Page 21 of Disarmed

A s they finally strode through the gates of Longbourn, Darcy glanced down at Elizabeth.

She had been all but silent since he confessed to her his dealings with Wickham, including the tale of his sister’s near elopement.

He was not anxious she would betray his secret, but he was convinced he had deeply distressed her.

She had offered sincere condolences for his trials and concerned questions about Georgiana’s health, but since then she had not said another word, seemingly lost in contemplation.

They had reached the front of the house before she finally spoke, addressing not only him but also her sister and Bingley. “I am sorry. I have a sudden headache. I must retire to my room immediately. Please excuse me.”

Miss Bennet offered to accompany her, but she shook her head with a tight smile and strode off hurriedly towards the door.

Bingley turned to him. “Ah, what a shame. Jane and I were about to ask you both to take a turn with us in the garden.” His cheeks overspread with a light pink blush. “We are not quite ready to enter the house yet.”

“I should like to join you—and would also prefer not to be in company just yet. My suitability as a chaperon may be questionable, but I dare say if you stay in sight of the drawing room windows, Mr and Mrs Bennet will be satisfied.”

They strolled around the side of the house, Darcy deliberately keeping his distance from the betrothed pair, and across the lawn, Bingley and Miss Bennet deep in hushed conversation.

Movement to the left caught Darcy’s eye; Miss Lydia was seated alone upon a swing hanging from the branches of a tree in one corner of the garden. He strode towards her.

She eyed his approach warily. “Mr Darcy,” she offered with a tilt of her head.

Darcy gave a short bow then moved to lean with his back against the tree. There, he stood in silence for a few moments, scuffing the dirt with the toe of his boot.

“That was quite the spectacle you created, madam,” he said eventually.

“Me?” Her tone was incredulous, but he detected a waver in it.

“Yes. I suspect you and your friend Sam, and the butcher’s betrayed daughter, concocted a rather elaborate scheme to bring about what we all witnessed this morning.

You did tell me at the Netherfield ball that you intended to find a way to humiliate Wickham.

I did not expect it would be quite so extensive—nor so public. ”

“I do not know what you mean, Mr Darcy,” she said, looking away from him as she leant forwards, then back, swinging herself higher and higher into the air.

Darcy sighed. “When I told you the story of Wickham’s fear of pigs, I was concerned it had ignited the spark of an idea in your mind.

A little collusion with Miss Hodges and the farmer’s son, and your trap was laid, I suspect.

It was an inspired idea to arrange Wickham’s downfall in front of so many people.

” He paused. “The only part I cannot work out is how you planted your uncle’s snuff box on his person. ”

“Oh, that was not me. He must have stolen it himself when the officers called on my aunt and uncle yesterday.” She abruptly stopped her swaying and clapped a hand over her mouth.

The swing slowed and eventually came to a halt as her boots dragged against the ground.

Darcy looked at her with his eyebrows raised.

Despite himself, he struggled not to smile.

“Well, perhaps I may have played a small part,” she admitted. “But it is not my fault that he is so impressible as to submit to my machinations.”

“It was dangerous and could have risked the reputations of more than just Wickham. I am sorry I ever told you of his aversion to pigs.”

“But you are not sorry he was exposed.” It was a statement, not a question, and Darcy could not but agree with it.

“It is a relief that he is no longer able to deceive the good people of Meryton. But I cannot condone how you went about it. Your father would be appalled if he knew, and I feel heartily ashamed of aiding his young daughter in such a folly. I should tell him…”

“But you will not.” Again, it was not a question. She had once again read him correctly. It infuriated him how she was able to do so.

He ran a weary hand over his face. “I shall not. For now. But you must promise me never to do such a thing again.” He gave her a look he hoped was severe. “If I were your brother…”

She smiled and began swinging again. “If you were my brother, then I might allow you to order me about occasionally,” she said, looking sideways at him. “But you would need to convince Lizzy to marry you first.”

Darcy narrowed his eyes. He suspected she was once again tricking him with her words into saying something she wished said.

“Bingley will soon marry your eldest sister. I shall charge him with the task of keeping an eye on you.”

“That sounds like an awfully brotherly thing for you to do.”

Darcy pushed himself away from the tree, glancing towards Bingley and Miss Bennet. “I believe I have neglected my duties as chaperon long enough. And it is about time we joined your parents and sisters.”

“And I am sure you are eager to see Lizzy,” Miss Lydia called from her unsteady perch.

“Miss Elizabeth has retired with a headache. I believe the events of this morning distressed her greatly.” My tale of Georgiana’s brush with Wickham having the worst effect , he added to himself ruefully.

“Really?” Miss Lydia asked. “Then I must see her.”

With that, she launched herself from the still-moving swing, landing nimbly on the ground and scampering past a startled Bingley and Miss Bennet towards the house.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth lay on her bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, tracing the faint cracks in the plaster.

Her mind spun with thoughts she could neither order nor quiet.

Mr Wickham’s face rose unbidden in her memory, and with it came a sickening wave of shame.

How easily she had believed him—how eagerly, simply because his flattery had pleased her and his stories had confirmed her resentment.

She drew a quivering breath. To seduce a child of fifteen…

to destroy Miss Darcy’s innocence and future for the sake of her fortune and to wound her brother so deeply—what sort of man did such a thing?

And what sort of woman was she to have trusted him over Mr Darcy?

The thought twisted inside her like a blade.

Mr Darcy… He had never been the villain.

Her feelings for the gentleman had undergone such a profound change recently that she hardly knew what to make of them.

She had once thought him arrogant and conceited, with a selfish disdain for the feelings of others, but his recent behaviour had proved that he had either changed beyond all recognition or that—and this was far more likely—he had in essentials always been a good man but had acted at variance with his principles due to the trials that had shaped his recent years.

She groaned and turned onto her side. She seemed unable to stop thinking about Mr Darcy, and all her musings seemed to be leading her to the unlikely conclusion that he was, in disposition and talents, more suited to her than any other man she had ever known.

She had always believed him to be learned and intelligent, to be dedicated to his duties and proud of his heritage, but she had also come to see a softer, warmer side to him.

A side that would not allow injustice, a side that wished to help others.

His love for his sister was apparent, but he had also treated her sisters with respect and care.

And they loved him for it. She loved him for it…

But how did he feel about her? She had previously assumed he would not look twice at a woman like her, with no connections, no fortune.

But Lydia’s words had given her hope where none had been before.

Was Lydia right? Did Mr Darcy like her? It frightened her just how much she wanted Lydia to be right…

As if summoned by her thoughts, with nary a knock or a word of warning, her youngest sister burst into the room.

“Lizzy!” she cried, collapsing on the bed next to her and holding her side as if she had run all the way from the garden and up the stairs. “You must come down this instant and speak to Mr Darcy.”

Elizabeth pulled her little sister towards her and tickled her playfully like she used to do when they were young children.

Lydia squealed and batted away her hand.

Her face turned serious. “Please, Lizzy,” she begged.

“If you do not show some interest in Mr Darcy, he will go away to London, and then I shall never speak to you again.”

Her sister’s petulant pout made Elizabeth laugh and pull her in for a hug.

She kissed her cheeks indulgently, and Lydia’s previous stiffness softened, and she squeezed her back.

“I know I was wrong about Mr Wickham to begin with, Lizzy,” she whispered as they held each other close, “but I was also the first one to see him for who he truly is, and it is the same with Mr Darcy. I thought he was a horrible, mean man, but he is actually the very best of men. And I have seen how his eyes get that little soft twinkle when he watches you—which is all the time, by the way. I know he loves you, Lizzy, but you need to give him some encouragement, or I shall have to invent a scheme to lock you both in a room together until your reputations are so utterly ruined that you are forced to marry!”

“Lydia…” Elizabeth said slowly, releasing her sister and sitting up. “Did you also invent a scheme to reveal Mr Wickham’s deceitful character?”

“Pah!” said Lydia sliding from the bed and grasping Elizabeth’s hand, giving it a tug. “I do not even want to hear that man’s name again. Now come on , Lizzy!”

Elizabeth sighed. “Very well,” she conceded, “I shall come downstairs—but on one condition.”

Lydia dropped her hand and gave her a wary look.

“Later, you must tell me everything that has occurred between you, Mr Wickham, and Mr Darcy. Your opinions of both gentlemen, as well as your own character, has changed so much in the past weeks that I know not what to make of any of you!”

Lydia sighed but gave a firm nod. “Oh, very well,” she agreed, and with an indulgent smile, Elizabeth rose from the bed, smoothed out her skirts, and followed her eager sister from the room.