Page 51

Darcy House, London - Darcy

A s Elizabeth’s wedding day approached, Darcy’s efforts grew increasingly desperate.

His time in London had been spent pursuing every possible avenue - consulting lawyers about the entail on Longbourn, searching for any legal irregularity that might delay the marriage, even investigating Collins’ background for anything that might make him an unsuitable match.

But each path led nowhere. If it had been just Elizabeth’s reputation at stake, he would have begged her to break the engagement, weathered the scandal, and married her immediately.

But with her sisters’ and his sister’s futures and her family’s security hanging in the balance, he could not ask her to risk everything on his account, nor could he do that to Georgiana.

Even if Elizabeth agreed, Collins could sue for breach of promise, leaving her entire family ruined.

Doctor Russell’s presence in Hertfordshire had at least served multiple purposes.

Though officially there to chaperone Georgiana, his attention to Jane Bennet had finally spurred Bingley to action.

More crucially, as a physician, he had been able to properly assess Mr Bennet’s condition.

His reports were grim - the gentleman’s health was declining rapidly, confirming Darcy’s worst fears and validating Elizabeth’s desperate haste to secure her family’s future through marriage to Collins.

When Georgiana had requested ponies and a phaeton for herself and Elizabeth, Darcy had sent them without hesitation, grasping at any connection, however tenuous.

Between Russell’s presence, Georgiana’s growing friendship with Elizabeth, and Bingley’s engagement to Jane, he had woven a delicate web of connections to the family.

But these small victories were hollow comfort - they did nothing to solve the fundamental problem.

He could see no way to free Elizabeth from her engagement without destroying her and her family in the process.

He had even considered the desperate measure of paying Collins to break the engagement.

But Darcy knew he could never maintain his composure through such a negotiation - the mere thought of Collins smugly naming his price for Elizabeth’s freedom made his hands clenched into fists.

And what good would it do? Collins would hardly keep his silence about being bought off.

The scandal would be devastating, and with Lady Catherine whispering in his ear, Collins would likely demand an astronomical sum only to refuse it.

The man did not possess a shred of decency, and as heir to Longbourn, he held a power over the Bennet family that no amount of money could overcome.

Darcy sighed heavily as he sat down at his desk, staring at the stack of letters from his various contacts, each one failing to provide any useful information about Mr Collins’ past. The names of obscure parishes and long-forgotten curates swam before his eyes, none offering the insight into Mr Collins’ character that he sought.

He had eaten alone and quickly that evening, then returned to his study.

Darcy rubbed his temples, wishing he could uncover something, anything, that might delay Elizabeth’s impending marriage to Mr Collins.

He reached for the decanter again, barely tasting the port as he drained his glass.

Finally, he pulled the bell rope, and within moments his butler appeared.

“Yes, sir?” Williams asked, his face betraying no reaction to the late hour or the decanter on his master’s desk.

“Williams, I am leaving for Netherfield first thing in the morning. Please have Fletcher prepare my things.”

“Very good, sir. Will there be anything else?”

Darcy shook his head, already reaching again for the decanter. “That will be all, Williams.”

He reached for another letter, trying to focus on the words before him, but they blurred together. At last he pushed back from his desk and stood, swaying slightly. Sleep would not come, he knew, but he needed to maintain at least some appearance of dignity when he arrived at Netherfield.

The journey to Hertfordshire passed in a haze.

Darcy barely registered the changing landscape outside his carriage window, his mind fixed on what lay ahead.

He had not written to announce his arrival - better that way.

Bingley would welcome him regardless, and this way there would be no chance of word reaching Elizabeth before he could see her one last time.

He arrived at Netherfield well after midnight, his friend’s surprised but welcoming face the last thing he remembered before collapsing into bed fully dressed.

Dawn found him already mounted and riding toward Longbourn, drawn like a moth to flame to the paths he knew Elizabeth favoured for her morning walks. His head throbbed from the previous night’s port, but the cool morning air helped clear his thoughts as he urged his horse forward.

* * *

Tuesday 17th of March 1812

Longbourn - Elizabeth

“Mr Collins!” Elizabeth’s voice was barely above a whisper.

It was the day before her wedding, and the Bennets had just finished breakfast when she caught sight of her betrothal’s pompous figure approaching the house.

He had come, no doubt, to make one final visit to his “dearest Elizabeth” before claiming her as his bride tomorrow. The thought made her stomach turn.

“Please forgive me Jane, but I cannot - I cannot face him today.” Her voice caught in her throat. It was her last day of freedom, her last chance to be Elizabeth Bennet before that woman vanished forever, replaced by the dutiful Mrs Collins.

Jane squeezed her hand gently. “Go. I will make your excuses,” she whispered, understanding in her eyes.

“Miss Lizzy!” Mrs Bennet’s sharp voice cut through the air.

“Do not be so silly. You cannot hide behind your sister forever. Soon you will be Mrs Collins, living at Hunsford with only your husband for company - at least until the children come.” Her mother’s practical tone made Elizabeth’s skin crawl.

Elizabeth fled, her mother’s voice following her up the stairs as she grabbed her bonnet and shawl.

She barely paused to tie the ribbons before escaping through the side door, choosing her favourite path away from the house - away from her mother’s practicality, away from Mr Collins’ suffocating presence .

Her feet carried her swiftly until Longbourn disappeared from view.

Only then did she slow, turning to look back along the path.

These grounds, these paths - how many times had she walked them?

Every tree, every bend in the stream held memories of a happier time.

Soon she would write to her friends about her new life at Hunsford, but letters were a poor substitute for the easy familiarity of home.

And Papa… the thought caught in her throat.

Tomorrow would likely be the last time she would ever see him.

“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth.”

The deep voice behind her made Elizabeth start.

She had thought to herself alone with her thoughts, but she didn’t need to turn around to identify its owner.

That voice had haunted her dreams too often of late, though she had believed its owner was still in London.

Drawing a steadying breath, she turned slowly and dropped into a slight curtsy.

“Mr Darcy.” She fought to keep her voice steady, distant. “I thought you were still in town?”

He sat astride his horse, his tall figure silhouetted against the morning sky.

In one fluid motion, he dismounted, gathering the reins and whip in one hand.

His hat dropped unheeded to the ground as he extended his arm to her.

Elizabeth remained rooted to the spot, refusing the offered gesture.

Only then did he break the heavy silence between them.

“I found that I was unable to stay away.” His voice was rough with emotion, the words seeming to escape against his will.

Elizabeth turned to leave, but his hand caught her arm, the touch gentle yet insistent.

She meant to object, to pull away, but when she met his eyes the words died in her throat.

The depth of emotion there - the raw desperation and sadness - stole her breath.

It was too much like the feelings she had been trying so desperately to suppress.

“Please, Mr Darcy, let me go.” Her voice trembled despite her efforts to steady it, unwanted tears threatening to fall. “No good can come from this. Return to London. Please.”

“I cannot do that.” He moved closer, his grip on her arm tightening slightly. The scent of port lingered on his breath, betraying his sleepless night. She could feel the slight tremor in his hand where it held her.

“And why not? You are your own master,” she challenged, her voice rising despite herself. “You can go where you want, do what you want.” The words were bitter on her tongue - she had no such freedom.

“But I am not.” He leaned closer, his face mere inches from hers. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought he meant to kiss her. “Do you not see? There is a hold over me that I cannot break, no matter how I try. It is stronger than I am, and I must do what it commands, whatever the cost.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. She could feel the warmth of him, see the conflict raging in his eyes. If he kissed her now, she knew she would be lost.

“The cost is too great, Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth forced herself to step back, though his grip on her arm prevented her retreat. “There is no way out. The path lies before us both, and we have no choice but to walk it.”

His grip tightened convulsively, as if she were physically slipping away from him. Pain shot through her arm and she cried out, the sound sharp in the morning air. For a moment, neither of them breathed.