Page 66 of Companions of Their Youth (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations #9)

D arcy had expected to feel more on the morning before Wickham’s execution.

Dread, perhaps. Or relief. Even a sense of finality. But instead, as he pulled on his gloves and stepped out into the cold December air, he found his mind curiously empty of it all.

It had been a quiet decision—uncomplicated, even. When he had told Fitzwilliam of his choice not to visit Wickham in the gaol, or attend the execution itself, his cousin had simply nodded, somber and unsurprised.

“I think that best,” Fitzwilliam had said.

“I have visited him myself. A few times, out of duty more than anything. But he hardly knew me. His mind wanders—half-mad from the laudanum they drip between his teeth to ease the pain. His jaw is so badly broken he cannot speak anything clear, but he tries. Lord, he tries .”

He had looked away at that, his jaw tight.

“The rage in him—when he sees me—it’s… overwhelming. It’s worse than with the guards, or even Forster. If he saw you , cousin… I do not know if his body could endure what his mind would try to force him to do. And I do not think you should have to see him this way.”

And so, Darcy had let it go.

There were better things to think about—like his wedding in a little over two weeks.

He and Bingley mounted their horses in the light flurries of a pale winter morning. The snow dusted their shoulders and melted on their faces. It was the first Friday of December, and the road to Longbourn gleamed faintly with a thin crust of ice where wheels had passed earlier.

“The banns will be called again in two days,” Bingley said cheerfully as they trotted through the woods. “Second time! Can you believe it?”

Darcy gave a small smile. “Yes. It is, in fact, happening exactly as planned.”

Bingley sighed. “I only wish it were sooner. Why not marry Monday, the day after the third calling? We would be respectable by Tuesday!”

“How many times must this be explained to you, Charles?” Darcy asked with a bit of exasperation.

“Their brother Mark’s term ends on the seventeenth.

He will go to the Gardiners for the remainder of the week, and they will journey here that Friday.

Their original dates were the twenty-third through the thirtieth, but that would leave no time for the wedding until after Christmas.

So, they have adjusted their plans and will be staying from the twentieth to the twenty-seventh instead, which allows us to marry on the twenty-third. ”

“I know, I know,” Bingley said with a groan. “It’s just… it’s such a long wait.”

Darcy only smiled again. He understood. He, too, was impatient in his own way, but he knew Elizabeth would never wish to marry without her brother present.

They arrived at Longbourn not long after, dismounting and brushing snow from their coats as a footman took their horses round the back.

Inside, the drawing room was already full—Mrs. Bennet presiding with animation over two neighbor ladies, their daughters chattering softly over wedding decorations and trimming lace gloves.

Elizabeth sat across the room beside Georgiana, her embroidery forgotten in her lap, her eyes immediately lifting to meet his as he entered. Her cheeks tinged pink as he gazed at her with warmth, and he wondered what was going through her mind that caused her to blush.

He crossed to her without hesitation.

“You have snow on your boots,” she said with a smile, rising to greet him.

He gave a slight bow, reaching up to brush it away. “Then I hope it at least makes me look suitably dashing.”

“It made you look cold,” she retorted, but her tone was teasing. “Come, sit—Georgiana was just telling me about her newest project.”

Darcy took the seat beside her as Georgiana glanced up from her own needlework, her face lit with eager animation.

“I have been helping Sarah make winter clothes for some of the tenant children,” she said. “There are two little ones who had nothing but torn linen and old stockings. Their father is a tenant but uses all their funds for drink, and their mother did not know where to turn.”

Darcy blinked. “You are sewing for tenant children?”

Georgiana nodded, proud and shy all at once. “Sarah taught me how to patch sleeves. I am still rather poor at mittens, but Elizabeth showed me how to line the seams with flannel.”

Elizabeth added, “She has quite the eye for detail. And the youngest Crowley boy insisted on calling her ‘Miss Angel’ when she brought him a scarf.”

Georgiana turned pink, ducking her head.

Darcy looked between them, deeply moved. Only a month ago, his sister was throwing tantrums and attacking her companion—she would never have acknowledged a tenant’s existence, let alone volunteer to sew garments for them. Now she was glowing with purpose, her hands busy, her voice sure.

He reached over and lightly touched her arm. “I am proud of you.”

Her eyes flickered up to his, wide and startled, then softened. She gave a small, warm smile.

And then—

The front door opened. A gust of cold air swept in.

A voice called cheerfully from the foyer, “Is the whole family home, or have I interrupted some very important talk of bonnet trimming and shoe roses?”

“Mark?” Elizabeth’s head turned sharply. “Mark!”

Darcy looked up as the young man entered, snow clinging to his shoulders, his cheeks ruddy from the wind, his grin familiar… and entirely unexpected

Elizabeth rose so quickly her sewing fell to the floor. “What—what are you doing here?”

Mrs. Bennet gasped. “Oh heavens! Did something happen to the Gardiners?”

Mr. Bennet stood as well, sharp-eyed. “Were you sent down?”

Mark blinked at the barrage of questions, raising both hands in protest. “No! No, nothing like that. Everyone is well. And I am not in trouble, I swear.” He glanced about the room.

“I simply received enough letters this week to fill a trunk, and the reports were so wildly different I hardly knew what to believe. I decided it would be best to come see for myself. And… to see that my sister is well. My professors were gracious enough to grant me leave for two days.”

Elizabeth stepped forward and embraced him tightly. Darcy watched her face soften with a look he rarely saw—deep affection, slightly unguarded.

Introductions were made. Mark greeted the neighbor ladies and bowed politely to Georgiana, who blushed and offered a murmured welcome. The girls tittered behind their fans.

Darcy, observing quietly from the sideboard, studied him.

He was trim, good-humored, handsome in the careless way of someone who had never had to court attention. He joked easily with the ladies, but not too easily. His glances at the young men in the room were just as fleeting. Nothing overt. Nothing certain.

Is he the reason , Darcy wondered, that Elizabeth so fiercely defended the morality of men who… love differently?

But if so, there was no sign. Nothing he could point to. Mark behaved in the same way all young men did.

“Well,” Mark said at last, clapping his hands together, “now that I am warm again, I should like to steal my sister for a bit of air. We have important twin things to discuss—secret, sacred things.”

Laughter broke out around the room.

Mrs. Bennet wrung her hands. “Oh, but the weather! You will catch your death!”

Elizabeth grinned. “I think a walk sounds exactly right. If Mr. Darcy does not object to my abandonment?”

Darcy straightened and nodded. “Of course not, but only for a beloved family member.”

The dazzling smile she sent his way caused a jolt somewhere in his navel. Oh, how he loved her.

Mr. Bennet stepped forward and placed a hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “Come along, then. I will keep you occupied with a game of chess while those two air out their conspiracies.”

Darcy cast one more glance after Elizabeth as she slipped out of the room beside her brother, her arm tucked in his.

He followed Mr. Bennet toward the study.

But he could not help but wonder what twin things might really be discussed.

∞∞∞

The cold air caught in Elizabeth’s throat as they stepped into the fading afternoon.

The flurries had turned heavier, brushing against her lashes, clinging to the hem of her cloak.

Mark tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they set off along the narrow gravel path that wound toward the hedgerow beyond the garden.

She waited until they were out of sight of the windows before speaking.

“Now then,” she said briskly, “tell me the real reason you came.”

Mark arched a brow at her. “That was the real reason. My twin sister nearly died in a violent altercation and is now engaged to a taciturn man who once insulted her appearance in a fit of pique. Forgive me if I felt the need to see it all with my own eyes.”

Elizabeth gave him a look, but her lips twitched.

Mark pressed on, his voice softer. “You hardly wrote. Everything I heard came from others—scattered letters, reports through the Gardiners, whispered gossip from acquaintances. And then suddenly you are engaged. I needed to be sure you were safe… happy.”

She sighed and leaned her head briefly against his shoulder. “I am.”

They walked a few steps more, the snow crunching faintly beneath their boots.

She told him everything—Wickham’s arrival in Meryton, his lies, the night of the ball, and the terrifying confrontation that followed. His expression darkened as she described the pistol, the poker, and the moment when she believed she would die.

“And Darcy—he and Colonel Fitzwilliam burst in just as…” She shook her head. “I do not even know what might have happened if they had not come.”

Mark exhaled. “I cannot decide whether I wish to shake his hand or punch him for letting things go so far.”

Elizabeth smiled. “You may do neither. It truly was not his fault.”

They walked in silence for several minutes, then he said, “There is one other thing I wish to discuss, but I am uncertain as to how to broach the topic—it is not entirely fit for a lady’s ears.”

She gave him a dry look. “You forget to whom you speak. We were naked in our mother’s belly together.”

He chuckled once, then sobered. “It’s about Father. And Stephens. I… I have no proof, only suspicions, but—”

She turned sharply to face him. “You know about Papa and Stephens?”

Mark blinked. “Wait. You know?”

They stared at one another for a long moment. “What… what exactly do you know?” he finally asked.

“That they are… more than master and servant.”

“And Papa told you this?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No. I discovered it—by accident. Do you remember the day Cousin William pushed you from the tree, and I ran to find Papa to get help?”

Mark’s brow furrowed. “Of course I do.

“Well,” she said softly, “when I ran back, I did not knock on the door to the study—I simply burst in. I did not mean to interrupt, but I was panicked. And I saw them… kissing.”

Mark went still, stunned into silence. At last he said, “We were only ten.”

“Yes, and Papa did not explain anything until we turned fifteen. He knew I was not old enough to understand.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… had my suspicions. Looks, glances. The way they spoke in quiet tones when no one else paid attention. But I thought perhaps I imagined it. Or that it was only on one side.”

“It is not,” Elizabeth said gently. “They are careful, but they are devoted.”

Mark looked away, then back at her with narrowed eyes. “And you have kept this from me for ten years?”

She raised a brow. “And how long have you kept certain things from me , dear brother? Such as what happens on your late nights in town with certain ‘school friends’?”

A wash of color crept into his face. “That is not the same.”

“No?” she said lightly. “Then we are both guilty of guarding what we are not ready to speak aloud.”

He was quiet for a time, thoughtful.

She paused a moment before continuing. “I have had the same concerns you do. About Darcy. About what he would say or do if he found out after we were wed.”

“What did I you decide?”

She shrugged. “Nothing, as of yet. I realized it was not my secret to tell, so I brought it to Papa. He said he would speak with Stephens and decide what to do.”

Mark’s gaze sharpened. “Has he done so?”

“Not yet. He asked for a week to think. The week is not quite over.”

He nodded, but his jaw was tight.

They turned back toward the house as snow began to drift more heavily. Elizabeth exhaled, her breath a pale cloud in the air.

“Will you stay until the wedding?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. As it is, it took quite a bit of convincing to come just this short time. I must return to London tomorrow. If I miss my end of term examinations, I will be saddled with a tutor or, worse, not allowed to return next year.”

She laughed faintly. “That would be a tragedy.”

He grinned. “It would. I intend to delay my domestic captivity as long as possible.”

Elizabeth laughed, but her heart ached a little all the same. It had always been this way—he would come, he would go—and she would be left wondering whether they had said everything they needed to.

By the time they returned to the manor, the firelight spilling from the drawing room made the cold outside feel like a distant dream. Laughter rang from within, and the scent of nutmeg and tea wafted through the air.

Elizabeth unfastened her cloak and handed it to the maid, along with her bonnet, then paused in the doorway to the parlor. “Where is Mr. Darcy?”

Mrs. Bennet looked up from the tea tray, mid-sentence in a lively tale to one of the visiting matrons. “In with your father, dear.”

Elizabeth nodded and turned toward the hall, her fingers trailing lightly along the polished edge of the sideboard as she walked.

She had no idea what conversation she might be walking into—or if her father had reached a decision about the truth that weighed on them both.

But one thing was certain: she needed to know.

And if nothing else, she would see Darcy again.

Her hand hesitated only a moment before she reached for the study door.