Chapter 7
Mr. Bingley greeted each sister though his eyes were solely for Jane. Mr. Darcy nodded his head towards them before dismounting. Mr. Bingley offered his arm to escort Jane wherever she wanted to walk, while Mr. Darcy called his dog away from Lydia and Kitty.
Elizabeth chuckled to herself. The difference in the men’s reactions to the ladies was telling. Jane appeared to have a serious contender for her hand in Mr. Bingley. His friend’s only interest was his canine. None of the three men who had walked away from them had looked back, not even Mr. Denny and Captain Carter.
She sighed, her shoulders drooping. Evidently Mr. Darcy had the right of it at the Meryton assembly. Elizabeth Bennet was entirely lacking in charms.
“That’ll do.” Patting his hand on the side of his thigh, Mr. Darcy caught the puppy’s attention.
Although his master was standing a short distance from the Bennets, Henry bolted towards Mr. Darcy with a vengeance, sliding into a skid, and landing on the top of his left boot.
“You are a good pup, though a menace,” Mr. Darcy stepped aside and scratched Henry on his neck.
“You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy. He is not a good dog at all,” Lydia blurted as Kitty nodded in agreement.
“What is this?” The man was confused.
Before Elizabeth or Jane stepped in to make peace, Lydia continued, “Your little puppy is as likeable as can be when in the company of females, Mr. Darcy. Nevertheless, he seems to not approve of officers sworn to protect those very same women. He barked, growled, and almost bit Mr. Wickham.”
The effect of her words was immediate.
“Wickham!” Mr. Darcy bellowed, turning to look around the town. “He is here?”
Elizabeth recalled the account of General and the poor treatment he had received at the hands of Mr. George Wickham. Yet, there were any number of families with the same surname. Hampshire contained a civil parish called Wickham, which was the birthplace of William of Wykeham, the founder of Winchester College. Surely, the pleasant man with good manners could not be one and the same as that foul boy who tormented Mr. Darcy’s favorite pet.
“No, Mr. Darcy, he is not here.” Lydia flipped her curls over her shoulder as she turned her nose up at the man.
“But he was here,” Kitty offered. “Nevertheless, you have no reason to be angry with him, Mr. Darcy, as he is a gentleman of excellent breeding and reputation.”
“He is, you say?”
“Why, of course,” Kitty assured Mr. Darcy with utmost passion. “He has been poorly used by a wealthy man from the north. The master of the estate denied Mr. Wickham a living which had been promised by the wealthy man’s beloved father because he was jealous of Mr. Wickham’s amiability in the neighborhood. Had poor Mr. Wickham been able to claim the valuable position in the church, there would be no necessity to think of the military for his future. Mr. Wickham boldly forged his own path by entering Meryton society. He said his choice was due to the constancy of good company and the acquaintance of a respectable and agreeable man like Mr. Denny. He said the rich man took delight in giving the living elsewhere.”
Elizabeth heard Mr. Darcy growl under his breath, causing Henry to do the same.
“Darcy, ladies,” Mr. Bingley bowed, completely unaware of the tension between the others. “I have offered to escort Miss Bennet on her return to Longbourn. If you have no other business, we would see you safely home.”
Kitty, Lydia, and Mary readily agreed, turning to walk far enough behind their eldest sister that Mr. Bingley’s horse did not bother them.
Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy.
His hands were fisted, his face was red, and his dark eyes shot fury. She heard the air flowing quickly through his nostrils as they flared.
Dear Henry, recognizing his master’s tension, whimpered, bowed his nose to his paws then leaned his slight weight against the man’s Hessians.
“It is him, is it not?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes.”
Elizabeth was horrified. Where she had concluded the newcomer would be a wonderful addition to the neighborhood, she now knew better. He was a disgrace, not a gentleman. “A man of his ilk does not belong in a church.”
“He does not.”
“Then you were in the right to deny him the living.”
“I was.”
His eyes drifted to hers. He exhaled. “He will spread lies as he always does. His claims rarely change.”
“I would imagine his success at gaining sympathy would…”
“He is a champion at promoting himself, Miss Elizabeth.” Mr. Darcy removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends…”
“I cannot believe anyone who would be cruel to a defenseless animal would treat humans any better.”
“You are correct. He is vile even toward the innocents.”
Without verbal agreement, they began walking behind the others. Henry stayed close to the humans and away from Mr. Darcy’s horse.
Bile rose into her throat. She felt wretched. How could she have found Mr. Wickham appealing? Had she no ability at all to determine who was a good man and who had only the appearance of goodness? Chagrined at her ignorance, Elizabeth pondered the consequences of allowing the rake freedom of Longbourn’s parlor. Her father would need to know…which thought brought to mind the conversation in his book room.
“Blast!” Mr. Darcy exclaimed. “Do you think Wickham realized Henry was mine?”
“I do not know.” Chewing her bottom lip, Elizabeth thought back on the brief encounter. “There are many here who do know. Mr. Wickham should have easy access to the information as there would seem to be no reason to withhold it from him should he ask someone other than myself.”
Before Elizabeth reached for Henry, Mr. Darcy lifted him to his chest.
Henry’s little tongue bathed the man’s chin.
“I will do all I can to protect him,” he promised.
“Of this I have no doubt,” she reassured him, confident it was the truth. “I…I have another subject equally as unpleasant to share with you if you would be so kind as to listen.”
“Proceed.”
Before she began, Henry wriggled his way to the ground, then took off at a run towards Mr. Bingley, running circles around the man until he had to take his eyes from Jane.
In the time it took to travel the one-mile distance from Meryton to Longbourn, Elizabeth shared the majority of the exchange with her father, including the compromise between her parents and his fears the same could happen between his daughter and the man from Netherfield Park.
Mr. Darcy sighed.
“Sir, I will do everything within my ability to keep this from happening. I have confidence you will do the same. Therefore, I promised Papa I would not walk out into the fields as long as you and Henry remain in Hertfordshire.”
“I see.” He nodded. “Yet, Henry found you on a completely different path.”
“Yes, he did.” Her frustration with the situation was evident in her tone. “In truth, once my father is informed of Mr. Wickham’s character and that Henry traveled to town, I doubt I will have the autonomy to walk out alone until after the militia moves away from Meryton, if even then. Where there has been freedom in the familiar, these men are strangers. It is no longer safe.”
Mr. Darcy lifted his brow as if shocked she had reached such an unfavorable conclusion on her own.
“Why are you surprised?” she snipped. By virtue of the fact that he was male, Mr. Darcy would have no loss of freedom. A gentleman roamed to his heart’s contentment.
He stopped. Facing her he replied, “Believe me, I am not surprised at your being resolved to exercise caution amidst a battalion of unknown men. What bewilders me is your complete lack of selfishness. Do you know how rare this quality is in my world?”
She shrugged, knowing he did not expect an answer. Her surprise was that his words sounded very much like a compliment.
&
nbsp; “Then I am in no hurry to visit your world, Mr. Darcy.”
He laughed aloud, the rich timber of his voice causing the rest of their party to turn and Henry to run back to them.
“You laugh?”
Oh, but he was handsome when his dimples were fully displayed, his eyes were alight, and his straight white teeth glowed in the late autumn sun. She clasped her hands tightly in a futile effort to contain her wild emotions.
Henry assumed she was playing a game. Bouncing in a circle, he yipped and barked, then ran in circles around her and Mr. Darcy.
“He is herding us, sir.”
“He is,” Mr. Darcy admitted, as he avoided stepping on Henry when he resumed walking. “Miss Elizabeth, my laughter came from imagining Miss Bingley truthfully proclaiming she would want nothing to do with my world. In fact, I know of no other female, with the exception of yourself, who does not long for the first circles of society, to be one of le bon ton.”
“Then pray allow me to introduce you to more, for I am not an anomaly in Hertfordshire.” She chuckled. “Jane is the least selfish person in all of humanity. She has no capacity for being fashionable for the sake of fashion. Mary would rather apply herself to improvement for improvement’s sake than go to London. Even Kitty and Lydia would rather wed a man in uniform than a prince or a duke. My friend Charlotte Lucas yearns for a comfortable home to care for her future with no expectations of grand wealth. A simple life is our desire.”
“So, you say,” he murmured.
Elizabeth almost saw his mind working as he carefully considered each word. It was at that moment she realized he was a cautious man.
“I might inquire, sir, whether you would choose to pursue wealth and position if you were not born to it?”
Her question was boldly done. Yet, she felt it only fair. He had not held back in any of their earlier discussions from stating his opinions even if the subject was not typically canvassed in the drawing rooms where propriety reigned.
“This is not an easy question for me, for I have known no other life.”
He kicked a small stone from his path hard enough it jumped ahead until it almost reached Kitty and Lydia. Not another word was uttered until they approached the stone. This time, Elizabeth used the toe of her boot to propel it up the roadway.
Henry started sniffing at the side of the road. Before either of them was aware, the puppy darted through the tall grass bordering the field and ran as fast as his little legs carried him.
Elizabeth called. Mr. Darcy whistled. Henry stopped and turned his head back to them, then sat.
“That’ll do.” Mr. Darcy’s voice carried easily.
Coming at them at a run, Elizabeth knew what would happen. Henry would not put his brakes on soon enough to avoid a collision with either her or the gentleman. If she was not careful, he would spray dust and dirt on them both.
As she had done earlier, Elizabeth stepped behind Mr. Darcy. Henry stopped in time, but the debris sprayed over Mr. Darcy’s great coat and boots from the ground to his knees.
They were within sight of the house. Jane and Mr. Bingley had already entered Longbourn. Kitty and Lydia were on the walkway leading up to the door.
“Sir, we need to hurry, or we will be left out here alone.”
The disappointment she was feeling was unexpectedly displayed on Mr. Darcy’s face. Was it because he would miss her? Was it because he was reticent to reveal his affairs concerning Mr. Wickham to her father as a warning to protect his daughters? Was it because this was the end, that he would no longer be seeing her where they shared in conversations? Or, was it because he knew Henry would miss her company?
Yes, that was most likely the answer. He would not miss her. Henry would.
How…sad.
Chapter 8
Sleep evaded Elizabeth that night, so she sought comfort in her novel to dispel the events of the day. The Thorn and the Rose was exhilarating. Elizabeth devoured each word.
Laird McDonald, the heroine’s uncle, was a vile man whose greed for power and wealth moved him to commit treason against the crown and sacrifice his own niece’s reputation for his own ends. Lady Violet Trulove had fortitude when her mettle was tested. Lord Garrett Goodrich was the ideal man. He had all the “h’s” a gentleman should have: honorable, handsome, helpful, honest, humble, hale, hearty, and heroic.
Elizabeth loved and loathed these characters. Despite the book describing Lady Violet’s features as similar to Jane Bennet’s, Elizabeth “saw” her with thick, wavy mahogany hair like her own. She was Elizabeth’s height and form and happened to be wearing her favorite light blue day gown, instead of the yellow one in the book. Lord Goodrich bore resemblance to Mr. Darcy, which no longer bothered Elizabeth when he appeared as the hero in her dreams. What of Magnus McDonald, Lady Violet’s uncle and the Laird of Connelly Castle? That night he had gone from being faceless in her imagination to having the aged features of none other than Mr. George Wickham.
Elizabeth snorted into the dimming light. If only it was possible to share this flight of fancy with Mr. Darcy. She knew she could not. Firstly, he would lift his elegant brow at her choice of reading material. She had heard it often enough from her mother, “real ladies do not read novels.” Secondly, he probably would never view Elizabeth Bennet as the heroine of an adventure story. Although he had become friendlier, she doubted she had done anything to improve herself in his eyes. Lastly, she would die of embarrassment if he ever found out she thought of him as having the “h’s”.
Pulling the ribbon she had used to mark her place in the book, Elizabeth vowed not to think of Mr. Darcy any more. She would focus solely on The Thorn and the Rose.
When the Laird’s servant returned to the cottage with a bowl of water, his malicious cackle as he left it in the far corner grated on Lady Violet’s frayed nerves. If their bonds could not be undone, they would be forced to wiggle and writhe across the floor then lap the liquid like dogs. Vile man!
Once the servant was gone, Lord Goodrich intensified his assault on the cords tied around her wrist. When she was free, she rubbed circulation back into her wrists. Then she turned to help him. However, she was unable to loosen the tightly woven rope confining him. It was then he recommended she retrieve the hidden knife in his Hessian.
She had never touched a man’s leg before. Lady Violet pushed her fingers inside the upper rim of Lord Goodrich’s boot, searching for the dagger. Locating the bone handle, she pulled, inadvertently running the back of her hand up his calf.
In the dim light of the morning, Lady Violet’s eyes flicked to his. Had he noticed her hesitation? The catch of her breath? The crimson blush on her cheeks?
“Lady Violet…” The corner of his mouth turned up.
He had noticed! She was mortified!
Lord Goodrich leaned his torso towards her. “Lady Violet, might you try using the blade to free my hands?” Twisting at the waist, he presented his strong shoulder to her.
Giving her full attention to the task, within moments he was free. Where her wrists were chafed from the roughness of the cord, his dripped blood where the bindings had broken his flesh. At that moment she hated her uncle more than she thought possible. But she…she…she loved…yes, she was in love with Lord Garrett Goodrich.
Her emotions were as raw as his injuries. Her heart ached with the fullness of her care and concern for this man. Lady Violet could not stop herself. Taking his hands in hers, she bowed her head over his wounds, her tears dripping on his skin as she pressed the handkerchief she kept in her pocket against the damage.
He had proven his worth many times since he had revealed his purpose. He was the best of men.
Feeling a gentle tug on her fingers, she looked up. The warmth of his gaze infiltrated her soul. His heart was opened to her as his eyes moved to her lips.
Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Lady Violet marveled that her first kiss would come on this day. Wanting his touch more than her next breath, she leaned in to meet his mouth wit
h her own.
“Lizzy! Lizzy, put that silly book away and come downstairs immediately.” Mrs. Bennet charged into her room with no care that her second daughter might have been asleep. “Mr. Darcy is downstairs, and he is frantic. You need to…well, I have no idea what you need to do, but your father requires your presence in his book room right now. Hurry, girl. He cannot see you in your nightgown.”
Her mother pulled a gown, stockings, and other undergarments from her wardrobe, tossing them on the bed. “Leave your hair. Hurry!” Departing as quickly as she had entered, the whirlwind that was Mrs. Bennet left behind a lull, which allowed Elizabeth’s mind to race.
Mr. Darcy was downstairs? At Longbourn? After dark? What was his purpose?
Once the last button was fastened, Elizabeth grabbed her slippers and hopped on one foot towards the door until she had one on her foot. Quickly donning the other, she flipped her braid over her shoulder and ran down the stairs. Sure enough, Mr. Darcy was standing alongside her father in the entrance hall.
“Sir, what is wrong?”
He was not impeccably groomed on this visit. His boots were scuffed. His cravat was askew. The brim of his beaver hat was gripped in both his hands, which twisted the headwear until Elizabeth suspected it would need discarded.
“Henry is gone.”
She inhaled sharply. “How? Where? What happened?”
Slapping his hat against his thigh, his free hand rubbed over his mouth. “We had just sat down to dinner when one of the grooms hesitantly entered the dining room. He had heard a scuffle outside the stables. When he walked outside to determine the cause, he spied Henry running for his life towards the fields. What gave him pause was the loud series of whistles that seemed to be drawing Henry.”
Henry Page 5