Page 7 of Mr. Darcy’s Storm of Temptation (Seasons of A Steamy Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Elizabeth had been home at Longbourn for barely a week, spending her days in happy anticipation of Mr. Darcy's visit, when catastrophe struck. She was in the garden with Jane, telling her sister everything about the engagement, when their mother's wails brought them running.

"We are ruined! Utterly ruined!"

Mr. Bennet stood in the parlor, a letter in his hand, his face grave. "Lydia has eloped from Brighton. With Mr. Wickham."

Mr. Wickham! Elizabeth gasped as the shock of the name, the revelation, hammered her heart.

The man who had tried to elope with Georgiana for her fortune.

The man who had slandered Mr. Darcy throughout Hertfordshire.

The charming deceiver who left debts and broken hearts wherever he went.

And now he had her youngest, silliest sister.

"They left three days ago," Mr. Bennet continued, his voice hollow. "Supposedly for Gretna Green, but Colonel Forster believes they went to London instead. He doubts any marriage is intended."

Elizabeth's mind raced. Without marriage, Lydia would be utterly ruined. The scandal would taint them all. No respectable man would align himself with such a family.

Mr. Darcy. The thought struck her like lightning.

Yes, he had proposed, and yes, she had accepted.

But they had not made a formal announcement.

And she could not force him to tie himself to her shame.

His honor would insist that he keep his vow, but the scandal would fester between them.

It would ruin their happiness as surely as Longbourn's entailment and her parents' vastly different personalities had ruined theirs.

Elizabeth spent a sleepless night wrestling with her conscience. By morning, she knew what she must do.

"I must go to London immediately," Mr. Bennet said wearily at breakfast.

Within the hour, he was gone. Elizabeth immediately went to her room and penned the most difficult letter of her life. She addressed it to Georgiana, hiding the second, true letter sealed inside:

My dearest Fitzwilliam,

The worst has happened. Lydia has run away with Mr. Wickham from Brighton. There is little hope of marriage. You know his character better than anyone. We are ruined.

I release you from our engagement. I could not bear to bring such disgrace to your family, to Georgiana. You must protect your sister and your good name. Please know that I love you and always will, but I cannot allow you to sacrifice everything for me.

Yours eternally, Elizabeth

She sent it express, using her pin money, then collapsed on her bed in tears. To have found such happiness only to lose it to Mr. Wickham's villainy was too cruel.

She did not expect a response, or if one came, she expected it to be a formal acceptance of her release. What she received instead, three days later by express, made her sob with relief:

My beloved Elizabeth,

If you think I would abandon you now, you do not know me at all. Mr. Wickham's actions change nothing between us. You are mine, and I am yours, scandal be damned.

I am already on my way to London t0 meet with your uncle Gardiner. I know Wickham's habits, his haunts, his associates. We will find them. I will ensure your sister is married and your family's reputation preserved.

Do not speak of releasing me again. Nothing could induce me to give you up. Not Wickham, not scandal, not all the world's disapproval. We will weather this storm as we will weather all storms: with unity and love.

All my love, F.D.

P.S. Burn this missive. If anyone knew I was in London seeking Wickham, it might complicate matters.

Elizabeth pressed the letter to her chest, sobbing with relief and love. He would not abandon her. Even now, facing the worst scandal possible, he remained constant.

But doubt crept in during the long days that followed. What if he could not find them? What if Mr. Wickham had already ruined Lydia beyond redemption? What if Mr. Darcy realized, once faced with the reality of their situation, that he could not marry her after all?

She paced her room at night, tormented by nightmares of receiving a letter saying he had reconsidered. In one particularly vivid dream, she saw him at a ball, dancing with an elegant woman while she stood in disgrace, watching from the shadows.

For almost two agonizing weeks, Elizabeth heard nothing. Mrs. Bennet took to her bed with hysterics. Mary sermonized about the wages of sin. Kitty sulked. Only Jane provided comfort, holding Elizabeth when the anxiety became too much.

Then, miraculously, word came: Lydia had been found and married! The letter from Mr. Gardiner explained that Mr. Wickham had been induced to marry for a modest settlement, merely clearing his debts and purchasing his commission.

But Elizabeth knew better. She knew Mr. Darcy had paid whatever price Mr. Wickham demanded. He had purchased her family's respectability with his own fortune.

A week later, when Lydia and Mr. Wickham visited Longbourn on their way to Newcastle, Lydia let slip the truth.

"Oh, it was so amusing!" she giggled. "Mr. Darcy was at our wedding, you know. He stood up with George, practically forced him to the altar! I thought it very good fun, though my George looked rather green. Mr. Darcy said not to tell anyone, but you are my sister, so it hardly counts!"

Elizabeth excused herself, fleeing to the garden to think through all that had happened. Mr. Darcy had not only paid for the dowry but had personally ensured it took place. He had faced the man who had tried to ruin his sister, had stood beside him at the altar, all for her.

She was still in the garden, trying to compose herself, when she heard a carriage approaching. Her heart leaped. Could it be? She ran toward the house, all propriety forgotten, and met him in the entrance hall.

"You came," she breathed.

"I promised I would," he said simply, his eyes drinking her in. "Elizabeth, are you well?"

"Now I am." She wanted to throw herself into his arms but was conscious of her family watching. "Mr. Darcy, what you did, Lydia told me everything."

"She was not supposed to," he said with a small smile. "But I should have known better than to trust her discretion."

"Why?" she asked, tears streaming down her face. "Why would you do so much?"

"You know why," he said softly. "Because I love you. Because your happiness is my happiness, and your pain is my pain. Because we are to be married, and your family will be mine."

Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears at his words. She had to turn away, overwhelmed by the depth of his devotion.

"Even after this scandal?" she managed, her voice breaking. "Even knowing Mr. Wickham will be forever connected to our family? That you will have to see him at family gatherings, acknowledge him as your brother?"

Mr. Darcy crossed to her, turning her to face him.

"I would suffer far worse for you," he said simply.

"Though I confess, standing up with him at the wedding tested even my resolve.

Watching him smirk as he took his vows, knowing what he had attempted with Georgiana.

.." He paused, his jaw tightening. "But then I thought of you, of your family's preservation, and I found the strength to endure it. "

"How can I ever repay such kindness?"

"There is nothing to repay. Love is not a debt, Elizabeth." He took her hands, his thumbs stroking over her knuckles. "Though if you wish to make me happy, you could stop suggesting I might abandon you. My constancy should be beyond question by now."

She laughed shakily, wiping at her eyes. "Forgive me. I still cannot quite believe that you... that someone like you would do so much for someone like me."

"Someone like you?" His voice turned fierce. "You mean the woman who had the courage to refuse me when I behaved abominably? Who opened my eyes to my own arrogance? Who has made me strive to become a better man? Elizabeth, I am the one who cannot believe his good fortune."

Before she could respond, they heard Mr. Bennet's distinctive throat clearing from his study doorway. He had been watching them with an unreadable expression.

"Mr. Darcy," her father said after a long moment, "I believe you wish to speak with me?"

"Yes, sir. If you would be so kind."

Mr. Darcy squeezed Elizabeth's hands once more before releasing them. As he moved toward the study, Mr. Bennet held up a hand.

"Before we begin, Mr. Darcy, I should tell you that I have already received a most interesting missive from my brother Gardiner. He speaks very highly of you, though he admits to some surprise at the attachment."

"Mr. Gardiner is a good man, sir. His concerns were entirely appropriate."

"Hmm." Mr. Bennet studied him. "Well, come along then. Let us see if you can convince me as thoroughly as you apparently convinced him."

The study door closed. Elizabeth stood frozen for a moment, her heart racing, before her mother's voice pierced the air.

"Lizzy! Lizzy, come here at once! Is that Mr. Darcy with your father? What is happening?"

Elizabeth made her way to the parlor where her mother and sisters had gathered, clearly having observed Mr. Darcy's arrival.

"Well?" Mrs. Bennet demanded. "What is he doing here? Oh! Is he... is he asking for you?"

"Yes, Mama."

The shriek that followed could likely be heard in Meryton. "Mr. Darcy! Ten thousand pounds a year! Oh, Lizzy, and to think you disliked him so much!"

"Opinions can change, Mama," Elizabeth said softly, sinking into a chair as her legs suddenly felt weak.

"But when? How? The last I heard, you could not bear to be in the same room with him!" Mrs. Bennet fanned herself vigorously. "Though I always said you were too hasty in your judgment. Did I not always say Mr. Darcy was a fine gentleman?"

"You said he was proud and disagreeable," Mary interjected. "You said Lizzy was well rid of his attentions."

"Nonsense! I never said any such thing!" Mrs. Bennet insisted. "Oh, what will Lady Lucas say? Her Charlotte married to merely Mr. Collins, while my Lizzy will be mistress of Pemberley!"

Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to block out her mother's raptures.

The minutes crawled by. Mrs. Bennet alternated between ecstatic proclamations about pin money and wedding clothes, and nervous speculation about what was taking so long.

Kitty sulked that Lydia had married first, while seeming oblivious to the fact that Lydia's scandal had nearly prevented this moment.

After what felt like hours but was probably thirty minutes, the study door finally opened. Elizabeth shot to her feet, her heart in her throat. Mr. Bennet emerged first, his expression giving nothing away. Mr. Darcy followed, his eyes immediately seeking Elizabeth's.

"Well, Lizzy," her father said slowly, drawing out the suspense, "it seems you have accepted Mr. Darcy. He has been most eloquent about his feelings and most... illuminating regarding recent events."

"Papa?" Elizabeth could barely breathe.

Mr. Bennet's stern expression cracked into a small smile. "He has also been quite persistent in assuring me that your happiness is his primary concern. So tell me, child, will you be happy with this man?"

"Yes, Papa. Completely happy."

"Then I give my consent, though I confess myself astonished at your change of heart. Mr. Darcy has explained some of it, but you must tell me the rest later."

"You give your consent?" Elizabeth asked breathlessly, needing to hear it again.

"How can I refuse the man who saved us from ruin? Though I confess, child, this is not the match I expected for you. He says you love him?"

"With all my heart, Papa."

Mr. Bennet studied her face, then nodded. "Then I am satisfied. Mr. Darcy, you have my blessing. Though I suspect you paid far more for Lydia's wedding than my brother claimed."

"It was necessary," Mr. Darcy said simply.

"It was a fortune," Mr. Bennet corrected. "But I see it was paid from love, not duty. Very well. When do you wish to marry?"

"Three weeks," Mr. Darcy said immediately, his eyes on Elizabeth. "Considering the situation, it would be best to have the banns read instead of applying for a Special License. That way none can say we did not do things properly. If that is acceptable."

"Three weeks!" Mrs. Bennet shrieked. "Impossible! The clothes, the wedding breakfast, the preparations require months!"

"Mama," Elizabeth interrupted. "Three weeks will be perfect."

Mr. Darcy crossed to her, taking her hands in full view of everyone. "Three weeks," he said softly. "And then nothing will part us again."