Elizabeth jumped from Bingley’s coach and hurried into the vestibule, where Jane, who came running down stairs from her mother’s apartment, immediately met her.
Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, lost not a moment in asking whether anything was heard of the fugitives.
“Not yet,” replied Jane.
Elizabeth glanced behind her where Bingley stood by the still open door.
“I shall leave you to your “good evenings” with Mr. Bingley. I plan to look in on our mother. It is late, Jane, and we shall speak in the morning.” To Bingley, she added, “More than words can express, I appreciate your kindness, Sir.”
With that, Elizabeth climbed the steps to her quarters.
Tomorrow, she would face the ramifications of her recent choices, as well as her family’s fragile position in Society. This evening Elizabeth meant to dream of the warmth of Mr. Darcy’s breath upon her neck and the heat of his touch upon her skin.
* * *
Even as he approached the house upon Edward Street, Darcy’s thoughts remained with Elizabeth. He wondered how she reacted to Mr. Bingley’s arrival in Portsmouth to escort her to Longbourn.
“Likely more kindly to Bingley than the lady would be to me,” he grumbled under his breath.
Darcy wondered how Elizabeth took to the story he spun of seeing her to his “friends,” the Harvilles, until this mayhem with Wickham, Mr. Sloane, and now with Miss Lydia knew a conclusion. He did all he could to protect Elizabeth’s reputation from his intended’s foolish choices, but Darcy was not certain his efforts would be enough to earn a bit of Elizabeth’s heart.
“What if she chose to accept Wentworth?” he murmured as he raised his hand to release the knocker.
Darcy held no reason to believe Wentworth would not speak his proposal. All Darcy could pray was Bingley whisked Elizabeth away before Darcy’s lady could accept another man. Although he still considered Elizabeth his fiancée, in truth, with his absence from the church, Elizabeth was free to choose elsewhere.
“Yes, Sir?”
A young servant girl cracked the door to peer out at him, and Darcy forced his musing of Elizabeth to the back of his mind.
“Mr. Darcy to speak to Mrs. Younge,” he said in a voice few would dare challenge.
“This way, Sir,” the girl said with downcast eyes.
The girl led him to a small parlor near the rear of the house and gestured him inside before scurrying away. The room was dimly lit, but even so, Darcy’s eyes fell upon the woman who once betrayed his trust.
He erred in choosing Mrs. Younge as Georgiana’s companion. Darcy took his sister from school and formed an establishment for Georgiana in London, with Mrs. Younge overseeing Georgiana’s care. When his sister requested permission to visit Ramsgate, Darcy granted it. Little did he know Mrs. Younge was an intimate of Mr. Wickham. Darcy’s long time friend followed the ladies to the resort.
By her connivance, Mrs. Younge permitted Wickham to recommend himself to Georgiana, whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of Wickham’s kindness to her when Georgiana was but a child. Mr. Wickham convinced Georgiana of his affection for her, and his sister consented to an elopement.
Thankfully, I arrived in time to bring Wickham’s plans to an abrupt halt, Darcy thought, as Mrs. Younge rose to her feet to greet him.
Something like surprise, or was it satisfaction, crossed Mrs. Younge’s features before she captured the emotion to school her expression.
“Mr. Darcy?” she pronounced with the practiced tongue of an educated woman. “How kind of you to call upon me, although I am all amazement that you frequent this neighborhood.”
“I doubt your amazement, Mrs. Younge,” Darcy responded in false amicability. “As your servant did not ask your permission to show me into your home, I suspect you held expectation of my appearance.”
Mrs. Younge forced a quick amused glance to Darcy before she indicated a chair near the one she recently vacated.
“A woman is entitled to her expectations, Mr. Darcy,” she responded in what sounded of bitterness.
Darcy placed his hat and gloves upon a nearby table as he sat.
“All those who hold expectations of Mr. Wickham know disappointment,” he warned.
Mrs. Younge stiffened, regarding Darcy with customary wariness.
“I learned some time ago my acceptance of Mr. Wickham’s manipulations provides me little happiness, the inverse of my expectations,” the woman admitted.
“I wish I held empathy for your lack of wellness,” Darcy spoke without emotion. “Hopefully, when you confide in me directions for Mr. Wickham’s location, not only will your soul praise your benevolence, but your purse will be fuller.”
Mrs. Younge closed her eyes, the truth of Darcy’s words obviously weighing heavy upon her shoulders.
“The young lady with Mr. Wickham?” she asked softly.
“The daughter of a dear acquaintance,” Darcy supplied.
The woman managed a sad smile
“I should have known the chit held a connection to you. Whenever the world presses Wickham for his debts or demands that he atone for his liberties, George concocts a plan to make the Darcy family pay for his failures.
“Wickham blames you for all the miserable choices he makes,” she declared. “George’s woes serve him well. Most women will champion a man of fine countenance when they believe him beset upon. Mr. Wickham learned that lesson early on.”
Darcy easily recalled Elizabeth’s defense of his former friend.
“As your allegiance to Mr. Wickham brought you upon hard times, I would think you would wish to sever the connection.”
“Not so easily done, Mr. Darcy, but I shall not trouble your lack of empathy with a tale of misplaced connections.”
Mrs. Younge barred her teeth in a parody of a smile.
“I shall accept your kind offer of a payment for my services, Sir. As always, Mr. Darcy, it is a pleasure to be the recipient of your patronage.”
* * *
Elizabeth called upon her mother early before Mrs. Bennet broke her fast.
“You are home, at last,” her mother said with ritualistic drama.
“It was late when I arrived last evening. I looked in upon you, but you slept so I claimed my bed also.”
Elizabeth caught up the brush resting upon Mrs. Bennet’s dressing table.
“Why do I not style your hair while you wait upon Mrs. Hill to bring you a tray?”
Her mother pushed up in the bed, and Elizabeth slid in behind her. She released the cloth holding Mrs. Bennet’s long braid to run her fingers through her mother’s hair.
“Your hair is so beautiful,” Elizabeth murmured as she worked the tats from Mrs. Bennet’s locks.
“Little good it does me,” her mother declared with a tut of disapproval. “The only use of a full head of hair is to attract a gentleman. Unfortunately, once a woman reaches a particular age, society demands she cover her head with a mobcap or a turban or some such nonsense.”
Elizabeth smiled at her mother’s distraction. She heard Mrs. Bennet bemoan the eccentricity of society on more than one occasion.
“It would seem to me in your own home that you might choose to style your hair as you wish. I imagine Mr. Bennet would approve,” Elizabeth mused.
Her mother huffed her disbelief.
“Mr. Bennet would order me to my quarters!”
Elizabeth taunted, “Mayhap he would follow you there.”
“Elizabeth Bennet!” her mother exclaimed. “Who taught you of such intimacies?”
As predicted, Mrs. Bennet blushed, but Elizabeth noted the secret smile upon her mother’s lips: An idea took root.
“I know nothing of intimacies,” Elizabeth swore. “However, I like the idea that my parents hold an affection for each other.”
“Mr. Bennet finds me a foolish woman,” her mother said in regret. “Take my lesson to heart when you marry, Lizzy. I failed Mr. Bennet by not producing an heir for Longbourn. Any affection
your father once held for me is long absent.”
Elizabeth braided her mother’s hair before she responded.
“Knowing Papa, I would imagine Mr. Bennet considers his failures, not yours. Mayhap as your daughters leave home to claim marriage, you might remind Mr. Bennet what brought you together. If Mr. Collins is to know Longbourn, it would do me well if you and Mr. Bennet saw a bit of the world at the good cleric’s expense. I am not suggesting you bring ruin to Mr. Bennet’s tenants; yet, no reason exists for you and Papa not to enjoy the fruits of your labors as good masters of your land.”
“When did you become so wise, Lizzy?”
“I possess my father’s analytical mind, as well as my mother’s passion for life.”
Elizabeth spent the next quarter hour assuring her mother than Mr. Bennet searched for Lydia and that her father recruited the assistance of Mr. Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“As we all well know, Mr. Darcy and the colonel hold an acquaintance with Mr. Wickham since childhood,” Elizabeth reminded Mrs. Bennet.
“Do you think it possible the gentlemen erred in their estimation of Mr. Wickham’s character? Surely Wickham intends to marry our dearest Lydia.”
Her mother’s agitation rose again.
Elizabeth did not wish to add to Mrs. Bennet’s anguish, but it was important for her mother to consider the fault in Lydia’s actions.
“Mr. Wickham spread his version of his life as the late Mr. Darcy’s godson. It took me too long to recognize the deceptions the gentleman practiced. Perhaps if I were not so enthralled by my particular opinions, I might have warned Lydia against such manipulations.
“No one erred in his evaluation of Mr. Wickham except me. This madness rests upon my shoulders for when fissures of doubt touched my reasoning, I did not proclaim them as loudly and as widely as I once praised Mr. Wickham’s goodness.”
Elizabeth’s declaration appeared to stun her mother. Mrs. Bennet frowned her disapproval.
“At least you may still claim Mr. Darcy. I am not best pleased with the man, but I could forgive him if the gentleman means to make you the Mistress of Pemberley.”
Tears rushed to Elizabeth’s eyes, and she blinked them away.
“Oh, Mama, I shall not know a return of Mr. Darcy’s attentions. The gentleman cannot claim a wife whose family is buried in shame. Lydia’s foolishness will mark all your daughters; and even if Papa can force Mr. Wickham to marry our Lydia, Mr. Darcy will not join his family with one that welcomes Mr. Wickham as its son. Mr. Darcy will cut all ties with me.”
* * *
“Cowan located Mr. Sloane,” his cousin announced as he entered Darcy’s study.
Darcy glanced to the colonel and smiled.
“And I possess directions for Mr. Wickham.”
The colonel poured himself a drink.
“You are bloody brilliant,” Fitzwilliam declared after taking a large swallow of the French brandy. “How did you know where to look for the dastard?”
“I held directions for Mrs. Younge on Edward Street. The woman traded Mr. Wickham’s location for a few coins.”
Fitzwilliam scowled his dissatisfaction of Darcy’s paying for the information.
“The old adage of honor existing among thieves is lacking in this situation.”
Darcy shrugged his response.
“What might I say? The purse is mightier than honor. Now, tell me what Mr. Cowan learned of Sloane.”
“The man lets a house off Edgeware Road going toward Paddington. Sloane recently inherited two copper mines: one in Cheshire and one in Wales. It is said he did not know much of mining when he inherited, but many praise his quick intelligence. I understand Sloane was originally intent upon studying the law. Cowan claims Sloane possesses a sister of twenty years, who recently withdrew from her social engagements, although it is rumored the girl remains in Town at her brother’s London house.”
“I suppose we know why Sloane searches fro Mr. Wickham,” Darcy said with dread. “I pray Elizabeth’s sister acted with better sense.”
“If not, it would be to our advantage to reach Wickham before Sloane. The cad cannot marry both women. When do we track Wickham to the ground?”
Darcy glanced to the ormolu clock upon the mantel. His lips twisted into a wry smile.
“In about three hours.”
* * *
Mr. Hill discovered Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary tending to the household mending in the small parlor.
“An express Miss Elizabeth,” the servant said as he handed Elizabeth the letter.
She recognized the familiar slant of her name upon the paper. Setting the sewing aside, Elizabeth rose to walk to the window in a pretense of requiring better lighting before breaking the wax seal.
“Who is the letter’s author?” Jane called in a tone that said her sister already knew the answer.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said. Soft longing filled her throat as she unfolded the single sheet.
“Does Mr. Darcy have word of Lydia?” Mary inquired.
Elizabeth ignored her younger sister; Mr. Darcy’s salutation claimed Elizabeth’s attentions.
My most beautiful Elizabeth,
Despite her best efforts, Elizabeth knew a blush claimed her cheeks, and hope crept into her heart.
This letter will be short, not because I possess little to speak to you, but because I have much to say, and the words must be spoken for your ears only.
For now, know that I located Mr. Wickham, but I require a member of your family to convince your youngest sister to return to the bosom of her mother’s embrace. I know Mr. Bennet is in Brighton with Colonel Forster, so I ask that you join me in London. Assuming you would agree to the sense of this request, I sent a carriage to bring you to Darcy House. Although my sister and Mrs. Annesley are with me, it would be best if one of your sisters traveled with you.
So, my darling girl, I pray you will return to my side, where you belong, not only to aid my efforts to save Miss Lydia, but also to claim my surname. My heart aches to hear yours beating in perfect complement to mine. You are my beginning and my end, Elizabeth.
Yours always, FD
“Well?” Mary demanded.
Elizabeth clutched the letter to her chest.
“Mr. Darcy has word of Lydia. He requires my assistance to convince Lyddie to return to Longbourn.”
She turned to her wide-eyed sisters.
“Which of you wish to journey to London?”
Chapter Thirteen
It took her less than an hour to hustle Mary into Mr. Darcy’s carriage, which arrived with a quarter hour of the gentleman’s letter. Elizabeth knew she should know irritation that the man easily anticipated her response, but all she could consider was the possibility they might still claim a joining.
Jane reasoned she held the most experience with Mrs. Bennet’s “nerves,” and Mr. Bennet would not be happy with Kitty’s absence for Kitty knew of Lydia’s elopement and said nothing to her parents. Therefore, Mary became Elizabeth’s traveling companion. Mary rarely held the opportunity to journey to London, and Elizabeth liked the idea of exposing Mary to a better society than found in Meryton.
At length, Mr. Darcy’s coach halted before a stylish Town house in Mayfair. The gentleman’s footman opened the door to set down the steps.
“This way, Miss,” Murray extended his hand into the coach, and Elizabeth accepted the footman’s assistance.
She glanced up to the entrance to observe Mr. Darcy and his sister coming to greet her. Elizabeth’s eyes did not leave the gentleman’s, but she smartly greeted Miss Darcy with a quick embrace.
As his sister moved forward to welcome Mary, Mr. Darcy caught Elizabeth’s hand to place it upon his arm.
“No embrace for me, Miss Bennet?” he murmured under his breath.
Elizabeth sighed as the familiar zing of his contact claimed her skin. Why did she not previously recognize Mr. Darcy’s power over her?
“Not upon the street, Sir,” she chastis
ed.
The gentleman chuckled.
“There is my adorable termagant. You hold no idea how much I missed your scoldings. But know I mean to discover a private moment designed especially to hold you in my embrace.”
Elizabeth’s heart raced with anticipation, as color claimed her neck and chest.
Mr. Darcy gave instructions to his servants.
“We will be going out again. Keep the coach close.”
Elizabeth looked up at him in confusion.
“You mean to retrieve Lydia this evening?”
Mr. Darcy leaned close to whisper, “Another man searches for Mr. Wickham. It is rumored that my former friend ruined the man’s sister.”
Elizabeth could not disguise her surprise, but she permitted Mr. Darcy to escort her into his house where Colonel Fitzwilliam awaited them.
“As you can observe, my cousin is most anxious to be about our business,” Mr. Darcy said in what sounded of tired amusement.
Elizabeth nodded her understanding. Although she and Mr. Darcy held other considerations, Lydia’s situation took precedence.
“If Miss Darcy or your housekeeper will show us to our rooms, Mary and I will freshen our hair and remove the road dust. We will return momentarily.”
* * *
Darcy watched her climb the stairs of his house and smiled with satisfaction. Hope spread through his chest. Elizabeth arrived in London to save her youngest sister, but a part of him prayed she meant to accept his hand again.
“I did not think Miss Elizabeth would come on such short notice,” Fitzwilliam said softly from behind Darcy.
Darcy watched Elizabeth until she was from sight. The gentle sway of her hips fascinated him more than it should.
“Neither did I,” Darcy admitted. “Certainly Miss Elizabeth worries for her sister’s well being, but I cannot stifle the need for the lady’s forgiveness.”
The colonel snorted his disapproval.
“I would say it is Miss Elizabeth who should beg for forgiveness, not you. The lady did not trust you enough to seek an explanation for your absence nor did she act with prudence in her impetuous retreat. You are the one who suffered at the hands of Mr. Sloane’s hirelings.”
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