Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
Wickham was dead. Good.
He was accused. Not good.
The world had grown as quiet as the church he had visited just the day before.
Though he knew the Bennets were chattering about the situation, and Goulding was offering reassurances, he could take none of it in.
His vision narrowed so all he could see was Elizabeth’s face.
He reached out to it, taking her cheeks in his palms. She seemed to glow in the dim sitting room.
Her eyes were both hopeful and afraid. He leaned down to kiss her forehead between her brows as if that gesture might reassure her.
When he pulled back, her eyes were closed, and she reached up, resting her hands on his. It was perfection.
He hoped this would not be the last time they touched.
“Goulding,” he said, stepping back from her, “let us go.”
Elizabeth grabbed hold of his arm, but he locked eyes with her and shook his head ever so slightly, so she released him. Before she could say or do anything more that might crack his heart, he walked away.
Once outside, Darcy said, “Perhaps we ought to move away from the house before you say more.” He could see most of the Bennets’ faces in various window panes.
Goulding agreed and they stepped into his friend’s carriage. As they rode, Goulding said, “Wickham was found in the stream behind the inn in Meryton. Someone beat him to death.”
Darcy might have celebrated but for the fact that he was under suspicion.
“All the landed men are being called for the inquest, save your intended’s father, for he could not be seen as impartial. I am taking you to Haye-Parke for safekeeping.”
“Why not Netherfield? Georgiana is there, and I would not flee. You know I would not.”
At the crossroads, Goulding had the driver pause. “You swear?”
“I am not guilty, and I am a man of honour.”
“I know, Darcy, but you hated Wickham beyond reason.”
“Not beyond reason. There were credible reasons for my hatred of that man, but I am not a murderer.”
Goulding nodded and said, “I must go to Meryton. The men are gathering at the site of the murder. The carriage can bring you—”
“Walking would suit me.” When Goulding gave a suspicious glance, Darcy repeated, “I shall go directly to Netherfield. Georgiana must know what is happening, and I dare not speak to Miss Elizabeth. I trust not my emotions and fear to find myself clinging to her.”
“Yes, a womanish demeanour would not suit you now, man. Be strong. You shall be called for this afternoon, I suspect. Or tomorrow morning.”
Darcy stepped out of the carriage and waved to his friend, happy to have the last mile to walk on his own.
How dare the day be fine? It ought to be raining or cloudy to match his mood.
He had wanted nothing more than to pass the day with Elizabeth, walking through the woods or traversing the hills with her at his side.
Instead, he would have to tell Georgiana about the trouble, and attempt to convince her that he was not responsible, nor was she, for Wickham’s death.