Page 2 of Disarmed

He was disturbed from his reverie by the stomping of boots, then the dragging of furniture across the floor. Miss Lydia had pulled a wooden chair near the doorway, allowing her to look out and no doubt make her escape as soon as the rain stopped.

“Miss Lydia, where are your sisters? Your mother? Surely you did not come out alone?”

She scowled at him but did not answer, turning back again to the rain, and he did not have the patience to persist in his enquiries, instead slipping into his own thoughts.

As had been the case for many weeks, those thoughts centred on one woman—the vastly more enchanting sister of the girl across the room.

Did Miss Elizabeth know that her fifteen-year-old sister was out alone?

Of course, Miss Elizabeth walked alone often, but she was five years older and not in the habit of entertaining scoundrels in secluded cottages.

She had more sense than that—did she not?

How did Miss Elizabeth feel about her sister’s behaviour?

Would she approve of his interference? He let out an audible sigh.

If she knew of the miscreant’s history, then of course she would approve.

Not even a family as indifferent to propriety as the Bennets would wish for a daughter to be involved with such a reprobate.

But the Bennets did not know of his history. Darcy was the only person in the neighbourhood who knew the danger, and damn it, his deeply-held sense of obligation forced him to intervene.

He took a deep breath and tried a softer tone, imagining Georgiana in place of the young Bennet girl. “Did Wickham propose marriage to you, Miss Lydia?”

Despite the gentleness of his tone, her face was hard when she turned to him, unafraid of meeting his eyes. “Yes,” she said defiantly. “Well…not in so many words…yet. But as soon as he has the money, then we shall marry.”

Darcy worked hard to keep his expression neutral. “And where exactly do you suppose this money will come from?”

The little chit had the audacity to laugh at him. “You, of course, Mr Darcy. George says that you may have stolen his living from him, and he does not want it any longer—why would a man wish to wear a stuffy black robe when he can dress in regimentals instead—”

“Your point, madam?” said Darcy, exasperated.

Miss Lydia tossed her head, then leant forwards, her eyes narrowing. “George says he is owed compensation for the living, and he means to get it.”

An icy coldness swept through Darcy’s body. He spoke through clenched teeth, all thought of treating the girl with gentleness forgotten. “And how, may I ask, does he intend to do that?”

Miss Lydia laughed. “Well, I am sure I do not know. But George is awfully clever—I should wager he has a plan.”

Darcy relaxed somewhat but remained wary, carefully choosing his words. “And what would you deem suitable compensation for such a living? Say, three thousand pounds?”

The girl’s eyes widened at the amount, and Darcy could see the greed in them, as well as her delight, na?vely believing she had somehow persuaded him to acquiesce. She schooled her features. “Well, I suppose that sounds reasonable,” she said.

Darcy smiled at her. “Good. I paid Mr Wickham exactly that sum when he chose to give up all claim to the living four years ago.”

Miss Lydia stared at him, a variety of emotions warring on her face. “I do not believe you,” she stated, but Darcy could see she was not entirely convinced of her stance.

“Well, you can ask him if you wish. He has a habit of scratching the back of his neck and twisting his coat buttons when he is lying, so you can judge his response for yourself.”

The girl frowned, her gaze drifting to the side for a moment before shaking herself. She glared at him again. “You just wish me to give up George so he will be made unhappy. You do not care about me—you simply hate him.”

Darcy sighed. “You are correct that I hate him. But I do care about you.” Her wide eyes flew to his face, and he quickly continued. “I have seen too many young women hurt by Wickham. I do not wish for you to be another.”

“Wickham? Hurt young women? How ridiculous. It may be that they fell for him and he did not love them in return. He cannot help that.”

“Do you imagine he loves you?”

“Of course he does! We are getting married, remember? Why would he want to marry me if he did not love me?”

Darcy did not particularly want to injure the girl, but he needed to tell her the harsh truth so that she might see through Wickham’s lies.

“He does not want to marry you. He wants you to believe he does so that you will grant him favours. Favours that I imagine he intended to force from you in this cottage today. He has made similar promises to other girls—and in some cases ruined their and their families’ reputations.”

Miss Lydia’s lip curled up, and she snarled at him, “You are a liar, Mr Darcy. George is the most gentlemanly man I know. Whilst you, on the other hand, hurt my sister the moment you arrived in Hertfordshire.” Her arms were folded across her chest, and she looked triumphant.

Darcy stared at her for a moment in confusion. “Explain yourself, madam. I have no idea which sister you are speaking of, nor how I may have wounded her.”

The accursed child stood and walked a few paces towards him, where she gave him a haughty look resembling that of his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh and said, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me .”

Darcy’s stomach dropped to the floor. He was sure he must have paled, and he looked away.

How in the devil had the girl heard that?

He had been concerned that Miss Elizabeth may have heard some of the speech—which of course had been purely intended to put off his friend Bingley’s badgering—but her behaviour at the time had indicated amusement rather than affront.

Had she told her silliest sister of his words?

Had she told all her sisters? His mortification had never been so great!

He cleared his throat. “I am truly sorry if your sister overheard my conversation with my friend. I did not intend to slight her. Bingley wished for me to dance, and I did not want to. I was simply trying to silence the man.”

Miss Lydia laughed, sinking back into her seat.

“Oh yes. We know you did not want to dance. You did not even wish to be introduced. You wanted to put us in our place—to let us know that we were far below the notice of a man worth ten thousand a year .” She said the last with an expression and tone so similar to those of her mother that Darcy almost laughed.

He began to suspect that she was a rather good actress.

And perhaps more observant than he had given her credit for.

The pompousness in his own voice rang in his ears when he replied, and he hated himself for it. “A man in my position must take care not to raise expectations.”

Miss Lydia barked out a laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Oh, do not worry, Mr Darcy, no one in Hertfordshire would want to marry you, even if you were the last man in the world.”

Darcy seriously doubted it. “I imagine your mother would be delighted by the prospect of securing me for one of her daughters. In fact, as soon as she hears you and I have been trapped in this cottage together, she will be beating down my door. I shall tell you now, madam, I will never—”

“My mother?” The girl looked genuinely confused.

“Oh, my mother would never wish you on any of us.” She peered at him.

“Do not look so downcast about it, Mr Darcy. You would never consider taking a Bennet as a wife. We are all far too lively for you. Even Mary, I dare say. And since you think Lizzy is ugly—”

“I never said Elizabeth was ugly!” It was out of his mouth before he had time to think, and he immediately wished it unsaid as Miss Lydia looked at him piercingly for a moment, as though she could see into his soul.

He coughed. “I never said Miss Elizabeth was ugly. As I stated earlier, I simply wished to be left in peace.”

One of the girl’s eyebrows was raised in a manner strikingly like that of her second-eldest sister. The hint of a smile crossed her features. “Well, my mother hates you quite as much as the rest of us do, Mr Darcy. Well, perhaps not as much as Lizzy does…”

No one had ever dared speak to Darcy in such a manner, let alone a young woman so beneath him in consequence.

The insolent child needed a good scolding and to be relegated to the school-room.

In fact, a strict seminary for a few years would be a better choice.

His hands had curled into fists on the arms of the chair, his nails biting crescents into his palms.

Miss Lydia was still speaking. “…never so much as suggested you might be an eligible match. And this is the woman who thinks Mr Collins would make a good husband. Ha! No, Mr Darcy, not even my mother would throw her daughters into your path. She loves us, and you are just a cruel and hateful man!”

The girl had clearly been building up her righteous anger with him during her speech.

He suspected it was due in the main to his alleged mistreatment of Wickham, but perhaps she also felt affronted on her sister’s behalf.

He glanced out of the window, cursing the rain, which was still coming down steadily. When would he be free of this harpy?

Bingley had told him a little about the Bennets’ cousin, whom he had met in Meryton one morning when Darcy had fled from the shock of seeing his nemesis in the town.

“From what I have heard, Mr Collins would be a good match for any decent young woman. He earns a comfortable living and will, I am told, inherit Longbourn upon your father’s death. ”