by Head, Gail
“I am glad you are being reasonable,” Bingley agreed, happy to see he would not have to push the issue any further. “Now, where shall we begin?”
“The first obstacle, as I see it, will be in finding a reliable method of exchanging information.”
Darcy turned a thoughtful eye to the map and gazed at the immense area they needed to cover as Bingley tapped the tabletop, both lost in his own thoughts of the daunting task ahead of them.
“I have it!” cried Darcy at last. “Once Georgiana is safely settled in London, we shall make our way to Leeds,” he tapped the map with his finger. “That will be where we part ways and where we will set up our base. I shall post a man there to relay our letters. We can notify him of our location and where we are going to be. If something important develops, an express can be relayed in a matter of hours.”
“Perfect, Darcy! And do you have a plan for the search?”
“I have drawn an arc measuring three hundred thirty miles to the north of London, but allowing for the inaccuracies of the postal miles, I think it would be safe to begin the search from Leeds. The search area is basically northeast and northwest, there is nothing to speak of in between. I will go east, through York, and work my way up the east coast. You will go west, to Levens or Kendal and work your way up the west coast. It is not certain how long it will take to – ”
“Darcy, I think I had better take the eastern route.”
“I do not know that it matters, does it?”
“Well, that depends. Perhaps it has slipped your mind that Scarborough is part of that route – and Caroline is in Scarborough, with my cousin. You may want to reconsider.”
“I see your point, Bingley,” Darcy winced. “I believe I shall take the western route after all.”
Chapter 19
Elizabeth desperately needed some fresh air. Fighting the urge to run, she hurried down the hall and out into Everton's gardens. As she reached the first steps leading down from the terrace to the summer garden, now barren and awaiting the coming autumn frosts, she took several deep breaths of the cool September air, trying unsuccessfully to calm the panic rapidly overcoming her. Walking through the long afternoon shadows, she struggled to regain her stunned senses, but her mind could only focus on the awful letter still clutched in her hand bearing Wickham's devastating words.
“…I have had news from our dear Lydia that your father is seriously ill. It has occurred to me that you may have thoughts of returning home. While your father's condition is a most unfortunate turn of events, it does not alter the terms of our agreement. Should you manage to arrange return passage, consider the difficulty you would add to your family's heavy burden by forcing me to make public Lydia's most passionate letters…”
The anguish that had been building since she first read the letter now flowed freely in a rush of unrestrained tears. She walked on in blind misery until she came to the small folly which guarded the east boundary of the gardens, its leaded dome held aloft by six Grecian columns. Reaching out with trembling hands, Elizabeth steadied herself against the cool, stony surface as another wave of anger and frustration washed over her, draining her strength.
She struggled against the debilitating numbness, trying to determine a plan of action. How could she not go home when her father's very life was in question? The shame and humiliation of Lydia's disgrace would be nothing next to the pain of losing her father without ever having seen him again. To be forced to remain at Everton was unbearable and she loathed Wickham all the more for having robbed her of the little bit of money that would have carried her home regardless of the consequences. She had no idea what she would do, but she did know she could not survive the loss of her father if she did nothing.
But what was to be done? A low moan rose in her throat as she realized there was nothing that could be done. She was alone and penniless. Slowly sinking into a frightening gulf of despair, Elizabeth did not hear the footsteps behind her.
“Miss Bennet, is something wrong?”
“Lord Grissholm!” Elizabeth spun around in surprise at the close sound of his voice. “I…I did not see you.”
“Rebecca said you left suddenly and seemed upset, so I came to find you. Are you unwell?”
No, I am fine,” she lied, wiping quickly at her face to brush away the tell-tale wetness.
“I think not,” he answered gently, stepping nearer. “I am sorry to say it, but you look rather wretched.”
“Really, I am fine. I have just – ” Renewed thoughts of her desperate situation brought more irrepressible tears that choked off her words.
Grissholm took her arm to guide her to the folly's small bench, pleased with her unmistakable willingness to accept his support. His letter to Wickham suggesting he send some news of her family had proved more effective than he anticipated – a little too effective, it seemed.
“Miss Bennet, allow me to assist, if I can. What is it?”
“I am sorry for my outburst. It is just that I have received some distressing news about my father.”
“Your father? You have heard from your family then?”
“No. Actually, the news came from…someone else, but I have learned that my father is very ill. When I did not receive any reply from my letters, I worried that there may be some trouble at home, but I never thought it would be as bad as this.”
Once again she was overcome by frustrated tears. Lowering himself onto the bench next to Elizabeth, Lord Grissholm waited silently for her grief to subside, then gently took her hand in his.
“That is terrible, indeed. Surely there is something I can do to help.”
The surprising tenderness in Grissholm's voice permeated Elizabeth's misery and carried a glimmer of hope to her tortured mind. Dare she confide her troubles to him? In her first weeks at Everton, she had been convinced he was a cold and indifferent man; and yet for some time now, with only a few exceptions, his manner had been quite amiable, and even attentive at times. Was it possible he would prove to be more generous than she had first believed? Her first impressions had been wrong before – very wrong. This time, she would not sketch a man's character by a few ungracious words, spoken early in their acquaintance.
Destitute as she was and with Quarter Day still weeks away, her only prospect for getting back to Longbourn any time soon was to obtain an advance on her salary. She was not certain what sum it would be, but surely it would be enough for passage to Hertfordshire.
“My lord,” she began hesitantly. “I thank you for your generous offer. There is something I might ask of you.”
“Whatever is in my power, Miss Bennet, I should be happy to assist.”
“I have no money and to wait for Quarter Day may be too late. If you have found my services to be satisfactory, perhaps you could advance enough of my wages for me to purchase a seat on the post. Surely what I have earned thus far would cover the expense.”
“An advance? Hmm…that is a surprising request, but I suppose some arrangements can be made. However, are you certain you want to travel the post alone? What of your traveling companion – Mrs. Younge, was it? Can she be sent for?”
Elizabeth's mouth hardened at the thought of her journey to Everton. “No, my lord, I could not travel with Mrs. Younge again.”
“Well, then, a male relation or Mr. Wickham perhaps? I would not want to see you on the road for so long with no protection.”
“No!” she cried, shuddering at the thought of spending any time alone with the man that had been the cause of all her misery. “There is no one. I shall have to take my chances.”
“Miss Bennet, that you would rather travel post across the length of England, all alone and nearly impoverished, tells me there is much more to the story than just your father being ill.”
Elizabeth contemplated his words. He seemed genuinely concerned for her well-being.
“Sir,” Elizabeth began. “May I ask how well you are acquainted with Mr. Wickham?”
“Not very well. We were introduced at univers
ity, but I have had little contact with him since. We do not travel in the same circles, you see. Our paths happened to cross again when I began looking to fill the post of companion for Rebecca. Why do you ask?”
“He…I mean, um…I am afraid I have come here under false pretenses, my lord.”
“False pretenses?” Grissholm exclaimed, presenting a suitably shocked expression, his eyes betraying nothing of what he already knew. “Would you care to explain yourself?”
“Please believe me, it is not what you may think. I did come to Everton under Mr. Wickham's recommendation, but the position was accepted most unwillingly.”
“You accepted the position against your will? We had not even met before your arrival. Did you think us so inhospitable?”
“You mistake my meaning, sir. My situation here is better than I had ever hoped it would be.” Except for the first few weeks, she recanted to herself. “Miss Ballard is a wonderful young lady, and my situation is quite comfortable. It is only that I was compelled to accept the position when I would have been content to stay with my family in Hertfordshire.”
“And it was Mr. Wickham who compelled you,” he stated with a convincingly grave countenance.
“Yes, it was.”
“How is it that Wickham managed to compel a woman as independent as you are?'
A gust of wind swirled around them and Elizabeth regretted having left her shawl on the back of her chair in the sitting room. She could feel him looking at her as she deliberated how much she should tell him. He was sitting close, almost too close; but his presence was oddly comforting, and she shifted, unconsciously drawing closer to him for protection from the chilly air.
“First I must tell you that I risk the ruin of my entire family if any of this gets back to Mr. Wickham.”
“Whatever it is, you may be assured of my discretion, Miss Bennet.”
“Very well,” she said carefully, taking a deep breath. “Mr. Wickham has certain letters – from my youngest sister – in his possession; letters that would ruin my family should they become public knowledge. He threatened to publish them if I did not accept this position.”
“Ah,” Grissholm replied calmly. “Did he happen to give his reasons for sending you here?”
“No, and that is the worst of it! I cannot determine his purpose, although I am certain he is working on some contemptible scheme and has forced me here to advance it. The letter I received today was from him. He told me of my father's illness yet insisted that I remain here at Everton – which is an impossibility! I cannot stay here; and yet, if I go to Hertfordshire, I risk my sister's reputation and my family's ruin.”
“That is a very difficult situation. Even with the risk, you are still determined to go?”
“I must! I simply cannot stay away when my father is so ill.” She paused as a faint blush rose to her cheeks. “I…I am telling you this because…because I thought perhaps you could help; that your position and connections might somehow persuade Mr. Wickham to give up the letters. If they could no longer be used to hold me here, I could make the trip to Longbourn without exposing my family. I would, of course, return to finish my commitment to Rebecca. I owe her – and you – that much.”
“And what of this scheme you speak of? Could your leaving affect anyone else?”
“I am not certain,” Elizabeth frowned. “At first, I thought he was going to use my association with Rebecca for some kind of financial gain; but I can assure you, sir, as God is my witness, that I would have protected her against any such scheme! However, it has been completely unnecessary as he has not mentioned her once since my arrival; so now I have no idea of his true purpose. He has made no attempt against your wealth, and my family has none to offer. Still, I would not trust him on any account, my lord.”
“Do not worry, Miss Bennet. I have had a good deal of experience with the likes of Wickham.”
Elizabeth shuddered at the memory of their last meeting. She could still hear Wickham's menacing words whispering in her ear as Mrs. Younge searched for the money they stole.
Grabbing Lord Grissholm's arm with her free hand, she turned to him with sudden worry. “Yes, but please have an extra care for Rebecca and keep her safe. She has learned to be more outgoing and someone of Mr. Wickham's character would certainly take advantage of her. I could not bear to see her hurt.”
“Be assured, I shall do everything in my power to keep her safe in your absence.” Grissholm's hand came down over Elizabeth's, pressing it tightly to his arm as he pulled her up from the bench. “Now, shall we return to the house and see what arrangements can be made? It may take a day or two, but we shall get you on your way – and I will see what I can do about the letters as well.”
“Lord Grissholm, I cannot tell you what this means to me,” she whispered, her eyes now glittering with tears of relief. “You have my deepest thanks.”
I would have that and more, he thought to himself as they slowly walked back toward the house. He found great comfort in the warmth of her hand resting beneath his own and the door to his heart began to open once again. It was a good feeling.
Nearing the steps leading up from the summer garden, Elizabeth ignored his slight frown as she gently removed her hand and self-consciously wrapped her arms around herself. She could feel her heart pounding with the realization that something had happened to alter their relationship. What it was, she was not exactly sure. She only knew that she needed some distance to sort out her own muddled thoughts before she faced him again.
“I…I think I should find Rebecca and make my apologies. She must be frantic wondering what happened.”
Hurrying off to find her charge, Elizabeth could feel the intensity of Grissholm's eyes following her as she walked the length of the hall and turned the corner.
Grissholm studied Elizabeth's retreating figure with candid admiration. She was an intriguing woman – fiercely independent in many ways, yet surprisingly vulnerable when it came to those she cared about. What was he going to do with her?
The several ideas that he had been considering during their walk back to the house at last coalesced into a definitive plan. Seizing the moment before he could reconsider and talk himself out of it, he turned from the doorway where he had remained, and purposefully made his way to his study.
Sitting down at the huge mahogany desk, he fingered the catch to the small carved box, not quite willing to open it yet. He had kept it close by these past few months as a reminder of Darcy's betrayal and his goal to repay the master of Pemberley. His hand stilled upon the chest as he thought of Elizabeth and how close he was to obtaining that goal. But it was no longer the same goal; somewhere along the way it had changed.
Oh, he still wanted to punish Darcy, there was no question of that. He intended to make Darcy suffer as he had when Darcy destroyed his hopes with Catherine. What he had not intended was to actually want Elizabeth Bennet for himself; not just to use her and cast her aside, but to possess her, body and soul.
He had not thought he would ever feel anything for another woman after Catherine, but Elizabeth, with her pert opinions, captivating eyes, and naturally engaging ways had managed to reach through the stony walls surrounding his heart and touch him. It was time to let go of the past and make a new future for himself.
Lifting the lid, he examined the contents one last time, touching each item lightly. His hand lingered only slightly on the lock of silky, golden hair before he closed the lid with a flick of his wrist and turned the silver key in its lock.
He did not linger on the monumental decision he had just made. He would not go back now. He took out a sheet of pressed paper and bent to his task with the energy of a man awakened from a very long sleep.
It did not take long to pen his demands to George Wickham. He knew enough of the man to make the first move and take control of the situation before the scoundrel could use the now changed circumstances to his advantage. Grissholm had seen first hand with Fitzwilliam Darcy what the man was capable of, and he woul
d not fall victim to the same fate.
Sealing the letter, he penned another short note before summoning Newcomb. The butler entered the room almost instantly, ready for instructions.
“Send these letters express, right away,” Grissholm ordered tersely. “And have this box put with my personal effects in the attic. I will not be needing it again.”
“Very good, m'lord.” Newcomb quickly retrieved the letters and the box, balancing them in one hand as he reached for the door.
“Oh, and Newcomb,” Grissholm stopped him in the threshold, “Please inform Miss Bennet I would like to see her.”
* * * *
“Please, sir! You cannot ask that of me,” Elizabeth whispered, gripping the soft leather at the edge of her chair.
“It will not be long,” Grissholm assured her quietly. “A few short weeks at most.”
“A few weeks?! Who is to say how long my father has been ill? A few weeks – a few days even – and it may be too late!” she cried. She could feel a crippling panic rising in her chest and pushed it down, her courage rising in its place. “You made me a promise, sir. Do you intend to keep it? I only need enough for the post.”
“Miss Bennet, be reasonable. I am only asking you to stay long enough for me to make some arrangements. It is a foolish plan for you to go running off, all alone, on a moment's notice. Think about it.”
“I have thought about nothing else since I received the letter! My family needs me and I cannot delay!”
“Your family needs you to be prudent. What good will you be to them if you bring shame and ruination with you? From the sounds of it, Wickham would not hesitate to destroy your family if you thwart his plans and return to Hertfordshire without his consent.” He paused as Elizabeth's eyes closed in sheer frustration. “I understand your impatience, but it really will be better for everyone if you allow me the time to clear up this business with the letters before you make the journey.”