Chapter 3 #2
Elizabeth stood uncertain in the middle of the crowded dance floor. At that moment, Sir William Lucas appeared close to her, his path to the other side of the room interrupted by the sight of her standing alone.
He paused, offered a courteous bow, and, with a kindness that made her smile despite herself, said, “Miss Elizabeth, may I have the pleasure of completing the set with you? I see that Mr. Darcy is indisposed, and you are without a partner.”
Without thinking, Elizabeth accepted his hand, grateful for his easy charm.
Together, they moved up the line; his cheerful conversation and gentle jokes—especially his teasing about Mr. Collins’s sudden interest in Charlotte—lightened her mood, if only for a moment.
The anxiety she had felt while dancing with Mr. Darcy faded, replaced by the familiar comfort of Sir William’s company.
Still, a shadow lingered at the edge of her thoughts: Georgiana Darcy, Mr. Darcy’s sister, was surely travelling with Mr. Wickham.
Another lady, Mrs. Younge, was in the carriage with them; mayhap, at the very least, the young girl was chaperoned.
But why had Mr. Darcy’s easy manner—seemingly, he had enjoyed her gentle teasing—so suddenly disappeared?
She wished that men, upon first meeting her, did not become infatuated, no matter how quickly such attention passed.
Ever since her gift—if she were to call it that—had appeared as a young girl, she had felt their eyes upon her.
Most, like William Goulding, had expressed their admiration but then, recognising that their interest was not reciprocated, replaced infatuation with amity, desire with affection.
Others, as in the case of her cousin Mr. Collins, soon redirected their interest towards another lady entirely; but a few—as Mr. Darcy now seemed—took offence, responding with a petulance that implied she was to blame for not returning their feelings; perhaps embarrassed by their infatuation.
The dance ended. Sir William released her hand with another bow and vanished into the throng.
Elizabeth longed for a moment’s solitude, but the hall was too crowded—the air thick with warmth, laughter, and the fragrance of spilled punch and tallow candles.
Yet the distress she felt was too strong—it was certain that Miss Darcy was in some danger.
But from what? And why did it concern her so?
She must find Colonel Fitzwilliam—Georgiana’s cousin and other guardian.
Surely, he would listen to her—be able to explain why the young woman was travelling along the Great North Road.
Perhaps to Pemberley, the Darcy estate in Derbyshire—but Elizabeth’s heart knew that was a lie.
That Mr. Wickham’s intent was to cross the border into Scotland.
She scanned the ballroom, but neither the Colonel nor Mr. Darcy could be seen. Suddenly, she was accosted by Miss Bingley.
“You have caused quite a stir, Miss Eliza,” she whispered, fanning herself, “to have driven Mr. Darcy away. To think of your impertinence, a country miss forcing him to leave a ball where he was guest of honour.”
Elizabeth tried to laugh, to shrug it off as she so often did, but the sound caught awkwardly in her throat, betraying her.
Her cheeks burned. She met Miss Bingley’s gaze with a look of cool disdain, unwilling to dignify the remark with a reply, and then, gathering her skirts, hurried from the dance floor.
She found Mr. Bennet by the card tables, although he was not playing. “Papa, I must leave. There is a great wrong which I must correct. ’Tis Miss Darcy… Oh, I do not know what to do!”
“Lizzy, surely child, it is not up to you. The hour is late; perhaps you best wait till morning, when what you fear now may appear less dire.” Mr. Bennet took her hands, for seldom had he seen Elizabeth so agitated.
“No, sir! I cannot leave it. For tomorrow will be too late.”
“Should I call for the carriage?” But she was gone.
It was nearly midnight, and supper would soon begin—the familiar comfort of cold ham and chicken awaited.
Mr. Bennet took pride in his quick wit and his sharp, sometimes acerbic humour, though it was tempered by a curious mix of reserve and unpredictability that often left him an observer within his own home.
He recognised a certain selfishness in himself—a tendency to retreat at the slightest inconvenience, preferring the sanctuary of his library to the chaos of family life.
Yet, despite his detachment, he had grown to rely on Elizabeth—her good sense, her steadiness, her remarkable talent for untangling even the knottiest problems—just as everyone else did.
Since childhood, her judgement had been as reliable as sunrise, and in moments like this, he felt quietly reassured by that dependability.
He reminded himself that Elizabeth was strong, that her gifts would protect her from harm.
With that comforting thought, he turned and made his way to the supper room.
* * *
Elizabeth retrieved her pelisse from the footman in the vestibule, slipped off her dancing shoes in favour of her half-boots, and hurried into the night.
The cold air was bracing—a relief after the suffocating heat of the ballroom. Lanterns flickered along the drive, and the noise of the assembly faded into a distant hum, her mind racing ahead of her footsteps.
She paused just inside the ring of lantern light, her breath misting in the chill.
For a moment, she tried to steady herself.
The urgency in her chest was not anxiety, but certainty—a conviction she had learned to trust. Closing her eyes, she focused, searching for any trace of those she pursued.
Wickham’s presence was elusive, as slippery as oil on water.
Still, she caught the faint echo of Georgiana’s distress—a mix of fear and hope, the uncertain feelings of a child suddenly finding herself on an uncertain road.
There was no time to hesitate. Elizabeth hurried toward the stables, where the hired post-chaises waited, praying she might find a groom awake. As she rounded the corner, a tall figure emerged from the shadows, and she nearly collided with him.
“Miss Bennet!” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice was low and urgent. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. What’s happened?”
Relief swept through her. “Colonel, thank goodness. I must speak with you—privately. It is about Miss Darcy.”
His expression turned grave. Without question, he offered his arm and led her away from the lit windows, his manner brisk but restrained. “You’ve had news?”
“Not news—in the usual sense,” Elizabeth admitted, acutely aware of how strange her words would sound.
“I believe Mr. Wickham has taken Miss Darcy north—perhaps to Scotland. I can’t explain how I know, only that I’m certain it’s true.
Mrs. Younge is with them, but—Colonel, you must act. There’s no time to lose.”
He studied her, recognising the urgency in her eyes. “You’re sure?”
She nodded, her voice steady though her hands trembled. “I am. If we leave at once, we may catch them—perhaps at Baldock, on the Great North Road.”
For a moment, he was silent, and she feared he would dismiss her. Then his features hardened, and she saw the resolve of a colonel in the regulars taking command.
“Very well, Miss Bennet. I believe you.”
“But I do not.” The voice she had dreaded most sounded from behind. “Is it not remarkable, Richard, the lengths some will go for a compromise? What a triumph for a country miss to snare the son of an earl.”
Elizabeth spun to face Mr. Darcy, who had stepped from the shadows behind the Colonel. “What have I done to earn your scorn?” she demanded. “You asked me to dance not half an hour ago, and now—this? I don’t understand you, sir!”
Darcy addressed the Colonel, ignoring her entirely. “Come, Richard, don’t let yourself be bewitched as I once was. She has a knack for turning any man’s head.”
“Darcy! That’s enough. I won’t have you speak to a lady that way. Explain yourself—I see only genuine concern in Miss Bennet.”
Darcy hesitated, suddenly unsure. “How does she know your name? You said yourself you’d never met her. And she knows about Wickham, and Georgiana. There’s some scheme at play.”
“Oh, and don’t forget Mrs. Younge, that treacherous companion. That should complete my knowledge, shouldn’t it?” Elizabeth snapped, wishing she’d stayed in the stifling warmth of the ballroom instead of facing Darcy’s cold suspicion.
“Miss Bennet,” said the Colonel, “there’s some truth in Darcy’s doubts. Yet in my time in the Peninsula, I saw many things far stranger than your knowing the names of Darcy’s sister and her companion. Can you explain it to me?”
Elizabeth managed a wry smile. “As I once told William Goulding, you have uncommon sense, Colonel. Perhaps that’s why you command men, while Mr. Darcy manages only his sheep in Derbyshire. But this isn’t the moment for jests—if we’re to catch their carriage, we must leave now.”
Just then, a groom approached, drawn by the raised voices.
The Colonel called out, “Have Mr. Darcy’s carriage readied—four horses, quickly.
We may need to travel fast.” He turned to Darcy.
“If Georgiana truly is in danger, I for one don’t wish to delay.
It does no harm to prepare. Now, Miss Bennet… ”
“You’ve only been in the neighbourhood a short while, Colonel,” Elizabeth said, “but you must have noticed how prosperous it is—good roads, a new assembly hall. There are no beggars here. And at tonight’s assembly, Miss Bingley’s preparations were excellent.
But did you notice? There was plenty of satin and silk, not just muslin.
Extravagant, for county families. And Mr. Darcy, you weren’t the only gentleman in an embroidered waistcoat. ”
Darcy looked confused, trying to follow her point.
Then it dawned on him. All the families in the area, those he and Bingley had socialised with, all appeared exceedingly well.
Bingley’s four thousand a year was well known, yet few seemed impressed.
His own ten thousand, usually enough to send matrons whispering about eligible matches, had been met with only passing interest.
“The neighbourhood is remarkably prosperous,” he admitted slowly, glancing at the fine quality of Elizabeth’s gown. “Much more so than the local farms could explain.”
Elizabeth’s lips curled in a half-smile. “Now you see, Mr. Darcy. The Meryton vestry does more than maintain roads and almshouses. Each member contributes and invests in canals, turnpikes, mines—and most successfully, as though certain of their investment.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam regarded Elizabeth with new understanding. There was a quiet confidence about her, a steadiness even as she argued with Darcy and worried for Georgiana.
“Miss Bennet,” he said softly, “I’ve witnessed many strange things.
Once, in Spain, a young boy threw me to the ground as I entered a town behind enemy lines.
A musket ball whistled past where my head had been.
The boy vanished before I could thank him.
I never saw the Frenchman who fired the shot—nor could the boy have. ”
Elizabeth’s expression turned weary. “I know what you mean. I can’t explain it—whether it’s a gift or a curse, I don’t know. My neighbours call it a gift, but their thoughts, their possibilities, press on me—always—without rest. Cogitata—the very contents of their minds talking to me.
“Ma’am, are you a seer?” The Colonel’s voice was barely above a whisper; such claims were rarely welcomed in society.
“Miss Bennet—a seer!” Darcy scoffed. “Richard, didn’t Robert Boyle prove second sight was a fraud a hundred years ago? Surely you can’t be serious.”
“Enough, both of you!” Elizabeth interjected.
“This arguing gets us nowhere. Why not come with us, Mr. Darcy? If word gets out I travelled with two gentlemen alone in a carriage, it’s only my reputation at stake—yet, in Meryton, most accept my good sense without question.
Stay here if you wish, content in your scepticism.
But if you join us, you can question me all you like along the way.
It won’t change the fact: your sister Georgiana is travelling north with Mr. Wickham and Mrs. Younge. ”
* * *