Chapter 6
Fitzwilliam Darcy sat on a well-padded, wingbacked chair by the fire in his bedchamber, his left arm throbbing relentlessly.
A bottle of laudanum sat on a small table nearby, and he eyed it thoughtfully.
Without a doubt, laudanum would help him sleep better, but for now he would refrain from taking it; he knew more than one person who had become addicted to the drug.
Furthermore, it was not the discomfort alone that was keeping him awake.
Every time he closed his eyes, the vision of the morning’s horrors flashed across his mindscape again.
Miss Elizabeth, her glorious chestnut hair disheveled, her clothes in disarray, fighting Wickham with all her might.
Wickham, his face twisted with anger, coming toward him with a knife.
Then Miss Elizabeth, brave, strong, incredible Miss Elizabeth, smashing Wickham on the side of the head with a branch, thus propelling the villain into Phoenix, and then under the horse’s great feet.
Darcy took a sip of brandy and shook his head in wonder.
In all his years on this earth, he had not seen such courage.
The girl, petite and shaken from an unexpected attack, had not taken to her heels toward safety, but had charged forward to save him from George Wickham.
Indeed, Miss Elizabeth might well have saved his life; Wickham, full of fire and fury and hatred, was obviously bent on stabbing Darcy in the heart.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet was incredible. He was very thankful, so very thankful, that he had saved her this morning, and he would protect her reputation with his entire being.
***
Elizabeth Bennet lay awake on her bed, staring out through the window at the nearly full moon.
Longbourn was quiet at last, thankfully, allowing Elizabeth to ponder the incredible, terrifying, unbelievable events of the day.
George Wickham was dead, partially at her hand.
George Wickham was a villain.
Mr. Darcy, whom she had thought the very worst of men, had saved her virtue and possibly her life.
Mr. Darcy had suffered at the hands of Wickham, both this morning and in the past.
Tears rolled down her cheeks again – indeed, she had not cried so much since she was a child of seven and her favorite dog died.
She, who had prided herself on her discernment, was an arrogant, foolish slip of a girl.
She had thought the haughty master of Pemberley thoroughly despicable when it was obvious that he was in fact a most noble hero.
The image of his face appeared in her vision, his expression a mixture of pain and concern for her well-being. He had been so kind, gracious, and courageous in the midst of a turbulent, terrifying situation.
Eventually, worn out with exhaustion from the events of the day, Elizabeth fell asleep.
***
“Good morning, Percy,” Darcy said, sitting up cautiously and looking out the nearest window. It was already daylight, which meant it was at least nine o’clock in the morning.
“Good morning, sir,” his valet responded.
The man usually slept in the servants’ quarters at Netherfield but had spent the night on the sitting room couch in case his master needed him.
Fortunately, Darcy had finally fallen asleep sometime after midnight and had slept well, though his dreams had been frenetic and unnerving.
“How are you feeling today, sir?” Percy continued.
Darcy carefully touched the bandage on his left arm and said, “I feel some pain, but it is not any worse than yesterday.”
“Mr. Jones sent a message last night that he will be here by noon to check your wound.”
“Good,” Darcy said, rolling cautiously to his feet. “Did you give Miss Bingley my letter for Mr. Bingley?”
“Yes, sir. Now given your injury, would you care to eat a small meal before changing?”
Darcy realized, to his surprise, that he was ravenous. “Bring me some rolls and tea here in my bedchamber. I need sustenance before dressing.”
“Yes, sir.”
***
“Caroline? Louisa? Hurst? What are you doing here?” Charles Bingley demanded in bewilderment as his sisters and brother by marriage surged into the drawing room of the Bingley house in London.
He had left them at Netherfield only yesterday and intended to return this afternoon; why were they here, and so early in the morning?
They must have left before the sun rose to attain London by this hour!
Mr. Hurst, to no one’s surprise, made a direct line for the brandy and poured himself a glass, while Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley walked over to warm themselves by the roaring fire.
“Caroline?” Bingley repeated impatiently, rightly assuming that she was the instigator of his family’s puzzling arrival.
“We are here to save you,” Caroline intoned dramatically as she turned to face her brother.
“Save me from what?”
“From offering for Miss Bennet, of course. She is not worthy of you.”
Bingley’s expression shifted from confused to angry. “Do not say such a thing, Caroline. She is the most beautiful, generous, remarkable lady in all of England.”
“But she is neither well connected nor wealthy, and her mother and younger sisters behave with a total want of propriety!” his younger sister riposted angrily. “Charles, you cannot join yourself with such a family. You cannot!”
Louisa Hurst saw the mulish look in her brother’s eyes and her heart sank.
“Nor does she love you, Charles,” she said hastily. “Darcy agrees with us that she will accept you for your money, nothing more.”
Bingley, who had been prepared to do battle for his love, wilted openly at these words. “You do not believe Miss Bennet loves me?”
“Of course not!” Caroline said. “Jane wishes to marry you, of course, because of your wealth, but she does not truly care for you.”
“I cannot believe that she is so mercenary!” Bingley said, distressed.
“My dear brother,” Louisa returned, casting a warning glance at their fuming younger sister, “the Bennet daughters are in a tenuous situation because of the entail on Longbourn; when their father dies, the estate will devolve to their foolish cousin, Mr. Collins. Miss Bennet will no doubt feel obliged to marry you if you offer; but I know you, dear brother; you would not be happy in a marriage of convenience.”
Bingley drooped his head in discouragement. This was true enough.
“You say Darcy agrees with you about Miss Bennet’s feelings toward me?” he asked quietly.
“Yes!” Caroline answered, pulling a sealed letter out of her reticule and handing it to her brother. “He is not able to leave Netherfield, but he sent...”
“Why can he not leave Netherfield?” Bingley interrupted.
“Well, as to that, there was...,” Caroline began.
“Perhaps you should just read the letter,” Louisa interposed.
Bingley took the letter from his sister’s hand, broke the seal, spread it open, and moved toward the window for better light.
Netherfield Hall
November 28th, 1811
Bingley,
This morning, I encountered George Wickham, who was drunk, on the northern border of Longbourn.
We fell into an argument, and he attempted to kill me with a knife; fortunately, I evaded him such that he merely stabbed me in the left arm.
In the ensuing struggle, he injured my horse Phoenix, who trampled him to death.
I must remain at Netherfield given that I am the only witness to Wickham’s demise. Mr. Jones, the apothecary, also strongly advises that I avoid traveling while my arm heals.
I initially agreed with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst that you ought to leave Netherfield because of your attraction to Miss Bennet. I do not believe she is truly in love with you, though I respect her as a genteel, kind, gracious, well-mannered young woman.
This horrifying experience with Wickham has changed my thoughts in the matter somewhat; I still believe that it is unwise for you to make an offer to Miss Bennet, but I confess that I would prefer to have you at my side as I deal with this distressing experience.
However, I will not press you; if you cannot bear to be in company with a young woman whom you love, but who does not love you, I beg you to stay in London.
I hope you do not mind if I stay at Netherfield until I have recovered.
Sincerely,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Charles Bingley lifted his face from the letter and turned to stare out the window.
During the spring and summer months, the garden behind the house was a riot of roses and red valerian, daffodils and daisies, but now it was a forlorn place with bare shrubs and slumbering grass.
The day was cold but clear, with no menacing clouds threatening a storm.
He blew out a slow breath before stalking over to ring the bell. Thirty seconds later, a pretty young maid entered and asked, “Yes, sir?”
“Tell Mr. Scopes and Mr. Knowles to attend to me at once,” Bingley ordered.
Caroline, who had been waiting with growing impatience, demanded, “Why do you wish for your valet and butler, Charles?”
“I am returning to Netherfield within the hour, Caroline,” he replied calmly, “and I need Scopes to pack for me, and to instruct Knowles.”
His sisters stared at him incredulously while Hurst, who had been sucking down brandy, huffed in amusement.
“Are you mad?” Caroline exclaimed shrilly. “We just told you that Miss Bennet...”
“How could you leave Darcy alone like that?” her brother thundered, causing the woman to jump. “He was attacked and injured only yesterday, and you abandoned him! I am shocked and horrified that my own sisters would do such a thing!”
“But Charles!” Caroline squeaked. “Mr. Darcy wished us to leave! My dear brother, he is as eager as we are to save you from a most unworthy alliance! I daresay he will be well enough to join us in Town within a day or two, after all!”
Bingley frowned down at the letter again and cogitated.
His younger sister, who was eager to wed his wealthy and connected friend, could be annoying at the best of times.
No doubt Darcy was pleased enough to recuperate in a quiet house in the country without an avaricious single female twittering in his ears.
“Nonetheless, I must return to Netherfield,” he said finally. “I am dismayed at the report of Darcy’s injury, and must be certain he is well.”
“I am certain he would relish time with you as he recovers,” Louisa said, bestowing a warning look on her younger sister. “No doubt with you at his side, he will feel better able to bear the carriage ride to London.”
Bingley compressed his lips but did not answer. There was no point in arguing, and perhaps his sisters were right. Perhaps Darcy would be eager to leave Netherfield within a day or two.
As for Miss Bennet – well, Bingley could not believe that the lady was truly indifferent to him. They had talked so cheerfully together, and he was certain her beautiful blue eyes had brightened when he walked into the room.
He would know more when he saw her again.