A Quest for Mr Darcy

by Cassandra Grafton

  The colonel snorted. ‘Wickham will sing, but to our tune, of that you can be certain. He is a coward, Darce, and do not forget it. All we have to do is make sure he fully comprehends the wisdom of complying.’

  ~o0o~

  Elizabeth had been walking for about twenty minutes and had no intention of returning home yet. Despite the uncertainty of Lydia’s future and the potential impact upon the family of having her remain at The Grange, she could think of nothing but Mr Darcy. They were so close, were they not, to reaching an understanding? Though her heart whispered ‘yes’, her head was not so accommodating. With all that was happening, such happiness seemed more out of reach than ever.

  Elizabeth sighed and glanced upwards. The cloud from earlier in the day appeared to have thickened and was moving swiftly across the sky. If she were to achieve the benefit of her walk, she had best choose which direction to take. There was a path to her left, leading uphill and suspecting it led to the Pemberley lakes, she turned in that direction, soon out of breath from her exertions. She would walk as far as the first stretch of water before turning for home.

  ~o0o~

  Darcy stared from the window of his study, though he saw little of the scene before him. All he could think of was resolving this matter with Wickham at the earliest opportunity, and thereafter he would brook no further delay in approaching Elizabeth. She would accept his hand this time, would she not? Surely he had not read her so badly as he had the previous year? Though he shied away from being absolutely certain of her acceptance—he had made that mistake before—Darcy felt confident he had secured both her respect and her affection; all he had to do this time, was broach the subject in a manner which did not speak of arrogance, conceit or offend everyone dear to her!

  ‘Darcy! There you are!’

  He turned about as Bingley came into the study and closed the door.

  ‘How did things go with the young lady? Is she restored to her family? I trust all is well.’

  ‘Yes and no. She is safely placed at The Grange, and both her sisters and her father are extending her every courtesy.’ Darcy frowned. ‘She is exhibiting some resentment of Mr Bennet, and if she cannot let it go, it may become a problem.’

  ‘Speaking of problems, did you manage to address the matter of Wickham?’

  Darcy nodded, quickly relating to his friend the outcome of the recent meeting with Mr Bennet.

  Bingley let out a low whistle when he had finished. ‘So—you expect Wickham to come in search of his missing payment.’

  ‘Indeed; and with little delay.’

  Bingley sighed. ‘Then what do we do? Sit and wait for him?’

  ‘It is our only option for now. I have prepared Rivers and his men, but they must be circumspect, for it would not do for Wickham to realise he is being watched. Fitzwilliam and I intend to be at The Grange before sunrise on the morrow—will you join us?’

  ‘Without question.’ Bingley drew in a breath. ‘I am at your disposal, Darcy, but there is also something I must speak to Miss Bennet about, and with our departure imminent, I cannot delay.’

  ‘You still intend to leave as planned?’

  Bingley shook his head. ‘I think it best if I delay for four and twenty hours. We know not what time Wickham will show, do we? If we set off on Saturday afternoon, we will reach the home of my friends, the Penningtons, in time to pass the Sabbath before continuing on to Harrogate on Monday.’

  ‘And Miss Latimer? How was your ride with her?’

  Bingley shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.

  ‘I—er—it was... enlightening.’

  ~o0o~

  Reaching the summit of the lane, Elizabeth paused to draw breath and looked around. It was more exposed up on the carriage ride by the lakes, and a stiff breeze buffeted her skirts as she turned towards the first expanse of water.

  Was the situation with Lydia, and the associated threat of Wickham, going to be a step too far for Mr Darcy to excuse? How Elizabeth hated allowing such doubts any purchase, but living so close to Pemberley, it had become clear this past year what a significant difference there was between the gentleman’s position in society and her own. What if Lydia refused to calm her temper and her loud voice did the damage Wickham threatened all on its own? With the shame brought almost to his own doorstep, would Mr Darcy be able to overlook it and still consider a connection with her family?

  Mr Darcy... Elizabeth’s heart leapt at the sheer thought of him, and she sighed again. How long had she wished the events of the year twelve undone, yet had they not moved to Derbyshire, her path would likely never have crossed with Mr Darcy’s again. What would her life be without him now?

  Deep in thought, Elizabeth heeded not the sudden change in the weather. The sky had darkened as the cloud rolled in from the west, and she had failed to note its turbulent nature, and it was only as the first drops of rain fell that she raised her head in surprise.

  Up here where the moorland stretched for miles, it was horribly exposed. Elizabeth looked behind at the distant tree line and then ahead to where the open expanse of grassland stretched to the horizon. Without warning, the few cursory droplets of rain turned into a steady flow, and Elizabeth placed her shawl over her hair, throwing the ends over her shoulders to secure it. It was not as effective as a bonnet, but it would have to suffice.

  A quick glance at the heavy veil of cloud above portended a storm of some duration: she must go back. Though some miles from home now, she surely could not be far from Pemberley. If she could work out the most expeditious way of reaching the house, then perhaps she would be able to borrow the curricle to get home.

  Turning to her left, Elizabeth began to hurry across an expanse of scrubland towards the line of trees, but despite her haste, the weather showed her no respect, and before she reached the relative shelter of the woodland, she was soaked to the skin.

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  At Pemberley, the guests were gathered in the drawing room prior to their evening meal, and Darcy walked over to one of the windows, his glass in his hand, to stare out at the rain-lashed gardens, conscious of the murmur of conversation around him. The storm had been raging for almost an hour, and he hoped it would keep Wickham at bay a little longer.

  Darcy drained his glass and turned back to face the room, feeling all the helplessness of the situation. The woman who held his heart was here in Derbyshire, living almost on his doorstep, almost a part of his life. Almost; yet it felt ominously under threat.

  Walking over to the sideboard, Darcy placed his glass on a tray and was about to excuse himself from the room, that his thoughts could fully consume him in the confinement of his study until dinner was served, when a light rap came on the door and Mrs Reynolds entered.

  Only Georgiana and the colonel looked up, but instead of then returning their attention to their company, they both glanced over at Darcy as she hurried to his side.

  ‘Forgive the intrusion, sir,’ she began urgently. ‘But there is a servant in the kitchen, sent up from The Grange. Mr Bennet is most anxious. Miss Elizabeth Bennet went walking before the storm broke, yet there is no sign of her returning.’ She threw a worried look at the window behind him. ‘Dusk is falling, sir – what is to be done?’

  A cold hand gripped Darcy’s heart. What the hell was Bennet thinking, letting Elizabeth go walking after all they had discussed?

  ‘Has anything been done to trace her?’ The colonel was out of his seat and had joined them. ‘We must set up a search party, Darce.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Let me just speak to the servant.’ Darcy’s mind was reeling, and he turned to follow his housekeeper from the room, the colonel ahead of him, but Georgiana hurried to his side, her countenance writ with concern.

  ‘Brother, what is it? Who has gone missing?’

  ‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet has not returned from a walk. Do not worry, Georgie, we will find her safe and well. You must lead our guests into dinner when the time comes.’

  Georgiana’s eyes wi
dened in anxiety, but then she nodded. ‘Yes, Fitz. Of course.’

  He turned away, but was hailed by Mrs Latimer who sat with her family across the room. ‘Is there anything we can do to help, Mr Darcy?’

  ‘It is kind of you to offer, ma’am, but I think it best left to the gentlemen. Please, do not let our absence interrupt your evening. I am sure it will be of short duration.’ Darcy bowed, but before he could pass through the open doorway, Bingley had crossed the room to join him, his sisters following in his wake.

  'Count me in, Darcy.'

  ‘May we come, Brother?’ Viola sent Bingley a pleading look.

  ‘We are especially good at searching for things!’ Olivia addressed Darcy. ‘And we know some of Miss Elizabeth’s favourite walks.’

  Darcy smiled at them both despite his urgent desire to leave. ‘Thank you, but I think it would be best if you stayed where it is warm and dry. If you will excuse me.’ He squeezed Georgiana’s shoulder as he passed her and strode from the room, Bingley close upon his heels.

  Mrs Reynolds escorted them down to the kitchen, where they questioned Higgins for as much information as possible whilst their outdoor garments were brought for them and a message was sent to the stables to ready their mounts.

  ‘Miss Bennet says she believes her sister walked in the direction of Pemberley when she left home, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Higgins. Please let your master know we are sending out a search party and will return as soon as possible with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.’

  Though he spoke confidently, trepidation gripped Darcy as they strode through the rain to the stables. The estate was vast; how on earth were they to discover the whereabouts of Elizabeth in such conditions?

  ~o0o~

  Elizabeth was foot-sore and frustrated, drenched through to her skin, her clothes clinging to her body in a heavy, wet mantle.

  There was, at least, some protection from the biting wind once beneath the trees, however, and she made her way carefully down the hill as quickly as she could in the growing darkness, conscious of the bitter chill stealing through her body and the need to get to proper shelter as soon as possible. Pemberley was her only hope.

  Within a further ten minutes, however, the path she was on suddenly veered uphill again, and to her dismay, she found herself back on a different part of the carriage ride running alongside the lakes.

  With a frustrated stamp of her foot, which achieved nothing more than showering her face anew with the raindrops clinging to the edge of her shawl, she ploughed back into the woodland in search of an alternative path.

  After a futile search for any landmark of familiarity, Elizabeth stopped, leaning against a solid trunk to gain her breath. How stupid of her to not heed the change in the weather. Her father would be made anxious, and she had no desire to cause him any further concern. He had been through enough these past few days.

  If only she were still at Pemberley under Mr Darcy’s care... Elizabeth drew in a shuddering breath, which hitched in her throat, taking her by surprise. She had felt the move back to The Grange keenly, not anticipating how deeply she would feel the loss of Mr Darcy’s presence. How was it he had become everything to her, when it was a matter of weeks since he had come home to Derbyshire?

  Elizabeth shivered and looked around. She would rest awhile and then try to regain her bearings. There was a large oak tree just up from the path, which seemed to have a solid canopy of leaves still, and she hurried up the slope, removing her drenched shawl. Her hair was so wet it did not signify whether it was covered or not, and she settled down against the cold bark, eyes closed as she dreamed of being by a warming fire, a book in one hand and a cup of hot chocolate in the other.

  ~o0o~

  Having sent a couple of stable boys to scour the immediate grounds – fairly certain they would find nothing, but wanting to leave no stone unturned – Darcy collected a torch from Rivers and set his mount in the direction of the wooded slopes behind Pemberley, the others fanning out to investigate various paths as they meandered across the estate.

  He led Bedivere carefully uphill through the woods, following the established path, calling Elizabeth’s name and then listening carefully in hope of a response, but all he heard was the patter of the raindrops on the canopy of leaves overhead and his mount’s occasional snuffle.

  The sheer magnitude of the task of finding Elizabeth somewhere on the estate and in growing darkness was becoming all too real, and fears began to consume him. What if Jane Bennet had been mistaken, and her sister had not even come in this direction? What if Elizabeth had changed her mind after leaving home, and had turned her steps elsewhere? Coldness swept through Darcy’s veins, and he drew Bedivere to a sharp halt. Surely she would not have gone up to Curbar Edge so late in the day?

  He released a frustrated breath. Such speculation was counterproductive. He could only seek her in one place at one time, and pushing on, Darcy soon emerged into a clearing at the top of Swallows Wood, and there before him was the hunting tower where Lydia Bennet had hidden out. Hope rising suddenly, Darcy slid from his mount and secured the reins before pushing open the door, its lock still hanging loose.

  ‘Elizabeth?’

  There was no answer from inside, and though he peered up the staircase and called again, he had to conclude it was empty, and he returned to Bedivere, his apprehension beginning to turn into frustration. Where on earth should he look next?

  For all its beauty, the estate was fraught with danger in conditions of poor visibility, with not only some quarries up beyond the lakes, but also several places where the trees ended abruptly on a rocky outcrop, with nothing but a sheer drop below.

  Cold invaded Darcy’s skin. What might befall Elizabeth in the darkness? He kicked his mount into touch along the lane leading away from the tower and set off at a canter to emerge onto the carriage ride beside the lakes. Even with the torch, it was almost impossible to see beyond a few hundred feet now, but he scoured the darkness as best he could, circling the first lake, then the second, all to no avail.

  Reining in Bedivere, he looked back towards the ridge of trees from which he had emerged. He needed to think sensibly, but it was difficult when his mind was so consumed with anxiety. As for Wickham, Darcy knew there was a slight chance he might already be in the neighbourhood, but he refused to allow his thoughts to go in that direction. This was no time for pointless speculation; it was a time for action.

  He peered along the ride towards the third lake, then scanned the tree line again. Elizabeth would have sought shelter since the rain came. The only question was: where?

  Darcy turned towards the vast expanse of woodland once more, allowing Bedivere to pick out a pathway in the opposite direction whence they had come. He was barely conscious of the rain now, or how wet he was. All he could think of was Elizabeth: his growing attraction to her in Hertfordshire and his foolish attempts to suppress it, his assumption of successfully gaining her hand in Kent followed by the appalling aftermath; then, his futile efforts to forget her during a year of travelling. So much wasted time, when, if he had only been a better man—the man he should have been in the first place—he could have courted her from the beginning, secured her as his wife long before now, and she would be safe at Pemberley...

  Lost in thought, Darcy rode for a further quarter of an hour through the woodland before he came to a small clearing and, holding the torch aloft, he looked around. The rain had eased a little, and he urged his mount forward, going slowly this time in the hopes of missing no possible sign of Elizabeth. He did not care if it took all night, he would not cease looking until he found her... but what if she was never found?

  Fear gripped Darcy firmly across his shoulders, and he drew in a shallow breath. He could not think so. He needed to keep going; to not give up hope.

  He came to a fork in the path, the ground to the right falling steadily away and though this would eventually lead to the stretch of woodland immediately above the house, some instinct turned him to his left. He
re the trees rose tall and thick up the wooded hillside, lessening the effect of the rainfall, and Darcy surveyed the area, trying to keep a rein on his mounting despair. Think, man. Think about where she might be!

  Before he could urge Bedivere onwards, however, his eye was caught, and he realised with a lurch of his insides there was a mound of something colourful, fabric perhaps, on the bank above the path.

  Dismounting, he wrapped the reins around a nearby branch and patted Bedivere on his silken neck. His heart was pounding in his chest as he made his way up the hillside towards the tree, the torch held aloft, soon realising there was a figure huddled at its base. Elizabeth!

  It was impossible to tell whether she remained conscious, and his fears intensified as he approached, but then there was a movement and Elizabeth’s head lifted as she detected his coming.

  Darcy thrust the base of the torch into the ground and covered the space between them as she rose unsteadily to her feet, sweeping her into his embrace and holding her close.

  ‘Dear God, Elizabeth, I thought I had lost you.’

  A restriction gripped his throat as he held her tightly, trying to still the frantic beating of his heart. Surely she would be able to hear it?

  ‘I lost my bearings.’ Elizabeth’s voice was muffled, pressed as she was to his chest, and Darcy slowly released her. ‘I am sorry to bring you out in this weather, sir.’

  Darcy stared at her, his relief at finding her wrestling with the fears he had carried with him during his search.

  ‘Sorry? You are sorry that half the estate is out looking for you?’ It was an exaggeration, but against his will his temper was rising. ‘What were you thinking? What the devil possessed you to go out walking, and alone?’

  Despite her bedraggled appearance, Elizabeth’s brow rose imperiously. ‘I walk every day, Mr Darcy! It is hardly a rare occurrence, and with Lydia revealed as the person hiding in the woods, there is nothing to fear.’