Page 29 of Penned by Mr Darcy (…By Mr Darcy #3)
Darcy
D arcy returned to Netherfield determined that, now, nothing could stop him taking his leave. It was of no consequence that Bingley’s ball was in a matter of days – let it go on without him. He had to return to London, and then he would go on to Pemberley to lick his wounds.
Her words had cut him as deeply as any sword, and he was not sure what to do with the pain that welled inside him. This affection, this love as he perceived it, had come about quite against his will, and now he felt as though he would be destroyed by the weight of his own terrible feelings.
“Mr Darcy, wherever have you been? It is far too early to go out visiting, but I was told that you and Charles went to call upon the Bennet sisters. It cannot be true.”
“Not now. Please.”
“What is the matter?” Caroline asked.
“It is none of your concern.”
He swept past her without any of the usual courtesy, charging up the stairs.
His cases had been returned to where they were stored after his fit of pique yesterday, but they would need to be fetched once more.
He had to leave; now he had returned to Netherfield, the walls seemed to be closing in on him.
His clothes were too tight, his skin both hot and cold. He could not relax, could not think.
He sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, his head lolling forward.
His breath escaped him, his throat tight.
He could not cry; he barely shed a tear for his father - he would not breakdown over this.
It was a folly, a love affair – could it be considered a love affair if only one party held such feelings?
He sat there for some time. The luncheon bell sounded, and he did not move. He heard the chatter of the house continue around him, but he could not move.
Sometime later – he was not sure how much time – the door to his chamber burst open. He lifted his head sharply, turning towards it.
“Thank God you are here.”
“Bingley, I…”
“Hush. Miss Elizabeth returned to Longbourn in a state of utter distress. I did not even realise that she had left the house, nobody did.”
“Yes, I am sure she was.”
“She asked me to pass a message to you. It makes little sense to me, but she was adamant that you be told.”
“Well?”
“She said ‘tell him Mr Wickham saw.’”
His blood ran cold.
“That is all that she said? She did not elaborate?”
“No, that was all that she said. Mr Wickham is the chap we saw in town, isn’t it? The fellow from your childhood. What did he see?”
Darcy stepped closer to Bingley.
“Is she hurt? Did he hurt her?!”
“No. No, she was shaken, but not harmed.”
“I have made a terrible mess of things. I will see this put right.”
“Tell me, man, what has happened? If there is something concerning Miss Elizabeth, you must tell me. After all, she will soon be my family.”
Darcy hesitated.
“I’m sorry?”
“I will ask Miss Bennet to marry me as soon as the ball is over. I wish to let Caroline have her last moment as mistress of the house.”
Darcy blinked at his friend, uncertain whether to be impressed by Bingley’s sudden boldness or alarmed at his haste. The firelight played across Bingley’s face, lending a youthful eagerness to his features, though his eyes, for once, held something steadier than mere enthusiasm.
“Bingley…”
“Do not dare say a word against it,” Bingley interrupted firmly, raising a hand as though to stay Darcy’s inevitable caution.
“I have heard enough. She will make me happy, and I will do my very best to ensure that I do the same. Do not occupy yourself with my fortune or her portion. Tell me instead—what has happened with MrWickham and Miss Elizabeth?”
Darcy exhaled slowly, rising from his chair and pacing toward the window. The night outside was heavy with fog, the kind that obscured everything beyond arm’s reach—fitting, he thought bitterly, for the uncertainty of his present situation.
“She claims it was an accident,” Darcy said at last, his voice taut. “That it fell from my pocket on the driveway as we said goodbye. I followed her, intending only on getting it back. I am a wretch, Bingley. Before I knew what was happening, she was in my arms.”
“Your arms?!” Bingley repeated, springing half out of his chair in horror. “Darcy, please tell me you did not… in a field!”
“I kissed her,” Darcy admitted hoarsely, his hand tightening against the window frame. “That is all. If she says Wickham saw…That is what he saw. I am sure he intends to ruin her to disparage my reputation, caring nothing for hers or her sisters’ future.”
Bingley fell back into his seat, running a hand through his unruly curls.
“Why would he do such a thing? Truly, Darcy, what is the nature of your disagreement with him? I never heard such bitterness between men who were once so closely acquainted.”
Darcy turned slowly. For a moment, he hesitated, unused to unburdening himself. Bingley had always been open-hearted, generous with his trust, but Darcy was not so easy to let others into his darkest secrets.
“I cannot…”
“You are my dearest friend,” Bingley said, his voice quieter now but no less firm.
“Do you think there is any secret you could tell me that I would not take to the grave? Two heads are better than one, Darcy. Perhaps if I know exactly what manner of scoundrel we are dealing with, we can formulate a plan together. I know I am not as logical as you, but sometimes emotion is a tool that can be used too.”
Darcy closed his eyes. Georgiana’s pale, tear-stained face rose unbidden in his mind, the trembling of her hands, her broken voice as she had confessed her folly. The wound was not healed, nor would it ever be, but if Wickham threatened Elizabeth now…
“You are right,” he said at last.
Bingley leaned forward eagerly. “Then tell me.”
Darcy’s words emerged like stones wrenched from his chest. “He tried to elope with my sister.”
“What?” Bingley asked, his jaw slack.
“Elope is too kind a word. He kidnapped her with the intention of taking her to Scotland to wed her.”
“When?”
“This past summer.”
Bingley stared at him, aghast.
“That is why you were so changed when you returned to London.”
“Yes.”
“The bastard! The knave!”
“Yes.”
“Dear, sweet Georgiana. The poor girl,” Bingley said softly, his brow furrowing with compassion. “How fares she now?”
“She is shaken,” Darcy admitted, his voice thickening despite himself.
“In her mind, at the time at least, it was a true elopement, one to which she went willingly. She was only fifteen, with no notion of the cruelty of men. She was woefully unprepared. I blame myself. Her companion at the time was in league with him. They planned the whole thing together.”
“Why?”
“For her inheritance, and the other wealth our family possesses. To hurt me, for I had seen the truth of him long before. The man is motivated only by money, drink, and his own lust. There is nothing good about him. The day I saw him in Meryton…” Darcy shuddered.
“He taints any place simply with his presence. There are a great number of unmarried girls here from good families. He is a threat to each of them.”
Bingley rose then, his usual geniality replaced by a surprising firmness. He crossed the room and placed a hand upon Darcy’s shoulder. His grip was steady, warm, reassuring.
“We will see him gone from here. I swear it to you.”
“He could, at this very moment, be spreading salacious gossip,” Darcy said grimly. “He is clever, manipulative. His charm is his greatest weapon.”
“Then we must ensure that the world knows him for what he is.”
“We cannot. Georgiana would be disgraced if even a hint of the scandal came out.”
Bingley frowned, but determination flashed in his eyes. “You know him well, Darcy. If he has information about you that might cause scandal, I dare say you have the same about him. There must be something you can use as leverage to see that he – and please, excuse my language - pisses off.”
If Darcy had been in a lighter mood, he might have smiled at Bingley’s sudden coarse boldness. Instead, he merely placed his hand over his friend’s, grateful for loyalty.
“This is my fault,” Darcy muttered. “If I had just controlled myself, Miss Elizabeth would have nothing to fear.”
Bingley studied him.
“What now?”
“I’m sorry?”
“What will you do?”
Darcy turned from him, his jaw clenched.
“Will you marry her? You said that you kissed her – and from what I can gather, it was no mere peck. I do not think you to be the same sort of man as him, but one must ask why you were kissing a girl you had no intentions towards.”
The words struck him like an arrow. He inhaled sharply.
“Do you think so little of me? I proposed to her. She said no. Now we must solve this problem, and then I will remove myself from her life forever.”
“She refused you?”
“She did.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
Silence settled between them, heavy as lead. The only sound was the soft crackle of the fire.
“So, what happens now?” Bingley asked gently.
“All that can happen is that I see this business with Wickham concluded,” Darcy said, his voice low, final, “and then I never see her again.”
“If that is what you want, then I cannot stop you.”
“It is.”
“Then let us find a way to rid this place of the scourge, and then you may take your leave.” Bingley squeezed his shoulder once more, his voice softening. “I will be sorely disappointed to see you go, Darcy.”
“I am not dying, Bingley. You will see me again.”
“Not often enough, I fear. You will bury yourself in Pemberley, shut away with your books and your sister, and I shall be left to endure Caroline without your help.”
Darcy’s lips twitched despite himself.
“I daresay marriage will occupy you well enough.”
“True,” Bingley said with a faint smile. Then, more seriously, “Darcy, do not let pride govern you so completely. If you love her, you must…”
“Enough,” Darcy said sharply, though his chest constricted at the truth in Bingley’s words. “This is not about love. It is about honour. I have already failed her once. I shall not again.”