by Pamela Aidan
More to the point, in a family matter as delicate as this, the hand of a virtual stranger would be most unwelcome. Well did he know the lengths to which a family might go to protect itself. It had to be the object of Elizabeth’s family to involve as few as possible before the final disposition of their daughter was accomplished, whether in honorable marriage, distant seclusion, or eternal disgrace. Further, the Bennet family certainly had no sort of claim upon him that might prompt them to enlist his aid or justify his offering of it. Presumptuous…interfering…unwelcome! Darcy stripped off his gloves and slapped them against his thigh in high irritation with the frustrating but accurate descriptions of any assistance he might offer or action he might take. It seemed that the only acceptable action was complying with Elizabeth’s plea that he say nothing.
Entering his study, he quickly closed the door and threw himself into his chair. A deep frown sharply slanted his brows as he mentally reviewed the situation. Say nothing! Of course, he would comply with her plea when it came to society in general; but his entire being strained against the inaction that propriety demanded. It was all so absurd! He knew how to begin, where to go, whom to enlist. He had the resources to buy any information he might need in pursuit of an acceptable conclusion to this disaster, and he was, without doubt, sufficiently motivated to accomplish it all as well! The memory of Elizabeth’s inconsolable weeping swept through him once more with painful clarity. Oh, he would never forget the encounter! Even now, her helplessness and misery grieved him so acutely that his entire fortune seemed a small price to relieve her suffering.
“Wickham!” Darcy ground out as he pounded his fist on the desk and bounded from his seat. Running a hand through his hair, he strode about the room. What would be the outcome if he did not involve himself ? Ghastly! It was highly unlikely that a man of Mr. Bennet’s limited resources and country temper would alone succeed in finding his daughter in the stews of London. The pursuit could bankrupt him and take months or longer. Even were he successful, the girl’s reputation and, therefore, her family’s would be torn to shreds. Certainly, no one in Hertfordshire would ever forget the scandal, and the disgrace would cling to the remaining sisters, following them anywhere in England they might go. Scandal! He shook his head. The power and fear that word could evoke! Yet its effects fell so very unevenly across Society. What caused gasps and titters when committed by one — Lady Caroline Lamb’s highly public indiscretions flashed through his mind — was the ruination of whole families in others.
Darcy checked his stride and paused at a window to look out on the neat, orderly gardens of Pemberley. The horror of scandal had kept him silent before. Oh, he had saved Georgiana and jealously guarded the Darcy name, but with that he had been content. He knew Wickham, had known what sort of man he had become, known that if he could so use Georgiana, he could have no compunction about seducing others. Who knew what other young women Wickham had deceived, debauched? But Darcy had been satisfied with fencing his own pasture and had spared no thought for the defense of his neighbor’s. Here was the result! Elizabeth’s family was only the most recent to suffer, but that it was the family of the woman he loved and to whom he owed so much cast his neglect into even darker hues. Darcy took a deep breath. It was certain that the only possible path to resolving the matter for the Bennets was a marriage. A less satisfactory solution would be a respectable but distant retirement for the girl and prison or a foreign military post for Wickham. Either solution would require financial and social resources far beyond those available to Elizabeth’s father or uncle.
And then, Darcy’s breath caught, there was Elizabeth! His mind, his heart flooded with waves of longing that threatened to drown his every rational faculty. The chances for Elizabeth to contract an advantageous marriage had always been slim. Now her prospects were all but nonexistent. The thought of her as another man’s wife had never been anything other than difficult for him to contemplate, but now the prospect of any sort of happiness attending her future was deeply in question. Darcy closed his eyes against the yearnings of the past that would enfold her into his protective care. He must think clearly!
Both she and her sisters — he pulled himself back to the question at hand — both Elizabeth and her sisters would be forced to marry below their station if they married at all, and if respectable men could be found who would overlook the taint upon the family. Unbidden, a picture arose of Elizabeth as the wife of some poor farmer or clerk, toiling daily through a mean existence that drained every ounce of her vivacity. Darcy’s teeth clenched as he leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. Groaning, he tried to push the vision away, but it would not quit the center stage of his imagination as he saw her, a shadow of the woman she could have been. It nearly drove him mad! It also decided him. He turned back to the room, his gaze taking it in as if it were all of Pemberley laid before him. No, he would not stand aside from her need! If his fortune could purchase an acceptable solution and give her a chance for happiness, perhaps his prestige carefully applied to the right man — Elizabeth’s uncle came immediately to mind — could override objection to his involvement.
With new energy, Darcy returned to his desk and pulled open his calendar. Running a finger down his schedule, he noted his appointments and then pulled out paper and ink. His steward would be scratching his head at what he would read, but that could not be helped. Sherrill was a good man and would rise to the challenge of the responsibilities Darcy was about to give him. What mattered now was speed. He must be in London as soon as possible, even if it meant little rest or traveling on Sunday. In a hand that reflected his haste, Darcy put his signature to a second letter, this one to be sent ahead of him to the city, and blew lightly upon the wet ink while his mind raced to all that he must accomplish before he could leave. Then, folding it, he made for the door and handed both letters to the first footman he encountered with instructions for their direction. The sound of voices in the main hall alerted him to the return of his guests from their breakfast picnic. He could ill afford the time for engaging in social niceties or foiling Caroline Bingley’s little plots and stratagems. Turning to the stairs, he took them two at a time and, when he had reached his chambers, pulled insistently upon the bell.
“Fletcher!” Darcy was upon his valet before the man had a chance to catch his breath from his unexpected summons up two steep flights. “We are leaving for London tomorrow. You must pack only what is necessary, for I will not be entertaining or going about Town in the usual manner.”
“London, sir?” Fletcher wheezed in surprise. “Tomorrow? Good Heavens, sir!”
“Pray that it is so, and that Heaven will be good.” Darcy paused, the look of bewilderment on Fletcher’s face setting him to wonder whether taking his valet into his confidence might be the wiser course. “We go to the rescue of a young woman, Fletcher,” he finally added, a ghost of a smile creasing his face, “an activity with which you and your finacée have some experience, if I recall.”
“Y-yes, sir,” his valet agreed uncertainly. “When do you wish to depart?”
“Six, absolutely no later. That will be all — No, wait!” Darcy caught the man before he could bow. “Tell no one until later tonight; then you may let it be known among the servants. I will inform Mr. Reynolds, but my guests are not to know until I tell them.”
“Yes, sir.” Fletcher bowed.
“And send a servant to find Miss Georgiana. I wish to speak with her at once.”
“Immediately, Mr. Darcy!” Fletcher quickly bowed again and disappeared behind the servants’ door. For a moment, Darcy stared at the closed door, his valet’s steps receding into silence. A deep sense of wholeness spread through his soul, accentuating as it did so the sweet freedom of a clear conscience granted by having come to a decision that he could act upon.
“Fitzwilliam?” Georgiana appeared in the doorway in response to his call of “Enter!” Darcy looked up from his portmanteau just in time to catch the smile upon her face fade into puzzlement. �
�What are you doing? Packing?” She looked at him in astonishment.
“Yes, dearest, I leave tomorrow at first light.” He dropped what was in his hands and went to her.
“But, our guests…” She looked up at him as he took her hands in his. “And Miss Elizabeth?”
Darcy looked down into her eyes and marveled at the calm self-possession he found there. The quality of mercy…Yes, that was what he saw there, the effects of mercy and the wisdom its bestowal had brought to her. The urge to tell her his plans was strong. Georgiana, of all people, would understand what he was about to do.
“It is on behalf of Miss Elizabeth that I must leave you here to entertain our guests, sweetling, and travel to London for I know not how long.”
“London! For Miss Elizabeth?” He could see her curiosity warring with an awakened concern and a proper reserve.
“Yes. Elizabeth…Miss Elizabeth received some distressing news by post just moments before I was introduced. She was so distraught that she confided its contents to me in a most unguarded fashion.” He paused. “It is a matter, oddly enough, that touches on our family and for which I hold my own actions to be a highly significant factor.” He looked deeply into his sister’s eyes. “I promised Elizabeth my silence, but it involves Wickham, my dear.” Georgiana gasped, and for a moment, the old look of pain and shame crossed her delicate features, but these emotions were rapidly replaced by intensity.
“Wickham and Miss Elizabeth? You must tell me, Fitzwilliam!” she demanded, her grip on his hands tightening, her regard of him steady.
“Wickham has…has compromised Miss Elizabeth’s youngest sister —”
“No!” Georgiana breathed it out in a strangled whisper.
“I fear it is so.” He looked at her apprehensively, but she nodded and motioned that he continue. “He has taken her to London and effectively disappeared. The post pled for Miss Elizabeth to return home to Hertfordshire and for her uncle to assist her father in his search. I expect they are already gone. Georgiana.” He sighed. “I cannot think but that if I had exposed Wickham for the danger he was, this could not have happened. Perhaps I am wrong, but at the moment I can only accuse myself of behaving with no thought for the protection of anyone beyond our own family.”
“And so you go to London to assist in the search?” Georgiana finished for him. “They will not want it.”
“No, they will not; therefore, I will make them no offer but will employ my own means in secret. Which brings me to this next.” He caught her eye. “You must tell no one and carry on here yourself. Can you do that?” He cocked his head at her. He was asking much of his young sister, but as he put his hands on her slim shoulders, he felt them straighten to the task.
“Yes, I can; it is the least I can do.” She looked him full in the face. “It was for me that you kept silent, Fitzwilliam. We must put that right; we must help Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy smiled at her “we” and put a palm to her cheek. “You have become such a lady that I dare not call you ‘my girl’ any longer. Lord Brougham warned me it was so and, as in so much, he was right.” He kissed her forehead. “Now, I must finish my packing. I will announce my departure at dinner tonight, not before; and you must plan your own strategy, Miss Darcy!”
The profound consternation of his guests when informed that Darcy was leaving them to their own devices might have gratified the conceit of a lesser man, but after briefly acknowledging their disappointment, he refused to entertain long faces or petulant looks. Instead, he plunged into the next matter, that of insisting that his guests treat Pemberley as their own while he was gone from them, ending with the small caveat that any large entertainments should be discussed first with his sister.
“Dash it all!” Bingley exclaimed at the news of the unnamed emergency. “What deuced bad luck! And everything has been so agreeable…more than agreeable,” he murmured. “When will you return, Darcy?”
“I cannot say. It is completely in the hands of Providence.” Darcy’s mouth assumed grim lines. “But I believe it will be a matter of weeks rather than days.”
“Then p’rhaps we should think of pushing on to Scarborough.” A new chorus of disappointment from his sisters greeted Bingley’s words, but he pointedly ignored them. “Unless” — he peered into Darcy’s face — “unless there is any way in which I might help you.” Bingley’s earnest offer was gratifying to behold, for not long ago he would not have dared even to think he could stand as his friend’s support.
“No, I thank you.” Darcy steadily returned his regard. “If the matter were such that you could help, I would pounce upon your offer; but as it is…” He let the sentence dangle.
Bingley nodded. “Well then, we shall keep Miss Darcy company.” He winked at his friend. “And plunder your trout stream in the meantime. I know of nothing else so likely to hasten your business in Town.”
“Indeed.” Darcy smiled back. “But having observed your skill with rod and reel, I have not the least concern for the health and safety of my trout.”
Upon bidding his guests adieu and retiring to the sanctuary of his bedchamber, Darcy found his valet awaiting him in his dressing room with all at the ready. A single trunk, closed but as yet unbound, stood discreetly to one side awaiting his inspection while a solemn-eyed Fletcher, caught in the midst of evening preparations that would end only after Darcy ordered him to bed, bowed.
“Good evening, Fletcher.” He looked down at the trunk. “Packed to satisfaction?”
“Yes, sir. I believe so, sir.” His man moved toward the article in question. “Do you wish to —”
“No, I have every confidence that it is complete for our purposes. Send it down with my bag, if you please.” Fletcher bowed, reached for the bell rope, gave it a stout pull, and then bent to the task of strapping and locking the trunk.
When he finished, he turned back to his master, the solemnity of his manner unchanged. “If I may, sir?” Darcy nodded his assent to the curiosity he knew Fletcher had manfully controlled throughout the evening before turning him his back to begin disrobing. “May I know more about our mission?” He eased the coat from Darcy’s shoulders and placed it on a chair. “A lady in distress, I am to understand?”
“Yes, but wait!” A knock had sounded at the servants’ door, causing both men to tense. “Enter!” Darcy called out. “There.” He motioned the entering footman toward the trunk. “Take it below for tomorrow morning, if you please; and remind Morley that the coach is to be ready by first light. Thank you.”
“Yes, sir.” The footman hoisted the trunk to his shoulder and headed back down the servants’ stairs. Darcy waited until the sound of his footsteps had receded to silence before turning back to his valet.
“Yes.” He unbuttoned his waistcoat. “That is correct — or almost correct.” Fletcher’s eyebrow went up. “The lady may not yet realize that she is in distress, but she most certainly is. Of that there is no question!” Darcy leaned toward his man as he handed him his waistcoat. “Your discretion is of the utmost importance in this matter, you must realize, the utmost importance!”
“Yes, sir!” Fletcher’s eyes lit up even as Darcy fixed upon him an intense look.
“It involves the Bennet family.”
Fletcher’s excitement turned to horror. “No, sir…not Miss Eliz ——”
“No! Rest easy on that score.” Darcy began untying his cravat. “But it is one of her sisters, the youngest. She has run off in what she expects to be an elopement but what I am most certain is not. I know the character of the man,” he explained grimly. “It is George Wickham.”
“Wickham? One of Colonel Forster’s lieutenants?” Fletcher questioned. “ ‘A Plumper and too ripe by half’ was the word among the servants in Hertfordshire, sir. But I understood that the Colonel’s regiment was in Brighton.”
“You understand correctly, but the Colonel’s wife must have Miss Lydia Bennet as companion. So off she went to Brighton as well, without her parents or other relative as chaperon
e.”
“A bad business, sir.” The valet shook his head.
“As is now seen,” Darcy agreed, handing him the cravat. “I came upon Miss Elizabeth Bennet only moments after she received this news from home. She was understandably distraught and confided to me more than she might have otherwise, I am sure. You know what this means, Fletcher.”
“Yes, sir. ‘Disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,’ censure for all concerned unless the young people can be found and made to marry.” The valet’s features sank into lines as grim as those of his master, reminding Darcy that the widening effect of Wickham’s perfidy encompassed Fletcher’s nuptial hopes as well. Until Elizabeth was wed, Fletcher’s Annie would not entertain thoughts of leaving her mistress for her own matrimonial desires.
“There you have it.” Darcy nodded and passed his shirt to the valet. “It must be accomplished, or the parties must be bought off and sent into a sort of semiexile. I can conceive of no other acceptable solution that will provide the family — the young ladies — protection from the ‘outcast state’ of your sonnet. As it is, even should we succeed, the seemliness of the affair will be as thin as a veil.” He paused before his mirror, ready to avail himself of the hot water from the washstand in front of it. “So thin, so very thin, Elizabeth!” he whispered before bringing the water to his face. He then turned back to Fletcher. “But perhaps that is all that will be needed. Society has certainly entertained greater scandals with less concern. Let us hope that this may be one of them.”
“I devoutly pray it be so, sir.” Fletcher’s chin hardened as he held up Darcy’s dressing gown and pushed it over his shoulders. “And how shall I assist you, sir? I am even more at your command.”