Dearest, Loveliest Elizabeth

by P. O. Dixon

  By Georgiana’s reaction to seeing him, he was certain her brother had said nothing to her about the serious nature of their grievances against each other. In light of the fact that Darcy had banned him from setting foot on the grounds, he rightly supposed he had Darcy’s propensity to keep his own counsel to thank for his being there.

  “Ah, an understanding. Is that what this is?” he asked, sweeping her into his arms and pressing her body against his.

  A part of her felt she ought to protest this breach of etiquette, but after the stratagems she had employed for this time alone with him, she did not know that she could without being coquettish. “I fear that is all my brother will allow it to be for now. Pray you understand.”

  “I fear you ought to know that things have changed between Darcy and me as a consequence of our last meeting. I am persuaded that, if left to him, you and I would never reach the altar. He has never liked me, and now that I have declared my intention to marry you, he likes me even less.

  “Truth be told, he would be most seriously displeased were he to learn that you and I are seeing each other this way. This must be our secret for now.”

  Before Georgiana could fashion a response, he said, “You and I are to be husband and wife. I want to shout it out to the world. More than that, I want to do it now with no consideration for what your brother feels is best. His strongest objection to me is my lack of fortune. You and I have discussed all that, have we not? Those things mean nothing to you.”

  “Pray you are not suggesting that we elope. I do not believe I could do such a thing—to subject my brother to such grief and displeasure.”

  “No—I am not suggesting an elopement. It need never come to that. There are other ways of bringing about the happy conclusion we both long for, and once your brother finds out, he will have no choice but to accept the inevitability of our union.”

  “Sir—”

  He placed his fingers on her lips. “Hush. I know what to do.” He wetted his lips and, tracing a path to her neckline, he swept his lips along a similar course. The rise and fall of her bosom encouraged him.

  “Sir—” she began again, only this time a bit more tentatively.

  “Trust me,” he whispered. Lowering the décolletage of her gown, he commenced admiring her—adoring her. Her body’s response was everything he knew it would be.

  “Please, sir.”

  After circling her bosom with light strokes of his tongue, he trailed his lips about her creamy shoulders. “I intend to please you—in every way—right here and right now.”

  “No—no, I mean please stop.”

  He did not. He pressed his hard body against her soft body, giving her an indication of what was to come.

  “I said stop, Mr. Bingham. Please remember yourself!”

  “Your body is saying something entirely different. You are simply nervous, that is all. Do not make yourself uneasy over what we are about to do. I have a way with women. That is what you are. A woman with a woman’s desires—a woman’s needs.

  “Your body is speaking the language of a woman desperate to come out—to throw off Society’s restrictions—and I mean to be the man who sets the woman inside of you free.”

  “Not like this,” she pleaded, attempting to push him away with both hands.

  “Stop pretending you don’t want this, or perchance your George Wickham never touched you like this.” He swept his tongue over one taut bud and then the other. “Did he, Georgiana? Did he touch you like this?” Bingham covered her mouth with his to muddle her protests. Forcing it open to accept his hungry kisses, he commenced rather urgent, passion-filled stroking of his body against hers.

  If ever she thought she wanted to be with him—to give herself to this man as a woman gave herself to her husband—she was certain she did not want it now. Not like this. It was all she could do to close her eyes, suppressing her tears, her disappointment, and her heartbreak.

  Georgiana heard a loud thump! Her eyes flew open. Bingham slumped to his knees. She saw Elizabeth standing there holding a heavy branch with both hands. He stumbled to his feet and grabbed hold of Elizabeth’s shoulders. He started manhandling her—shaking her.

  The thought that her brother would kill Bingham for putting his hands on Elizabeth did cross Georgiana’s mind but only for a second. She commenced pounding her cousin’s back with clinched fists. “Leave my sister alone, you beast!” she cried with energy.

  One hand tightly gripping Elizabeth’s arm, the other free, he swung around and pushed Georgiana aside. She fell backward. Her head hit the sharp edge of a large rock.

  The sight of his cousin lying lifelessly on the ground awakened him to what he had done. He never meant to hurt Georgiana. He rushed to her side and fell to his knees. “Look at what you’ve made me do,” he yelled over his shoulder.

  Elizabeth, seeing her sister thus, rushed to Georgiana’s side and knelt beside her. “Georgiana—Georgiana!” she cried. “Georgiana, wake up!”

  “Look at what you forced me to do. It did not have to come to this. She and I were to be married.”

  “My husband will have your head for this.” She tore her eyes from Bingham’s to her unconscious sister. Her sister’s bloodstained dress took her breath away. Tears welled up inside her as she placed her hand on Georgiana’s face. “Please, Georgiana, please do not leave us.”

  Bingham seized Elizabeth’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “You’re coming with me!”

  She fought back. “Unhand me at once. I must attend my sister.” Her struggle in vain, Elizabeth yelled out. “Help!”

  He put his hand over her mouth. “Quiet! Do not force me to lay another hand on you.”

  She bit his hand with all her might, forcing him to pull it away. “Someone help us!” Elizabeth shouted at the top of her lungs. “Someone help us, please!”

  Bingham tore off his cravat and stuffed it into her mouth. “I said be quiet.” He lifted Elizabeth, threw her over his shoulder as though she were merely a sack of wheat, and scampered off to where he had tethered his horse.

  Chapter 17

  Several letters awaited Darcy upon his arrival from Matlock that afternoon. Only one of them was of concern—the one from his man in London who was charged with investigating Bingham’s past. After tearing it open and hastily reading it, Darcy slammed his fist on the table. “That lying scoundrel,” he said aloud. “His half-sister indeed.” He now understood why Bingham had kept her tucked away in Lambton rather than allow her to accompany him to Pemberley. That woman is his paramour! What was he about in introducing her to Georgiana and Elizabeth as his half-sister?

  I must see Georgiana at once. Although I do not relish the idea of breaking her heart, she needs to know the truth. Darcy quit his study in search of his sister. He had not gotten far before espying her paid companion.

  “Mrs. Annesley, you are just the person I need to speak with.”

  She curtsied. “Welcome home, sir. I pray your uncle, the Earl of Matlock, is in much-improved health.”

  Remembering himself, Darcy bowed slightly. “Indeed, he is. I thank you.”

  “How can I be of service, sir?”

  “I need to speak with my sister, immediately. Will you tell me where I might find her?”

  “Miss Darcy went for a walk around the grounds.”

  “Alone?” Darcy interrupted.

  “Indeed, I came to learn that she had set out alone. At first, I was under the impression she was with Mrs. Darcy. When Mrs. Darcy returned from her visit with one of the tenant families, I learned that she and Miss Darcy had not been together. It was then that Mrs. Darcy said she would join Miss Darcy on her walk.”

  “How long ago did my wife leave to meet my sister?”

  “I am afraid I cannot say with specificity, but I imagine it’s been hours. I know that they have yet to return for Miss Darcy and I had another engagement. I know how the two ladies so enjoy long, rambling walks, which I suppose must be Miss Darcy’s excuse for foregoing our plans.�
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  After taking his leave of Mrs. Annesley, Darcy decided what he needed to say to his sister could not wait, and thus he set out to meet the ladies. He had been walking for nearly a quarter of an hour when he espied his sister moving slowly in his direction. He raced to her and reached her just in time. Dazed and confused, she collapsed in his arms. Dropping to his knees to better support her, he touched her face. “Georgiana!”

  She was lifeless.

  “Georgiana, my sweet—” He brushed her tangled hair from her face and kissed her forehead. “Georgiana, pray open your eyes,” he pleaded.

  She opened them a little and spoke faintly. Cradling her in his arms, Darcy leaned closer. Bloodstains marred his sleeve.

  “Elizabeth,” she whispered.

  “What about Elizabeth?”

  “Mr. Bingham—she tried to stop him.”

  “Bingham did this to you? Where is Elizabeth?”

  “She hit him. He was angry. He attacked her.” Her voice fell silent again. Her eyes closed.

  Darcy’s heart skipped a beat. “My wife! I must find my wife,” he said, the sound of his voice like that of a stranger.

  “I’m sorry,” he heard his sister say.

  “Hush. Do not try to speak, dearest. I will find Elizabeth.”

  His sister in his arms, he stood and hurried back to the manor house. He handed her over to the butler. “My sister is severely wounded. Get her to her room and summon the physician, now!”

  Without delay, he went to his study and exhaled a sigh of relief that his steward was there. “I fear a terrible fate has befallen Mrs. Darcy. I have no time to explain. Organize a party to search the grounds. I will return to the path along the river where I found my sister and begin looking for my wife there.”

  A knock at the door drew both men’s attention. In walked one of the footmen. “What is it?” Darcy asked.

  “Sir, I—I…”

  “Go on, man. I have no time to waste!”

  The footman commenced explaining the reason for his being there. He spoke of having seen someone on horseback racing away from Pemberley Woods while he was walking. What’s more, the man was not alone. It looked to the footman as though there was someone slung over his lap. The frantic rider had set off in the direction of Lambton. Darcy knew exactly how to act!

  When Darcy arrived at the Lambton inn where Bingham and his family were staying, the innkeeper informed him that the Bingham party had quit the establishment first thing that morning.

  “I watched as the young woman cradling the babe was handed into the coach.”

  “What of the gentleman?”

  “He did not accompany them. By the manner of their parting, I was under the distinct impression he was seeing them off specifically. In fact, he returned and had a drink at his usual table before heading out a half hour or so later.”

  Darcy looked in the direction of the other man’s gaze. There sat his old nemesis—Wickham. Suspecting the worst, he tore over to him. Darcy reached across the table and seized Wickham by the throat. “If I find out that you have a hand in my wife’s abduction, I will kill you.”

  Wickham’s mouth fell open. “What are you saying? Has Elizabeth been taken?”

  “You dare deny knowing it!”

  “Elizabeth is my sister, man! I care for her deeply. Why would I wish to harm her?”

  “Do you also deny telling Alston Bingham about your thwarted plans for my sister?”

  “Alston Bingham?” Wickham twisted his lips, pretending to query his memory. He shook his head. “I never heard of the man.”

  “Liar!” Darcy spat, releasing his former friend with violent force. He had to have been lying. Who else would have shared intelligence of the Ramsgate affair but Wickham?

  Wickham stumbled backward and landed awkwardly in his chair. Composing himself, he said, “Well—what if I do know the gentleman? What if I did tell him the things you accuse me of telling him?”

  Darcy’s temper he dared not vouch for by now. “Do not play games with me, Wickham.”

  “This man you speak of—this Alston Bingham—if that’s even his name,” Wickham began, still convinced he knew the man as Carter, “I have met him before—in this very establishment. He said he and Georgiana were betrothed. Surely you will agree a future husband ought to know such a thing about the woman he intends to wed.”

  “That fool’s name is Alston Bingham. He is behind my wife’s disappearance. When did you last see him?”

  “I saw him little over an hour or so ago. He was behaving very strangely, I might add. I espied him nearby an old, abandoned building just on the outskirts of town. I called out to him, but he slipped inside without acknowledging me.”

  “Why did you not pursue the matter?”

  “Who am I to say the fellow was not involved in secret affairs of some kind?”

  “Take me there,” Darcy demanded.

  “Why should I do that? I am not looking for any trouble.”

  He pierced his adversary with a disbelieving glare. “This is my wife’s life, man—the sister whom you professed to caring about mere moments ago.” Darcy seized Wickham again. “If something happens to Elizabeth, it will be on your head. Heaven help you then.”

  “What can you possibly do to me that you have not already done?”

  “Trust me, Wickham; you do not want to know!”

  When the two of them arrived at the old, abandoned building, Darcy said, “I shall handle things from here.” Further assistance from Wickham was the last thing he wanted. The idea of having to rely upon the scoundrel whose loose lips had been the catalyst for this horrible situation bothered Darcy more than a little. However, his loathing toward his former friend was nothing in comparison to his desperation to discover his wife and bring her home safely. On the other hand, he supposed that, had Wickham not unwittingly provided the means for Alston Bingham’s attempt at extortion, the latter’s true character might not have been revealed. Darcy shook his head. Of course, there was the matter of the man’s mistress. What manner of degenerate had he allowed into his sister and his wife’s life?

  “Do you not want my help?” Wickham beseeched. “Who is to say what awaits you on the other side of that door.”

  “I never knew you cared.”

  “I don’t give a fig about what happens to you, but I do care about my sister.”

  “I wish you would stop referring to my wife as such.”

  “It’s true, and you have yourself to thank for that, do you not?”

  “Silence, you fool! If you insist upon being of further service, perhaps you might alert the town constable to what is afoot. Pray have a care in returning with reinforcements. I would not wish to make Bingham desperate.”

  Chapter 18

  Just as darkness had fallen over the town of Lambton, so did complete darkness befall Darcy moments after he made way into the rundown building. Upon opening his eyes, he could not account for the previous passage of time. All he knew was his head pounded, he was bound to a wooden chair, and foul water was dripping from his face.

  Darcy commenced a valiant struggle to free himself. Am I alone? Has my assailant fled? How long have I been tied up like this? Such were the questions racing through his mind.

  “Where is my wife, Bingham?” Darcy demanded when the severely disheveled man came into view with a bucket in his hand.

  “Your wife is perfectly safe—for now,” he said, tossing the empty bucket against the wall.

  “If you’ve harmed my wife, I will see you twisting by your neck from a rope.”

  “Be quiet, will you? I must determine what to do next. I had not planned for you to come here.” He combed his fingers through his unkempt hair. “If nothing else, you have saved me the trouble of fashioning a ransom note. Now the question remains of who will pay to secure both of your freedom.”

  “You fool! Your plan is not very well thought out.”

  His eyes wild, Bingham looked at the other man in dismay. “Of course my plan is n
ot well thought out. What do you think I am? Some sort of criminal?”

  “First, you attempted to blackmail me. Now you have resorted to kidnapping. If not a criminal, what would you call yourself?”

  “I am a man who is violently in love!”

  “In love,” Darcy repeated mockingly. “Who are you in love with? Your paramour—your so-called half-sister?”

  Panic overspread Bingham’s face. “You know nothing about her!”

  “Did you really suppose your lies would not come to light?”

  “Quiet! I meant your sister. She and I were to be married. Your darling wife happened upon us at the wrong time. She misunderstood what she saw.” He slapped his hands on either side of his head and shook it. “How is Georgiana? Pray tell me she is unharmed.”

  “How dare you ask about my sister?”

  “She is my own flesh and blood. She has come to mean a great deal to me!”

  Darcy spat on the floor in response to Bingham’s contention. “What happened to you? You boast of being a Darcy. A true Darcy would never stoop so low.”

  “My usurped birthright is what happened to me,” the younger man exclaimed.

  “Your birthright? How dare you suggest that decades past fortunes in life have been the means of reducing you to this desperate caricature of a man? One who would go from extortion to kidnapping in order to get what you want.”

  “Listen to you, giving yourself airs. What if our family’s history had been different? What if my grandfather had been the elder son? What if all that you boast of being your own, merely by circumstance of the order of someone’s birth, had redound to a different branch of our family tree? What if you enjoyed the lineage of a gentleman yet were forced to endure the hardships afforded the common man? But you wouldn’t know anything about that would you, Darcy? You have been handed everything you ever wanted, haven’t you?”

  Darcy stealthily continued loosening the ropes binding his hands. “Not everything,” he said in a hushed voice.

  As he had hoped, his captor drew closer. “What was that you said?”