Rescued by Mr Darcy

by Anne-Marie Grace

“What a marvellous ball, Mr. Bingley,” the one Darcy was sure was called Kitty said.

  “Indeed,” Lydia followed. “You have quite a talent for throwing balls. Know that when you host another, we will gladly come.”

  “Lydia!” Elizabeth hissed, looking deeply embarrassed.

  “It is quite fine, Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley laughed, ever the good-natured soul. “You will be first upon the guest list, Miss Lydia, Miss Kitty. I promise.” He turned to Elizabeth. “I am deeply grieved that you have met such misfortune on my estate. I dearly hope that you will recover soon.”

  Elizabeth immediately waved away Bingley’s concern.

  “Please,” she said firmly. “I know you are hardly to blame. It made for an exciting evening, to be certain.” She laughed lightly.

  Darcy felt an odd battle within him: part of him was deeply impressed and proud of her diplomacy, the other disapproving of her seemingly cavalier attitude toward the whole incident. He shook himself, knowing his disapproval was ridiculous—it was impossible that Elizabeth would consider the evening’s events as anything other than serious. She was no fool, and he knew he must trust her. Given space to think, her motivation was clear: they were still surrounded by people and Mrs. Bennet was quite capable of creating a stir if she were to suddenly learn the truth.

  “You are too kind,” Bingley replied to Elizabeth. “But please, you must allow me to accompany you to your carriage. I insist.” He held up a hand to cut off Elizabeth’s protests. Darcy saw Elizabeth glance at her elder sister and knew that her protest would not have had much strength behind it. Jane Bennet’s eyes were fixed upon her family, but Darcy noticed she glanced at Bingley more than once in just the few moments he watched.

  “Your reputation as a host is well earned, Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet gushed as the entire group began to walk toward the front door and the line of carriages beyond. Darcy followed.

  For a brief moment, he found himself walking next to that obnoxious clergyman, so well trained by his aunt. Darcy had no inclination to resume conversation with him, so he quickly stepped around to the other side of the group, and found himself walking next to Mr. Bennet.

  Mr. Bennet seemed to share Darcy’s appreciation for silence, and after a brief nod of greeting—or thanks, Darcy could not be certain—Mr. Bennet seemed to forget Darcy’s presence. In this manner, they stepped out into the dark night. The chill that Darcy had barely noticed during his frantic search for Elizabeth now cut through him and he gave an involuntary shiver.

  “You are cold,” a soft voice said from his side. Darcy looked up, surprised to find that Elizabeth had taken her father’s place at his side. He had not noticed the shuffle of people.

  “Not at all,” Darcy lied, a sharp breeze causing a second shiver. He hoped she would not notice, but he saw a small smile cross her lips.

  “You, Mr. Darcy, are a terrible liar,” she said, amusement in her voice.

  “I have not had much practice,” Darcy replied. He had not intended to make a jest, but he heard her delighted laugh and realised the humour in his remark. He blushed deeply.

  “I cannot imagine a better recommendation to one’s character at this moment,” Elizabeth said.

  They had reached the gravel drive, and her family was beginning to step up into their carriage. Darcy glanced at the conveyance and vaguely wondered how so many would fit inside—it was not large. However, Mr. Bennet had already joined the driver on the front bench, and everyone else was inside, save Jane and Elizabeth. Elizabeth shrugged out of Darcy’s jacket and handed it to him.

  “I should have returned this long past,” she said. “But I am very grateful. For everything.” She looked at him with a serious expression and Darcy swallowed hard. It was as if her eyes could see within him.

  “Of course,” he said. He wanted to say more, he wanted to again declare his feelings, but he could feel the eyes upon them both, watching them from the darkness of the carriage. So instead, he bowed low, and bid her goodnight. “Rest well,” Darcy said, offering his hand to help her into the carriage.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking his grip and stepping up.

  The sudden warmth in his hand seemed to warm him right through—the cold air seemed to disappear. When she let go, he felt a deep, and surprising, sadness. He longed to take her hand once more. Instead, he stepped away and allowed Bingley to hand Jane into the carriage. Bingley closed the door with a sharp snap, and the driver slapped the horses into motion.

  “Goodbye!” Lydia hung out the window, waving enthusiastically.

  Bingley raised his hand in return, but Darcy turned away. He was ready to find his bed. The ball was far from over, but Bingley would simply have to forgive him.

  Chapter 29

  Elizabeth

  Elizabeth walked heavily into the interior of Longbourn, but instead of heading toward the stairs and her bedroom, she went toward the sitting room. She was not so foolish as to think she could get away with keeping the events of the night to herself. She wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

  “Lizzy, why aren’t you going to bed?” Mrs. Bennet asked, her own voice sounding tired.

  “I’m sorry, Mama, but I must speak with you. Everyone, I suppose. Just a few minutes, I promise,” Elizabeth replied, rubbing her forehead.

  She pushed open the sitting room door and found a single candle burning. It was quite sufficient for her purposes—Elizabeth did not want a long, drawn-out conversation. She sat in a straight-backed chair and waited for everyone to follow her.

  Her parents and sisters joined her quite quickly, and to Elizabeth’s displeasure, Mr. Collins came in as well. She supposed it could not be avoided—he and Mary would be husband and wife soon enough, but Elizabeth suspected that Mr. Collins’ reaction would be far more displeased than any other member of the family. Everyone took their seats and looked at Elizabeth expectantly.

  “Are you going to explain where Mr. Wickham went off to?” Lydia asked before Elizabeth could say anything. “He never came back after you went off with him. I don’t understand why Mr. Darcy brought you back after you twisted your ankle when you were with Mr. Wickham.”

  “You went with Mr. Wickham?” Mrs. Bennet asked with a small gasp. “But I thought that… Lizzy, has he expressed intentions to you?” She sounded excited, and Elizabeth made a disgusted face.

  “Definitely not,” Elizabeth said, feeling sick at the very thought. “But yes, Lydia, I will explain about Mr. Wickham.” She took a deep breath. “Please, do not ask me questions until I finish. I am not certain I will be able to make it all the way through if I have to keep starting and stopping.”

  Elizabeth saw Jane’s troubled face and quickly turned away—she did not think she could bear to see her own fear and pain reflected in Jane’s face. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “I did go with Mr. Wickham this evening,” she began. “We went into the garden, where many other people were enjoying the evening and the grounds. However, it soon became obvious that Mr. Wickham had other intentions beyond a simple walk. We had barely entered the garden when he forced me to accompany him away from the house and out of the garden.”

  She paused, swallowing hard. She did not think it would be so difficult to relay the story, but as she spoke, she could feel the fear and anxiety threaten to overwhelm her once more. Jane reached out and grasped her hand, wordlessly giving her strength. Elizabeth smiled gratefully at her. It was enough to push her to continue the story.

  “A second man was waiting for us. Wickham, it seems, has been in league with the very same highwaymen that ambushed Jane and I on the road. I recognised the second man as one of our previous attackers.” Elizabeth heard several gasps in the room, but she ignored them, too focused on forcing her words out.

  “As best I understand,” she continued quickly, “Wickham’s aim was to kidnap me and hold me for ransom. It seems his financial picture is quite dire and he is filled with desperation. Mr. Darcy…” Elizabeth paused, blush
ing slightly at the memory of Mr. Darcy’s rescue.

  “I owe my safety to Mr. Darcy,” she finally said. “He came upon us before anything happened to me. He found me and saved me once more. So… yes. That is what happened this evening. I am unharmed, but I thought it important that you know the true nature of Wickham. Everything Wickham has said… It has all been a lie.”

  Elizabeth looked at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. She had no desire to see the expressions upon her family’s faces. She hoped they would be as disgusted as she, but part of her worried that they would blame her. She would not have been taken into such a horrible situation if she had not gone off with Wickham in the first place. She blamed herself for such a lapse in judgement.

  “I would have expected better from you, Miss Elizabeth.” Mr. Collins’ pompous voice was the first to break through the silence. “Going off with a man, alone! You are quite fortunate nothing worse occurred.”

  “Did you not hear her story? Mr. Wickham is the one to blame!” Kitty said fiercely before Elizabeth could respond. Elizabeth glanced up in surprise. She had certainly not expected such a defence from Kitty.

  “Of course, he is,” Lydia added, with equal heat, and Elizabeth felt a surge of affection for her silly, younger sisters. It seemed as though they took the revelation Wickham’s true character personally—both for themselves and for Elizabeth.

  “Surely you must agree that your daughter behaved in a most irresponsible manner,” Mr. Collins said exasperatedly, turning to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet.

  Elizabeth looked at her parents, worried what they might say. Mrs. Bennet looked torn between keeping Mr. Collins appeased—he still was going to be Mary’s husband, after all—and defending her daughter.

  “I find it far more disturbing that a young woman, in full view of scores of guests, cannot take a walk safely with an officer of His Majesty’s militia,” Mr. Bennet said firmly. Elizabeth gave her father a small smile, immensely grateful for his support. “It is quite unreasonable to expect Lizzy to have guessed the evil lurking in the man’s heart. As a clergyman, Mr. Collins, surely you are aware of the sinful nature that threatens to overwhelm us all.”

  “Well… Of course, I am,” Mr. Collins sputtered. “I am merely trying to say that—” However, Mary laid a hand on his arm, and Mr. Collins cut off without finishing. It seemed as if the couple had already developed an understanding.

  Elizabeth was staring at her hands once more. Mr. Collins had hit upon the shame she already felt. She heard someone walking across the wooden floor, but she did not know who it was until her father pulled her from the chair and kissed her forehead.

  “You have nothing of which to be ashamed,” he said softly. “I have always been proud of you, even more so tonight.”

  “Thank you, Papa,” Elizabeth choked out, tears coming to her eyes.

  “Now,” Mr. Bennet said, turning to the rest of the family. “It is long past we were in bed. Any other questions can wait until tomorrow.” He gave his wife a hard look, but Mrs. Bennet nodded at once. She seemed quite overwhelmed by Elizabeth’s story, and clearly more shocked than Elizabeth had ever thought possible, for she had been rendered completely speechless.

  “I have only one thing to say,” Mrs. Bennet said as she slowly stood and turned to Elizabeth. “I must admit I have thoroughly misjudged not one but two persons—Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy. But, most importantly, Mr. Darcy. This is the second time he has come to your aid in a dire circumstance. I suppose he is not so bad after all.”

  Elizabeth stared at her mother in surprise. It was one of the few times she had ever heard her mother admit that she was wrong—wrong!—in her judgment of someone. It was quite the end to a night already filled with the shocking and unexpected.

  “Yes… And Mr. Wickham… I can hardly believe it,” Kitty added with a frown. “It makes me angry to think that—”

  “Now, to bed,” Mrs. Bennet said sternly, turning to her youngest daughters before anyone could say anything more. “Mr. Bennet is quite right that the time has long passed. Come on, off now!”

  Everyone stood and began to walk toward the door, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet leading the way. Jane and Elizabeth were left last in the room. Without a word, Jane took Elizabeth’s hand and they both walked out towards the stairs and their shared room.

  * * *

  “Lizzy,” Jane said quietly half an hour later, as they both settled under the covers of their bed. “Was there anything else that happened tonight? Anything else you would like to discuss?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes were already half closed, but she turned to face Jane, confused as to what her sister could mean.

  “Such as?” Elizabeth asked, pushing her hair from her eyes. The sleeve of her nightgown fell back, and even in the dim candlelight, she could see bruises from Wickham’s terrible grip stand out on her skin. She quickly covered them again, but Jane stopped her. Jane gently outlined each bruise, and Elizabeth could see silent tears falling down her sister’s cheeks.

  “Nothing else happened with Wickham,” Elizabeth assured her quietly. “I promise.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Jane said, softly covering up Elizabeth’s arm again, and gently tucking it under the thick blanket. “But what that awful man did is not what I was referring to.”

  “Then what?” Elizabeth asked, confused, but relieved that Jane would not question her further about Wickham’s ill treatment.

  “Well,” Jane said slowly. “I was just curious about you and Mr. Darcy… The way in which he rushed after you, and how he looked at you after.”

  “He loves me, Jane,” Elizabeth sighed, without preamble. “Wickham knew it, and that is why he targeted me. But Mr. Darcy loves me.” She felt herself smiling despite the night’s ordeal, unable to fully believe that she was saying it aloud.

  “I knew it to be so,” Jane said, a smile crossing her face as well. But her smile stopped halfway, as if she was uncertain about something. “But how do you feel? I know you have been confused…”

  Elizabeth paused, suddenly uncertain how to answer her sister. She knew that she liked Mr. Darcy, to be certain. She admired him, and she trusted in his goodness. But did she love him?

  “I am anxious to see him again,” Elizabeth finally said, not committing to anything.

  Jane nodded, completely understanding her sister.

  “I am certain you will have the chance quite soon,” Jane said confidently.

  “Oh, I know it to be so,” Elizabeth agreed. “For as eager as I am to see Mr. Darcy again, I am certain that Mr. Bingley is a hundred times more eager to see you.”

  Jane looked momentarily joyous, but then, her face fell.

  “What is it?” Elizabeth asked, shocked to see Jane react in such a way.

  “You have been so certain of his affections, yet he has still not made them known to me,” Jane said quietly. “I am starting to wonder if I ought to begin to prepare myself for some sort of disappointment.”

  “No!” Elizabeth said fiercely. “Jane, no! Believe me when I say I think that Wickham and his schemes ruined your night quite as much as he ruined mine. I know Mr. Bingley loves you. And he will tell you himself soon. I would gamble the world upon that promise.”

  “How can I believe otherwise then?” Jane asked with a laugh.

  Elizabeth smiled as well and blew out their candle. Both sisters burrowed beneath their blankets, and Elizabeth was exceedingly grateful to call such a wonderful woman her sister.

  However, sleep remained elusive. Jane’s questions about Mr. Darcy and her affections toward him had forced the issue to the front of her mind. She could not deny how wonderful it had felt to hear Mr. Darcy express his true affections. And she could not pretend that her heart did not beat faster when he was near. But was that love?

  She thought back to everything she had ever said about the man she would marry. With a thrill of amusement, she suddenly remembered that she and Jane had discussed this very topic they night they were nearly robbed. Elizabeth recalle
d what she said: she would only love a man who was kind, intelligent, and in possession of wit and humour… Mr. Darcy was nearly perfect.

  No, Elizabeth corrected herself, he was perfect. Because he was real. He was not a character in a book or a dream. Darcy was a flesh and blood man who loved her dearly. And she loved him. Once she thought the words, Elizabeth knew them to be true. Turning onto her side, she smiled into her pillow and sleep finally overtook her.

  Chapter 30

  Darcy

  The sun had just reached its peak when Darcy and Bingley turned their mounts from the main road onto the gravel drive to Longbourn. Both men had been eager to pay a visit to the Bennets, but Darcy had managed to convince Bingley to take a few hours’ rest before setting out. The last guests had not left Netherfield until almost dawn, and Bingley had personally seen everyone out the door.

  However, when Darcy looked at his friend, he never would have guessed that Bingley had not slept the night before. On the contrary, he was practically bouncing in his saddle—quite unlike the skilled horseman Darcy knew Bingley to be.

  “This is it, Darcy,” Bingley said, an excited gleam in his eye. “I’m going to do it. By the time we return to Netherfield, Jane Bennet will have agreed to be my wife.”

  “A fine plan,” Darcy agreed, hiding a yawn behind his hand. Unlike Bingley, he did not have the energy of an approaching proposal to chase away the lingering fatigue of the night before. His hand ached and the bruise he had felt coming upon his eye had truly blossomed overnight.

  He had considered the matter of a proposal closely—he did love Elizabeth and he did want her as a wife—but in the end, he had decided he would wait to propose to her. For, despite their challenging evening together the night before, Darcy still had no idea if Elizabeth returned his affections. Until he did, he preferred to wait. The pain of a rejected proposal was not something he was eager to experience.