“No, you cannot!” Mr. Darcy exclaimed hastily. Elizabeth regarded him, brows drawn together in perplexity. He took a deep breath and continued at a more deliberate pace. “You risk drawing Wickham’s attention to your family. He might importune your father—or even threaten him.”
“I had not considered that possibility.” No, she should remain in London and keep Wickham’s eyes focused on her.
Mr. Darcy placed his hat on his head and retrieved his walking stick. “I will visit Wickham and have a candid conversation.” Elizabeth was happy Mr. Darcy’s impressive glower was not intended for her.
“I hope that you will not pay him. His relationship with my family has already benefited him far more than he deserves. Should he receive additional funds, it will only encourage further behavior such as this.”
Mr. Darcy nodded briskly. “I agree. There are other ways to work on such a man. However, I should visit him now before he changes lodgings once more.” He strode to the door, but turned abruptly before his hand touched the knob. “Oh, I had quite forgotten my purpose in visiting. Would you do us the pleasure of dining with us tomorrow night?” He regarded her with a peculiar intensity, awaiting her response.
Surely a dinner invitation could not be so important to him. “Yes, I have no other engagements.”
Did his shoulders relax? No, it must have been her imagination.
“Excellent. I shall inform Georgiana. Good day, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth bade him a good day and watched him leave the room. Only then did she permit herself to collapse back into the soft embrace of the chair’s upholstery. By all rights, she should be considering the problems presented by Wickham, but instead, she was preoccupied with the puzzle of Mr. Darcy.
Why had he visited her—and without his sister? A simple dinner invitation could have been accomplished by post or by a note sent with a servant.
Just as bewildering was the warmth of affection she now experienced for him. Naturally, she was grateful for his assistance with Wickham, but these feelings went beyond mere gratitude. She knew he was concerned about her as Georgiana’s friend and Richard’s former fiancée, but did he care for her for her own sake? And why did she wish it so devoutly? Of course, they were friends, but perhaps some part of her longed for more?
No, she was being ridiculous! Richard had caused a minor scandal by choosing a country girl of no family as his betrothed, but Mr. Darcy, who possessed one of the greatest fortunes in England, would never choose someone like her.
He felt guilt over Wickham’s actions. It was that simple. With that thought, she resolved to put the matter out of her mind.
***
By dinner time, Elizabeth was relaxed enough to enjoy her cook’s excellent stew. After the meal, she retired to the drawing room. Sitting near the window, where she could occasionally glance out to see the lovely full moon, Elizabeth stitched embroidery on a dress for Jane’s daughter. Absentmindedly, she enjoyed the murmur of voices and the sounds of horses and carriages on the cobblestones outside her door. Although she preferred the country, Elizabeth also took pleasure in the hustle and bustle of the city.
The peace of the evening was abruptly shattered by the sound of breaking glass. Elizabeth was showered with shards as a large rock crashed through the window!
Chapter 13
Throwing up her hands to shield her face, Elizabeth cried out and nearly fell out of her chair. A moment later, she heard racing footsteps as Grayson and Lawrence both burst into the room.
“Oh, Good Lord!” Grayson cried.
Lawrence simply gave a wordless exclamation and hurried to Elizabeth’s side. “Are you hurt, ma’am?”
Elizabeth stood shakily, and shards of glass cascaded to the floor from her dress. She examined her arms and felt her neck, the areas with the most exposed skin. The few cuts were minor. “I believe I am unharmed.”
“Oh, here is a cut!” Lawrence pulled out a clean handkerchief and applied it to a longer gash on Elizabeth’s neck. “But ‘tis a small one. Nothing to fuss about.”
One of the footmen hurried into the room. “Another rock was thrown through the dining room window!”
“Another?” Grayson cried, looking greatly disturbed.
The footman continued, “Weston ran after the culprit, but he escaped.”
“Was anyone in the dining room at the time?” Elizabeth asked. A shudder wracked her body as she realized how easily she, or someone on her staff, could have been seriously hurt.
“No, thank the Lord,” the footman responded.
“But who would do something like this?” Lawrence asked, still applying pressure to her mistress’s neck.
Elizabeth had her suspicions but did not wish to speculate. It was a horrible thought that anyone might hate her with such passion. “I must contact the authorities in the morning. Grayson, might someone install boards in the window frames in place of the broken panes?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Grayson nodded. “I believe we have some boards that can be cut to fit.” The butler took the footman with him in search of boards.
Elizabeth took the handkerchief from Lawrence and examined the splotches of blood. “Not a deep cut, I think.”
“No, ma’am. It should stop bleeding on its own,” Lawrence agreed.
Elizabeth pressed the cloth up to her neck again and slumped back into her chair, suddenly exhausted. A maid swept up the broken glass, while Grayson brought in someone with boards and a saw.
Abruptly, Elizabeth wished to quit the room and its negative associations. A wave of anger surged through her. This had once been her favorite room in the house, but now it was sullied by disturbing memories.
“Lawrence, I think I shall retire for the night.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the housekeeper replied. “You do that. You have had a shock, you have. You will be needing your rest.”
But before Elizabeth stood, Grayson strode back into the room holding a small object wrapped in fabric. “Ma’am, the household has three pistols. I would like your permission to distribute them to the groom and footmen—just in case those scoundrels return.”
“Yes, of course,” Elizabeth replied, hating the necessity. “Good thinking.”
“And there is this.” Grayson handed her the small parcel. “The master would want you to have it about you for protection.”
Elizabeth unwrapped it to reveal a small “lady’s” pistol Richard had purchased for her. Although many in the ton viewed shooting as an unladylike pursuit, Richard had seen it as a useful skill for any woman, including his fiancée. So he had gifted her with the pistol and provided her with lessons in how to use it. She had never enjoyed shooting but had grown reasonably competent. Truthfully, Elizabeth had forgotten about the pistol. It had always remained at the townhouse, and she had never used it, save for practice with Richard.
She regarded it distastefully. “Grayson, I do not believe I should—”
“Ma’am, if you forgive my saying so, the colonel would want you to carry it with you under these circumstances. Perhaps in your reticule. He would be very concerned.” Elizabeth hesitated. “For the colonel’s sake, ma’am,” Grayson repeated.
Elizabeth sighed and picked up the gun, its weight foreign in her hand. “Very well.” Grayson smiled in satisfaction and handed her the reticule, watching as she inserted the pistol into it.
Elizabeth stood and made her way out the door and into the entrance hall. Lawrence gestured for a maid to follow Elizabeth up the stairs to her bedchamber, as if afraid her mistress was not competent to do so alone. After one stumble, Elizabeth was forced to admit Lawrence might not have been entirely wrong.
***
There was no room for doubt: Elizabeth was not pleased to see him.
Darcy, however, felt he had demonstrated remarkable restraint.
Having learned of the savage attack on Elizabeth’s house the previous night, he had fought valiantly against an overwhelming desire to immediately appear on her doorstep. Fortunately, Ge
orgiana had persuaded him that Elizabeth would not appreciate such gross impropriety and had reassured him that her staff was now alert to the danger.
Darcy had conceded to his sister’s logic with poor grace and had mollified his concern by clandestinely instructing his butler to send four footmen to Elizabeth’s house. This had permitted Darcy to sleep for a few restless hours, only to wake before dawn. He had deferred his visit to Elizabeth’s townhouse until nine, which he felt showed considerable self-control under the circumstances.
At least Elizabeth had been awake and dressed when he arrived. However, she was unhappy to discover he knew of the previous night’s events.
“How did you learn about the incident so quickly?” she asked over a cup of coffee in her breakfast room.
Darcy cleared his throat and examined the fascinating pattern of the tablecloth. “Er, my man in the stable sent word around soon after it happened.”
Elizabeth scowled. “I did not realize you had placed a spy in my household.”
Darcy colored. “That was not my intention.” Elizabeth set her mouth in a straight line and said nothing further. Darcy wished to explain, but what should he say? At Darcy House, his duty had been clear, but confronted with an angry Elizabeth, he worried he might have overstepped his bounds.
“I visited Wickham,” Darcy said.
She lowered her coffee cup. “You did?”
Darcy could not remain seated any longer. He shoved his chair back from the table and restlessly paced the breakfast room. “Early this morning. There can be little doubt of his involvement, but naturally, he denies any knowledge. And we have no proof. He seems to have fallen in with a crowd of ruffians, if my informants are correct. That makes the situation more complex. Even if I can find a way to stop Wickham himself, he may find others to carry out his mischief.”
Elizabeth stood as well, regarding him steadily. “I appreciate your concern, but this incident does not warrant so much anxiety. I am unharmed.”
“Oh?” Darcy strode to Elizabeth and reached out a finger to trace the cut on her neck. “This cut says otherwise.” She flushed and pulled away from his touch. Good Lord! How could he have taken such a liberty? Abruptly snatching his hand back, he strode to the window, as far from Elizabeth—and temptation—as the room would allow. “Forgive me,” he murmured, certain his face was a bright red.
There was a long pause. Would Elizabeth castigate him for his inappropriate behavior? She cleared her throat. “It is a shallow scratch, nothing to cause undue anxiety.” Darcy said a silent prayer of thanks. Apparently, this was another incident they would pretend had never happened.
But he shuddered at the thought of how badly he had failed to protect her. “You are not safe until this situation is resolved. I will send you additional footmen, and you must come to Darcy House for the duration.” He hoped she would not notice the additional footmen were already posted outside her house.
“There is no need,” Elizabeth replied. “I have Grayson and two other footmen, plus a gardener and groom. Mr. Wickham would not be foolish enough to act directly against me in my own home.”
Darcy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Such stubbornness was not unanticipated. “I must insist. I will not rest easy until I know you are securely protected.”
Elizabeth stood behind her chair, grasping its back with white-knuckled hands. “And I am perfectly in earnest. I am not a member of your staff, and I will not hasten to obey your every instruction.” Her tone was light and teasing, but he detected a hint of irritation.
Damnation! He had offended her! Was nothing ever simple with this woman? His heart sank at the thought. Half of their conversations seemed composed of misunderstandings and conflict. Even now her frustration with him showed in every line of her body. Perhaps she could never get past her distaste for him. He had tried to become a better person for her, but he could not completely change everything about himself. Maybe she was not capable of loving the man who was Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Darcy pulled his thoughts out of this spiral of despair and struggled to formulate a response. “I do not think of you in those terms, Miss Bennet, I assure you.”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes to the table. “I will accept the offer of additional staff. Thank you. But I do not believe it is necessary for me to abandon my home.”
“Very well,” Darcy said. Her concession would do for the moment, but they would return to the subject again. He would not compromise Elizabeth’s safety, even if she hated him for it. At least she would be alive and unharmed to hate him.
***
Darcy glared at the newspaper before him. Despite important news about the war and the actions of parliament, the society pages drew the most attention from the ton. Today, Darcy would have cheerfully burned the paper’s offices to the ground. Oblivious to the sounds of his club around him, he reread the offending article.
“We have learned that a certain Miss B., who stood up with the debutante Miss D., the niece of the Earl of ----- has been seen in the company of some unsavory characters. Recently, Mr. W., a cashiered army officer known for his debts and seduction of many misses, was seen leaving her townhouse at odd hours—despite their consanguineous relationship.”
Goddamn! That last sentence was an inspired piece of rumormongering. Technically, the church would consider Wickham and Elizabeth to be brother and sister because of his marriage to Lydia. By referring to that, the gossip column made their supposed “affair” seem even more sordid and ensured that the insinuations would be repeated throughout every drawing room in London.
Pain in his right hand caused him to glance down; it was crumpling the edge of the newspaper in a death grip. Gingerly, he relaxed his hold. Perhaps Wickham had paid someone on the paper’s staff to print the item, or maybe he had spread the gossip so thickly that the columns could not ignore it.
Rubbing his hand over his eyes, Darcy considered that the item’s provenance was of little matter. The damage was the same. Elizabeth had no family name or fortune to protect her reputation or refute such accusations. Her association with the Darcys had provided no protection but rather earned her prominence to make her worthy of inclusion in the scandal rag. And her former fiancé’s parents would do nothing to staunch the flow of such vitriol—in fact, they might encourage it. The paper would not dare make such insinuations about Georgiana or Aunt Rachel, but Elizabeth was defenseless.
He knew what the future held. Elizabeth’s invitations to teas and balls would evaporate. When she did attend an event, the women of the ton would whisper about her behind their fans. Elizabeth did not care about the ton’s opinion, but she would be distressed to have her reputation unfairly destroyed.
Darcy gritted his teeth against the impulse to utter a stream of profanity. Elizabeth was worth a hundred of those women, and he knew with absolute certainty she had done nothing wrong. Yet such accusations would destroy what little acceptance she had gained through her betrothal and association with the Darcys.
After the rock-throwing incident a week ago, Darcy had been seeking Wickham, who had abandoned his previous lodgings. After days of fruitless searching, Darcy had hired some Bow Street Runners. As they inquired about Wickham, the runners were warning decent merchants and landlords about Wickham’s reputation, reducing the number of people the man might deceive in his schemes. However, Darcy had not thought to warn anyone on the staff of the newspaper.
Bitterly, Darcy reflected that he should have encouraged Elizabeth to return to Hertfordshire, where she would be insulated from some of the poison in the ton. However, when she had suggested the idea, Darcy had only focused on his own selfish desire to keep her in London.
Darcy stared at the stark white paper and the black words that persisted in spelling out Elizabeth’s ruination. He could conceive of no way to prevent it. Darcy could fix many things, but gossip was frustratingly difficult to combat.
“Hello, Darcy!” Glancing up at the cheerful greeting, Darcy suppressed a groan. Lord Kirkwood was
among the last people he wished to see.
Without awaiting an invitation, the handsome viscount’s heir drew up a chair. Darcy hastened to fold up the newspaper, but Kirkwood eyed it meaningfully. “So you have noticed the latest gossip as well.”
“It is all slander!” Darcy spat.
“Of course.” Kirkwood sat back in his chair, watching Darcy as if taking his measure. “Fitzwilliam would be spitting mad. Appalling way to treat a virtuous young woman.”
Darcy’s opinion of Kirkwood rose several notches. “Appalling,” Darcy agreed, lifting his brandy glass to his lips, only to realize it was empty. When had that happened? He signaled the attendant for another.
The other man steepled his fingers in front of him. “The difficulty is, many consider such a woman’s reputation tarnished, if not outright ruined, when she has been betrothed but not married. It is not fair, but such is the way of the world. And then Miss Bennet insists on living alone when she is still unmarried.”
Darcy scowled at Kirkwood. “Nothing about this situation is of Miss Bennet’s making!”
“Of course not.” Kirkwood dismissed this objection with a wave of his hand. “The problem is, she has no family name, no one to take her part, no standing.” Darcy opened his mouth to contradict this statement, but the other man continued. “Oh, I know your sister is a good friend, but people will say Miss Bennet took advantage and all that rot.”
Darcy did not respond. Kirkwood seemed to have a point, and Darcy wanted to hear it.
Kirkwood took a sip from his own glass of brandy, then he stared at the amber liquid contemplatively. “I have been ruminating on this situation. Fitzwilliam was a great man—a great soldier. Did service to our country in battle that no one appreciates, saved lives … and now he cannot be here to protect the woman he loved.”
Guilt settled around Darcy like a blanket. Richard had been great man, who had provided immeasurable assistance to his cousin when needed.
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