In the moments when she was not working closely with Mrs. Hildebrandt or attempting to conceal her anxiety behind a book while awaiting some word or scrap of news, however small and insignificant, regarding her sister’s whereabouts, Elizabeth took to wandering the cold, empty courtyard of Darcy House. It was the only form of exercise out-of-doors Darcy would permit her, even accompanied by him. She had been walking for some time amongst the barren beds, dry fountains, and statues; her thoughts turned toward the disreputable situation her youngest sister had brought upon herself—and all her family—with Wickham.
During their last days at Longbourn, there had been several painful instances where Lydia had accused Elizabeth of behaving in very much the same disgraceful manner, regarding her own conduct with Darcy. It disturbed her, so much so, that she could not stop herself from thinking back, time and again, to her relationship with the man who was now her beloved husband.
She recalled the past events since she and Darcy had met and, with a sudden epiphany, realized that, though she could not, in all honesty, discount Lydia’s accusations, there still remained one very significant difference in their circumstances: Darcy had been in love with her—ardently, passionately, unfailingly in love with her—and that, Elizabeth was finally forced to concede, made all the difference in their situations, at least where it mattered most—to her.
She was lost in her own thoughts, so much so, that she failed to hear the soft click of the French doors to the courtyard, nor the sound of purposeful footfalls.
Not wishing to startle her, Darcy stopped several feet away before calling her name. Elizabeth turned to face him, and he noticed the troubled look in her eyes. He was about to speak, to ask her why she appeared to be in such a state of wretchedness, but then thought better of it. Instead, he closed the distance between them and embraced her. Finally, without removing from his arms, Elizabeth said, “Thank you for loving me so, Fitzwilliam, despite every obstacle we have been forced to overcome.”
Darcy knew the last few weeks had been difficult for her, and for this reason in particular, it pained him that they had yet to find Lydia. They had been in London for nearly a week, and still, there was no sign of her, no word, nor any leads to follow. He was fast losing hope for her recovery, as were Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner. He answered her not with words but by holding her more tightly. Elizabeth sighed and, after a time, pulled away and busied herself with adjusting her pelisse.
Darcy cleared his throat and said, “My aunt and uncle have extended an invitation to dine in Berkeley Square tomorrow evening. It seems they are no longer ignorant of our presence in Town. I took the liberty of accepting the invitation, but I have not shared with them any information regarding your sister’s alleged elopement. I believe we could both use an evening in the company of family. My sister, I hear, is desirous to see you.” He dropped his voice. “You should never have been made to suffer this alone, Elizabeth. I fear I have not done my duty by you these last few days. Can you ever forgive me for neglecting you so?”
Elizabeth stared at him before lowering her gaze. “There is nothing for me to forgive. I did not expect you to be constantly by my side, Fitzwilliam. You are here to search for my sister. Of course her untenable situation must have first claim on you. I would not have it any other way.”
“But I would,” he said. “It should not be so. You should not have been left to your own devices at such a time as this. You have endured more in the last few weeks than should be expected of a gently bred woman, and I feel as though I have abandoned you in favor of one whom I can hardly esteem. I am sorry, Elizabeth. I do not mean to pain you further, but neither can I lie to you.”
Elizabeth shook her head and took several steps from him, pressing her fingers to her eyes. “No. If only Lydia had not run away from home. If only my mother had not been so indulgent. If only my father would have taken the trouble to check her wild behavior, rather than contenting himself to simply laugh at it, then, perhaps we would have been spared such worry and humiliation, but it was not to be.”
Darcy extended his hand to her and pulled her close. “If you wish, I will send word to my aunt that we are unable to attend her dinner. I understand that her dear friends, Lady Malcolm and Lady Sowersby, are to be present, as well. They are both very kind, but I can understand if you do not wish to go through such an ordeal at present.”
“No, Fitzwilliam. You are correct in thinking some familial society will do us both good. Are my father and the Gardiners invited, as well?”
“Yes, though your father has declined. I believe he will remove to Gracechurch Street for the evening. I am not yet certain whether the Gardiners will attend, but I can only assume that, under the circumstances, they may decline, as well. Richard and my other cousins will, of course, be in attendance, as will Georgiana. My uncle has informed me that Lady Catherine and my cousin Anne have since returned to Rosings and do not plan to return to Town for some time.”
She nodded. At least I will not have to bear that woman’s scorn and disapprobation, she thought with some relief.
Darcy guided her to the house, and they retired to the privacy of their apartment. He rested with his wife, stroking her back until he was certain she had finally fallen asleep; then he rose and returned to his study, where he found Colonel Fitzwilliam frowning over a note that had only recently arrived from one of his men. Darcy looked at him with anticipation, but Richard only shook his head. “There is no news. I have only been informed that Mrs. Younge has been out now for several hours. Three of my men are following her at a discreet distance. She appears to be making calls. They will send word if they discover anything.”
Darcy cursed under his breath. “We must find them. I can no longer countenance seeing Elizabeth in such low spirits. This is supposed to be a happy time for her; she should be enjoying her new position as my wife and the prospect of motherhood, yet she is close to tears each hour of the day and separated from me because of this business with her sister. I will not have it. Discover them. Do whatever you must, promise whatever you must; I will pay for it, but Lydia must be found. Elizabeth and I cannot live as we wish until she is recovered. After that, I shall remove both Elizabeth and Georgiana to Pemberley, the Season be hanged. I can no longer abide this insufferable situation.”
* * *
The Darcys dined at Berkeley Square the following evening. Elizabeth had somehow managed to rally her spirits, if for no reason other than to conceal her family’s unhappy situation. Though Lady Matlock may have discerned something in her manner that gave her a cause for concern, both Lady Malcolm and Lady Sowersby were unaware of it. They found themselves immediately taken with the new Mrs. Darcy. Elizabeth was, to them, all that was charming and lovely. Darcy was as enchanted and attentive as ever, if somewhat concerned for her state of mind, and while Lady Malcolm and his nearest relations could easily tease him for it, Lady Sowersby, who had never married and who was ever the romantic, could find nothing but pleasure in his solicitous and tender attentions to his beautiful new bride.
Halfway through the meal, a message arrived for Colonel Fitzwilliam, who quickly excused himself from the table. Many minutes passed, and he failed to return, leaving at least two persons in the party anxious over his lengthy absence. After receiving numerous glances from Elizabeth, Darcy also excused himself. He eventually located his cousin in his uncle’s study. “What news, Fitzwilliam?” he asked without ceremony, shutting the door behind him.
The colonel’s countenance was grave. “My men have located a young woman whom they believe may be Miss Lydia. It is not promising. She is currently residing in Madame Tremont’s house. Do you know of it?”
Darcy’s eyes grew wide. “In a brothel? I cannot believe this,” he gasped, shaking his head. “Is it known whether or not she came to be there willingly?”
Fitzwilliam exhaled loudly. “I believe it unlikely Miss Lydia would have agreed to enter such an establishment of her own volition. It is my guess that Wickham probably sold
her into servitude. He is no doubt low on funds and most likely growing desperate.”
Darcy ran his hands over his eyes. “Good God. This will kill Elizabeth. I cannot have her learn of this. We must leave at once and recover Lydia. God only knows what may befall her in such an establishment. We have not a moment to lose.”
“I agree, Darcy. I have dispatched my orders to my men. We will be moving within the hour, but you must know you cannot possibly accompany us.”
“Why ever not? She is my sister-in-law. She is my responsibility. Wickham is my responsibility. Surely, I must be the one to go.”
Fitzwilliam gaped at him. “You cannot be serious! Do you have any idea what it will look like if you were to go? To a brothel? You, who have only just exchanged your sacred vows before God—and with a woman whom Lady Catherine would happily tout in public as your mistress if given leave to do so? Can you not imagine the talk such an action will inspire amongst the ton? The repercussions to Elizabeth’s reception in society alone would be devastating, to say nothing of your gaining a reputation as a philanderer.”
Darcy, who had been pacing, threw himself into the nearest chair and growled in frustration. “What the bloody hell am I supposed to do, then? Elizabeth will want me to retrieve her sister, as well I should!”
“But not at this cost, Darcy! There will be enough talk already. You will do well to leave this to me. Miss Lydia knows me—well enough to understand I would not harm her in any way. I am confident she will feel safe enough to leave with me. In fact”—he smiled grimly—“I would wager a great deal that she will jump at the chance—especially if I am wearing my red coat.”
Darcy looked at him sharply, and Colonel Fitzwilliam moved to lay a hand upon his cousin’s tense shoulder. “Forgive me. That was poorly done. If it is, indeed, Miss Lydia, Darcy, I shall return her to her family tonight. Shall I bring her to Darcy House, or would you rather I deliver her to the Gardiners?”
Darcy ran the back of his hand over his lips. “No, bring her to Grosvenor Square. The Gardiners have young children. They should not be subjected to such scandal.”
“Very well. What will you tell Elizabeth?”
Darcy sighed. “I hardly know. I do not want to raise her hopes if it is not Lydia. In any case, the news will be distressing, to say the least. I will make our excuses to your parents in a short while. They shall not suspect anything untoward. Elizabeth is not quite herself, in any case, and I daresay my aunt has discerned as much. Then I suppose I shall wait at Darcy House for word from you. What of Wickham?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. “I have received no word of Wickham, but when I do, you shall be the first to know.”
* * *
It was nearly eleven o’clock that night when Colonel Fitzwilliam was ushered into the dimly lit back foyer of Darcy House, bearing Lydia Bennet in his arms. Elizabeth had been on edge ever since her husband had reluctantly told her Richard’s men had discovered the location of a young woman who may or may not be Lydia. Elizabeth raced down the stairs when she heard Darcy’s voice mingled with that of his cousin, barely managing to fasten her dressing gown about her waist as she went. She gasped when she beheld Lydia, who appeared listless, battered, and bruised. Holding back tears, Elizabeth instructed the colonel to carry her sister to one of the family apartments abovestairs. One of his men went off to summon the doctor; another, Mr. Bennet, who had not yet returned from Gracechurch Street.
Elizabeth saw to her sister’s comfort as best she could, assisting one of the maids with bathing her, dressing her, and tending to her battered face, which felt feverish to the touch. All the while, Elizabeth spoke to Lydia in a low, soothing voice full of tenderness and unrestrained affection. After Lydia was settled beneath the counterpane, and even when the doctor finally arrived, Elizabeth pointedly refused to leave Lydia. Indeed, even after her father had appeared by his daughter’s bedside and insisted Elizabeth rest, she would not. She was determined to stay beside her youngest sister until she was well—be it hours or days.
Darcy looked on with concern for his sister-in-law, as well as his wife. Since this was to be his wife’s stubborn decision, and since he had very little success in swaying her from it, Darcy saw nothing else to do but emulate it. If Elizabeth would not leave her sister, neither would he leave Elizabeth. The fact that he felt she was putting her own health at risk, as well as that of their unborn child, by refusing to look after herself, disturbed him. In vain did he and Mr. Bennet attempt to persuade her to retire and rest in the comfort of her own rooms. Not until the following evening, when Elizabeth finally succumbed to exhaustion—falling asleep in a chair by Lydia’s bed—was Darcy able to remove her to their bed for the night. Though she stirred and attempted to rise and return to her sister several times while Darcy eased her gown, corset, and chemise from her body, somehow, he hardly knew how, he had managed to calm her agitation, cradling her in his arms until she drifted into a heavy slumber. He did not dare leave her side, not even after the sun had risen high into the cold, gray sky.
Another week would pass before her family could be reassured of any improvement in Lydia, and before Colonel Fitzwilliam would finally receive word from his men with regard to George Wickham’s whereabouts. It was a frigid night when the cousins departed Darcy House with eight trustworthy officers, all of whom shared the distinction of having female members of their acquaintance affronted by Wickham in one unscrupulous manner or another.
The two unmarked carriages that transported the ten men rolled up to a run-down house in one of the seedier parts of London. There was a commotion coming from within—angry voices and the sound of breaking glass. Colonel Fitzwilliam took the lead, banging upon the door with a heavy fist. A frightened young girl of no more than twelve peered through a dirty window several seconds later. Upon seeing the blur of red coats assembled on her father’s steps, she threw open the door and beckoned them to enter, practically pulling Colonel Fitzwilliam by his sleeve. “Please! You must stop ’im! ’E is out of ’is mind with rage!”
“Who?” prompted the colonel.
“My Papa! Please! ’E says ’e’s gonna kill ’im! My Papa can’t go ta jail! ’Tis just my ma, my sister, an’ me. ’Ow’ll we ever live?” She dragged the colonel up a narrow staircase and into a dimly lit hall, with Darcy and the other men hard on their heels. The sound of raised voices alerted them to Wickham’s unmistakable presence in the room just beyond. All ten men drew their weapons and entered to the appalling sight of George Wickham gasping for air while suspended against the far wall of the small parlor by the hands of an irate man, much in the same manner Darcy had held him not many months before against the side of the milliner’s shoppe in Meryton, his hands closed around the scoundrel’s throat.
Colonel Fitzwilliam advanced and ordered the man, who was slowly choking Wickham to death, to cease and desist. Unsurprisingly—or not—the man refused to release his captive. “This bloody bastard laid ’is ’ands on me eldest girl, ’e did! I ain’ goin’ ta let ’im go fer nothin’! Not until the life is squeezed from ’is miserable body! Do with me wha’ ya will after, but I ain’ lettin’ ’im go ’til ’e’s good an’ dead!”
It was Darcy who approached the angry man and, with a cold look of hatred directed at Wickham, cocked his pistol and extended it without ceremony to the irate father, who grinned. “I see ya ’ave a grievance with this ’ere fine gentleman, as well, ya rotten piece o’ filth,” the man continued with renewed vigor. “Perhaps ’e’d like ta do the ’onors instead?” Then he addressed Darcy, his eyes—and his hands—never leaving Wickham. “What’d ’e do ta ya? Did ’e ’urt one o’ yer precious girls, too?”
Darcy leveled an icy glare at Wickham and muttered in a voice devoid of any feeling, “Two of my sisters… and my wife.” Then suddenly, Darcy’s hands gripped Wickham’s throat as the man stepped back with a sadistic smirk.
“I do believe this ’ere gentleman’ll kill ya righ’ good, ’e will. An’ all the better fer me.”
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br /> The terror in Wickham’s eyes was now palpable. Darcy leaned in and, in a voice shaking with barely checked fury, said, “You touched my wife, George. You laid your filthy hands upon her and insulted her in a most vile and reprehensible manner. She has not been the same since, and it has made me very, very angry. So angry, in fact, I do believe I would now like to see you dead. I care not how or by whose hands. I only know it will not be by mine. I will not risk my wife’s displeasure by dirtying my hands with your blood, no matter how sorely I am tempted.”
He threw Wickham toward the knot of red coats clustered around them, all gripping pistols and sabers, and watched as Wickham soiled himself while his hands massaged his bruised windpipe. Tears streamed from his eyes. “Have mercy on me, gentlemen! I am certain we can reach some sort of agreement here,” he rasped, but it was too late. Eight men seized him and dragged him, screaming, from the house.
Darcy fought for control while Colonel Fitzwilliam addressed the man in front of them. “You need not fear for your family, sir, I can promise you. Every man in this room tonight has been wronged by that blackguard, and they are anxious for retribution. He will not be found.” The man nodded.
Darcy, finally feeling in better control of himself, asked, “Pray, how is your daughter, Mr…?”
“Browning, sir. She’s a righ’ mess, but she’s strong. It ain’ nothin’ she won’ recover from eventually. The dirty blackguard hadn’ the time ta do ’is worst, by God, but tha’ don’ mean I didn’ wanna kill ’im in any case.”
Darcy gritted his teeth. “No. I share your sentiments completely.” He noticed the young girl peering around the side of the door then and reached into his coat pocket. He extracted his purse and handed it to Mr. Browning. “For your daughters, sir, and for your trouble. It is not nearly enough, but if it helps in any way to ease their suffering after this horrible event, please accept it with my gratitude. If it were not for the commotion here tonight, my cousin’s men would never have discovered that scoundrel. I thank you for your assistance, though I am exceedingly sorry for the cause. If you will allow it, I would send for my physician so he can tend to your daughter.”
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