Chapter 2
Darcy was standing in the Bennets’ parlour, looking into Jane Bennet’s guileless blue eyes, her words still ringing in his ears. A surge of jealousy and hatred for Wickham had flared up, but he firmly tamped it down. He used all his self-discipline not to cry out, not to protest.
Because something was wrong.
Darcy knew for an absolute fact that Elizabeth had not, in fact, eloped with Wickham. Lies and trickery and wrong-doing were involved, for mysterious reasons.
Fear for Elizabeth and ire at persons unknown made his heart race and his stomach clench, but Darcy was relieved he had the ability to put away, for the moment at least, all of that emotion.
He would have to use his eyes, ears, and mind very carefully to figure out what he could about what was actually happening, and why.
He knew that the Bennets were aware of his and Elizabeth’s betrothal, because Mr Gardiner and Elizabeth had judged that it would be best to send a letter ahead announcing their engagement.
The Gardiners’ travel plans had them reaching Longbourn two days after the letter, and Darcy had set out two days after them.
Scanning the room, Darcy noticed that Mr Bennet was looking at him with a glint in his eyes and a little smirk on his face. Mrs Bennet would not meet his gaze. Mary looked sullen, Kitty looked embarrassed, and Lydia looked rebellious.
He said softly, “I asked her to marry me, and she said yes.”
Jane said, her voice as soft and kind as ever, “Lizzy left you a letter. Perhaps she explains herself?”
Darcy took the sealed letter as if he believed her, although he once again scanned the room to learn the expressions of the various Bennets.
He was certain that, whatever this was, whatever was happening, it was something that seemed acceptable to Elizabeth’s father and elder sister.
However, he would guess that none of her younger sisters were happy with the situation.
He would, at some point, attempt to use that information to find out more.
The outside of the letter read “F.D.” Elizabeth had never called him Fitzwilliam, and she had joked that she never intended to, given that the name was indelibly linked to his cousin. She liked to call him Darcy, and of course he was very used to others calling him that name.
He did not much care what she called him, as long as she was his. Which, supposedly, she no longer was.
Still, the “F.D.” seemed wrong.
Darcy unfolded the letter, noticing the wafer that had been used to seal it, and he quickly read it.
Dear Sir, I regret hurting your feelings, but I have changed my mind.
I was swept up by emotion at Pemberley, but when I came home, Mr Wickham was waiting for me with more romance in his heart, more appreciation in his eyes, and I remembered that I had meant to marry for love, not money nor position.
I will marry Mr Wickham. Do not try to find us.
—Elizabeth
Everything about the letter was wrong. Elizabeth loved him and neither liked nor trusted Wickham.
However, it did appear to be Elizabeth’s handwriting.
He studied the note more carefully, and he realised that, although the letter formations looked very familiar to what he had seen of Elizabeth’s, there was something different in the darkness and thickness of the downward strokes, the firmness in the way the pen was put to paper.
It was, he was certain, a forgery, and an amateur one at that.
Folding the letter, he put it inside one of the inner pockets of his coat. “Do you have a new direction for her?” he asked Jane.
“We do not. If we did, I do not suppose that I ought to give it to you.” Her smile became even sweeter, even more pitying.
He believed her expression even less than before.
“I think you all should know,” he said as his eyes swept around the room again, letting the entire family know that he was addressing them all, “that George Wickham is a drunkard, a man with enormous debts, a scoundrel who has ruined many women, leaving some of them with the most permanent sort of consequences of their ruination, a man without honour or decency. He would only marry for money, although he has promised marriage many times in order to lure ladies to doing his bidding. He has promised elopements to other ladies in the past, and yet he has never been married.”
He carefully monitored the reactions to his words.
Mr Bennet lost his smirk and narrowed his eyes.
Mrs Bennet finally met his eyes, and hers were wide and troubled.
Mary, Kitty, and Lydia seemed not a bit surprised by his revelation.
Jane…Jane’s smile was replaced by the perfect moue of distress, and she said, “I know how hurt you must be by Lizzy’s defection, Mr Darcy.
But lashing out at your former friend is not kind. ”
Jane Bennet looked perfectly sincere. It was frightening, looking into those genuine-appearing eyes in that lovely-seeming face, with that aura that spoke of inner serenity and goodness….
Months ago, Darcy had counselled his friend Bingley, who was considering proposing marriage to Miss Bennet, that the lady smiled at everyone.
“I cannot see that she holds you in any special regard,” Darcy had said.
“I would hate to see you in an unequal alliance—and I do not refer to fortune, Bingley, but of love, of attachment.”
He did not mention that, the night they all met, Miss Bennet had made advances on Darcy; he saw no reason to especially hurt his friend.
Bingley, easily convinced by Darcy and his sisters that Jane Bennet did not care for him, had not returned to Netherfield Park.
Since then, he had gone on to discover several more “angels” who looked similar to Jane.
Looking at Jane now, and seeing how sincere she seemed when she must be lying, Darcy was relieved for his friend that he had not wed her.
“I will leave you now,” Darcy said. “Please let me know if you hear from Elizabeth. For now my sister and I are staying at Netherfield Park. My permanent address is on my card.”
He bowed and left the parlour and Longbourn’s manor house.
He strode to the stable, where he spent a half hour personally rubbing down Beorht, using the physicality of the task to burn off some of his squelched emotions.
Of course, he interrupted the stable boy’s expert ministrations in order to do the task himself.
The youth stood and watched him for a few minutes, saying, “I kin still do th’ rest, sir,” and “He’s a beaut, sir.” Finally the boy held out the coin Darcy had given him. “I guess I should give this back t’ you, sir.”
Darcy paused the motion of the straw wisp, and he looked into the youth’s eyes. He said, “No, that is yours. What is your name?”
“Tom.” The boy grinned briefly as he put the coin back into his pocket, but he carefully replaced the smile with a more impassive expression as he said, “Thank you, sir.”
“Tom, do you know Miss Elizabeth?”
The youth’s eyes took on a certain look—quite a besotted look, Darcy judged, and he said, “Yes, sir!”
“Did you see her when she returned from her trip north?”
“‘Course,” he said eagerly. “She is always kind, and she brought early apples to the horses—she likes to visit them daily, just for a minute, and she brought me a sweet roll.”
“When was this?” Darcy asked.
“Yesterday in the early morning, ‘fore anyone else from the fam’ly was up and about. That’s her way; she goes for early-morning walks.”
“And did she take a walk this morning?”
Tom shook his head.
“Do you know why? Did anyone say something to you about her?”
“No. I s’pose she were just busy? There’s times when her mother sez she just can’t go fer a walk.”
“Thank you, Tom. I am staying at Netherfield Park, at the manor house. Do you know it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you hear anything about Miss Elizabeth—how she is doing, where she is, or where she is going—please let me know as soon as you can.” Darcy gave him a long, level look. “Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir. I shall, sir.”
“Thank you.” Darcy gave him a guinea, and the boy’s eyes shone. Darcy said one more thing, “It may be very important to Miss Elizabeth’s health and well-being that you get word to me.”
The boy nodded. He looked puzzled but impressed.
Darcy finished caring for his steed. Then he saddled Beorht, mounted, and rode away from his Elizabeth’s childhood home.