Page 59 of Companions of Their Youth (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations #9)

The moment was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Sir William Lucas and Colonel Forster entered together, eyes immediately going to the bound figure on the floor and the black, ragged hole in the plaster overhead.

“Good God,” Colonel Forster muttered.

Sir William adjusted his coat and bowed stiffly. “Miss Bennet. Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bennet. Colonel.”

“Thank you both for coming so quickly,” Mr. Bennet said with a nod.

Darcy turned to the footman. “Peter, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please close the door—and do not allow anyone to enter. Not even a member of the Bennet or Bingley family. If someone comes, knock. One of us will speak with them in the hall.”

“Yes, sir.” The young man bowed and pulled the door firmly shut behind him.

Darcy turned back just as Elizabeth took a deep breath. She sat forward slightly, and the torn piece of lace at the bottom of her gown trailing against the floor. Her hands were clenched in her lap, but her voice was calm.

“I will tell you everything,” she said.

Darcy sat beside her in silence as she began to speak.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth sat quietly on the settee, hands folded tightly in her lap as her voice at last fell silent. Her story had been told.

She had spoken clearly, though her limbs still trembled faintly and the aftermath had begun to creep in—her words had recounted the facts, while Darcy had supplied what had happened in the ball and corridor during his search for her.

The room had been still as a church the entire time.

Wickham had stirred once or twice, but his moans were low and pained, and Colonel Fitzwilliam had not hesitated to silence him with a sharp look or twist of the ropes.

When the subject of the letters came up, Elizabeth had chosen her words carefully.

She said only that Wickham had sent threatening notes to Mr. Darcy, hinting at obsession and vengeance, and that he had seemed to be driven by some twisted, personal fixation.

She avoided any mention of love or desire, though she could feel Darcy’s eyes on her in silent gratitude.

She turned her gaze to Sir William Lucas, standing upright and looking grave.

Grave .

She had never seen such a word fit him before. The jolly magistrate of Meryton assemblies, who so often led reels with a ridiculous flourish and delighted in proclaiming everything “capital,” now stood with tight lips and furrowed brows.

The weight of it all—the fear, the struggle, the way her gown now hung from her shoulder, the broken vase and shattered sense of safety—descended on her like a curtain.

She let out a slow, careful breath.

“I am sorry for what has happened,” Colonel Forster began, his voice low and precise, “and I assure you that I will deal with this matter quietly. Attempted murder, deceit, abduction, and assault—not to mention the damage to the army’s honor.

It will lead to a court-martial.” He looked from Darcy to Mr. Bennet.

“And in all likelihood, death by firing squad. His conduct is reprehensible.”

“No leniency?” Darcy asked quickly, his arms tightening slightly around her.

Forster’s jaw tensed. “This is not a drunken skirmish or a dishonorable flirtation. He lured a gentlewoman into a trap and attempted to kill her. If he were simply dismissed from the army, you would be informed—but that outcome is improbable.”

Darcy nodded slowly. “If it comes to that… I should like to send for the notes of debt I have purchased over the years. If Wickham escapes military justice, he shall answer to the civil kind. He owes more than I can count.”

Sir William, still pale, gave a stiff nod. “If he is released for any reason, I will have him arrested the moment his boots leave the gaol.”

Colonel Forster looked at him, then to Darcy and Fitzwilliam, and gave a single, grave nod. “Let us hope for a favorable outcome, then. In the meantime, he cannot remain in this house.” He turned to Sir William. “Do you have a local cell that we might use?”

“Only one, but yes. It has a lock and solid walls; it will serve for the night.”

“Good. Colonel Fitzwilliam, can you assist me in taking this… man to his new accommodations?”

Fitzwilliam glanced at Elizabeth and gave a small bow. “My lady, if I may excuse myself from your presence, I find myself eager to drag this piece of filth by the collar.”

Together, the two colonels heaved Wickham to his feet. He groaned, sagged, and had to be half-dragged toward the door. Sir William followed them, whispering directions about a side entrance, careful to avoid calling attention to the spectacle.

And just like that, the room fell quiet again.

Only three remained.

Darcy stood at her side, his arm still lightly around her shoulders, though he had said nothing. Mr. Bennet regarded them both with a steady, unreadable expression. Then he stepped closer.

“If you had not already asked permission to court my daughter,” he said slowly, “I would be most displeased to find you holding her in such a manner.”

Elizabeth startled. “Papa—!”

He raised one hand to halt her. “As it is, I find myself torn. I could insist that you marry at once, or demand you keep far away from her forever.”

Darcy sucked in a quick breath. “Sir, I assure you—I did not—”

But Mr. Bennet only shook his head, sighing. “No, no, I shall not send you away. My wife would never forgive me if I turned away a suitor with such an income.”

Elizabeth blinked. “Papa!”

“Well, my dear,” he said mildly, “as supper is likely ending by now, it may be just the time to announce your engagement.”

Darcy stiffened beside her. “I have not asked her,” he said quietly. “And she has not agreed. I will not see her pressured—not after what she has endured.”

His words touched something deep in Elizabeth’s chest. She turned to him and whispered, “Would you feel forced? Trapped?”

His eyes softened as he looked at her. “Never. I love you, Elizabeth. I would not have asked to court you if I did not hope—earnestly—that it might end in marriage.”

She felt her heart lift, lighter than it had in days. For a moment, they simply gazed at one another, eyes locked, everything else forgotten.

Then Mr. Bennet gave a polite little cough. “Yes, yes. How very lovely. Now that that is settled, I shall go make both announcements.”

Elizabeth blinked. “Both?”

Mr. Bennet grinned. “Ah yes—Mr. Bingley asked for Jane’s hand just before the supper set began. Then he whisked her onto the balcony before Miss Bingley could interfere.”

“Wait,” Elizabeth said, a smile tugging at her lips, “how did Miss Bingley not interrupt it?”

“Oh, Bingley is more sly than he looks,” her father said. “He told her he heard Mr. Darcy make a disparaging comment about the supper arrangements—something about the place settings being unsuitable. She spent the entire set in the dining room, attempting to order servants to replace the china.”

Darcy laughed aloud. “I said no such thing.”

“But it worked,” Elizabeth said, eyes dancing. “She could not have resisted.”

They both chuckled, but as the laughter faded, Elizabeth looked down. Her torn dress, the dust, the soot-stained hem—everything reminded her that this was no ordinary evening.

“I cannot go back in,” she said quietly. “Not like this. I should create more gossip than even Lydia.”

Darcy’s smile faded. “Then wait here. I will go with your father, and after the announcement, I shall return and help you escape to the carriage unseen.”

She hesitated, her fingers curling slightly in the folds of her gown.

He noticed. “I will leave Peter to guard the door,” he said softly, “and I will ride with you in the carriage, if you would like me to. I know it violates propriety, but given the circumstances…”

She nodded, once.

“No one has asked me,” Mr. Bennet said a bit dryly, “but I would much rather you have protection than go alone.”

With that, Darcy and Mr. Bennet departed, closing the door softly behind them. Peter took up his place outside, and she was alone at last.

Elizabeth leaned back into the settee and let her head fall against the cushions. Her hands, still trembling, rested in her lap. A cold calm had settled into her bones, the adrenaline gone. Now came the weight of it all—the terror, the courage, the rage, and the still-surging confusion.

She was safe.

She was engaged.

She was exhausted.

And yet, somewhere deep within, she felt a bloom of warmth, steady and sure. Darcy had not forced her. He had not assumed. He had only stood by her, quietly, firmly, with love in his eyes and reverence in his touch.

She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly.

It was over.

Almost.