy.”

Richard hid his shock well. Darcy hoped he was the only one who could read it. “This is Elizabeth’s father, Mr. Bennet, and her sister, Miss Jane Bennet.”

“It’s my pleasure to meet you all, I am sure,” Richard said. He looked between the three, his eyes lingering on Miss Bennet. “And may I offer my congratulations, Darcy, Mrs. Darcy.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. She smiled, looking to Darcy with something akin to relief in her eyes. He realized she’d been worried at her reception.

“Darcy,” Richard said. “The Bingleys and Hursts are here. They said they were invited.”

“I forgot,” Darcy said, somewhat chagrinned. He had invited them, but in the chaos of finding Georgiana missing and the ensuing confusion of events, it had slipped his mind.

“They’ve only been here an hour, though they seem a bit confused by your absence.” Richard shrugged. “Which is likely because I have given no explanation yet. Georgiana retreated to her room the moment they were announced.”

Darcy hoped they hadn’t witnessed her fleeing. “Please send someone to tell her I’m here,” Darcy said. He turned to his wife and in-laws. In an odd way, he was reluctant for them to meet Bingley’s sisters. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst could be haughty in a petty sort of way. In the face of Miss Bennet’s and Elizabeth’s open, pleasant natures, he thought Bingley’s sisters might actually embarrass him. Not that there was any help for it. Giving Elizabeth a reassuring look, he offered his arm. He did it to show her support, but realized with her on his arm, he was more confident.

Darcy escorted his wife into Pemberley to find Bingley, Miss Bingley and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst standing in the foyer. He’d wanted Elizabeth to see Pemberley at its best, starting with the magnificent stairway dominating the entrance. Instead of looking at the wonders of Pemberley, she was confronted by a somewhat hostile crowd of people, if four people could be considered a crowd. Mrs. Reynolds, his housekeeper, stood in the background, deliberately positioned as to not be part of the group. Richard crossed to speak to a maid, who hurried off, before he turned to watch the spectacle of greetings.

“I am sorry I’m late,” Darcy said. “Allow me to perform introductions.” He was not going to put up with any lack of respect for his wife. He wanted them to know immediately who she was. He would introduce them to her, not the other way around. “This is Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley, Mr. Hurst and Mrs. Hurst.” Elizabeth offered each a nod, her expression neutral. “This is my wife, Mrs. Darcy.”

Miss Bingley’s gasp was loud enough to be heard throughout the foyer. She went white, her curtsey insultingly insufficient. It didn’t escape Darcy’s notice that she did not make eye contact with Elizabeth. Mrs. Hurst practically glowered, but Bingley and Mr. Hurst offered warm greetings.

Darcy went on to introduce Mr. Bennet and Miss Bennet. Bingley babbled congratulations and spoke about wanting to get to know Mrs. Darcy and her family. His family now, Darcy reminded himself. Mr. Bennet seemed amused by the whole thing. Elizabeth held her head up high and had a determined look on her face. Suddenly, her expression lit with a smile.

“Georgiana,” she said, her pleasure at seeing his sister palpable.

“Elizabeth,” Georgiana replied, hurtling down the staircase with unbecoming eagerness. Ignoring the others in the foyer, she crossed to Elizabeth. The two embraced.

Elizabeth pulled back, pain flashing across her features.

“Are you hurt?” Georgiana asked. She shot Darcy a look, as if he might be to blame. In a way, he was.

“I’m well enough.” Elizabeth shrugged, her expression apologetic. “I’m still sore from when Mr. Wickham struck me.”

Darcy resisted the urge to give Elizabeth a warning glance. He must trust she was steering the conversation to Wickham for a reason.

“He hit you?” Georgiana exclaimed, stricken. “I thought he would leave, or look for me.”

“Mr. Wickham?” Bingley asked, frowning. “Isn’t he that fellow you grew up with?”

“Someone struck you?” Miss Bingley asked Elizabeth, her expression clearly conveying disgust toward Elizabeth.

Darcy stepped forward, but Elizabeth shot him a quick smile. “Yes,” she said, speaking to the whole foyer; guests, Richard, Georgiana, Mrs. Reynolds, and probably a few servants lingering behind doorways. “You see, Miss Darcy’s governess heard her grandfather was dying. She wanted to be at his bedside, but didn’t want to leave Miss Darcy alone. Mr. Wickham had just called on Miss Darcy and offered to escort them.” She turned to Darcy. “What was the governess’ name?”

“Mrs. Younge,” Darcy supplied, bemused.

“Partway through the journey, Mrs. Younge found out her grandfather was dead and she had inherited enough money that she need not be a governess any longer. She abandoned Miss Darcy to Mr. Wickham, who tricked Miss Darcy into getting on a northbound stage. He tried to persuade her to elope with him.”

This was met with a gasp from Mrs. Hurst. Bingley looked confused, as if he’d lost track of the conversation. He’d been staring rather ceaselessly at Miss Bennet since they arrived. For her part, Miss Bennet seemed content to stand to the back of the group, silent.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Miss Bingley said. She smiled ingratiatingly at Georgiana, placing a hand on her arm. “What a wicked creature this Mrs. Younge is.”

“Too right,” Mr. Hurst said. “Wherever you got her, Darcy, you ought to lodge a complaint.”

“Yes, likely,” Darcy said noncommittally, his attention on Georgiana.

She was looking down, her face red. He hoped no one could tell Elizabeth’s version of events was news to his sister.

“But how did that lead to Miss Eliz . . . that is, Mrs. Darcy being struck?” Miss Bingley asked. She offered Darcy a commiserating smile.

Darcy didn’t miss the slip. As Miss Bingley couldn’t be accustomed to referring to Elizabeth as Miss Elizabeth, it was not by chance she failed to do so. She didn’t even know that Miss Bennet was older than Elizabeth making “Miss Bennet” appropriate for Elizabeth.

Elizabeth’s expression remained open and neutral. “Miss Darcy wanted to resist Mr. Wickham’s proposal, but she was alone and without funds. I overheard him threaten her. I was travelling south with a family and I gave up my place in the carriage. I remained at the roadside inn where our paths crossed, in the care of the innkeeper, his wife and their unmarried daughter. Unfortunately, Mr. Wickham found out I was partially responsible for Miss Darcy’s escape.”

She glanced at Darcy.

He offered an encouraging smile. She was quite convincing. He was sorry she had to lie for his sister, but pleased she’d chosen to do so. He was too uncomfortable with prevarication to be as believable. He only hoped Elizabeth’s skill didn’t point to a flaw in her nature.

Fortunately, now they were on steadier footing, where they could keep nearer to the truth, which meant he could step in. “Needless to say, I was searching everywhere for Georgiana,” Darcy said. “One report had her and Wickham traveling together alone.” He gave his sister an apologetic look. It was for speaking the truth, but he knew others would think it was for doubting her. “I thought they might be eloping. Mr. Wickham can be very charming and I knew he would be attracted by her dowry. I came upon Wickham attacking Elizabeth. I intervened and we decided to marry.”

He took in Miss Bingley’s narrowed eyes and the calculating look she exchanged with her sister, who gave a slight shake of her head. He wondered if they could sense the most obvious thing he’d left out, that he’d salvaged Elizabeth’s reputation. They didn’t know about the duel, but to them, even her time in the inn would be ruinous. Likely, they thought he’d married out of gratitude for her role in saving Georgiana. That was partially true, but equally compelling was what Elizabeth’s actions said about who she was. Neither Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst would have risked all that Elizabeth had to help a stranger.

Mr. Bennet cleared his throat. “I came to rescue my daughter, and found she’d married Mr. Darcy in Scotland.”

“We’ve been travelling,” Darcy said to the Hursts and Bingleys, deciding enough had been said so to keep the story they wished shared straight. “I hope you will forgive us if we want to refresh ourselves. I’ll show Mrs. Darcy to her room.” He turned to Mrs. Reynolds. “Please see that Mr. Bennet and Miss Bennet have rooms. I’m sorry to be such a poor host, but we will come down for dinner.”

“Don’t worry about us, Darcy,” Bingley said with an amiable smile. “We know the lay of the place. We’re perfectly capable of entertaining ourselves until dinner. Glad it’s all turned out right. Congratulations again.”

“Yes, congratulations,” Miss Bingley said, looking at Elizabeth with a malicious smile. It was a subtle insult. Brides were not congratulated, but offered best wishes.

Darcy gestured toward the staircase. Mrs. Reynolds was already issuing orders to servants in a quiet voice, off to the side.

Elizabeth turned to Georgiana. “Miss Darcy, could you please help my sister? She hasn’t a dress suitable for dinner. Even if you can’t offer one, maybe you could have someone help her with her hair?”

Elizabeth’s friendly tone and simple request seemed to snap Georgiana out of the reserve she’d fallen into. She finally lifted her gaze from the floor. Offering Elizabeth a tentative smile, she nodded and turned to lead the way upstairs.

Chapter Fourteen – Library Discovered

Dinner proved to be interesting to Mr. Bennet. Jane was seated between Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Both men vied for her attention, obviously attracted to her. Mr. Bennet kept a covert eye on them all evening, but Jane was so uniformly polite and cheerful, he couldn’t tell if she preferred one, or even cared especially for either. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was losing both of his favorite daughters, not simply one.

Since she was a little thing with fuzzy ringlets, Mr. Bennet had always been aware that Jane was blessed with uncommon good looks. It wasn’t until that evening, watching two very respectable gentlemen vie over her, that he realized she was stunning. Less than two hours after they’d arrived, she was wearing what he suspected was a shortened gown of Miss Darcy’s. High necked, as suitable for a young girl, and a pale yellow, it shouldn’t have looked magnificent, but it did. Jane’s hair was done elaborately, suggesting a skilled maid had helped. She wore no jewelry of course, since Jane would never accept the loan of jewelry, but she outshone every woman there, including Elizabeth. He knew if he told her as much it would upset her, but Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam obviously appreciated the overall effect.

Elizabeth was surrounded by Bingley’s sisters. Though he’d sensed their animosity earlier, Mr. Bennet didn’t worry the two would overwhelm Elizabeth. His second daughter could hold her own. From the snatches of conversation he heard, they were being perfectly civil. As best Mr. Bennet could make out, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were trying to be helpful in suggesting how Elizabeth could enlarge her wardrobe with her new-found wealth. Few underhanded jibes were issued and both a very select modiste in London and an exclusive store that sold the best jewelry were mentioned. Mr. Bennet would have been wholly reassured if not for the occasional covetous look Miss Bingley directed Mr. Darcy’s way.

When the men and women parted ways, the men to finish their drinks while the women repaired to tea and chatter, Mr. Bennet decided he’d best test the matter of Miss Bingley. He wouldn’t leave Elizabeth in a situation where she would have a constant rival attempting to undermine her. Especially when her marriage was not wholly official. Not, he hoped, that Mr. Darcy would ever be foolish enough to make that fact known.

When a lull in a conversation about the difficulty of securing reliable staff came, Mr. Bennet elected to address the topic. “Miss Bingley seems to have gotten over her desire to slight Mrs. Darcy.”

Mr. Hurst, leaning back in his chair in a way that showed his comfort with the company, chuckled. “My wife put her straight. She told Caroline that either they treat Mrs. Darcy with respect or they wouldn’t be welcome at Pemberley.” Hurst nodded in Mr. Darcy’s direction. “Darcy is not a man to tolerate slights to his wife.”

“Mrs. Hurst was correct,” Mr. Darcy said dryly.

Mr. Bennet nodded, reassured. It was clear the gentlemen didn’t think Miss Bingley’s ire would amount to much. Satisfied, he permitted the situation to move on.

The remainder of the evening was even more pleasant than the first half. When they joined the ladies, the parlor they occupied boasted a pianoforte. Miss Darcy and Elizabeth performed several pieces, together and separately, as did Miss Bingley. Miss Darcy and Miss Bingley were both more accomplished than Elizabeth, objectively speaking, but Mr. Bennet was keenly aware how much he would miss her playing and her sweet voice. A glance at his new son told him Mr. Darcy was enchanted by Elizabeth’s performances. More than once, Mr. Bennet was forced to hide a smile. He wondered if his daughter had any notion how smitten her husband was with her.

The following morning, Mr. Bennet arrived at the breakfast parlor early, to find Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth already there. They were seated beside one another. When he entered, before they noticed him and greetings commenced, Mr. Darcy was showing her something in the newspaper. Mr. Bennet suppressed a pang of sorrow. Elizabeth had been the only other person at Longbourn who cared about the paper. Perhaps he would take up keeping hounds. At least they would listen while he discussed the happenings of the world with them, unlike his wife and three younger daughters.

“Did you sleep well, Papa?” Elizabeth asked as he seated himself across from her. A footman came over with coffee.

“Quite well, thank you.” He looked at Mr. Darcy. “It’s a fine room. I must say, your estate is well established, well appointed, and appears to benefit considerably from fine management.”

“Thank you, sir. I do my best to maintain what my forefathers built, and add to it. I cannot, of course, take any credit for how well-situated Pemberley is, for it was built long before my time.”

“You made a good choice, Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet said. “It’s a wise man who doesn’t take credit for happenstance.”

“It is a rather large home, isn’t it?” Elizabeth said. She looked about the large parlor. “I have the terrible fear I shall never learn where all the rooms are.”

“I should very much like to show you about later this morning,” Mr. Darcy said, turning to her. “Perhaps we could meet in my office around eleven? It’s down the first hall to the left off the foyer, but any of the servants can direct you.”

“That would be nice.” She offered him a smile.

Mr. Darcy answered with one of his own. “In the library there is also a diagram of all the rooms, as well as several maps of the estate, holdings and surrounding countryside.”

Mr. Bennet had been on the verge of drifting into his own thoughts to let the two return to their earlier discussion, a bad habit gained from dining with his wife and daughters, when the word library caught his interest. He was glad he appeared attentive when Mr. Darcy turned back.

“First, Mr. Bennet, I was hoping for a word with you? Due to the circumstances of our union, you and I never had the opportunity to speak on what I mean to settle on Elizabeth. I promise, I don’t mean to short her in view of your reduced negotiating power.”

“Reduced negotiating power?” Elizabeth echoed.

“I believe Mr. Darcy means you’re already committed, Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet said. “I can’t threaten to urge you to decline his suit or to withhold my permission.”

“But you wouldn’t have, anyhow, if I wanted the union,” she protested.

“Yes, but a suitor isn’t to know that.” He didn’t tell her he would have refused permission if he thought she was making a bad choice, but he always assumed she would choose wisely.

“My suitor would have.”

“I suppose now we will never know.” Mr. Bennet flicked his gaze toward Mr. Darcy.

“Regardless, it will not influence my decisions,” he said.

Mr. Bennet got the impression not much influenced Mr. Darcy when he already believed himself to be right. “Directly following breakfast, then?”

“I would prefer it,” Mr. Darcy said.

“Look, Papa.” Elizabeth passed him the paper, folded over to display an article. “Look what the Americans have done now.”

The rest of the meal passed in an amicable discussion of world events. The three of them were not equally aligned, but all seemed to enjoy a rigorous discussion and be capable of having one while keeping clear heads. They were forced to break off when the majority of the others, minus Mr. Hurst, arrived to dine. Mr. Hurst, Mr. Bennet was led to understand, preferred to sleep late most mornings.

Not long after, Mr. Darcy stood. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Bennet, are you available now for our meeting?”

“I am,” he said, agreeing with Mr. Darcy’s silent retreat. The arrival of the womenfolk, at the instigation of Miss Bingley, had turned to how their afternoon should be spent. As Mr. Bennet was sure his opinion was neither sought nor valued, he saw no reason to remain.

Pleasantries were exchanged, with Mr. Darcy turning to Elizabeth last. “I shall see you at eleven in my office.” He accompanied this with a smile.

The walk to Mr. Darcy’s office emphasized Elizabeth’s point about the considerable size of Pemberley. Mr. Bennet was duly impressed not to pass a single room or corridor not in perfect repair and well appointed. Such a holding and accompanying estates much put considerable pressure on a gentleman. He should find himself further impressed that Mr. Darcy’s honor had bade him wed Elizabeth without any expectation she would add to his wealth, but didn’t. Mr. Bennet was fairly sure his new son hadn’t had a real choice in the matter. Darcy was besotted with Elizabeth, which should aid Mr. Bennet’s negotiations.

In the end, no negotiating was required. The settlement Mr. Darcy had in mind for Elizabeth was generous indeed. On top of that, he was arranging for a pension for Mrs. Bennet and Elizabeth’s sisters, should Mr. Bennet die before his wife and leave any daughters unmarried. All in all, Mr. Bennet was a bit startled by Mr. Darcy’s generosity. He was, however, finally fully satisfied that his daughter was married to a wealthy, generous man.

“Will that all be satisfactory?” Mr. Darcy concluded.

“Only a fool would find it otherwise,” Mr. Bennet said. “You are being far more than generous. I can’t help but assume you care for my daughter.”

Mr. Darcy had his eyes on the papers before him, from which he’d been reading notes he must have penned at some point since returning to Pemberley. He glanced up, then set to neatening them, placing them alongside another stack of pages. “She did a very noble thing for my sister. Is still doing a noble thing. What I propose hardly thanks her enough.”

“Is thanking her your intention? You should know that Elizabeth will be grateful, but not see this as thanks. She considers accepting payment for a good deed intolerable.”

Something that might be a smile ticked at the corner of Mr. Darcy’s mouth. “Yes. She already acquainted me with that belief. I attempted to give her an allowance of a hundred pounds a year to thank her so she would feel less pressured to marry me. She threw the letter to my man of affairs in the fire.”

“Then we’ll keep your thankfulness between us and just tell her that she is receiving what is appropriate for her position as your wife,” Mr. Bennet said. He leaned forward in the thickly upholstered armchair he occupied. “Now, if you don’t mind me asking, I seem to recall there was mention of a library?”

“There was. I believe you will find it adequate to your needs.”

“I expect to.”

Mr. Darcy walked him to the library himself, which amused Mr. Bennet. Darcy certainly liked to show off his home, of which he was justifiably proud. Noting how his new son watched him as they entered, though, Mr. Bennet realized it was something more. Here was a man who, for perhaps some time, hadn’t had anyone to share the things he loved most with. Certainly, it was obvious in the way Mr. Darcy suffered Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst so he might have Mr. Bingley’s and Mr. Hurst’s company that he had few close friends. Nether gentleman struck Mr. Bennet as much of a reader.

The library at Pemberley was a two-story room, simply yet elegantly adorned. A shallow balcony encircled the upper floor, permitting the selection of volumes without impeding the openness of the space. Both above and below, ladders with wheels rested on rails to permit access to higher shelves and a spiral staircase connected the two levels.

Placed in careful groups around the room were comfortable looking armchairs and sofas, several tables and desks. Candelabras and candlesticks abounded and huge windows took up the only non-shelf filled wall space on two sides of the room. One long side of the room faced south, sunlight streaming in. The scant dust moats floating in it spoke of how well cared for the space was. Before departing, Mr. Darcy explained the logic of where the books were shelved.

Mr. Bennet soon lost himself in the room. At first, he didn’t settle on anything to read, simply moving from section to section to survey the Darcy collection. He’d expected to be impressed. He was not disappointed.

After an hour in the room, Mr. Bennet settled into one of the armchairs with a smile. It was as comfortable as anticipated. The small table on one side was perfect for stacking books, while the one on the other had a not-yet-required candelabra. Smiling in contentment, Mr. Bennet set to reading. He only stopped for a brief time near midday, to request writing materials. It occurred to him he and Jane might remain in Pemberley for some while. They would require more of their clothes.

Chapter Fifteen – Resolve Tested

As Darcy neared his office, he was surprised to see the door stood open. He frowned, sure he hadn’t left it that way. He hadn’t paid much heed to the mantel clock in the library, more interested in observing Mr. Bennet’s reaction to his collection, but he didn’t think it was later than ten. He’d deliberately given himself time to catch up on some of his more urgent tasks. Not that he minded. His work could wait until after he spent time with Elizabeth.

Entering, he was surprised to find Miss Bingley waiting for him. He stopped, deliberately staying just inside the doorway. It wouldn’t do to be found closeted with her. “Miss Bingley.”

“Mr. Darcy. I wish to speak with you on something of a delicate nature. Do you think we might close the door?”

“No, I do not. However, you may join me in full view of the hall, so you can see for yourself that no one is listening.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, but nodded. Moving away from his desk, she came to stand with him in the doorway. Too late, Darcy realized that wasn’t optimal either, as it put her much too close. The way she looked at him combined with the false sense of intimacy her nearness suggested made his skin crawl.

“What is this delicate topic you wish to speak on, Miss Bingley?” he said, keeping his tone cool.

“Mr. Darcy, your honest, honorable nature is to your credit,” Miss Bingley said. “We all respect you for it. Nay, love you for it.”

He eyed her stonily.

“You know nothing of this Miss Elizabeth or her family,” Miss Bingley continued after a pause. Her eyes darted toward his desk. “Given the circumstances of your meeting, and of your wedding, no one could blame you for casting her back where you found her. We want you to know that. No one will judge you.”

Darcy followed her gaze. Too late, he realized he’d left his copies of Mr. Matthew’s records of how Georgiana had been saved and the duel he’d fought, unpacked that morning, on his desk. He had no doubt she’d read them while waiting for him. Anything else aside, the pages were no longer perfectly aligned with the edge of his desk, as he’d left them.

“I’m afraid you’re under several misconceptions, Miss Bingley,” he said, not hiding his displeasure. “One is that you seem to think there is a Miss Elizabeth Bennet, when my wife is Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy.”

Her face twisted with scorn. “The wedding took place in Scotland, without her father’s knowledge or consent. No family was there to witness the event. It’s as if it didn’t happen.”

“There was a priest, and over thirty witnesses, including several of my people, if Scotts aren’t witness enough for you. If you care to see just how many people participated in our union, I have a list of them.”

“But that’s perfect,” she exclaimed, looking pleased. “If you have a list, you know who to, ah, encourage to forget they ever saw the union take place. Thirty people is a considerable number, and they’ll have told others, but you’re a very wealthy man, Mr. Darcy. You can afford to make this go away, both with the Scotts and the Bennet family. They look as if any paltry sum would be a fortune to them.” She leaned closer, her expression turning coy. “I promise you, no one will think badly of you. We won’t spread any word of this among the ton. Especially if a certain union we all long for takes place to shore up the rumor.”

Did she imagine she was being appealing? A sharp featured, even sharper tonged, grasping creature like her, instead of his Elizabeth? “Another of your misconceptions appears to be that I would wish to end my union with Mrs. Darcy.”

She blinked, straightening. “But of course you do. She’s no one, with nothing. Why, her father and sister walked in here nearly threadbare. Miss Bennet didn’t even have a dinner dress. She had to wear some castoff of Georgiana’s. What will people think of you taking on a woman and relations like that? Much worse than if you rid yourself of her now and put the whole incident behind you.”

“And yet another way in which you error is to believe I care what anyone thinks of me, least of all the ton.” He leaned closer now, but not in an amorous way. “I chose to marry Elizabeth for reasons of my own. They will not be shaken by you, the ton, or King George himself. If you make any move to defame her, or treat her in any way I deem disrespectful, you will no longer be welcome here. It will be up to Bingley and the Hursts if they wish to share your exile, but I will make it clear to them they don’t need to.”

She stared at him with wide eyes, mouth hanging open slightly.

“Is that clear, Miss Bingley?”

Closing her mouth, she nodded.

“And was that all?”

Another nod. He stepped back into his office. Shooting him a look that verged on tears, she all but ran away.

Darcy pushed a hand through his hair, letting out an explosive breath. The nerve of the woman, suggesting he cast Elizabeth off. Even if he didn’t already respect and care for her too much for that, Elizabeth’s life would be ruined. If Miss Bingley had read the pages on his desk, she must know how much Elizabeth had helped Georgiana. Did she really think Darcy would show his gratitude through betrayal?

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Darcy tensed before realizing they were solid, booted steps, not soft scurrying slippers. He looked down the hall to find Richard approaching, carrying several envelopes but looking back over his shoulder. He turned to Darcy, his expression confused.

“Did Miss Bingley come by here?” Richard asked as he drew near. “She just charged past me, weeping.”

“I often have that effect on unmarried women.” Darcy’s tone was flat.

Richard raised his eyebrows. “I see. Come to give her desired union with you one final chance?”

Darcy swallowed a harsh rejoinder, realizing the truth in Richard’s question. He was suddenly struck by Miss Bingley’s point of view. Though he’d never been more than correct with her, he’d known of her aspirations. He’d always considered himself polite, but the truly kind thing would have been to set politeness aside and put an end to her dreams years ago.

Richard was studying him. “I have the mail, and I came for a word, but it can wait if you aren’t--”

“No, come in. I want you to know what transpired.”

“And I have something important to tell you.” Richard looked grim.

This time, Darcy did close the door, moving to the back of the room to seat himself behind his desk. Richard took the seat opposite, so recently vacated by Mr. Bennet and his likely more amiable conversation. Richard tossed the pile of envelopes on his desk.

Darcy frowned, reaching out, the handwriting on one catching his eye. He tore it open, finding only a few hastily scrawled lines.

I hear congratulations are in order, but marriage to you won’t protect the meddling chit. You know I’m capable of implacable resentment. I will have my revenge.

There was no signature. Darcy hadn’t received a written correspondence from George Wickham in years, but there was no doubting who’d penned the letter.

“You look as if someone shot your favorite horse. What does it say?” Richard asked.

Darcy pushed the letter across the desk, his mind rereading the words as Richard read. What did Wickham mean, have his revenge? He’d already struck Elizabeth. What further lengths would he go to?

Richard let out a low whistle. “Wickham?” he asked.

Darcy nodded, knowing any words would come out a growl. He unclenched his hands from the arms of his chair, unsure when he’d locked them in a grip as tight as the one he’d like to have around Wickham’s throat.

“This changes my suggestion,” Richard murmured. He frowned down at the page.

“Suggestion?”

Richard grimaced. “You aren’t going to like this, Darcy, and there’s no easy way to say it.” He drew in a breath and let it out. “After you left, Georgiana confessed something to me.” He met Darcy’s eyes. “It went farther than we first thought. There is the possibility she’s with child.”

Darcy nodded, relieved it wasn’t anything more. “Yes. Elizabeth informed me of that. It’s one of the reasons we wed.”

“One of?” Richard made the words into a question.

Darcy glanced at the clock. It was a quarter past ten. “I’ll start from the beginning,” he said, proceeding to tell Richard everything he knew of what had befallen Georgiana, the duel, and why he and Elizabeth had wed. As Richard knew much, it didn’t take as long as Darcy had feared. In conclusion, he pushed Mr. Matthew’s reports across the desk. “These are the official versions, which you can read at your leisure. They’re along the lines of what Elizabeth said in the foyer yesterday.”

Understanding dawned in Richard’s eyes. “I wondered at her impromptu speech.”

“Hopefully no one else did. I believe she wished to acquaint Georgiana with the story as quickly as possible. She can’t know how unlikely it is for my sister to speak with the Bingleys or Hursts.”

Richard nodded. He remained silent for a long moment, thoughtful. “You could have waited, you know. After Georgiana told me, I formed two plans for her possible contingency.”

“Which were?”

“If she turned out to be pregnant, I was going to encourage her to consider if she does love Wickham. She has known him for many years, and she did seem sad over what happened.”

Darcy gave his cousin a flat look. “Obviously, that’s impossible. The man is intolerable.”

“Yes, from what I learned yesterday and today, I now see that.” Richard shrugged. “The other option I came up with was that I would marry her. The baby would be early, but they often are.”

“It was my failure that got Georgiana into this situation. It was my place to rectify it,” Darcy said stiffly. Was Richard, too, going to urge him to cast Elizabeth aside?

“Darcy, we both vetted Mrs. Younge. We are joint guardians, neither one of us subservient. It was my responsibility as much as yours.”

“She is my sister,” he said, aggravated.

“She is my cousin. More importantly, she is my ward,” Richard said, exasperation clear in his tone. “I accepted responsibility for her.”

“You could raise Wickham’s child? Wickham’s son?” Darcy demanded.

“Can you?” Richard shot back. “Darcy, I have no estate to leave. My brother has more than satisfied carrying on the Fitzwilliam name.”

“You don’t want to marry her and she doesn’t want to marry you,” Darcy said, nearing anger. Couldn’t Richard see that marrying Elizabeth was a necessity?

“True.” Richard offered a shrug, some of the tension leaving him. “Thirty thousand pounds wouldn’t even mitigate it. If I planned to marry one of my cousins for money, it would be Anne. Speaking of which, do you want to write to Aunt Catherine or shall I?”

Darcy grimaced, his anger instantly replaced with dread. “I will. I did this. I’ll write her.”

Richard nodded. He leaned forward, tapping the unsigned letter resting on the desk. “What about this?”

Darcy shook his head. “I will have to keep her near. No forays, no unescorted walks. She won’t be allowed out of my sight unless I know where she’s going and who with. She will be followed by two footmen at all times. What else can I do?”

“I’ll ask about. Knowing Wickham, he’s bound to have done something for which we can have him arrested and transported. Once I find out what it is and ensure there’s enough evidence, we’ll go looking for him. Will you warn her?”

Darcy looked down at the letter. Wickham was usually more talk than action. He had struck her, true, but he’d done it to a specific end. Would he dare so more? Hadn’t Elizabeth been through enough in recent weeks without the threat of Wickham hanging over her head? The thought of him harming her in any way, even by impinging on her happiness with his threats, sent rage coursing through Darcy.

“I’m not certain we can keep her safe even here,” he finally said. “Although Wickham would be recognized, he could come at night. He would know how to sneak onto the grounds of Pemberley better than anyone.” Darcy and Wickham had roamed over every inch of Pemberley’s grounds as children. “I’ll have to make sure she’s escorted whenever she leaves the house.”

Richard nodded. He studied Darcy for a long moment. “You care for her. That’s the real reason you married her.”

Darcy went still, surprised. Did he? Yes, of course he cared for her. He’d been intrigued as soon as he learned about her selfless deed, beguiled from the moment he saw Georgiana’s portrait of Elizabeth at the pianoforte. Seeing her play the previous evening had reminded him of that abstract beauty. “I find her appealing, certainly.”

“Well, I congratulate you on your happy union, then.”

“Hardly that.”

“Oh? Aside from our likely enraged aunt, Miss Bingley’s snobbery, Georgiana’s uncertain circumstance and Wickham’s threat, I assumed your declaration of interest meant you are happy.” Richard frowned at him. “You aren’t actually thinking of setting her aside? She’s perfectly lovely.” Bitter understanding showed in his face. “You’re taken with her beguiling sister, aren’t you? I’ve rarely seen a more stunning woman.”

“What? No.” Darcy shook his head. “No, it’s . . . it’s personal.”

“Come now. We’re cousins. If there’s more trouble, out with it. Perhaps I can see a solution you can’t.”

Darcy let out a long sigh. He doubted that, but Richard was tenacious. Now that he had a hint something was wrong, he wouldn’t let the matter lie. “Two nights ago, we stayed at an inn. For verisimilitude, Elizabeth and I went to one of the rooms we rented, as we did every night of the journey. We talked of our day. I kissed her good night. Then I watched her walk to the room she was to share with her sister while I slept alone.”

Richard appeared slightly confused. “I understand Miss Bennet couldn’t be permitted to sleep alone, especially as her looks are liable to attract considerable attention, but what about here, last night?”

“There was a connecting door between us, but I didn’t open it. She is my wife, but I can’t risk getting her with child.”

Richard’s expression became one of suppressed amusement. He’d obviously realized what Darcy’s complaint was, the predicament he’d placed himself in. Richard began to chuckle.

“It’s not funny,” Darcy said. He glowered at his cousin.

“Yes, it is,” Richard said, still wracked with amusement.

“And your speech about seeing a solution?” Darcy bit out.

“Oh, I do. Wait.”

Darcy looked about his desk. Throwing the ink well would create too great a mess.

“You put yourself in this situation. It’s up to you to fix it,” Richard said, parroting Darcy’s harsh words of earlier.

A knock sounded. “Darcy?”

It was Elizabeth’s voice. Richard stifled his laughter, composing himself.

“Come in,” Darcy called.

The door opened to Elizabeth, dressed in a simple gown he’d often seen on her during the journey. Her dark hair was pinned up. Her expression was warm, eyes full of interest as she looked about his office. “Darcy, Colonel,” she greeted.

Richard stood, scooping up Mr. Matthew’s reports. “Well, I’ve things to attend to. I’ll leave you two alone. Don’t get into any trouble.”

Darcy stood, ignoring the amusement in Richard’s voice. He was vaguely aware of his cousin leaving, nodding to Elizabeth on his way out, but his eyes were on her. She was so slender, coming barely to his shoulder. Her large, luminous eyes were wide to reveal happiness, and pleasure at seeing him. Her skin seemed almost to glow in the diffuse light. Reaching down, he folded Wickham’s letter, tucking it into his pocket.

Waiting seemed a paltry concern. His real worry must be keeping her safe. From ridicule, spite and worry, but most of all, from George Wickham.

Chapter Sixteen – Strife Ensues

Elizabeth spent the hours between breakfast and her appointment to walk Pemberley with her husband in the company of his housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, learning about how his home was managed. As she’d suspected upon seeing Pemberley, running the household was a daunting task. She knew she could let Mrs. Reynolds see to it, but she wanted to learn as much as she could. Out of deference to Darcy’s desire to show her about, they stayed to the lower levels, areas more frequented by staff than family or guests. Everything that went on below stairs to keep Pemberley running smoothly was a bit overwhelming.

Fortunately, Mrs. Reynolds turned out to be a kind, intelligent woman, who made it plain she would listen to any suggestions Elizabeth had. When Elizabeth mentioned a dish her father liked, Mrs. Reynolds said she would ask the cook to prepare it for dinner. When it neared eleven, they parted ways in a very amiable state.

It was only as she walked to Darcy’s office, after getting more detailed directions from Mrs. Reynolds, that Elizabeth realized the housekeeper had said she would listen to suggestions, not take orders. Elizabeth frowned, parsing out the meaning behind what went unspoken. Darcy had given her no authority. Obviously, Mrs. Reynolds was hesitant to give it without Darcy’s explicit instructions. Elizabeth suspected Mrs. Reynolds would give her as much authority as she could, but Elizabeth did not want a valuable employee to be uncomfortable. Mrs. Reynolds should know Elizabeth’s status in the household, as should she.

As she neared Darcy’s office, she heard laughter within. She smiled slightly, pleased to know laughter was permitted in Pemberley, for it was a very grand place. She knocked, calling for her husband, who bade her enter.

She opened the door to find a smiling Colonel Fitzwilliam rising from a chair. He took a stack of pages from the large mahogany desk that occupied the far end of the room, responding cheerfully to her greeting. Her attention was on her husband, however, who looked rather foreboding as he stood.

The colonel left and Elizabeth stepped into the room, not closing the door. She still wasn’t accustomed to being able to do so, and they ought to be leaving to see the rest of Pemberley, anyhow. She offered Darcy a smile, but his grim façade didn’t waver. Perhaps laughter wasn’t permissible after all, and he was angry with his cousin. Well, if he was in one of his grim moods, at least she didn’t need to worry over spoiling a cheerful one with her questions.

“I’ve spent the morning with Mrs. Reynolds,” Elizabeth said, coming farther into the room.

It was a rather dark space, paneled in coffee colored wood. There was a window behind Darcy, but the deep green curtains were drawn, protecting the furniture from the sun. A lively fire gave off warmth and light, and candles were lit. She was struck by the frivolity of using candles when daylight abounded, but doubted the cost was much of a concern to her husband.

“I trust you got along well?” he said, sounding as stiff as he appeared.

“We did. She was beginning my education on managing Pemberley.”

He raised his eyebrows, as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “Mrs. Reynolds manages Pemberley well.”

“Yes, she does, and will continue to do so, I’m sure, but as I learn, I expect to take on the duties of lady of the house.” Did he think she wasn’t competent enough to manage his home? He’d praised her wit often enough.

He frowned, a line appearing on his brow as he thought over her words.

Elizabeth took several more steps into the room. “Mrs. Reynolds, in the nicest way possible, let me know you haven’t told her I have any authority. It was obvious that puts her in an awkward position.”

Darcy nodded. “I will tell her. I will give you authority, but I will ask her to tell me if she thinks you are being unreasonable.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips closed over a rejoinder to that. Did he expect her to be unreasonable, then? Was that his worry?

He offered a wooden smile. “It pleases me to know you’re getting along with Mrs. Reynolds. She’s been with the family for nearly two dozen years.”

That was longer than Georgiana had been alive. Elizabeth wondered when the former Mrs. Darcy had passed. Was Mrs. Reynolds something of a mother to Darcy and Georgiana? She looked about the large dark room again. There was so much she didn’t know about her husband, his home, his family or his world. Suddenly, it seemed a boon she’d found Mrs. Reynolds so pleasant. She smiled, seeking to reassure Darcy. “Mrs. Reynolds seems both competent and kind. I suspect we’ll be able to work out any differences. I was not raised to manage a household of this size, but I believe I can learn. I also believe she will be a good teacher.”

“I’m glad. I would like her to stay, but if you don’t get along with her, she will have to go.”

That surprised her, but what else could he offer? His only other choice would be to send Elizabeth away or tell her she had no authority and had to live with it. She was relieved to know he wouldn’t do that. Or, at least, he didn’t believe he would now.

“Does that clarify your position here?” he asked.

Now that he asked, Elizabeth realized it did not. “Not entirely.” Why was he still standing behind his desk, seeming so grim? It made her nervous. “I have hardly any money except the pennies I earned at the Sleeping Cat. I don’t know how to go about ordering a carriage or if you’ve given me the authority to do so. I know we haven’t had much time, but I feel these, among others, are things we should discuss.”

“I have not given you the authority to order a carriage,” he said sharply.

She blinked, startled. “I may learn to manage your home, but not order a carriage?”

“I should like you to remain here, to learn about Pemberley. There is also your charitable allowance. You should see to that.”

First he seemed unsure she was capable of managing Pemberley, and now learning to do so was paramount? “Charitable allowance? How am I to do that without going out to meet your tenants?”

“You are not permitted to order a carriage,” he repeated. “If you would like one, come to me.”

She frowned, anger sparking in her breast. “Are you saying I’m not allowed to leave this house?”

“No. I am saying you must inform me when you do so. You are to tell me where you’re going and to take at least two footmen with you. I would prefer if you do not walk the grounds unescorted either.”

“I’m not allowed in the garden alone?” Where had this madness come from? She narrowed her eyes. Had his friends remarked on her tarnished reputation? She was aware they didn’t approve of her, especially Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, in spite of their efforts to be polite. She could imagine Miss Bingley especially pointing out to him that a well-behaved young woman would never have permitted herself to be left alone in an inn, or borne off to Scotland. Was this, then, some sort of jealous raving?

“I would prefer you go nowhere unescorted,” he repeated sternly. “I should like to know your whereabouts.”

“You plan to treat your wife like a wayward child? What is it you believe I’m going to do?” If he was accusing her of something, she would have the words out of him, not cloaked.

“Do?” He shook his head. “Nothing. I will simply feel more comfortable knowing where you are.”

“I see,” she said, her tone icy. “Well, right now, I will be in Pemberley. As to which room, I’m not sure, but it won’t be one you’re in.” Turning, she stalked out.

Thoroughly angry, Elizabeth strode through Pemberley with no particular destination in mind. As her ire began to cool, she became aware of music coming from somewhere ahead. Further exploration led her to a sizable parlor.

Georgiana and an elegant centrally located pianoforte were the source of the music. Jane sat to one side, listening with a smile on her face. Miss Bingley was seated to the other, her expression contemplative as she watched not Georgiana, but Jane.

“Lizzy,” Jane said, spotting her in the doorway. “Are you done with Mr. Darcy so soon? Will you join us?”

Ignoring the first question, Elizabeth put a smile on her face and entered the parlor. “I would be pleased to join you, yes.”

“Come play with me?” Georgiana offered, sliding over on the seat.

Elizabeth did, and played with Miss Bingley as well, as did Georgiana. Both of them played with better skill than Elizabeth did, but somehow Miss Bingley and Georgiana did not make good music together. To Elizabeth’s surprise, she and Miss Bingley did play well together, partly because Miss Bingley was the better player and they both knew it.

After a pleasant hour or so spent in this manor, Jane sometimes adding her voice if the tune called for it, Elizabeth’s temper was restored. Finally, though not rudely, Miss Bingley cried an end to the playing. They all settled in a small ring of couches and called for tea. Elizabeth, feeling a bit self-conscious, served.

“Isn’t this a lovely room, Lizzy?” Jane asked once they were served. “I never dreamed one of us would end up anywhere so grand. Wait until I tell Mama. She’ll be over the moon.”

“You hadn’t good prospects in your village, then?” Miss Bingley asked.

“There is the Lucas family, but even their home isn’t this grand,” Jane said. “There is one great estate there, Netherfield Park, but it’s been up for lease for ages, with no one taking it up. It’s not as large or as lovely as Pemberley, but the grounds are beautiful.”

“I should like to visit it. Perhaps I’ll speak to Charles.” The contemplative look was back in Miss Bingley’s eyes as she spoke to Jane. “I’m sure we would be delighted to meet the rest of your family.”

“You are sure of this only because you have not met them,” Elizabeth said, smiling.

“Lizzy, don’t be unfair,” Jane said.

“I’m not. I’m being honest.”

Miss Bingley looked between them, frowning. She shrugged. “I’m sure they’re delightful. You have a mother and three other sisters, do you not? I’m sure all as lovely and elegant as you both.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. Now she was lovely and elegant? That was a new tactic for Miss Bingley. Had she decided she couldn’t separate Elizabeth from Mr. Darcy? If only she knew the state of their union, she would be a vastly different companion.

“Kitty and Lydia are both very pretty,” said Jane, ever diplomatic.

Apparently satisfied, Miss Bingley turned to Elizabeth. “I know you were traveling when you were . . . before the turn of events.” She gave an apologetic shrug. “Have you sent for your clothing? Louisa and I are very up on fashion. Lambton, the nearest town, likely doesn’t offer much, but we would be delighted to accompany you to the seamstress there and help select a few items, to make you ready for London. You’ll want to look a bit smarter or they won’t take you seriously when you visit a modiste there.”

Miss Bingley’s words woke Elizabeth’s anger over Mr. Darcy’s insistence she speak to him before leaving the confines of Pemberley. She took a sip of tea, hoping the emotion didn’t show on her face. She didn’t care much about gowns, but Miss Bingley was correct. She didn’t wish to embarrass herself in London. Although, the thought of embarrassing Mr. Darcy was somewhat appealing.

“We don’t have to, of course.” Miss Bingley looked between the other three as if trying to guess what she’d said wrong. “It was only a thought.”

“And a good one,” Elizabeth said firmly, offering a smile. “I should like to go very much, and be obliged for your assistance. Were you considering it for tomorrow?”

Miss Bingley’s smile was relieved. “I was.”

“I shall make the arrangements.” With my domineering, unreasonable, overbearing husband, Elizabeth added in her mind.

“Splendid.” Miss Bingley’s smile looked genuine. “Miss Darcy, Miss Bennet? Will you join us?”

“I’m afraid I’ve already agreed to walk the grounds with your brother in the morning and then Colonel Fitzwilliam tomorrow afternoon, so I don’t believe I can.” Jane turned to Elizabeth. “I can cancel if you like. I should enjoy accompanying you.”

“Oh no, don’t do that,” Miss Bingley said. “Or, cancel on the colonel and we can leave after you walk with Charles. He would be terribly disappointed.”

Jane shook her head. “That wouldn’t be right.”

“Georgiana?” Elizabeth asked.

“I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting my French and Italian, and should like time to draw,” Georgiana said. “But thank you for the invitation.”

“It will be us three, then.” Again, Miss Bingley’s pleasure seemed unfeigned. “Shall we play a bit more before we ready for dinner?”

Elizabeth agreed, though Georgiana went to fetch drawing materials. Jane, thus, had the joint pleasure of listening to music and watching Georgiana’s skill unfold, though she did do a miniature of Jane as well. That, Miss Bingley appropriated before they left to ready for the evening meal.

Elizabeth mulled over Miss Bingley’s new attitude toward her as a maid helped her ready for bed at the end of the night, deciding Miss Bingley very much wanted to be friends with Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley. What had convinced her Elizabeth was there to stay, she didn’t know, but the effect was pleasant.

Dinner had been a splendid affair. Jane again sat between Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam, and both vied for her attention. Elizabeth smiled. She was pleased her beautiful, sweet natured sister was finally meeting men worthy of her. Being Jane, it was difficult to tell if she preferred one, but Elizabeth found both men more than suitable.

The only disagreeable part of dinner had been her husband. Mr. Darcy’s dark mood of the afternoon had remained. He’d been barely civil, speaking only when directly addressed. Whenever she’d looked at him, his face had revealed a strange possessiveness that troubled her. It only served to strengthen her idea he was a jealous man. When Miss Bingley had mentioned the planned trip to Lambton the following day, he’d outright frowned. Fortunately, Elizabeth didn’t think anyone else had seen.

Finally, ready for bed, Elizabeth dismissed the maid who’d been helping her. She wrapped herself in a robe and squared her shoulders. It was time to ask her husband for his permission to leave Pemberley tomorrow afternoon. She crossed to the adjoining door and knocked.

No answer came. She turned the handle. To her surprise, the door was locked. Angered, she stepped out into the hall and went to Mr. Darcy’s door, knocking louder this time.

A moment later the door was thrown open. Scowling, he pulled her inside, closing them in. “What are you doing in the hall in a state of undress?”

“Trying to speak to my husband. Why is the door between our rooms locked?” She glared up at him, her back pressed to the hall door.

She hadn’t been inside Mr. Darcy’s room before. Though he blocked much of the view, she could see it was simply yet elegantly appointed. It smelled of the crackling fire and clean linen, and was done in a deep, rich blue, unlike her own lilac themed chamber.

His eyes, a mix of anger and some undefined emotion, searched her face, tracing her lips with intense precision. “It’s locked because there is no need for me to enter your chamber.”

She flinched from the apparent dislike in that statement. Why was he so different than on the journey there? “What if I need to enter yours? How can I speak to you in private if we’re never alone together?” She realized that wasn’t quite fair, for they’d been alone in his office. She was the one who’d stormed out.

He pulled his gaze from her lips and stepped back. “What did you wish to speak with me about?”

Elizabeth’s face heated. She’d been angry enough she hadn’t realized until he stepped away that he was in a moderate state of undress himself. “I would like to go to Lambton tomorrow to visit the seamstress, with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. May I have use of the carriage and some pin money?”

“Not in the morning.” He pushed a hand through his hair, turning away. “I’ve arranged for my steward to go over your finances with you in the morning.”

That surprised her, but pleasantly. “Thank you for that. We planned it for afternoon.”

“Then yes. I shall tell him to provide you your allowance. You will take two footmen with you.”

Elizabeth studied his broad back, clad only in a shirt. Why wouldn’t he look at her? She shook her head, confused. When traveling, they’d kissed each night, before she went to share a room with Jane. They hadn’t done so once since reaching his home. Obviously, he found her lacking now that she was surrounded by his elegant friends and the splendor of Pemberley.

“Will that be all?” His voice carried a harsh edge.

“I suppose it will be.” She couldn’t help but regret his lack of attention. She’d come to enjoy, even long for, their evening embrace.

“Then leave, please.” He crossed to unlock and open the adjoining door. “I’ll lock the door behind you.”

That sparked her anger. “Very well.”

She stormed out, in so much as one could with bare feet on a plush carpet. She heard him lock the door behind her. Flinging herself into bed, Elizabeth fell into a fitful sleep.

The following morning, she tried to restore her good temper as she met with Mr. Darcy’s steward, for the man wasn’t to blame for her husband’s contrary ways. The steward gave Elizabeth a detailed explanation of her finances, including what she was expected to spend her money on. She had wide latitude. For example, he suggested zero to twenty percent on charity, saying it wasn’t her job to attend to the charities, but it was certainly appropriate to do so. She said she would, as Mr. Darcy had mentioned wishing her to, and she rather thought she would like to.

“Mr. Darcy said you will be given some of the family’s jewelry,” the steward said at one point. “Therefore, I don’t recommend you spend any money on that until you see what you’re receiving. You may prefer to have stones reset, rather than buy new pieces.”

Elizabeth nodded. All in all, it was a bit daunting. Darcy was certainly rich. Her private money was comparable to her father’s total income and her required expenses were few. She had a great deal of control over the household budget, but it was a different budget than her personal one. With that in mind, she set out to have a pleasant afternoon ordering clothing with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. She saw little of Mr. Darcy until dinner, where he was again withdrawn.

Chapter Seventeen – Advice Given

Mr. Bennet spoke little at breakfast, content to listen to those around him while he consumed the offerings of Mr. Darcy’s exceedingly skilled cook. A little urging from Elizabeth got Miss Darcy to state her intention of working on her French, before she lapsed back into the silence typical of her when more than a couple people were about. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hurst then talked of fishing. Mr. Bennet noted that his new son seemed out of sorts and cast longing looks Elizabeth’s way with mild frequency. Lizzy seemed not to notice, but cheerfully joined in the description of her trip to Lambton the afternoon before, though she permitted Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst to tell most of the uninteresting tale.

Mr. Bennet was amused that Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley continued to vie for Jane’s attention, each promising the most scenic, pleasant and even historically relevant walk. As Jane smiled at everyone and was polite to a fault, it was difficult for Mr. Bennet to tell if she preferred one of the gentlemen. Still, there was something in her eyes when she looked at Mr. Bingley that spoke of deeper feeling. Mr. Bennet hoped Bingley wasn’t the sort to only like a woman when she was fought over. He was convivial enough, but struck Mr. Bennet as slightly mercurial.

Though he said almost nothing throughout the meal, when everyone rose to go their separate ways for the remainder of the morning, Mr. Bennet happily concluded he could retire to the library with a clear conscious about having performed his social duties. Once there, he settled into his usual chair and opened the manuscript he’d left on the table beside it. Smiling in contentment, he began to read.

It was only two hours later when he realized he was tired of reading. He’d been at Pemberley for a few days and, while the library was still a wonder, Mr. Bennet had read enough for now. He hadn’t realized it was possible to reach such a state, but then he’d never had so much uninterrupted time to read before.

In Longbourn, there was always some crisis or event that required his attention. Besides, he’d read all the books in his home library at least once. There was no urgency to finish them to drive him to long hours of reading. He owned them, and there was a limit as to how many more he could buy, so they must be savored.

He closed the book, looking about the magnificent room. It struck him as oddly silent and empty. Could he possibly miss the interruptions? Could it be he enjoyed listening to his silly wife repeatedly make a fool of herself?

He stood and stretched, suddenly craving human company. He considered joining Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hurst for fishing, but Darcy was in a notably ill-humor and Mr. Hurst would doze off the moment he cast his line. Jane was walking, first with Colonel Fitzwilliam and then with Mr. Bingley. Lizzy was learning how to manage Pemberley, likely interesting but not something he should interrupt. He couldn’t recall what Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst planned for the day, but was sure he didn’t wish for their company or they for his.

That left Miss Darcy, who was pleasant to interact with when she wasn’t being overly shy. Mr. Bennet vaguely remembered her mentioning that she was going to study, or perhaps draw or paint. She did all three with frequency and he’d been more focused on his meal than her words. He read French, but spoke it badly. He certainly didn’t draw, although he enjoyed looking at drawings. He nodded to himself, heading for the library door. Whatever study Miss Darcy was engaged in, it was sure to be interesting enough for a short while.

A quick inquiry told him Miss Darcy was in the school room and where it was located. When he knocked on the door, she said, “Come in.”

The schoolroom was airy and white, with little to distract from lessons. It was much larger than needed, even if a lady of Pemberley were to birth a sizeable brood. Then, many rooms in Pemberley were more sizable than required. Miss Darcy was standing to one side, paintings and drawings strewn about her, leaning on walls and cluttering tables. She looked at him with wide eyes, her surprise at seeing him in her schoolroom unhidden.

She was terribly young, he thought, stepping inside. Much too young to have already ruined her life, though, thanks to Elizabeth, Miss Darcy hadn’t. He’d put his worry that Miss Darcy’s life had been traded for Elizabeth’s aside, for it was obvious Lizzy was well rewarded with Pemberley and Mr. Darcy, even if Darcy was often in a sour mood of late. He couldn’t even blame Mr. Darcy for all that had happened. Mr. Bennet’s youngest daughter, Lydia, was fifteen. Although she’d never behaved as badly as Miss Darcy had, she obviously would, given half a chance.

He carefully left the door open. His greeting died on his lips as his eyes scanned the artwork around her. Propped up all across the room were portraits of one man. He was undeniably handsome. Most were done in pencil, but there were watercolors and a small painting in oil. Some were obviously childish attempts of a younger version of the man. Others were very skilled portraits of that same man, but him at about Mr. Darcy’s age.

“Mr. Wickham?” he asked, his gesture taking in the works.

She sighed. “Yes.”

“So many,” he said, coming farther into the room. She was quite skilled. Mr. Bennet hadn’t seen the drawing of Elizabeth that had led Darcy to her, but it was obvious his new son would have recognized her immediately from Miss Darcy’s work.

Miss Darcy pressed her lips together, her eyes drifting over the portraits. “Yes. Very many.”

He studied her, taking in her wistful expression. “They speak of a woman who was in love, not one who was carried off unwilling.”

“They do. I was, at first.”

“But not for long?” How lucky she was to have been given a second chance. Most young women, without the Darcy’s resources or his Lizzy’s kind heart, wouldn’t have had a choice once they set foot in a carriage with a man.

“Once we left Ramsgate, he showed his true colors.” Her tone was bitter.

Mr. Bennet’s first instinct was to reprimand her, for she must be more careful with her words. They cast doubt on Elizabeth’s version of the elopement, given in the foyer when they arrived. Instead, he decided leading her to that conclusion would do more good. “You mean, he showed his true nature before your governess left you alone? That makes her doubly reprehensible, and you more foolish.”

Miss Darcy turned wide eyes on him, her hands flying to her mouth. He shook his head. Her reaction was more incriminating than her words.

She dropped her hands. “I . . . I, that is . . .” she stammered, her face going white.

Mr. Bennet held up a staying hand. With a gentle soul like Miss Darcy, there was no need to torment. It was young women like his Lydia who needed an idea to all but bang them on the head in order to get it into their thoughts. “I already know the truth of what happened. I was simply giving a lesson in carelessness.” Carelessness had gotten her into trouble in the first place.

She swallowed. “You know?” she whispered.

He offered a kind smile. “Elizabeth and your brother told me.”

Her color returned, outrage and hurt sparking in her eyes. “They told you? Fitzwilliam said to keep it secret. He made me swear on my honor that I would never tell a soul aside from him and Richard. How many people know?”

“They only told me and Jane. As to anyone else, you’ll have to ask your brother.”

“How could my brother and Elizabeth do that?” Her voice was low and bitter. “I trusted them.”

Mr. Bennet contemplated his reply. He didn’t want to teach Miss Darcy any more about mistrust, or alienate her from two people who would do so much for her. “It was important to Elizabeth that Jane and I know the truth about why she remained, and why she wed so quickly. We are among the few people whose good opinion matters deeply to her. You wouldn’t want her to have to live with her father and dearest friend thinking ill of her, would you?”

Miss Darcy shook her head, looking dazed. “No, of course I wouldn’t. It hadn’t occurred to me she would be thought ill of.” She gazed at nothing, obviously reorganizing her thoughts.

“You don’t have to worry. We won’t spread the information,” he added in a soothing tone.

“No. Jane wouldn’t,” Miss Darcy said in her quiet voice. “She’s so kind and good. She never hinted, never acted as if I’m not . . .” She dropped her gaze to the floor.

“She values privacy, and sees people for who they are, not the mistakes they’ve made.” The fact that Miss Darcy was on a first name basis with Jane suggested that the two had quickly become friends, in spite of all the time Jane spent with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley.

Miss Darcy frowned, casting him a narrow-eyed, searching look. She crossed the room and closed the door. Mr. Bennet made no move to stop her. It was obvious she had something on her mind, and more likely it would damage her reputation more to have it overheard than to be closed in with him.

“What do you mean, the reason they wed so quickly? My brother told me it was over the duel. That would be reason enough, without telling you I ran off with Mr. Wickham voluntarily.”

He almost laughed. Now who had spoken out of turn, without enough thought? Obviously, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth didn’t wish Miss Darcy to feel overly responsible for their marriage. Blaming it solely on the duel made Wickham the key villain. He gestured to the portraits, keen to distract her from her question. “Why have you assembled these? Isn’t it a bit incriminating to have so many?”

She looked at him for a long moment, but eventually her gaze stole to her work, as if she couldn’t help but stare at Mr. Wickham. “It is. That’s why. I wanted to say goodbye.” Her voice was wistful again. “I didn’t mean for anyone else to see them.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt a private moment.” Perhaps he could make his escape before he said anything else he oughtn’t.

“That is all right.” She gestured to the portraits. “I’m going to burn these. I should have done so earlier, when I realized I wasn’t . . . that I wouldn’t need a reminder of him, his face.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, for who would wish to gaze on a spurned lover? “Some of them are very good. May I?” he asked, reaching for one.

She shrugged.

After examining the first, he returned it to its place. He walked around the room, picking up several for closer scrutiny. He came at last to the oil painting. It wasn’t precisely a miniature. It was only a face and the picture was about the size of his hand. He placed it on a chair that was one of the few unoccupied spaces. He added a pencil drawing that showed Mr. Wickham walking. Miss Darcy had managed to capture grace as well as a bit of swagger. He added a water color. How had she managed to capture the elusive quality of charm? She was a very gifted artist.

“It will be a shame to burn any of these,” he said, gesturing to the ones he’d collected. “You’re very skilled. Keeping a few of the best wouldn’t be incriminating. The trouble is in having so many.”

Her expression was resolved. “I have to let him go. These aren’t real. He isn’t like these pictures. I drew the man I thought I knew.”

“What about those?” he said, gesturing to the group of childish pictures. “They aren’t incriminating.”

She shrugged again. “I was ten when I drew them. They’re the silly work of a child. I didn’t capture his spirit, real or imagined.”

She hadn’t, but had employed surprising technical skill for a ten-year-old. “He sat for them?”

“Yes,” she said bitterly. “I suppose it made me think he actually cared for me.”

Mr. Bennet found it sad that she had to give up every moment with Mr. Wickham. Yes, he was a vile man now, but he’d been kind to a ten year old child. “You may not have captured his true nature, but you did capture one thing. You captured his willingness to spend time with you.” He took in her mutinous expression. “I doubt he was investing the time in the hopes of eloping with you in five years.”

“No. He was pleasing my father by entertaining me and encouraging me in drawing, as he told my father,” she said bitterly. “Also he was pleasing his own ego. He didn’t have to do anything, just sit and talk about himself and believe he was so handsome as to be worth drawing over and over.”

Mr. Bennet was struck by the depths of her bitterness. She was too young to realize that such strong emotions often faded with age. He couldn’t convince himself the day wouldn’t come when she would look back and wish she’d kept a two or three of her best works, to reminisce over.

“Then burn them,” he said. He turned back to the three he’d placed on the chair. “But let me keep these. They’re too good to burn.” He offered a smile. “Someday, when you have an art exhibit, you can retrieve them from me and they will be so mixed in with the others, no one will know you cared for him.”

She smiled briefly, but the fleeting pleasure disappeared. “You may if you help me light a fire.”

Mr. Bennet nodded. It was too warm a day for the fire to be lit, but it was laid. He lit it, taking in the satisfied look on her face as she started feeding her work to the flames.

She carried over a stack of the childish drawings, placing them on the fire one at a time to watch them blacken and burst into orange light before crumbling to ash. “Mrs. Younge said I should draw him because he brought out my talent,” Miss Darcy said, her eyes on Mr. Wickham’s smoldering form. “She would leave us alone for hours. I now know she was giving him a chance to court me.”

“I believe he did bring out your talent,” Mr. Bennet said.

Miss Darcy sighed, tossing another portrait on the flames. “Do you really think I could have an exhibit someday?”

“I’m no art critic, but your work was extraordinary.” He gave her a measured look. He wanted to say something to give this young woman, still so much a girl, hope for her future. “And once you are a great portrait painter, you can charge a great deal. You can save your money, invest it, and make yourself independent. You won’t have to worry what people think, find out, or say.”

That brought another smile to her lips, one which lasted longer. It too faded, but into a contemplative look, not a sorrowful one. Mr. Bennet could only hope he’d helped, for Miss Darcy seemed as if she needed a friend.

That was the last they spoke. He stayed with her until she had only one portrait remaining, aside from the three he’d claimed. Taking them, he offered a silent bow, but her eyes were too fixed on Mr. Wickham’s to notice. Mr. Bennet let himself out of the room, making it back to his quarters without incident. There, he wrapped the works carefully and placed them in the bottom of his trunk.

Chapter Eighteen – Impasse Reached

Darcy was well into the hall when Elizabeth came around the corner, coming toward him. His gaze darted behind her, seeking, but she was alone. He grimaced, for alone with Elizabeth was the last place he wished to be, but he could hardly turn and walk the other way.

Besides, what did he think would happen, he would throw away propriety and Georgiana’s future by ravaging his wife in the middle of a corridor? He did not behave barbarically. He was master of Pemberley, after all.

Yes, he was master of Pemberley, he thought, his stride slowing as he took in her graceful form coming toward him. Her skin like the finest Derbyshire cream. Ringlets he knew were silk in his hands. As lord of the manor, he was permitted to do whatever he liked, and what he would like to do was—

Darcy shook his head, scowling. He was losing his mind. He should never have taken to kissing her each evening on their journey. He didn’t dare do it now, with no sister for her to go to. Instead, he lay in bed for hours each night, sleepless, staring toward the locked door that separated them.

She stopped before him, answering his look with a frown. Her obvious calm antagonized him. Did the woman have no need for him? Had their kisses on the journey to Pemberley been nothing to her? How could she gaze on him with little more than perplexity in her eyes?

“What have I done this time?” Elizabeth asked.

“Done?”

“You’re always angry with me of late.” She threw up her hands. “I haven’t tried to leave the house alone. I’ve been taking lessons on how to manage Pemberley, and trying to learn about your tenants as well as I can without visiting them. So, what have I done? Is it the new gown? Do you think I was frivolous with my allowance? Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst said it was appropriate.”

“It is a new gown, isn’t it?” He hadn’t noticed, being far too interested in what was under the gown.

She let out an exasperated sigh, shaking her head.

Her frown didn’t diminish her allure. He ran his gaze over her form, telling himself he was observing her new dress . . . torturing himself. Why was Elizabeth wandering around alone, lurking in corridors to test his will? “Who is seeing to our guests?” he bit out. “Where is your sister?”

“Our guests? My sister? Am I now not permitted to be unescorted even within Pemberley?”

She was so beautiful when her eyes flashed with anger. “I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or do you seek Jane for some other reason? You haven’t been very affectionate or even kind since we arrived here. Could it be you’ve realized that what I said is true? Jane is preferable.”

Darcy grabbed her arm, pulling her into the nearest room. It was a little used parlor, dark save for daylight behind the curtains. He slammed the door behind them.

“What are you doing?” Elizabeth asked, yanking her arm free.

“We will not discuss such things in a corridor, where anyone could overhear us.”

“We very well can’t discuss them in private. This is the first time we’ve been alone since I discovered you’ve locked me out of your chamber.”

Yes, they were alone. Very much so. He clung to his anger. Anger was safe. “As for your sister, she’s causing enough trouble without me vying for her as well.”

“Trouble? Jane? Are you mad? Is that what’s happened, you’ve lost your wits?”

Even in the dim light he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the outrage on her face. She had no idea how tempting she was. “She is leading on both my cousin and one of my closest friends,” he growled. “It’s getting to the point where they’re hardly able to be civil to each other.” He was exaggerating, he knew, but he had to keep her at a distance. Yet, he couldn’t get himself to leave. He was shipwrecked and Elizabeth was his siren.

“If that’s true,” her tone was colored with doubt, “It’s hardly Jane’s fault. She can’t help but be polite and they both choose to persist.”

“Polite? Is that what you call it?” he shot back, hardly aware what he was saying. “I think she came here intending to use her country wiles to secure a husband.”

“How could she? She didn’t even know we were coming here.”

“She’s here now, and stirring up trouble,” he replied. “She’s playing my friends against each other for her own amusement.”

“She most certainly is not.” Elizabeth bit out. “Anyone who really knows Jane can see she’s in love with Mr. Bingley. She’s only being polite to your cousin. He’s the one drawing it out by continuing to pursue her.”

“Yes, of course she’s in love with Bingley.” Darcy coated the jab in sarcasm. “He’s worth twenty times more than Richard.”

Elizabeth gasped. Her hand shot out, striking him. Darcy’s head jerked to the side with the strength of her blow.

“My sister is not money grubbing,” Elizabeth hissed. “If she did permit either of them to offer for her, it would be because she’s in love. How dare you suggest otherwise?”

Darcy watched Elizabeth’s heaving breath. Her lips were parted. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light. She was magnificent.

“I demand an apology on Jane’s behalf,” Elizabeth said. “Furthermore, I demand to know what has changed. Why are you so different from the man who journeyed here with me? Is it this place? Do you see me here and think I am not good enough to be mistress of your home?”

“Our home,” he said, forcing the words out through a mouth that wanted to do so many other things than talk. “You always refer to Pemberley as my home, but it is yours too. Ours.”

“Well, you certainly don’t make me feel like it.” She glared at him. “Half the time, you treat me as if you’re too jealous to permit me out of your sight, as if you don’t trust me. The other half, you avoid me. Is this truly the way we’re going to carry on? You’ve given me a large enough allowance that even I could bribe that lot of witnesses in Scotland to say we never married. I’m sure Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, for all their being kind, would be happy to sell the tale.”

Darcy stared at her, shocked. Say they were never married? He cleared his throat. “Georgiana--”

“I’ve come to care for your sister greatly, but there’s a limit to what even I will endure to make up for her mistake. I’m not living the remainder of my life with a man who neither trusts me nor cares to be in my company. I’d rather be alone.” She shook her head. “Besides, it’s clear to me now you could marry your sister to most anyone. Your wealth is staggering. You don’t need me.”

“I do.” His mind refused to comprehend her words. Leave him? The very thought made his blood freeze in his veins. “I need you.”

“You and Georgiana can solve this without me.” Elizabeth’s voice had lost its anger. “It’s obvious I’m making you miserable. I’m sure everyone sees it. Now, Jane is troubling you as well.” She looked up at him. “In spite of your incomprehensible moods, I’ve come to care about you too much to be the person who makes you miserable.”

“You don’t make me miserable. You torture me.”

“Oh, well, that’s much better.” She let out a long sigh. “Let me talk to my father. I’m sure there’s something we can work out. An annulment would be possible. I wouldn’t ask for it, but he may require some small amount. Something to see I’m looked after.” She gave him a long searching look, then turned toward the door.

One long stride brought him between her and the parlor door, blocking her way. He caught her by the shoulders. She raised confused, hurt eyes to his.

“Darcy, wh--”

He brought his mouth to hers. He had some idea of doing only that, of his hands on her shoulders keeping them apart. In moments, his arms were wrapped about her, one hand buried in her hair. Her kiss was almost frenzied, matching his. Her arms twined about his neck. He lifted her, drawing her more tightly against him.

It took him long moments to gentle his kiss, to quell his frantic need for her. He set her back on the floor. She clung to him. Finally, he managed to draw his hands back to her shoulders. Reluctantly, he set her away from him.

Her expression was a mixture of confusion and desire. He closed his eyes. If he kept looking at her, all mussed, he would start kissing her again. For a long moment, the only sound between them was their mingled, ragged breath.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

He opened his eyes. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t love your sister. I do trust you.”

“Then I still don’t understand.”

“I can’t control myself, Elizabeth.” How could he explain it without sounding like some sort of beast? “You’re my wife, and I want to treat you as such, very much, but I can’t. Not yet.” He searched her face for understanding. “When I’m alone with you, I forget the reasons why I can’t.”

A blush heightened her cheeks. “Oh. You mean . . . that is, you’re avoiding me because you like me?”

Darcy chuckled, the sound slightly pained. “Like is a paltry word.”

She smiled, looking so relieved it stabbed at his heart to have worried her. Reaching up, she smoothed a hand along his jaw. “You could have explained yourself. I can be a partner to keeping us from . . . that is . . .”

“Can you?” he asked, capturing her hand. He meant to stop her caress, but found himself raising her fingers to his lips.

“Well,” she said, her eyes wide as he kissed her elegant fingers. “I can try.”

Darcy lowered her hand, but didn’t release it. “I can’t do this for nine months. Perhaps you could visit your family.” But no, she couldn’t. Wickham was out there somewhere, plotting. That thought quenched his ardor.

He and Richard had assumed it would be easy to dig up enough complaints and petty wrong doings to see Wickham jailed, maybe even transported. Their expectation had been readily met. While Wickham was careful never to do enough wrong in one location, or to leave a town quickly if he had, collecting all his transgressions added up to quite the disreputable record. The only trouble was, now that they’d assembled their case against him, they couldn’t find George Wickham anywhere.

Elizabeth’s expression was contemplative. “I don’t want to leave you, even to visit my family. Not yet. We only recently wed. We’ll figure a way.” Her expression lit up. “Are you sure we have to wait?”

He frowned. “My sister--”

“May already know if she’s not with child.”

It was true, he realized. To be certain she was would take longer, but to know she wasn’t, well, that might already have come to pass. “I could ask Mrs. Reynolds, but that would give away what happened between Georgiana and Wickham.” How Darcy cursed the existence of the man.

“Or you could ask Georgiana.” A glint of amusement sparked in Elizabeth’s eyes.

Darcy resisted the urge to squirm. Men did not squirm, especially masters of Pemberley. “I couldn’t.”

The spark grew into outright mirth. Elizabeth’s lips turned up in a smile. “I suppose I could ask.”

“A much better idea.” He was sure she’d only suggested he do it to tease. It was a conversation best had between women. “Does that mean you’ve forgiven me?” He leaned in, but Elizabeth pulled back. “What is it?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t forgiven you,” she said, offering a glare. “You can’t kiss me and expect everything to be resolved, Darcy.”

He’d very much hoped he could. Instead, he braced himself. “You’re correct. What may I apologize for?”

Her eyes narrowed. “First, what about Jane?”

He shook his head. “I could never prefer her over you.”

“Not that. The things you said. About her being conniving and pitting--”

He broke into her question with a kiss, trying to soothe the worry from her features.

She took another step back, maintaining her annoyance like a wall between them. “So, you retract your words?”

“I do. Anyone can see Miss Bennet is incapable of such deviousness. I will own that there’s tension between Bingley and Richard, and it’s making our evenings less pleasant. Are you sure she prefers Bingley?”

“Very much so,” Elizabeth said. “My sister is hard for most people to interpret, as she keeps the same gentle, friendly manner always, but I know her well. She’s deeply in love with Mr. Bingley. I’ve only held back from saying anything because I can’t tell if he returns her love or is simply in it for the sport.”

Darcy considered that. He conjured up recollections of Bingley with other women he fancied. Never before had Darcy seen Bingley so intent on a woman, and consistent in his attentions. “Poor Richard. I think he truly cares for Miss Bennet as well.”

“Then the kind thing would be to tell him,” Elizabeth said.

Darcy nodded. “I will.” He closed the distance between them again. “Now may I kiss you?”

She shook her head. “There’s also the issue of the footmen. Why are you treating me like an errant child?”

Darcy grimaced, but the situation was his own doing. He’d both coddled Elizabeth and held her at arm’s length, and now he must make amends and bear her ire. He reached into his coat pocket, where he kept Wickham’s note as a constant reminder to be vigilant. “Because of this.”

Her look perplexed, Elizabeth accepted the page. She moved to stand by the window. Daylight wrapped about her, making her seem almost to glow. Darcy crossed to stand behind her.

She turned back to him, looking shocked. “Who wrote this?”

“It’s Wickham’s writing.”

Her eyes dropped to the page again. “Did you tell my father?”

“I told Richard. He and I are working on a solution.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I suppose you thought you were keeping me safe from worry.”

“I did. I was.” She didn’t look angry, but Darcy couldn’t read the emotions crossing her features.

“Did it occur to you that I could remain safer if I knew I was in danger?”

“You’re angry.” He wished they could return to kissing. It was infinitely more pleasant than confessing.

She shook her head. “I’m not. I’m exasperated, perhaps even somewhat amused. I had no idea you were such a great big dolt.”

“Excuse me?” Now she was insulting him?

She folded the note and offered it to him, along with a wry smile. “Thank you for keeping me safe. In the future, I would prefer if you would treat me with a bit more respect, and with the understanding that I am not some sort of hysterical or flighty female.”

Darcy took the note, feeling baffled. He’d expected a somewhat more dramatic reaction. He cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose we’ve lingered here long enough.” He reached up to tuck her hair back into place.

“Have we?” Her smile grew wicked. “Now that we aren’t quarreling any longer, I think we should spend a little more time practicing being well behaved.”

Lightness stole into Darcy. His fingers slid along her silky tress, stroked her cheek. “I suppose a bit more practice couldn’t hurt.”

Chapter Nineteen – Questions Answered

Elizabeth found Georgiana in her schoolroom. A fire burned low in the hearth, though the day was warm. Georgiana had a book open before her, the pages filled with unintelligible French. Elizabeth felt a stillness in the air, took in her new sister’s puffy eyes, and quietly closed the schoolroom door behind her. She crossed to sit near Georgiana, offering a smile.

“Elizabeth.” Georgiana held out her hand.

Elizabeth took it, worried by the serious look on the girl’s face. “Is everything well?”

Georgiana offered a slightly trembling smile. “It is, or soon will be, with me. I’m more worried about you.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Me?”

“My brother seems unhappy of late. You act perfectly well, but I see how you look at him.”

“It’s nothing.” Elizabeth was relieved her words were the truth. “Your brother and I are happy.”

Georgiana pressed her lips into a line, scrutinizing Elizabeth. “Did you marry my brother so quickly in case I was with child?”

Elizabeth struggled to keep her surprise from showing. She looked about, though they were alone and the door closed. “Who told you that?” she asked, angry anyone would add the pain of worrying about her and Darcy to Georgiana’s burden.

Georgiana squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “No one told me. I guessed.” She let out a long sigh. “I am so sorry. I had no idea my actions forced you to marry. I thought it was to save your reputation, after the duel.”

“It was for that reason as well.” And because she’d remained at the inn, and for her sisters.

Georgiana pulled her hand free to bury her face in her palms. “What have I done? First, I’m fool enough to believe George loves me, then I’m selfish enough to leave you at that inn. Now, you and my brother both married rashly, and for no good reason. I’ve ruined so many lives.”

For no reason? Hope stirred in Elizabeth, but paramount was reassuring Georgiana. “You have not. I care very much for your brother, and he cares for me.”

“You’re being kind. You’re always kind.”

“I am not, though I should try to be,” Elizabeth said with a wry smile. “In this case, I am being honest. I agree, your brother and I were in an . . . a bit of a tiff. It’s resolved now. You’ll see. We’re very happy.”

Georgiana looked up. Her cheeks were damp with tears. “But I made you marry him. You’d never even met before.”

“We made the decision partly for you, yes, but you shouldn’t be upset. You should be accepting my deepest thanks.” Elizabeth pulled Georgiana into a hug. “Your brother is the only man I’ve ever met who’s stirred so much as a spark of interest in me. I’m in your debt for sending him to me.”

“Do you mean you love him?” Georgiana whispered.

Elizabeth was glad they embraced, for Georgiana couldn’t see the shock which surely wreathed her features. Did she love Mr. Darcy? “I do. I love him.”

Georgiana pulled away. A smile transformed her face back to its usual beauty. “You do? Oh, Elizabeth, that’s wonderful.” She clasped her hands before her, almost as if in prayer. “I’ve always hoped Fitzwilliam would find love. He’s so aloof, but you know he’s so kind in his heart. He’s had to take on so much, with our parents gone.” Her eyes went wide. “Does he love you back?”

Elizabeth shrugged. That was a good question. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, what did he say when you told him you love him?”

She laughed at her own silliness. Another good question. “I haven’t told him.”

“Oh.” Georgiana frowned. “Why not?”

“I don’t know, really.” Elizabeth couldn’t bring herself to admit she hadn’t realized she was in love until Georgiana asked.

“Are you going to?”

“I am.” She couldn’t. Not until they knew Georgiana’s state. If she told him, and he said it back . . . well, if their practice at behaving was any indication, avowing their mutual love would surely lead to misbehavior. “But I didn’t come here to speak of me. You were crying when I entered.”

Georgiana let out another sigh, looking away. “I was.”

Elizabeth’s hope dimmed. Pregnant women were often moody. “May I ask why?”

“I was thinking of George. Rather, the man I thought he was, hoped he was.” She shook her head.

Elizabeth felt deep sympathy for Georgiana. Darcy’s aloofness and lack of civility over the past several days had eaten at her heart. How much more devastating would it be to have affirmation that the miserable version of Darcy was the truth, the man she journeyed to Pemberley with a lie? Georgiana had suffered that heartbreak. “You have to let who you thought he was go. That man was never real.”

She nodded. “I know. I did. I burned all of his portraits.”

Elizabeth contained a gasp. She hadn’t seen the works, but with Georgiana’s skill, that was a great shame. “Did it help?”

“It did.” Georgiana offered a smile, but there was no mirth in it. “Once I realized I wasn’t carrying his child, I knew there was no reason to keep any. If I was . . . maybe the baby would want to know, someday, what he looked like, but without a baby, there’s no reason to hold onto any of it.”

Relief washed through Elizabeth. No baby. Georgiana would be spared that, and Elizabeth and Darcy, well, they could finally be man and wife. She felt a blush threaten at the thought. “You’re certain? You aren’t with child?”

Georgiana nodded. “Quite.” Her tone had a hard edge to it. “And relieved not to be.”

Still, tears pooled in her eyes. Elizabeth took her into another embrace, holding her while she cried.

***

That evening, Elizabeth dressed in a frilly, French inspired nightgown she’d commissioned for just such an occasion. She left her hair loose, trailing down her back. Taking a deep breath, she marched to the adjoining door and knocked.

Mr. Darcy opened the door almost immediately. Wearing only his shirt and trousers, he seemed to fill the frame. Elizabeth swallowed down her nervousness. She watched his gaze roam over her, head to toe.

“Wearing that, I pray you’re here to tell me good news,” he murmured.

“I have two things to tell you,” she said. She longed to tease him, but couldn’t suppress a smile. “One is that we no longer need to plan for the worst. Georgiana assured me of that.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “Thank God.”

Elizabeth wondered which his relief stemmed from more, that they could now proceed as man and wife, or that they wouldn’t be called on to raise Wickham’s child. The first she felt was keener, but the second more enduring.

A smile turned up his mouth as he looked her over again. He reached for her, but she took a step back.

“I said there were two things.” Now she would tease him, to make up for his days of being ill-tempered. She composed herself into seriousness. “The second is very important.”

He frowned. “Important enough that we need to discuss it now.”

She gave an empathetic nod. “Assuredly. May I come in?”

His looked perplexed but nodded, backing into the room. “What could possibly be more important than . . .” He trailed off, gesturing to her frilly nightgown.

“You may want to sit,” Elizabeth said.

He raised his eyebrows, but seated himself in an armchair. Elizabeth took a moment to survey his room more fully. The carpet was thick and soft beneath her bare feet. The large four poster bed was daunting. She turned her back on it, making a slow circle. An elegant marble fireplace was centered on one wall, unlit. Long windows filled another, shrouded in deep blue curtains. A tall writing desk stood between them. There was no wardrobe or mirror, but there was a door, which she assumed led to other rooms in his suite, likely laid out similarly to hers. Finally, she came back around to Mr. Darcy. He was watching her through dark eyes.

“Do my quarters meet with your approval, Mrs. Darcy?” he asked.

Affecting an aloof look, she nodded. “They’ll do.”

“Oh? For what?” His grin was touched with wickedness.

Elizabeth fought not to blush. She was meant to be the one doing the teasing. “Anything they may be called on for, I should imagine.”

“Do you really wish me to remain here, in this chair, while you stand quite so far away?”

“I do. I haven’t told you the second thing yet.”

“Out with it, then. I won’t have secrets between us.”

Elizabeth drew in a slow breath, suddenly nervous. It occurred to her she might say it, and he might not say it back. She studied his eyes, taking in the intensity of his gaze. Surely, he would say it back.

Abruptly, he stood. He crossed to her, his arms sliding around her. He leaned his head down, his breath warm on her ear. “What is it you want to tell me, Elizabeth?”

A shiver of delight went through her at the sound of her name on his lips. His strong arms fortified her. “I want to tell you that I love you, Mr. Darcy.”

He drew back, face very grave. “That is very important.”

Was he going to say it? “I assured you as much.”

“I don’t believe I needed to sit, though,” he said.

“I thought it might shock you,” she murmured, dropping her gaze.

“Hmm.” He cupped her cheek in one large hand. “No, it doesn’t shock me.”

“Oh.” Was he so confident, or simply unconcerned?

“Does it shock you to know that I love you too, Elizabeth?”

Her head snapped up. She had only a moment to take in the mixture of amusement and love on his face before their lips met and her eyes fluttered closed. No, it didn’t shock her. It delighted her.

Chapter Twenty – Departures Made

Darcy and Elizabeth happily returned to their habit of meeting in his chamber at the end of each day. Thankfully, she was no longer required to leave for either the benefit of her sister or his. Admittedly, they now didn’t begin these meetings with talking.

His happiness was increased doubly. With Elizabeth at his side, he no longer had sleepless nights. He hadn’t slept a full night without hours of wakefulness ever since Ramsgate. He told her he couldn’t sleep well unless she was with him and that he first encountered this phenomenon when he slept in the carriage when returning from their wedding, claiming he never slept in carriages before.

They generally did find time for words before sleeping. Darcy enjoyed discussing his days with his wife. He quickly learned to value her insights.

“I take it you broke the news to Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked.

She snuggled against him, his arm wrapped loosely about her shoulders. These were Darcy’s happiest moments of the day. If he could somehow rid them of their house guests, he would spend more time in bed, holding Elizabeth.

Darcy nodded. “I didn’t expect him to leave immediately, but it’s for the best.” He’d finally found time to take Richard aside and inform him not only of Georgiana’s happy state, but that Miss Bennet had already made up her mind, and her inclination was Bingley.

Elizabeth sighed. “He looked so grim at dinner when he said he must return to his neglected military duties tomorrow.”

“He’ll find someone else. He did ask me if your other sisters were anything like you and Miss Bennet. I had to remind him I’ve never met them.”

“Oh dear.” Elizabeth laughed. “I can’t picture him with any of them.” She went silent for a moment. “Maybe Kitty, if she could be dragged away from Lydia’s constant silliness.” Her tone was contemplative.

“My dear Elizabeth, you do not need to find a wife for every one of my acquaintances. Even you don’t have enough sisters for that.”

“No, but I have three more.” She sighed. “I wouldn’t want Colonel Fitzwilliam to think Jane chose as she did because of Bingley’s income. She told me she fell in love with him the moment she saw him. She couldn’t know his income then.”

“Never fear. Your sister’s saintliness is not in question.”

“I should hope not, or I would need to defend her, for Jane will never defend herself.”

She fell silent. Darcy’s eyes drifted closed.

“How was your ride today?” Elizabeth asked.

“Hmm?”

“Your ride, with my father, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Hurst.”

“I think all three were genuinely interested, which surprises me,” he said. He’d taken them out to one of his tenant’s farms, where he was trying an experimental new crop.

“I know why my father wanted to go. He’s been reading about that seed and wants to try it.”

“Yes. I promised to send him a sample before next year’s planting season.” Darcy smiled. It pleased him that Elizabeth took an interest in such matters. She knew nearly as much about the new seeds as Mr. Bennet did.

“Why were Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley interested, do you think?”

Darcy shrugged. “Hurst has a small property he’s looking to get more out of. Bingley was going on about possibly buying some estate his sister keeps telling him about. Netherling Park? Northfield Park?”

“Netherfield Park?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, I think that’s it. Do you know it? Is it suitable?”

She laughed. “Oh yes, quite.”

“Suitable, yet amusing?” he prodded, guessing from her laugh that she knew more.

“It’s in Hertfordshire, near Longbourn. Jane mentioned it to Miss Bingley some time ago. I didn’t realize she was so keen on the match.”

Darcy hugged Elizabeth closer. “I suppose, now that she knows I am not available, she’s settled on your sister as the next best way to make the connection.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t settle on Georgiana,” Elizabeth said, wrapping her arm more tightly about him.

“Georgiana and Bingley have never shown the slightest interest in each other.” Darcy shrugged. “Add to that my sister’s ill-concealed distaste for Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, and I’m not surprised. Miss Bennet will be a much more convivial in-law for them.”

“That reminds me, did you see Georgiana’s sketch of Miss Bingley?”

“I did. It’s extraordinary. It’s Miss Bingley, but I don’t think I’ve seen her with such an expression on her face. She looks . . . happy.”

Elizabeth laughed.

Darcy smiled, finding her amusement infectious, even if he didn’t know the source. “What?”

“Georgiana was having trouble finding that expression. Then she told me she saw Miss Bingley looking at herself in the mirror.”

“That would explain it,” Darcy said. “I also noticed that while she drew Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, she’s begun an oil painting of Miss Bennet. That will take quite some time to finish.”

“It was Miss Bingley’s idea. My father has been hinting about returning to Longbourn. I don’t think Miss Bingley intends to permit Jane to leave without a match.”

“And Georgiana went along with one of Miss Bingley’s schemes?” He frowned. “Does my sister seem different to you lately?”

“Less shy and withdrawn?”

He nodded, though he knew Elizabeth couldn’t see him. “I thought, if anything, she would be more so now, after what happened.”

“Of course, I only spent a short time with her before, but I believe she’s changed, realizing she’s not with child.”

“I could see that being a source of relief, but not sociability,” Darcy admitted. He was relieved too. Foremost for his sister, but also because he wouldn’t have to raise Wickham’s child and live with a reminder of his inability to keep Georgiana safe and of a man he despised. Laying there with Elizabeth in his arms, Darcy was also relieved he had someone in his life to explain the incomprehensibleness of human nature.

“I think it’s due to two things.” Elizabeth sounded amused again.

“Two things again, is it?” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m not getting out of this bed to take a seat.”

“Then I shall try not to shock you, Mr. Darcy.”

“Tell me the two things, Mrs. Darcy.”

“I think she feels she’s been given a second chance at happiness, which she has,” Elizabeth said, tone thoughtful now. “And then there’s her art. That’s the second thing.”

“Her art?” Maybe he wouldn’t be able to understand human nature after all, even with Elizabeth’s help.

“She is really very good, extraordinarily so,” Elizabeth said. “I think she’s finally realized that. It gives her confidence.”

“Hmm.” Darcy mulled that over, tracing idle fingertips over Elizabeth’s shoulder while he thought. She sighed, snuggling against him. It suddenly occurred to Darcy that he could spend time thinking about his sister in the morning.

***

Darcy was unsurprised the following morning when Richard stood as soon as the meal was over. “Well, I’m off. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, my compliments on your hospitality.”

“It’s been wonderful to meet you,” Elizabeth said, standing to go to Darcy’s cousin. “Please join us whenever you may.”

Richard nodded. A plethora of farewells followed in the wake of Elizabeth’s.

Finally, Richard turned to Darcy. “Thank you for the loan of your carriage. I’ll send it back soon.”

“You’ve called for it?” Darcy asked.

“I have. It should be loaded and waiting.”

“Let me see you out.”

Richard nodded. He turned to Miss Bennet, giving her one last, lingering look. She didn’t seem to notice, as she was watching Bingley. Darcy gestured for Richard to precede him from the parlor. As they left, the others moved about, breaking off into smaller groups, Richard’s departure signaling an end to breakfast.

“Mr. Bennet, may I have a word?” Bingley said, his voice echoing down the hall. “In private.”

Ahead of Darcy, Richard winced. Darcy felt a stab of sympathy for his cousin. He agreed with Richard’s decision to remove himself from the object of his unrequited desire. Also, selfishly, he wanted Richard back in London.

Richard was to meet with Darcy’s man of affairs and take over their ongoing investigation into Mr. Wickham. Though they had enough complaints and petty wrong doings collected to see Wickham jailed or transported, they still couldn’t locate him. After leaving the Sleeping Cat Inn, Mr. Wickham had disappeared. Though he tried not to think on it, not knowing where George Wickham lurked was a constant agitation in the back of Darcy’s mind.

In the foyer, Richard turned to Darcy and offered his hand. They shook, Darcy’s butler standing by with Richard’s coat, gloves and hat. “So, we’ve come out of this one relatively unscathed.”

“For now,” Darcy agreed, his mind on Wickham.

“I’ll find him for you, Darcy.”

Darcy offered a hard smile. “I know you will.”

Richard gave him a speculative look. “You haven’t mentioned Aunt Catherine.”

“She never answered when I wrote.” Darcy shrugged. He didn’t look forward to his aunt’s reaction to his marriage. Though he’d never considered the idea binding, he knew she’d long expected him to marry her only child, his cousin Anne. That Aunt Catherine was slow in replying was to be taken as a boon, not questioned. “Anne did, so I know the letter arrived. She offered her congratulations and hope of meeting Elizabeth, along with the warning that her mother didn’t take the news well.”

“Yes, I know the letter arrived. Aunt Catherine wrote me.” Richard’s smile was mirthless. “She’s not speaking to you. I’m sure I was meant to tell you as much, so you would know.”

“A wedding gift in itself,” Darcy said.

Richard cleared his throat. “She’s asked me to marry Anne.”

Darcy raised his eyebrows. “Will you?”

Richard looked past him, down the hall toward the parlor. “I haven’t decided. Obviously, I don’t love Anne. Not like that. She’s pleasant enough, though, and, well, there’s her considerable wealth.”

“There’s also Lady Catherine to deal with, likely daily.” Darcy had to suppress a shudder at the thought.

“I’ve always gotten on with her better than you.” Richard accepted his coat. “I’m getting a bit long in the tooth for military service, Darcy. Only so much luck a man can hope for.”

“True.”

Taking his hat, Richard shoved it on his head. “I don’t consider myself an avaricious man, but it would be pleasant to have my own carriage, not borrow yours or my brother’s.”

Darcy nodded. “You have my full support, whatever you decide.

Darcy’s butler handed Richard his gloves. He pulled them on, his gaze lingering on the hall leading to the parlor again. “Keep an eye on Bingley for me. You know he’s a bit fickle. If he breaks that sweet girl’s heart . . .” Richard shrugged.

“I think he’s in love this time, Richard.”

“Yes, well, let me know how it comes out. After the papers are signed, I’ll make up my mind about Anne.” Richard mustered a smile. “And don’t fret over Wickham. A man like that can only contain his nature for so long. He’ll reveal himself, and we’ll have him.”

Darcy nodded. They shook hands again. Richard marched out.

It didn’t surprise anyone when, later that afternoon, Bingley and Miss Bennet announced their engagement. On the heels of that news, Mr. Bennet informed them he and Miss Bennet would be returning to Longbourn, where the banns would be posted. The wedding would take place in Hertfordshire, the date set two months out to give Mr. Bingley time to move into Netherfield Park, which he was in the process of leasing with the intent to purchase.

Chapter Twenty-One – Hertfordshire Reached

Mr. Bennet was pleased to be home. He was delighted to be in his own library, with his own books. He made sure not to show it, but he was also delighted to be interrupted by his nattering wife and silly daughters. Even Jane was a bit silly now, as she floated about Longbourn in a daze of joy, pining for Mr. Bingley’s arrival at Netherfield Park, which he leased sight unseen.

Mr. Bennet’s only regret in leaving Pemberley was that Miss Darcy hadn’t had time to finish her portrait of Jane. He had the feeling Miss Darcy was destined for great things in the artistic realm. He should have liked Jane to have what he was sure would be a beautiful and valuable piece.

Thoughts of paintings were pushed aside, however, by the arrival of a militia to Meryton shortly after his and Jane’s return. Very much aware of how even a young woman as shy and well behaved as Miss Darcy could be lured into trouble by a man, Mr. Bennet putting restrictions on his three younger daughters, limiting their access to the officers. Chiefly, that they couldn’t attend parties unless they spent an hour a day doing something useful of his choosing. Mr. Bennet hoped this might, in some way, impress a sense of responsibility on them.

Mary was the least distressed, and the easiest. Mr. Bennet instructed his wife to impart some of her household wisdom to their middle child. Specifically, the handling of the account books. Mr. Bennet felt the idea might reap long-term benefits for both him and Mary. His household would be run better and Mary would gain useful skills.

Mrs. Bennet complained bitterly about being pushed aside in her own home, but Mr. Bennet could tell she was happy to hand over the task of doing the household accounts. After Mary got the accounts in order, the task didn’t take her an hour a day. Mr. Bennet then supplemented it by saying she should spend the extra time teaching Kitty to play the pianoforte.

That effectively took care of two of his daughters, since Kitty would practice while Mary was doing accounts. Lydia, however, was rebellious. It took her several missed parties before she comprehended that her father was serious. After being deprived of enough chances to meet the officers, she took over mending linen. She grumbled, but did it.

When Lydia’s mending became unacceptable because the task bored her, Mrs. Bennet found another task. When boredom resurfaced, yet another was selected. Mr. Bennet was amused to note that Mrs. Bennet desperately wanted to find enjoyable work for Lydia to do that would also satisfy her inexplicitly demanding husband. Mrs. Bennet’s efforts were hampered by the fact that there were no worthwhile tasks that Lydia enjoyed. His youngest daughter was a mercilessly frivolous creature.

After the fifth new task, Mr. Bennet told his wife, “My dear, you’ve been very clever in getting Lydia to learn about many aspects of household management. She will be a much better manager for your care.” To his surprise, he found he almost meant it as a compliment, not a statement on the slipshod way she was handling Lydia.

“Thank you, Mr. Bennet. I’m pleased you realize the effort I’m going to in order to meet your unduly harsh demands,” Mr. Bennet replied, but she preened a bit at his compliment nonetheless.

Finally, Lydia was allowed to attend a party with the officers. This meant Mr. Bennet might as well, for he hadn’t been to a one. Instead, he’d taken it upon himself to remain home with Lydia. He said it was to keep her company, but they all knew it was so she wouldn’t sneak out.

As he settled into their carriage with Mrs. Bennet and their three younger daughters, for Jane had no wish to do anything but reread letters from Mr. Bingley, Mr. Bennet spared a wistful thought for Mr. Darcy’s larger conveyance.

“I bet Jane’s Mr. Bingley had a grand carriage,” Mrs. Bennet said, squeezing in.

“What about Lizzy’s Mr. Darcy? Isn’t he wealthier?” Kitty asked.

“Yes, but he married Elizabeth without asking.” Mrs. Bennet’s mouth pulled down in an all too familiar frown. “I can’t like a man who duels over one of my daughters and then runs off to Scotland with her, no matter how wealthy he is.”

“I shouldn’t hold it against him,” Lydia said. “I wish he had a brother, not a sister. Jane owned up that Mr. Darcy is very handsome.”

“He can’t be as handsome as Mr. Williams,” Kitty said. “Even Mary goes dreamy eyed for Mr. Williams, and he’s been ever so attentive to us.”

“Mr. Williams?” Mr. Bennet asked, in spite of his better judgment. It didn’t do to encourage his daughters.

“One of the officers with the regiment, Mr. Bennet,” Mrs. Bennet said.

“Papa, Kitty and Mary talk about him every night at dinner,” Lydia said. “How can you not remember?”

“He doesn’t listen to talk of officers,” Mary said.

“He doesn’t listen to talk of anything important,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I don’t know how we live with you, Mr. Bennet.”

“Neither do I,” Mr. Bennet agreed. His daughters then proceeded to yammer on about the handsome Mr. Williams for the entire journey. Mr. Bennet paid little attention, but he could tell by the reckless look on Lydia’s face that she meant to make up for lost time with the man. She was a very competitive girl and couldn’t bear the idea someone would find Mary or Kitty more attractive than her.

Sure enough, the moment they arrived at the party, his youngest two daughters ran off to locate Mr. Williams. Mary angled toward the pianoforte. Mrs. Bennet waded into her usual sea of gossip.

Mr. Bennet considered cards, or a quiet corner to sit. Instead, he steeled himself to remain in the main room, with the dancing. The fatherly thing to do would be to at least assess Mr. Williams. Mr. Bennet was resolved no more of his daughters should wed scandalously, and none of them would end up like Miss Darcy.

Mr. Bennet walked the perimeter of the room. To his surprise, he didn’t spot Kitty or Lydia anywhere. Slightly worried, he checked the refreshment area, the card room and the foyer. Finally, he stepped out to the garden. The weather was a bit inclement, and no one appeared to be outside, but his worry drove him.

Once on the terrace, he could distinctly hear Lydia’s and Kitty’s giggles. A man’s voice, too low to make out the words, intermingled with them. Mr. Bennet had no idea what was afoot, but he couldn’t imagine it was appropriate.

“Kitty, Lydia, are you near?” he called, raising his voice.

The giggles fell silent, as did the man.

“Let me rephrase,” Mr. Bennet called. “I know you are near. If you aren’t on this terrace by the count of ten, this is the last party you shall attend this year.”

This was met by gasps. His youngest two daughters appeared from behind a hedge. They didn’t look in any way disheveled, but their eyes shone with guilt.

Mr. Bennet pointed behind him. “Inside, now.”

“But Papa, Mr. Williams--” Kitty broke off when Lydia’s elbow collided with her midsection.

“You never used to care if we went into the garden together, Papa,” Lydia said, her lips pressing into a pout.

“Well, I care now. Inside to dance or into the carriage to return home. The choice is yours.”

Lydia looked rebellious, but Kitty grabbed her hand, dragging her up the steps, past him and inside.

Mr. Bennet scanned the unmoving garden. “Mr. Williams, I shall not remain to speak with you, but please note that my daughters are not here for your amusement.” Mr. Bennet turned on his heels and went in.

He did not, however, go far. Moving off to the side, he lingered near the wall, attempting to look uncaring as he watched the door. He wanted a look at this handsome officer who would take two young girls into the garden. Perhaps, if the man appeared as unsavory as his actions made him seem, Mr. Bennet would lodge a complaint with his superior.

Several long minutes later, an officer stepped in from the terrace. He cast a quick glance around the room, turning toward Mr. Bennet and away again. After a moment, he moved off. Glancing in the direction he walked, Mr. Bennet spotted Kitty and Lydia.

Mr. Bennet stared after the man, shocked. He knew the officer’s face so well, he was surprised the man had overlooked him. Though, in truth, there was no reason for Mr. Williams to recognize Mr. Bennet. After all, they’d never met. Even in view of that fact, Mr. Bennet would recognize William’s face anywhere. It was Wickham, the man who’d convinced Miss Darcy to elope and struck Elizabeth.

Anger the likes of which he’d rarely felt blossomed inside Mr. Bennet. Mr. Wickham. The man who’d attacked his daughter. Before he realized it, Mr. Bennet was stalking after the man.

Halfway across the room, sense reasserted itself. What did he expect to do, strike Wickham? Call him out? No, Mr. Bennet’s days for such behavior were behind him. There was someone, though, who would surely know how to handle Mr. Wickham.

As soon as they returned to Longbourn, late though the hour was, Mr. Bennet wrote to Mr. Darcy. He was pleased to receive a prompt response. Doubly so because it arrived before the next event, an officers’ dinner. If needed, Mr. Bennet had planned to invent a reason why none of his daughters could go. Now, in view of Mr. Darcy’s plan, he looked forward to the event. As speedily as Mr. Darcy had done, he sent back word of where and when the dinner would be.

When the evening arrived, Jane again remained behind. This time, however, unbeknownst to her mother and sisters, Jane wasn’t remaining in Longbourn all evening. On his way out, Mr. Bennet gave her a conspiratorial wink. Jane answered with a smile that would tell anyone with half a brain she was about to see Mr. Bingley. Fortunately, Mrs. Bennet, Mary, Kitty and Lydia didn’t have a half a brain between them.

Mr. Bennet brought with him several of the pages he’d acquired at the Sleeping Cat and Miss Darcy’s oil painting, carefully wrapped. Waiting until everyone was seated for dinner, Mr. Bennet stood, calling all eyes to him. “As you all know, I was away for quite some time recently. It was quite the adventure, I assure you, and most of you know it resulted in one of my lovely daughters married and a second soon to be.”

This was met with cheerful acknowledgement. Everyone, as he planned, seemed to feel his interruption of their meal was one of fatherly boasting. Mr. Wickham, he noticed, had his face angled toward the table.

“What you don’t know is that I was a day shy of missing a spectacular event. I have an account of it, which I would enjoy sharing.”

This was met with raised eyebrows, but his neighbors were good natured and, he supposed, accustomed to a bit of foolishness from the Bennet household, though not normally from him. Having everyone’s attention, Mr. Bennet read the description of the duel. While he read, Wickham started out by appearing uncomfortable, but eventually appeared to calm down, perhaps assuming Mr. Bennet couldn’t make the connection between the Williams and Wickham.

“That certainly is interesting,” Colonel Forster, the commander of the militia regiment, said. He looked about, as if testing the local sentiment. “Not what I expected our meal to be delayed with.”

“Yes, it certainly is interesting,” Mr. Bennet agreed. “To make it more so, I’ve obtained from another source a picture of Mr. Wickham.” Mr. Bennet pulled out the oil painting, holding it up for everyone to see.

A murmur of shock went through the room. Mr. Wickham looked up, going white. When Mr. Bennet angled the painting toward Colonel Forster, he surged to his feet.

“You best be certain of your identification,” Colonel Forster said. “I won’t have one of my officers slandered.”

“Oh, I am,” Mr. Bennet said, his voice cold. He glared at Wickham through narrowed eyes.

“Mr. Williams,” Colonel Forster said, turning to Wickham. “What is the meaning of this? Are you Mr. Wickham?”

Wickham’s gaze darted around the room. He inched his chair back from the table. All around them, people babbled, whispering to each other and gaping at Wickham. Even Lydia stared at him with a look of horror on her face, for Mr. Bennet hadn’t left out the event which instigated the duel, Wickham striking Elizabeth.

“Answer me, Mr. Williams. That’s an order,” roared Colonel Forster.

Mr. Wickham sprang to his feet. He dashed out the door.

“Go after him,” Colonel Forster ordered, gesturing to the officers seated nearest the door.

They jumped up, hurrying out. For a long, stunned moment, everyone stared in the direction Wickham had fled. The room erupted into a babble of talk. Most wanted to find him and bring him back. There were cries of justice for Elizabeth. Some few, calmer heads, pointed out that he’d already answered for it. Mr. Bennet decided not to mention dueling was illegal.

“This promise he was supposed to have written,” an officer said. “Do you have a copy of it? I have a receipt for debts he owes me. I would like to compare the handwriting.”

Mr. Bennet handed over the page. The receipt and the page were put on the table for all to see. Others brought out similar promises of payment. It turned out that not only did the writing match, but Mr. Wickham owed a surprisingly large total to various members of the militia. This launched another round of grumbling.

One of the officers said, “If Mr. Williams and Mr. Wickham are the same person, he has broken his oath.”

“What do you mean?” Colonel Forster asked.

“I’ve heard him say Mrs. Bennet was silly and stupid. He promised here,” the officer said, pointing to the note, “that he would never insult any woman.”

“I’ve heard that too,” another man said.

While this new complaint was aired, Mr. Bennet carefully rewrapped the painting. He stowed it and the report of the duel away. He smiled, satisfied. He never thought his wife’s undeniable silliness would be an asset in any circumstance. He wouldn’t want to be Mr. Wickham right about now.

Chapter Twenty-Two – Justice Done

Seeing a figure come flying out of the home Mr. Bennet had indicated in his letter, Darcy stepped away from the wall. Long, sure strides carried him into the man’s path. Across the street, he could see Richard approaching from the other side.

“You look like you’re in a hurry, George,” Darcy said.

Wickham’s eyes flew wide. He whirled away, but skidded to a halt at the sight of Richard and three soldiers behind him.

“Mr. Wickham,” Richard greeted in a hard voice. “You disgrace that uniform.”

Wickham turned back to Darcy. A sneer warped his even features. “Brought your cousin to do your dirty work, Darcy?”

“Dirty work?” Darcy raised his eyebrows. “I daresay seeing you jailed or transported is the opposite.”

“Jailed?” Wickham scoffed. “On what grounds? I’ve done nothing illegal. You can’t jail a man for doing what I did with your little sister.”

Darcy drew his arm back to hit Wickham, but stopped himself. Ever since Wickham had reentered his life, Darcy had been acting like a savage, like a man who didn’t know the rule of law. But laws ruled England, and he wasn’t going to let himself become someone who felt himself above civilized behavior. True, his situation with Elizabeth had invited mad behavior, but that problem was solved. Wonderfully solved.

“Say what you wish, but if you speak ill of Miss Darcy, you brand yourself an oath breaker. Considering your other petty crimes, it hardly matters. You will be transported regardless. But your term of sentence might be increased by a judge who knows you have a gentleman’s education and broke your word.”

Richard ordered the soldiers to take Wickham into custody.

“Yes, sir,” the group barked in unison and obeyed the order.

Darcy stood where he was, drawing in deep breaths. Wickham seemed to bring out a kind of insanity in him. Darcy would be glad to hear that his childhood friend was out of the country.

“I’m surprised you had so much control,” Richard said.

“I didn’t want to stoop to his level.”

Richard shrugged. “I wanted to hit him.”

“I did, when he struck Elizabeth. I also humiliated him in a duel. But that didn’t stop him.”

“No, but four instances of petty larceny will stop him. Wickham was a thief of opportunity, but he did it too often. We have the evidence.”

“Will it be enough to get him transported?”

“Yes. I’m going in there to see where things stand and speak to the commanding officer,” Richard said.

“Right.” Darcy drew in another steadying breath.

Richard scrutinized him. “Why don’t you go back to Netherfield and tell your wife she’s safe? I’m sure I can prevail upon Mr. Bennet to drop me there later.”

“Not with the rest of his family,” Darcy reminded.

“Surely not. Miss Bingley would skin me alive if I ruined the tea she has planned for everyone tomorrow. I’m aware she’s looking forward to playing hostess at the meeting of the two families.”

“Thank you for coming, Richard. Especially in view of . . . circumstances.”

Richard looked away. “She’s your sister now. I’m sure to see her from time to time.” He turned back and offered his hand. “Even Wickham won’t be able to charm his way out of the mass of offenses we’ve assembled. We have him, Darcy.”

Darcy answered that with a smile. They shook. “We do,” he agreed.

Leaving Richard to deal with what was surely a chaotic situation inside the home where the dinner was taking place, Darcy returned to his carriage. He told his driver to take him back to Netherfield and got in. Darcy took in the idyllic Hertfordshire scenery as they drove, seeking to put the last vestiges of his anger aside. Wickham was done for this time, perhaps forever.

By the time they reached the drive to Netherfield Park, Darcy had regained his composure. When they reached the front and he got out, he took in the towering structure with a knowledgeable eye. It was a fine manor, and a good estate. Bingley had done well, although he would have liked him to live closer to Pemberley. Another happiness discovered due to the Bennet’s, for Bingley had been thinking of purchasing an estate for some time. He could live at Netherfield Park and decide if it suited him. He may never have found this fortuitous location if not for Miss Bennet.

Entering, Darcy found he’d narrowly missed Miss Bennet, who was on her way back to Longbourn. Elizabeth had promised to show him her home the following day, after Miss Bingley’s tea. Darcy was looking forward to meeting her mother and remaining sisters, though he sensed Elizabeth’s trepidation. When asked, all she would say was that she was afraid they were a bit silly.

Darcy made his way to the parlor, finding his sister, Bingley, Miss Bingley and the Hursts, but not Elizabeth. Georgiana was hard at work on her painting, and he guessed his sister had gotten Miss Bennet to sit for her at least some of the time she was visiting.

She didn’t greet him with the others, not turning to him until they stilled. “Did you find him?”

She didn’t whisper the question. No incriminating guilt crossed her features. To those assembled, it must look as if she spoke of a man who had attempted to coerce her into absconding with him and struck Elizabeth, nothing more. “We did.”

“And?”

“If all goes well, he’ll be transported. Even if he serves out his sentence, it would be difficult for him to return to England.”

She nodded, looking satisfied. “When Jane left, Elizabeth said she was tired and went up.”

“Thank you. I’ll join her.” He bid the others, who’d been studiously pretending not to observe the exchange, good night.

He found Elizabeth in their rooms, reading. She set her book aside when he entered, coming to her feet. Her face was full of question.

“He won’t trouble us again,” Darcy said.

Elizabeth smiled, her relief clear. “Did you find out what he planned? From father’s letter, I was worried he would try to do with Kitty or Lydia what he failed to do with Georgiana.”

Darcy shook his head as he crossed to his wife. “I didn’t remember to ask.”

She shrugged. “I don’t suppose it matters, so long as my sisters and Georgiana are safe.”

“They are, and so are you.” He let his gaze wander over her. She was clad in a nightgown and robe, her long hair free down her back. He longed to wrap his arms around her, draw her warmth to him. He would never tire of the feel of Elizabeth in his arms. He took a step closer.

“I wish I could have seen my father. I’m sure he was magnificent. He sounded very excited to implement the plan in his letter.” She frowned, her eyes unfocused, her mind on her thoughts. “I knew he had a copy of the report on the duel and of Wickham’s penmanship when we came up with the plan and wrote to him. When he wrote back, he said he would use those but that he had something even better than words. Did he tell you what it was?”

“I didn’t see him.” Darcy didn’t care what Mr. Bennet had. He wanted those beautiful eyes to focus on him.

“You didn’t? Well, I can ask him tomorrow, at tea. I’m surprised you didn’t see him.”

“I’m surprised you’re still talking about family and tea,” he said, reaching out to pull loose the bow tying closed her robe.

Her eyes went wide. Her gaze met him. A smile curved her lips. “You’re right. I’m sure to hear every detail tomorrow. There are other things we could be talking about right now.”

“Talking?” He put a wealth of protest into his tone.

“Well, maybe not talking.”

He slid her robe free and she stepped into his arms.

***

Elizabeth had been trying not to let Darcy know, but she was terrified of him meeting her mother and younger three sisters. She knew he wouldn’t get on with them. Who could? He didn’t have her familial love of them to dampen their disagreeableness, though. Alone in her room, ostensibly readying for tea, she paced, trying to subdue her worry.

A knock came at the adjoining door of the suite Mr. Bingley had given them. The door opened and Darcy stepped in. As always when he entered a room, Elizabeth was struck anew by how handsome her husband was. She took in his impeccable state of dress and suppressed a sigh, amused by the inclination to do so. What need had she to sigh over him? He was hers.

“There’s a carriage in the drive,” he said. “You look beautiful.” He crossed the room. Cupping her chin, he kissed her.

Elizabeth let herself enjoy his attentions for a moment, but pulled away when she realized she was lifting her arms to twine them about him. She knew where Darcy’s kisses could lead, more easily than she’d ever imagined. She would not go down to greet her mother and irrepressible little sisters all mussed. “We should go down.”

“There are a lot of them.” He caressed her cheek. “It will take them ages to disembark.”

Elizabeth laughed. “There are not that many and it will not. There’s no time for that now.”

Darcy shook his head in mock sorrow. “The suffering I endure.”

Elizabeth didn’t let her smile waver, but his words sent her into another frenzy of worry. She turned toward the door. Feeling like a man marching to the gallows, she opened it and headed for the stairs. Though he tread softly for a man of his stature, she could hear Darcy as he followed behind her.

Her father and mother came in first. Jane was next, her eyes not even meeting Elizabeth’s as she sought Mr. Bingley. Mary followed, looking more composed than Elizabeth generally recalled. Her slight reserve, and sureness, lent her a more sophisticated air, which in turn augmented her rather plain looks.

Kitty and Lydia came in side by side, both looking a bit awed. They too seemed more mature than Elizabeth recalled. Certainly, they were quieter than she’d expected. They didn’t even speak out of turn as Miss Bingley went through the greetings.

Soon, everyone was seated at a large table. Mr. Bingley was on one end, Jane to his left and Miss Bingley to his right. Mr. and Mrs. Hurst were there as well, and Georgiana, who sat between Kitty and Lydia, her cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam on Kitty’s other side. Conversation arose around the table, people speaking in small groups, but no one laughed too loud, or called out, or blurted anything overly foolish.

By the time the meal was over and they adjourned to the parlor, Elizabeth was in a state of mild shock. A whole meal, and everyone had behaved. She didn’t know who to credit, or what to think. Had she made her family worse in her mind, while away from them for so long? She had been first to Scotland, then at the inn, then to Pemberley. It was ages since she’d seen her mother, Mary, Kitty and Lydia. Still, how could they be so changed? She stood at the edge of the parlor, watching her mother listen to Mrs. Hurst, and simply didn’t know what to think.

“You look so pretty, Lizzy,” Lydia said, leaving Georgiana’s side to join Elizabeth. “That gown must cost a fortune, and it’s only for tea. Papa said your Mr. Darcy is very rich.”

The words were expected, but Lydia’s quiet tone, keeping the improper sentiments between them, was new. “How are you, Lydia? I should like to come by later, to see you all. I haven’t been home . . . that is, to Longbourn in such a great time.”

Lydia’s expression was contemplative. “I’m well, I think. It was a great shock, what happened with Mr. Williams.”

“You mean, Mr. Wickham?”

“I suppose I do.” Lydia looked about before turning back to Elizabeth. “I’d only met him one time, but Kitty knew him well. At least, she thought she did. He said he was in love with her. They were going to elope to Scotland. He said I could come too, to be her chaperone on the way there, so it was all above board.”

“He said what?” Elizabeth whispered. She shut her eyes for a moment, infinitely relieved her father had discovered Wickham when he had.

“We were going to go, too. We had it almost all planned.” Lydia’s expression was worried.

“Oh Lydia, I’m so happy Papa discovered him in time.”

“I am as well. I had it in my head it would be a great adventure. He was so charming and handsome.” She shook her head, ringlets bouncing. “Then, to learn he’d lied about his name, which means he wasn’t even an officer, and that he hit you, our very own sister.”

Involuntarily, Elizabeth reached up to touch the location of that blow. She had recovered, but she would never forget. No one had ever struck her like that before.

Lydia let out a sigh, looking pensive. “I never thought about a thing like that, a man lying about who he is. He probably wasn’t even going to marry Kitty.”

“No,” Elizabeth said. “Probably not. Is Kitty very upset?”

Lydia’s eyes went to their sister, who looked to be in serious conversation with Miss Bingley. “She’s a bit.” Lydia smiled. “I daresay if you would get her to talk with that Colonel Fitzwilliam she’d forget all about Mr. Williams. He’s Mr. Darcy’s cousin, isn’t he? Colonel Fitzwilliam, that is.”

A smile tugged at Elizabeth’s lips. “He is, and that’s a splendid idea.”

The colonel had been a bit subdued since learning Jane preferred Mr. Bingley. Kitty was a lovely girl, and sweet. When the men joined them in the parlor, Elizabeth would make sure they spoke. Maybe Kitty would help him forget his attachment to Jane.

“What about you, though, Lydia?” Elizabeth asked. “You don’t want to talk with Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

Lydia shook her head again. “I was thinking, perhaps, I should learn to tell if a man is lying before I try to marry one. I was speaking with Miss Darcy. She says a woman doesn’t need to rush out and wed. She said that marriage is for life, and if we make a wrong choice we are stuck with it. We should learn enough to make ourselves valuable, because that gives us more choices.”

Elizabeth looked over at Georgiana. She’d moved to speak with Jane when Lydia left her. She gestured toward the front of the house. Elizabeth was sure Georgiana was trying to get Jane to go sit for her again. Jane smiled, but shook her head. “Miss Darcy said all that, did she?”

“She did. I don’t know if she’s right, but it’s something I’ll think about.” Lydia wrinkled her nose. “Papa’s been trying to get us to learn more too, and be responsible.”

“Is he succeeding?”

Lydia sighed. “I suppose.”

She moved off then, going to speak with Jane and Georgiana. Elizabeth continued to watch, bemused, as her family mingled peaceably with the Bingleys, Hursts and Darcys.

Epilogue: Wedding Planned

While waiting for the man Georgiana planned to marry, Darcy looked at some of her paintings that hung in the office of his London house. His favorite was of Elizabeth holding their daughter, who was then three. Elizabeth and Anne were smiling at each other. As was often the case, Georgiana seemed to catch the positive essence of her subjects’ characters. Darcy was also fond of a sketch of his daughter Anne reading to her younger brother, Fitzwilliam. The hastily done sketch hadn’t been turned into a painting, but somehow Georgiana had captured the bond between brother and sister. Most treasured of all, though, was a sketch of Elizabeth seated at a pianoforte. The portrait he’d half fallen in love with while seeking her, over ten years ago.

He frowned. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with Georgiana painting portraits for money, nor was he happy about her intention to marry Mr. Greyson, her one-time art teacher, but Darcy had long ago lost control over her. Elizabeth told him it was a good thing that Georgiana was confident enough to move into her own establishment. She had a very respectable chaperone, but she no longer moved in elite circles, except as a portrait painter.

Not that her portraits were confined to elite circles. The former Miss Muir came from Scotland to London to have Georgiana paint her portrait, though a disagreement arose between them. Georgiana wanted to do it for free, in return for her place in the carriage, but the former Miss Muir wanted to pay. Georgiana won that argument, but Mr. and Mrs. Muir showed the portrait to some friends of theirs, who hired Georgiana for a portrait. This, in turn, led to several commissions for portraits.

Georgiana’s capital had become hers when she turned twenty-five, and she’d saved enough of her income to increase it. He’d feared she would be foolish about money, but she’d turned out to be very wise. Oddly enough, Mr. Bennet, who’d never managed to save a great deal of money, had persuaded Georgiana to save. She once told Darcy that Mr. Bennet had pointed out saving her money made her independent.

Her wealth and utter lack of concern about her role in society made her more independent than he liked. Yet it seemed to be good for her. He loved his competent, confident sister who was a gifted portrait painter.

A knock sounded. “Enter,” Darcy called, knowing it was Mr. Greyson.

A servant entered. Mr. Greyson was announced and shown in. Darcy stood to greet him, then gestured that they should be seated. He retook his place behind his desk. As Mr. Greyson sat across from him, Darcy was aware Georgiana’s suitor was uncomfortable.

Darcy wanted to put him at ease, so he made the effort to speak first, as Elizabeth recommended he do in such situations. “My sister said to expect you.”

“Yes.” Greyson cleared his throat. “She also said she would tell you to explain something that happened to her eleven years ago.” He gave Darcy a perplexed look. “Whatever it is, why can’t she tell me?”

Darcy’s smile was wry. “In a way, she’s making a point. To me, not you.”

Mr. Greyson shook his head, still looking confused. “She and I are . . . close. If this has to do with her, I would prefer if she tell me.”

“I made her swear never to tell anyone. She won’t break her word.” Darcy had to respect that. He also guessed Georgiana took some satisfaction in making him tell a secret he’d forbade her to, then shared without her permission. True, he’s only shared it with Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Bingley, very trustworthy people, but he’d shared it, nonetheless. He also knew that Elizabeth shared it with the Gardiners, but he was confident they would never tell anyone, or even let Georgiana become aware that they knew. Sharing her secret was an old grudge between him and Georgiana, and one of few. “Before I do, I must ask for your word that what I’m going to tell you is confidential. You must promise not to reveal it to anyone.”

“You have my word of honor. I would never do anything to harm Miss Darcy.”

Darcy nodded. As accurately as he could, he told Georgiana’s tale. He didn’t minimize her responsibility, but did mention her youth, since at fifteen there was some excuse for her lack of wisdom. He stopped the story at the point where Georgiana reached Pemberley. Darcy didn’t see any reason to bring up Elizabeth’s time at the inn, Wickham’s attack, the duel or their hasty marriage.

Mr. Greyson was silent for a long moment. “Thank you for telling me,” he finally said. “I would like to marry Miss Darcy.”

“Even after learning the truth?” Darcy asked. He wasn’t surprised, but he wanted to be certain this man loved his sister as much as she deserved.

“Georgia . . . that is, Miss Darcy already confessed that she no longer has her maidenly virtue.” Mr. Greyson looked down, shaking his head. “I suspected as much. In truth, I’m partly to blame. All those years ago, I could tell Mr. Wickham was up to no good. I tried to warn her, but I should have written you or . . .” he trailed off, shrugging. “It seems to me there was more I could have done.”

It was Darcy’s turn to shake his head. “You are not to blame. It was my responsibility to keep Georgiana safe. You were there to teach her to draw and paint, which you did admirably.”

Mr. Greyson’s expression transformed to one of nearly fervent adoration. “Yes, she’s amazing. Truly gifted. I could see such a spark in her, as I’ve known in no other. How fortunate for her, for the world, that you are a man who would permit your sister to nurture her talent into full bloom, not try to browbeat her love of art from her.”

Darcy contained a grimace. More like Georgiana was a woman who wouldn’t permit herself to be browbeaten, as Mr. Greyson put it. “She deserves all the credit, and you, of course. All those years ago, you laid the foundation for the skill she has now.”

Greyson gave a modest shrug. “I only taught her the fundamentals.” His eyes narrowed. “If the question is not too presumptuous, what did happen to Mr. Wickham?”

“He went too far,” Darcy said, offering a grim smile.

“Too far?”

“He was so dismayed over the loss of Georgiana’s dowry, he attempted revenge.”

Mr. Greyson offered a shocked look. “I trust he did no lasting harm?”

“He did not. I consider it a family matter, you understand?”

“I will treat it as such.”

“Mr. Wickham knew it would be difficult to approach me, since I am well protected. My wife’s family was not so well protected. We don’t know exactly what he intended, but we believe he wanted to enact revenge by seducing one of her younger sister. Possibly he intended to marry her, which would have forced me to at least partially accept him. Possibly he simply intended to ruin her. We’ll never know as, fortunately, Mr. Bennet recognized him from Georgiana’s portraits of him and he was exposed. I’d already taken it upon myself to gather a list of his transgressions. He was transported to Australia. When his sentence was up, I wanted to find out what happened to him for my own peace of mind. I made inquiries. He married and was working as a clerk in Australia three years ago. He doesn’t earn enough to pay his fare to England. It is very unlikely he will ever return.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry he is half a world away.”

“Neither am I, and Georgiana was particularly pleased with the news.”

Mr. Greyson nodded. “Which reminds me, you should be asking me if I can support her, and the answer is yes. My family almost disowned me when I became an art instructor, but they didn’t completely. I make enough from my paintings and my teaching to support myself, but I also have a small income that we can live on, if necessary.”

“You must know that Georgiana has a large dowry.”

“Yes, I do, but I intend that money should be hers.” His smile was wry. “I’m not being as generous as it seems. With my incomes and hers from painting, we have more than enough, even without her dowry. It’s my hope she’ll put it aside for any children we may have.”

Darcy was pleased, on all counts. Though he wished his sister would return to respectable society, he couldn’t begrudge her the happiness and success she’d found. Maybe she would permit him and Elizabeth to take any children she might have under their wing. Anne and little Fitzwilliam would love to have more younger cousins. The Bingleys decided not to buy Netherfield Park, but bought a home just three hours from Pemberley. The families met often but Anne Darcy still complained that she didn’t have enough cousins nearby. “Then we’re agreed, not that you need my permission, in truth. Georgiana can, and will, do as she pleases.”

Greyson offered a smile. “Yes, she will, but it makes both of us happy to have your blessing.”

Darcy stood, offering his hand, which Greyson shook. He called for a drink and toasted his new brother, and Greyson’s and Georgiana’s happiness. A short time later, he bid Greyson farewell, knowing he would go straight to Georgiana with the news.

Late that evening, when Darcy lay in bed, one arm about his wife, he recounted the meeting. Elizabeth listened attentively, as she always did. She asked several questions, and seemed pleased with the whole affair.

“I’m glad Georgiana will be happy,” Elizabeth said, her head resting on Darcy’s chest. “Mr. Greyson seems like a good man.”

“He does,” Darcy agreed. “And he seems to feel, at least, that they’ll have children.”

“That will be nice.” Elizabeth’s tone was wistful. “It’s too bad Richard and Anne have none.”

“Considering Anne’s health, that may not be a bad thing.” Darcy was not certain Anne could survive childbirth.

“Richard would make a good father,” Elizabeth murmured. “I wish I’d done a better job introducing him to Kitty. I still think . . .” She shrugged, her smooth skin moving against his.

“That was years ago, and you aren’t to blame.” Richard wasn’t ready to fall in love again, and opted for marrying for money.

“I should have waited, is the thing,” she said. “Richard was still in love with Jane, and Kitty was still upset over Wickham. It wasn’t the right time.”

“There may never have been a right time.”

“Perhaps not, but it was two years before she married,” Elizabeth replied. “I could have tried again. If she’d wed Richard, she wouldn’t be quite so far away.”

“I think she’s happy in Scotland,” Darcy said. They had decided to visit Elizabeth’s Aunt Beth, making a point of staying at The Sleeping Cat on the way. They took Kitty, who met and married a neighbor of Aunt Beth’s.

“Yes, she does seem happy, and Aunt Beth enjoys having one of her English nieces so near. I’m glad my sisters married well.”

“That they did. Especially Lydia.”

“To everyone’s surprise,” Elizabeth said with a smile.

Darcy returned her smile. Mary and Kitty had made respectable marriages, but Lydia had refused two reasonable offers of marriage. When she was twenty-four she accepted the proposal of a wealthy widower, who had bought Netherfield Park. Most people agreed he proposed because of her domestic skills. She was now helping raise his two daughters, along with her son, who was almost a year old.

Mrs. Bennet had been nagging Lydia for years to get married, but decided she had planned it all to allow her daughter to catch such a wonderful husband. She even planned that the Bingleys leave Netherfield Park to allow an eligible man to come to the neighborhood.

“I have to admit that she has grown up a great deal since I met her.” Darcy kissed the top of Elizabeth’s head. He was growing a bit tired of talking. Their son and daughter were long since asleep. They had no house guests at the moment. They were alone, in their chambers, and Darcy could think of far more entertaining occupations than talking about relatives.

“Yes, she has. Although I have to wonder if she loves her husband or if he loves her.”

“Is it so important to you that your sisters find love?” he asked, smoothing her hair back from her cheek.

Elizabeth angled her face toward his. Her eyes glowed, filled with a look Darcy knew was only for him. “I just want them to have the same happiness I’ve found.”

Looking into Elizabeth’s beautiful eyes, Darcy could only think of one way to answer that. Giving her a smile that matched her own, he kissed her.

~ The End ~

Enjoy our work? We’d love to know your thoughts.

To leave a review for Foiled Elopement, just visit: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B072SMBCLC/

Want to read more by Renata McMann and Summer Hanford? Take a look below.

By Renata McMann and Summer Hanford

The Second Mrs. Darcy

Georgiana's Folly (The Wickham Coin Book I)

Elizabeth's Plight (The Wickham Coin Book II)

The above two books have been published in a single volume as:

Georgiana's Folly & Elizabeth's Plight: Wickham Coin Series, Volumes I & II

The Scandalous Stepmother

Poor Mr. Darcy

A Death at Rosings

Caroline and the Footman

Mr. Collins’ Deception

Mary Younge

Lady Catherine Regrets

The above four stories (and two additional stories) are collected in:

Pride and Prejudice Villains Revisited – Redeemed – Reimagined A Collection of Six Short Stories

Entanglements of Honor

From Ashes to Heiresses

The Fire at Netherfield Park

Courting Elizabeth

Epiphany with Tea

Miss Bingley’s Christmas

Her Final Wish

Believing in Darcy

By Renata McMann

Heiress to Longbourn

Anne de Bough Manages

Three Daughters Married

The Inconsistency of Caroline Bingley

Pemberley Weddings

The above five stories are collected in:

Pride and Prejudice Variations: A collection of Short Stories

By Summer Hanford

Ladies Always Shoot First Half Hour Reads Series Page

Included are:

Captured by a Duke

To Save a Lord

One Shot for a Gentleman

Anything for a Lord

Sign up for our mailing list and get your Thank You gifts!

From Ashes to Heiresses

In the wake of a devastating fire at Longbourn, Elizabeth and Jane are taken in by their aunt and uncle in Meryton. Concerned about their situation, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley come to Hertfordshire, but not before Mr. Wickham attempts to use Jane’s heartache to his advantage.

PLUS

Eat Like Jane Austen for a Day

Your shopping, preparation and dining guide to eat like Jane Austen for a day, without a household staff.

Sign up for Renata McMann’s New Releases emailing list and get free copies of Ashes to Heiresses: a Pride and Prejudice Short Story and Eat Like Jane Austen for a Day: a How-to Pamphlet.

Click here to get started:

http://www.renatamcmann.com/news/

About the Authors

Renata McMann

Renata McMann is the pen name of Teresa McCullough, someone who likes to rewrite public domain works. She is fond of thinking "What if?" To learn more about Renata's work and collaborations, visit www.renatamcmann.com.

Summer Hanford

Summer Hanford writes Regency, fantasy and Pride and Prejudice variations. In May of 2017, her half-hour reads series, Ladies Always Shoot First, was released by Scarsdale Publishing. The first four books in her five book Thrice Born series are: Gift of the Aluien, Hawks of Sorga, Throne of Wheylia and Plains of Tybrunn. Book five is forthcoming in 2017. Shorter works appear in various magazines and anthologies, including Aoife's Kiss, Something Wicked Anthology Vol. II, Daughter of Icarus, The Ampersand Review and Nightmare Walkers and Dream Stalkers Vol. II.

Starting in 2014, Summer was offered the privilege of partnering with fan fiction author Renata McMann on her well-loved Pride and Prejudice variations. More information on these works is available at www.renatamcmann.com. Additionally, in 2016, Summer was lucky enough to be asked to join Austen Authors, a great place for fans to get more Jane Austen. To explore Austen Authors, visit www.austenauthors.net.

Summer is currently working with McMann, providing content for, creating and managing websites, and is the fantasy and science fiction faculty member at AllWriters' Workplace and Workshop, LLC., an international creative writing studio. She lives in Michigan with her husband and compulsory, deliberately spoiled, cats. For more about Summer, visit www.summerhanford.com.