Chapter 9 #2
If only Darcy would come down, she frowned, her foot tapping rapidly against the floor.
How long has Mr. Bingley been gone? At least tea would provide company for a few moments.
Standing, she moved toward the window, neck prickling as she envisioned the off-smile of that man as he had stroked her cheek.
Did they truly run toward Meryton? Oh, why did she not warn Mr. Bingley?
Would those men find her sisters? Attack them or…
No, the three men who were helping and Mr. Bingley were all to be in Meryton, if any of them saw her sisters, none would leave them unchaperoned.
They would be well. But what if those horrid men came back here instead?
Starting, she whirled toward the library door as Darcy entered, his face a mixture of bewilderment and concern as she clutched her chest.
“Elizabeth?” he questioned, the soft tone of his voice all but breaking Elizabeth as she envisioned the faces of the two men who had confronted her. “Elizabeth?” he questioned again, her name on his lips deep with worry.
Feet unmoving, she turned her face toward the window in an effort to disguise her feelings, yet, the sound of his footfalls coming near could do nothing but draw her out.
“Elizabeth?” he said again, this time softly by her ear as he waited patiently for her to answer, her eyes lifting up to his with uncertainty–she had been a fool.
“I… I fear you shall think less of me, having done as I have. A moment's impulse, a rush of pride, and I was gone. I walked to Charlotte’s first, considering that lane entirely safe, for it is exposed and there is nowhere anyone might hide, or anything which might occur unseen. Yet,” she hesitated, his constant gaze unsettling in her present state of stricken conscience, “I did not return to Longbourn to wait for you as I had planned, instead striking out here, in full knowledge of the danger and the breaking of my word. Forgive me, please… this ordeal has already been more than I can bear.”
“What happened?” he asked; his voice, though maintaining the gentle patience he had thus far given, could not conceal the fiery concern in his gaze.
“When I. As I neared Netherfield’s drive, I felt I was being followed again, so I hurried onto the drive since I could no longer turn back, but a man emerged before me and another behind.
One of the men came near and he… he told me to tell you that you had better start preparing the money, or else, well, or else something might happen to your cousin, and my sister…
and me,” she admitted, her feet of sudden interest.
“He threatened you?” Darcy fumed, fast footfalls sounding as he began to pace nearby.
Silent, Elizabeth allowed only the briefest of glances at his tall form before returning her eyes to the ground; his concern touching, though a stark reminder of her folly.
The silence lingering until he could bear it no longer, his voice faltered as he asked, “Did either of them harm you?”
Shaking her head, Elizabeth flinched as memory of the man’s fingers over her skin pricked over and over.
Why could she not forget? True it had only transpired, but oh, how delightful to forget.
If receiving the ransom note had distressed her, and believing she had been followed had panicked her, this newest encounter had managed to shake her to her core. Lifting her face to meet the now still Darcy, her heart broke–all she wanted, all she needed, was the safety of his arms.
Drawing near her, Darcy hesitated for several seconds before answering her silent wish, his arms wrapping around her as she buried her head in his chest.
Minutes of silence passed as she relished in the safety and warmth, even the embarrassed warming of her cheeks doing little to lessen her delight.
Still, she could not remain so forever. Pulling away from his arms, her eyes drawn to his with all naturalness, Elizabeth motioned to the area where they often sat; the presence of tea and treats causing her pulse to race.
Someone had brought it in while she was in the arms of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy!
Accepting the strength of his proffered arm as they made their way to their seats, Elizabeth feigned nonchalance as she prepared their tea; his own preference as familiar to her as her own.
“I do forgive you,” he said as he accepted the cup, his hand stilling on hers, “Though I ask you to make your promise again, and mean it with all of your heart, for I could not endure the pain should anything happen to you.”
Their hands clasped around the single cup, Elizabeth’s heart beat wildly as she made a solemn vow, “I do. That is to say, I promise, for your sake and mine, I shall not journey out on my own until this danger has passed–save as danger or calamity require–and, if at all possible, to temper my pride.”
Studying her face closely at last he gave a brief nod and accepted the cup in full, his face brighter as he said, “Thank you, Elizabeth. Your word means far more than you could know.”
Face aglow, Elizabeth reveled in their newfound closeness, all memories of having once disliked him overlooked as she came to know the man rather than the disagreeable phantom she had created.
No. That phantom would never have held her in his arms. Too proud and too fearful of scandal the fictional Mr. Darcy had been, but the real one?
He had some pride to be certain, and moments where it rose too high for any man, yet, not often.
And his other good traits, his compassion, his bravery, his determination, those and all the rest well made up for his flaws.
Had she been told after the assembly that this man, this Mr. Darcy, would make her fly and fall in a single breath, her response would have probably been laughter. Nay, worse. But now? she asked herself. Now she would simply incline her head, a smile forming at the rightness of it all.
Had he truly captured her heart?
Watching as he sat tall and straight in his chair, a light tug at the corner of her lips could not be helped, his presence a familiar, welcome thing her heart would not be parted from.
Yes. He had. And much quicker than she would ever have imagined.
“It is good to see you smile again,” Darcy remarked before taking a sip of his tea, his eyes fixed on her.
“Biscuit?” she asked, thankful he could not read her thoughts, though his brow raised all the same at her abruptness.
“Please?” he answered, an odd questioning tone emerging as he did.
Setting a biscuit on a small blue and white porcelain plate, Elizabeth held it out, Darcy’s fingers brushing against her own as he accepted it.
Rubbing her fingers, Elizabeth began to search for some topic, eager for a few moments of conversation that did not involve peril or woe. “Do you have plans for Michaelmas with your sister?”
“We either spend it at Pemberley or at one of our relations… both of us prefer Pemberley, though when it is only the two of us it can be rather lonesome.”
Lips turning, she tilted her head, “With four sisters and our parents under one roof, I suppose I have had little cause to consider what loneliness could be found. Even if most of my family fails to understand one another, there is still love and closeness of a kind. I know you and your sister are perhaps closer still, but I cannot imagine the sadness and loss which must cling to such times of year… I am sorry for that and can only pray future seasons hold more cheer.”
“I pray for that as well,” he answered seriously, his frame moving forward as if he sought to impart a hidden truth.
Focus solely on him, Elizabeth drew back with a start as a log shifted in the fireplace, a small laugh forming then growing as Darcy’s laughter met hers, the mood lightened and good conversation to be had for some time.
Yet, an hour later, with the return of Mr. Aldry and Mr. Peters, such pleasantries had to be forgotten as Elizabeth again told of her harrowing encounter on the drive–leaving out the more embarrassing details–and they in turn began to regale them with all they had discovered.
“Mr. Bingley and Lightcliffe chose to return home with your sisters,” Mr. Aldry said as he crossed one leg over the other, then balanced his tea precariously on the upper. “Lightcliffe hopes your mother’s knowledge of the area and people will lend some clue as to who might be involved.
“But Mamma does not even know of Mary’s disappearance,” Elizabeth worried.
“And he will not tell her,” Mr. Peters soothed, a displeased expression quickly sent to his friend.
“Of course not,” Mr. Aldry agreed as he shifted under the other man’s gaze.
“It is only that we three discussed all we have learnt thus far and began to wonder, ‘could whoever Wickham is working with be nearby?’ True, we have no proof, and the two men may well remain far away from one another, but it is a possibility.”
Rubbing the arm of her chair, Elizabeth could not help the rise of apprehension at his words. Even if the man’s presence nearby would help them end all this, nothing about another villain in the region lent ease.
“Did you discover anything else today?” Darcy asked, his gaze drifting toward her even as he addressed the others.
“Unfortunately, no,” Mr. Aldry answered.
“Leastwise, nothing in regard to the names you provided, but one of our contacts did hear rumour in London regarding our incident. Apparently, there is talk of a military man being whisked off in the direction of Scotland; the description and timing match your cousin, and it is likely they would have taken Miss Mary there as well–two locations would be too great a risk after all.” Frowning, he poked the handle of his cup, the delicate porcelain backing away until he steadied it with his other.
“If only knowing where they were headed would provide greater clue as to how to find them.”
“Is there nothing more he can do?” Elizabeth asked.