“A woman perhaps?” Darcy said rhetorically.
“Yes, perhaps a woman. Are you thinking of Mrs Younge?”
“Who else would conceal the blaggard but his former accomplice? I know what to do now, Richard. Fortunately, I have kept tabs on her since the debacle of last summer. Will you come with me?” Darcy asked.
“Try and stop me,” Richard replied as he drained his cup.
It didn’t take long for the two men to retrieve Mrs Younge’s address, hail a Hackney carriage and be on their way, although the driver did question their choice of destination.
The driver pulled the horses to a stop, and Darcy and Richard stepped out of the carriage. They were immediately accosted by several ragamuffins holding out their filth-covered hands, begging for money. With good intentions, they threw a few coppers down onto the pavement, but instantly a fight broke out as the urchins scrambled to pick them up. Ahead, the street was crowded with hawkers selling their wares. The din of their cries was thunderous as they competed for customers. Moving on, Darcy and Richard gingerly stepped over the rotting debris that littered the street, while trying to inhale as little as possible of the acrid air around them.
After locating the right alleyway, they walked down the narrow path until they came upon the property they were seeking. At least it was slightly less squalid down here than on the main street, although the location, peeling paint and state of general disrepair attested to the poverty of the neighbourhood.
Darcy raised his cane and rapped on the rotting wooden door.
A disembodied female voice called out,
“The mistress ain’t at home.”
Darcy looked at Richard, who shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. Annoyed that his cousin offered no help, Darcy took a moment to decide his next action.
Again, Darcy rapped on the door, saying,
“I have not come to see the mistress, but I have a guinea for you if you can tell me where her friend has gone?”
The door opened a crack, and a young girl of about fifteen peered out. Her rosy complexion was marred by a mixture of grease and soot.
Having ascertained that it was indeed a real gentleman at the door, she opened it a little wider. She gave a snotty sniff, then raised her arm and wiped her nose on the back of her hand.
Darcy’s heart gave an involuntary lurch as he realised this girl was about Georgiana’s age. Their lives could not be more different.
Softening his tone, he asked,
“What’s your name, girl?”
“Becky,” she replied defensively.
“Don’t be frightened, Becky, we mean you no harm. We are looking for George Wickham. Has he been here lately?” Darcy asked.
She held out her hand for her payment, and Darcy dutifully placed a shiny guinea into her filthy palm.
“He was here, but he ain’t now. The mistress threw him out yesterday,” she said as she eyed them suspiciously.
“And do you know why Mrs Younge treated her friend so ill?” Darcy continued.
“He stole some money from her purse, and when he returned, he was drunk. He kept mumbling about some girl, and then he grabbed the mistress by the shoulders and shook her most violently. He was shouting at her to help him, saying the girl must marry him whether she wanted to or not. I thought he meant me when he said that, I was proper scared, I was,” she said with wide eyes.
Darcy, fearful of the answer to his next question, said,
“And the girl Wickham wanted to marry, Becky, what do you know about her?”
“It was that fancy young miss that Mrs Younge looked after last year, poor girl. I pity any woman who ties themselves to George Wickham” Suddenly scared she had said too much, she abruptly slammed the door shut.
Realising there was no point in questioning the girl further, they made their way back to Airwhile House. Darcy was relieved the journey home was made in silence. He was in no mood to listen to Richard’s rebukes for leaving Wickham at liberty for so long. While Richard was lost in his own thought, mentally plotting how to dispose of their nemesis once and for all.
With the library door firmly shut behind them, Richard pleaded with Darcy,
“Now will you let me deal with him.?”
“We have to catch him first, Richard. Until then, I must make arrangements to send Georgiana and Elizabeth away. They are not safe here, not until Wickham is behind bars. I will write to Mr Bennet and Colonel Forster explaining what has happened. I hope Colonel Forster will spare a few men to watch the Longbourn estate. Wickham has shown a preference for Elizabeth in the past. I will ask Aunt Abigail if Georgiana can stay with her for now,” Darcy said more to himself than to his company.
“Miss Bennet’s father knows about Wickham?” Richard asked with surprise.
“I had to take him into my confidence, Richard. There was an incident in the town where Elizabeth lives that I could explain no other way. With five daughters to protect, he was more than understanding.”
“I take it Wickham was involved in the matter?” Richard asked.
“He was,” was all Darcy replied.
“Very well, then I offer myself and my men until this matter is resolved,” Richard stated decisively.
Darcy nodded his acceptance and then poured them both a drink, which Richard gratefully accepted. It had been a long night and promised to be an even longer day.
Richard made his way back to the barracks to liaise with his men. He was concerned for his cousin's well-being. George Wickham and his erroneous concept that Darcy had treated him ill had been a blight on his cousin's life for years. When in reality he had been given a superior start to life, more so than any normal son of a steward could expect. And as much as Richard loved his uncle, he laid the blame for Wickham’s resentment towards Darcy squarely at his feet. He’d spoilt the boy and given him a taste for a life he could never hope to achieve.
Once at the barracks, Richard ordered his men to begin a methodical sweep of the city. Hopefully, they would uncover someone who would renegade on Wickham for a few shillings of beer money.
The pain and worry etched on Darcy’s face made Richard curse Wickham again. The vendetta he waged against his cousin must be stopped, permanently and irrevocably, and he was in the perfect position to arrange it. He could have Wickham press-ganged aboard a ship bound for the Americas. No-one would be the wiser or even care. And now that he knew Georgiana’s feelings were not engaged, that was precisely what he intended to do.
Darcy spent the remainder of the morning arranging an evening out with Elizabeth. He had brought her to London to spend time with her, in the hope that she would fall in love with him. Yesterday had been encouraging, and with his love already declared, he hoped she would soon return his sentiment. He knew Elizabeth liked to dance, so dancing it would be, and not just any dance either. He called for his carriage and set off to pay a visit to his friend Sarah, Countess of Jersey.
That evening, an excited Elizabeth climbed into the same carriage, aglow with excitement at a surprise outing. Darcy, who had given her barely three hours to get ready, thought she looked radiant and complimented her accordingly.
“Now will you tell me?” she asked. “It is exceedingly difficult to dress for an evening out when one does not know where one is going.”
Darcy laughed.
“Be patient, my love, all will be revealed in just a moment.”
He loved how her whole face lit up when she smiled, especially her eyes. They twinkled and shone like bright stars in the night sky. He recalled the first time he had noticed how fine they were. It was at Lucas Lodge, just before she refused to dance with him. He remembered voicing his thoughts to Caroline Bingley, and then instantly regretting it. Clearly, Caroline thought he was going to say it was her fine eyes he was admiring, but when Darcy revealed it was Elizabeth’s, Caroline had spent the next two days teasing his about having Mrs Bennet for a mother-in-law.
As the carriage turned into King Street, Elizabeth was almost certa
in she knew their destination, and she shot Darcy a look of disbelief.
He smiled and nodded.
Elizabeth was beyond mere excitement; she was euphoric. Somehow, Darcy had arranged for them to attend the midweek ball at the most prestigious, and elite establishment in all of London. Elizabeth knew that the vouchers to Almack’s were almost impossible to obtain. Obviously, Darcy had friends in the highest of places, she mused.
Once inside, Darcy paused to give Elizabeth time to look around and take in the splendour of her surroundings. The long ballroom had several tall, arch-topped windows, with simple white drapes, while the panels in between the windows were decorated with a geometric pattern by the renowned designer Robert Adams. There was carpet on the floor, and the end walls were adorned with huge gilt-framed mirrors. It was all so splendid and exciting. She would be the envy of not only her sisters once they knew, but of all Meryton too. Elizabeth turned to Darcy and clapped her hands in glee.
It pleased him to see Elizabeth so happy. After what she had endured these last few weeks, she deserved to be spoilt. Besides, seeing her happy, made him happy too.
Only the crème da la crème was permitted to attend the Wednesday ball at Almack’s. And Elizabeth, being a first-time visitor, was the hot topic for the gossips. Most of the revellers knew very little about her, other than she was Darcy’s fiancée. They hid their faces behind their fluttering fans and whispered to each other about the style of her dress, her deportment, her reputed beauty. If Darcy or Elizabeth heard any of it, they did not acknowledge or react to it, but merely continued on their course. However, he did expect, if past experience was anything to go by, that the majority of their inquisitors to be the she-wolves of society, not the wolves. But, Darcy was, as ever, prepared to defend what was his.
Many of the revellers were mothers with marriageable daughters in tow. They were openly amazed to see the master of Pemberley in attendance. Darcy rarely attended Almack’s, and only ever as a guest of the Prince Regent, who, of course, needed no voucher. So, for him to be here tonight, and with a lady, was quite a unique occurrence. There was also speculation about who had sponsored his visit, but this question at least was soon to be answered.
Darcy took Elizabeth by the hand and brought her to stand before a group of distinguished-looking women. He bowed lower than she had ever seen him do before, and she adjusted her curtsy to reflect his salute. Darcy then stepped forward and kissed the hand of a once-beautiful woman. Her hair was almost all grey now, but a hint of raven black was still visible at her temples. Her mature beauty was still evident, and her eyes were bright and alert.
“Lady Sarah, may I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Elizabeth, this is Sarah, Countess of Jersey and senior patroness of Almack’s. Sarah is our benefactor tonight. She kindly allowed me to bring you here without a voucher.” Again, bowed his head in acknowledgement of her benevolence.
“How could I refuse? You are an enigma to society, Darcy. I seldom break the rules, but the chance of some clarity on your character convinced me to do so.”
She turned to Elizabeth and continued,
“You know, my dear, society likes nothing more than a mystery, and you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, are certainly a mystery.” And she tapped her fan on his shoulder in a playful reprimand.
Elizabeth looked at Darcy and gave a puzzled smile. Looking back to the countess, she asked,
“How so, madam?”
Sarah leant closer still, and then said in a conspiratorial tone,
“Fitzwilliam is handsome, wealthy and unwed, yet since his coming of age, he has shunned all the debutants society has to offer. Do you know, my dear, not one hint of scandal has been attached to Darcy’s name, ever? How is that, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth hoped her demeanour did not betray that she knew otherwise.
“Perhaps, ma’am, Mr Darcy is a man without fault,” replied Elizabeth and then she beamed her brightest and most playful smile at them both.
The Countess took a moment to repeat Elizabeth’s words.
“Darcy, a man without fault?”
Elizabeth watched with trepidation until she saw the start of a grin appear on Lady Sarah’s face.
“Yes, I do believe you are right Miss Bennet. I declare that I can think of no faults that I can attribute to the Master of Pemberley. What do you say to that, Darcy? Do you see yourself as a man without fault?” Lady Sarah asked playfully.
Darcy felt uncomfortable with all the attention directed towards him, but to be churlish would draw even more attention his way.
Taking just a minute to formulate his reply.
“As we all know, Lady Jersey, there is no such thing as a man without fault. I have no doubt that many people would say that I have many faults. My tailor may say that I am too particular about the cut of the cloth. The cobbler who makes my boots may say that I am too selective about the leather he uses. And I am sure Fletcher, my valet, would say I am too pedantic when dressing. These are all faults, madam, but none that I would draw attention to. Perhaps, my only real weakness is that in the past I have been accused of being prideful. However, Miss Elizabeth has softened my opinion on many things, and I now view the world in possession of a much happier disposition.”
And as if to prove his point, he bestowed them both with a radiant smile.
Lady Sarah laughed heartily.
“Bravo, Darcy, the perfect reply.”
Relieved that his reputation had survived unscathed, Darcy made their excuses and escorted Elizabeth to the supper room. He procured them both a glass of lemonade and then scanned the room. Darcy acknowledged the many hails directed to him with only a slight incline of his head. He had no intention of wasting the evening introducing Elizabeth to other people. Tonight, was for them, and them alone.
Elizabeth looked down at the day-old bread covered with a scraping of butter, and the plain, un-iced cakes. She had read about the unappetizing fare served at Almack’s but thought it an exaggeration. Clearly, it was not. She now understood why Darcy had insisted she enjoy a full dinner before they left; the food here certainly left a lot to be desired.
Almack’s only permitted country dances, which was a blessing. He knew Elizabeth was a consummate dancer, as was he, but the more intricate modern dances that were being introduced were quite intimate. He could not vouch for his temper if another man were to place his arms around her waist.
Darcy took her hand and led her out for the first dance. From the corner of his eye, he observed several people, both men and women, raise their eyeglasses. Darcy did not suffer crowds well. A surfeit of individuals, all chattering, creating a din, was an assault on one's ears, as well as one’s senses, and it irritated him excessively. Yet, for Elizabeth’s pleasure, he would tolerate it for one night.
The dance concluded, and they both clapped their hands politely.
Over the next few hours, Darcy reluctantly permitted a few select gentlemen to escort Elizabeth onto the dance floor. During these moments apart, he circled the room, ensuring she was never from his view.
Elizabeth sensed, rather than knew that Darcy was watching her, but she but did nothing to acknowledge it.
She had bowed to his superior knowledge and let him pick her partners; she was enjoying herself too much to take offence. After covering the dancefloor with several fellow revellers, including Darcy again, she began to feel tired. During their last dance together, Darcy had noticed the lightness of her steps falter. Deciding it was time for them to leave, he thanked the countess for allowing their unscheduled attendance, and then had the carriage brought around.
Elizabeth settled back into the comfortable sprung seat and watched sleepy-eyed as Darcy placed a blanket around her legs. She felt content and happy, and as the carriage gently swayed, the tiredness that had slowed her steps threatened to overcome her consciousness. Only a few minutes into their journey, and after a valiant attempt to stay awake, she gave in willingly.
Darcy took the seat opposite Elizabeth and told the driver to
take a sedate ride back. He gazed at the now-sleeping Elizabeth, her features relaxed and at peace. Her long, dark lashes that so perfectly framed her eyes were now resting on her moon kissed cheeks, and her soft, full lips were curved into an inviting bow. As she slept, her chest rose and fell in an exact rhythm. She was a vision of loveliness, and Darcy felt an overwhelming urge to take her in his arms. Not to kiss her this time, but to protect her.
As they rounded a bend in the road, her head tipped to one side and banged against the carriage window frame.
With the perfect excuse, Darcy moved to sit next to Elizabeth. Gently, so as not to wake her, he drew her into the curve of his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. Many times, he had imagined cradling Elizabeth in his arms, but always in the afterglow of their lovemaking. As she snuggled into the crook of his arm, Darcy knew he could love no other as he did, Elizabeth Bennet. She was his soul mate, and he hoped, one day, that she would feel the same about him.
When they drew up at Airwhile House, Darcy was reluctant to wake her, so content had he been with the arrangement, but wake her he must. He bent his head and placed a light kiss on the tip of her nose.
Elizabeth raised her hand and made as if to brushed away the invisible irritant, then returned to the comfort of Darcy’s embrace.
Again, he kissed her nose, and then softly called,
“Elizabeth my love.”
She stirred a little but did not wake.
Elizabeth’s willingness to snuggle up to him was a dream come true. Filled with a rush of love and desire, he gently brushed her lips with his own.
Elizabeth gave a soft moan as her eyelids fluttered open, bringing him into focus.
“William,” she murmured, her voice husky with longing.
“Elizabeth,” he replied, as he responded to her unspoken invitation and drew her deeper into the circle of his arms. Pausing just long enough to comprehend that she came to him willingly, Darcy smothered her cheeks with tender kisses before claiming the real prize. He cupped her face with his free hand and delivered a passionate kiss that fused their lips together, providing just enough pressure to show her he was in control. As he deepened the kiss, the sweet taste of the lemonade she had drunk earlier, transferred from her mouth to his. Darcy relished her soft, pliant lips, but all too soon a familiar sensation stirred in the pit of his stomach. Hungrily, he took possession of her lips one last time before breaking apart.
To Love Mr Darcy Page 12