Page 62 of Out of His Wits (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

The world tilted suddenly. The knife slipped from her nerveless fingers as her knees buckled. She had a brief impression of Bingley’s alarmed face before stronger arms caught her, pulling her against a solid chest.

“Elizabeth.” Darcy’s voice was rough with concern. He had crossed the distance in two strides, abandoning Wickham to the Colonel without hesitation.

He cradled her against him, her fingers clutching instinctively at his coat. The scent of wool and leather filled her senses, grounding her as the lane stopped spinning.

“We have him,” the Colonel shouted from behind them.

“Stay with Miss Bennet, Darcy. We shall deliver this miscreant to the gaol.” Wickham was bound and hauled to his feet—bleeding, furious, and cursing without restraint.

His threats and protests filled the air as they half-carried, half-dragged him to the Colonel’s mount.

“Can you stand?” Darcy asked quietly, his breath warm against her temple.

She nodded, though when she tried to straighten, her knees buckled treacherously. His arm tightened around her waist, taking her weight as though it were nothing.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, mortified by her weakness.

“There is nothing to forgive.” His free hand came up to steady her, and she realised he was trembling too—not from exertion, but from something else entirely.

“I have never known such fear as when I heard your cry,” Darcy said into her ear.

He drew her more securely into his arms. Her cheek pressed against the steady beat of his heart as her composure gave way. His hand smoothed over her hair, his arms firm about her.

“You are safe now,” he murmured. “He cannot harm you.”

The simple assurance undid her tears. She clung to his coat, desperate to anchor herself, overcome by the realisation of what might have befallen had he not arrived.

“I cannot seem to stop shaking,” she whispered.

“That is natural after such an experience.”

They stood so for several moments. Her breathing gradually slowed to find a rhythm against the rise and fall of his chest. The strength of him, the nearness of him, made her wish he might never release her. She felt his handkerchief against her hand and leant back to dry her tears.

Elizabeth looked at him then—truly looked.

There was no triumph, no reproach—only presence, only care.

He had come for her, acted swiftly, and regarded her now with a quiet solicitude she scarcely knew how to meet.

Mr. Darcy, here in a dusty lane, holding her as though she were precious, speaking of his fear of what might have happened to her.

Her heart, still racing from the encounter, fluttered for another reason entirely.

When at last she pulled back slightly, he kept his hands upon her shoulders, watching her with an intensity that brought heat to her cheeks.

“Shall I send for your father? Or the vicar—he keeps a fine bottle of hartshorn—”

“No.” Her voice was stronger now. “I need nothing but a moment. How did you know to come?” she asked.

“We had word that Wickham was sheltering nearby. We were by the opposite road, and he reached you first.” His tone carried a weight she could not mistake. “I suspected his purpose, though not the manner of it. I knew the danger, and yet I was not here when I should have been.”

“You could not have foreseen his malice.”

“I knew his character. That was enough.”

“You came when I needed you,” she said quietly. “That is all that matters.”

Elizabeth studied his face. He was furious, that much was clear.

But not at her. At Wickham, at himself, at the circumstances that had placed her at risk.

She saw his glance flick toward the blood on the path.

“Pray do not allow me to forget I ought never to startle you near sharp objects,” he managed, attempting levity.

Her own lips curved despite her shock. “It was hardly Juliet’s dagger, yet I flatter myself the effect was no less decisive.”

His expression softened, and for an instant she thought she glimpsed admiration in his eyes—admiration so unguarded it stole her breath.

“Indeed. I am certain your ending promises to be far happier than hers.” His hand came up to her face, his thumb brushing away a tear.

The gesture was so tender, so unexpected.

“Elizabeth,” he said, low and wondering, as though he could not quite believe she was safe.

The sound of approaching footsteps made them both aware of their position. She stepped back reluctantly, already missing his warmth, allowing the proper distance between them just as Mr. Whitmore ran towards them followed by his wife.

“Miss Elizabeth, please, you must sit. Come, to the vicarage and sit. We brought some tea in a flask,” Mrs. Whitmore uncorked a bottle and poured a large amount into a metal cup.

Mrs. Whitmore handed her the cup and fluttered around her.

“You poor dear, now, take this cup, strong tea, plenty of free grown sugar. We make do very well with East India sugar, though it is somewhat dearer - but what price can one place upon Christian conscience? Shall we send the boy for Mr. Hill to attend you home? Oh, I see, Mr. Darcy is still present. Sir, might I impose upon you to escort Miss Elizabeth back to Longbourn after she has had her tea? I cannot condone her walking out alone after such a shock. Such a dreadful man, and right by my house! I rue the day this militia came to Meryton.”

When Mrs. Whitmore stopped to draw breath, Mr. Darcy solemnly swore that he would see Elizabeth safely home and praised the vicar’s actions in coming to Miss Elizabeth’s aid.

Just then, Miss Bennet and Mr. Bennet appeared behind them in a cart.

“Lizzy, we will take you home. Mr. Bingley came to tell us the terrible events. Are you quite well?” Mr. Bennet peered into her face, his own complexion quite pale.

Elizabeth was fussed over and nearly carried out to the equipage waiting along the path to the vicarage

As they turned onto the road, Elizabeth looked back. Darcy stood watching, his gaze following her. His expression was unreadable.

Colonel Fitzwilliam flung his gloves on the table, then fell into the chair next to Darcy’s.

“That was at once the most satisfying and most disturbing interrogation of my career.”

“Has all been settled?” Darcy asked.

“Not quite all, but Wickham has been stripped of his commission, sent in chains to the gaol, and will be charged with attempting to murder you and the rest of the Netherfield party,” the Colonel said.

“Murder? Good God, that was truly his intent?” Darcy asked, his pulse accelerating.

“I cannot say. His anger may have exceeded his sense. Wickham spoke with all the rancour of a man with nothing left to lose—which quite accurately describes his situation. It seems he was tremendously rankled after Ramsgate. He had pockets to let and no means of support. He joined the regiment, using an assumed name to avoid creditors. Hardly a surprise that. But he had learned of your presence in the county and was determined to do as much damage as he could to you. He blames you for every misfortune he ever brought on himself. With you out of the way, he was dreaming he could entrap Georgiana and then take control of Pemberley itself.”

Darcy stared at his cousin. His face drained of colour.

“Must I fetch a smelling-salt? He failed, as always. I did not anticipate such conduct from him, though Wickham has grown increasingly imprudent with each passing season. He displays a most remarkable want of understanding; however, if he truly believed he might secure Pemberley with such ease. He would have been obliged to contend with me, my father, my brother, and even Lady Catherine de Bourgh before such an eventuality could come to pass. To say nothing of your dear sister’s quite altered sentiments regarding his character. ”

“As dear as Pemberley is to me, I would be more concerned about being murdered- and of course poor Georgiana.”

“It is well that Wickham’s recklessness underlies all his efforts.

He chose the wrong species of mushroom. Had he a bit more gumption, he would have seen that there are death cap mushrooms hereabout- much more easily exchanged for common field mushrooms than the liberty caps.

Or perhaps he might have found a few Destroying Angels in the birch woods. ”

Darcy held up a hand. “Thank you for the lesson in fatal fungi. I believe I would rather not know how closely he came to killing us all. What of the poor scullery Harding was planning to transport?”

“All forgotten. Harding withdrew the referral to the Assizes, claiming that he knew she was not capable of such treachery, and only accused her to flush out the true culprit. A poor lie, but convenient enough for his dignity. Mr. Bennet will not permit charges to be laid against Wickham for the assault upon Miss Elizabeth. He fears that any account of Wickham approaching her unaccompanied—and of her formidable defence—would only provoke further talk.”

Darcy looked up as if to object, then, after a moment shook his head and was silent.

After a moment, Fitzwilliam asked, “Have you seen to Miss Bennet?”

“Not since the vicarage.”

His cousin waited.

“I intend to call upon her father,” Darcy said at last. “There are matters which need to be addressed.”

Fitzwilliam’s expression altered. “Why her father now?”

“Because the rumours are vile. Her reputation is endangered by my actions—however unintentionally—her father deserves an explanation.”

“He is not the one most affected.”

“He is her guardian.”

“She is a woman grown, and the person most wronged. If you are sincere in wishing to make amends, you must begin with her.”

Darcy turned to face him. “What would you have me do? Appear before her uninvited, unwanted, and press my explanation upon her whether she wishes to hear it or not?”

“I would have you respect her judgement enough to let her decide whether to receive you. Not act as though her feelings are best managed by way of her father.”

Darcy’s mouth compressed.

“I do not wish to cause further embarrassment.”

“Or you wish to avoid being embarrassed.”

Darcy’s gaze hardened.

Fitzwilliam did not soften his tone. “You believe you are being honourable. I believe you are avoiding the more difficult path.”

“I will not have this turned into a question of cowardice.”

“Then do not behave like a coward.”

The silence that followed rang like struck metal.