Page 11 of Reckless, Headstrong Girl (Pride and Prejudice Variations #5)
LAMBTON
E lizabeth had visited Pemberley three times and Darcy’s head was spinning.
Her miraculous arrival, her even more miraculous willingness to be in his company, and her perfect kindness to Georgiana swelled his heart to bursting.
He had arrived home benumbed and blighted, turned the corner by the rose garden, and there she stood—the woman he still loved and probably always would love, the woman who had rejected his offer of marriage.
Not willing to waste this unexpected opportunity, Darcy exerted himself to the height of his capacity.
Determined to show her a better side of himself, he also meant to show her that he harboured no ill will.
His early success in pleasing Elizabeth, satisfying though it was, soon felt like a paltry achievement.
He craved her presence, and even though he knew a renewal of his addresses was grossly premature, in spite of all he told himself of patience and biding his time, he found himself galloping off on the fourth day to call on her.
Darcy had nothing in mind other than presenting himself.
He vaguely hoped to be able to walk her down to the shops, or to talk lightly about anything over tea.
His ambition was purely to look at her, and he was thrilled to hear she was in the Gardiners’ private parlour alone.
Darcy expected to see Elizabeth Bennet’s eyes twinkle at him with mischief, as if to tease him for his eager attendance on her.
What he saw instead, however, knocked the breath out of him.
She was bent over a letter, openly weeping!
“Miss Bennet!” he exclaimed as he rushed forward. “What is the matter?”
“Oh, oh…” She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. “Where is my uncle? Sir, can you find my uncle?”
“Of course I shall, but let me send someone. I cannot leave you in such distress.”
He stepped out in the hall and called the innkeeper.
When he was assured that Mr and Mrs Gardiner would be found and brought back to the inn as quickly as possible, he stepped back into the room and went to Elizabeth.
He pulled a chair close to her, took her hands in his, and begged to know what had distressed her so.
“My sister Lydia,” she said with a sob, “has gone. She has left her friends in Brighton and gone with Mr Wickham.” Fresh tears overtook her while Darcy struggled to contain his rage .
“When?” he asked sharply.
“More than a week has gone by,” she said.
“Nearly ten days, I think! Time has been spent looking for her, and Jane’s letter was poorly directed.
I have only now learnt of it—” Tears again coursed down her cheeks, but she straightened up a moment later and said in a small, grave voice, “But that is not the worst of it, sir.” She pushed two letters into his hands and looked up with such helpless despair he did not demur at the task of reading her private correspondence.
A few moments later, he comprehended the matter in its entirety, and such was his disgust that he was forced to quell a strong wave of nausea.
Eventually, he found his voice. “This is terrible, terrible news. Is there anything I can get for you while you wait for your uncle? A glass of wine or?—”
“There is nothing that could ease my distress, but I thank you. You will convey my regrets to your sister?”
He nodded and rose. In his mind, he was halfway to London. He knew exactly where to find George Wickham, and his hands itched to wring the man’s neck. “You have long been wishing for my absence, Miss Bennet. I shall leave you now.”
“Of course, Mr Darcy,” she said with a hitch in her voice. “You will not wish to know us now for the sake of your sister.”
His preoccupied mind whipped back from whence it had wandered. “Not know you! Of what are you talking? I am off this moment to London to see what can be done to find your sister.”
“You will help us?”
“I shall look for her until she is found, Elizabeth. I bear the blame for Wickham’s importunities upon your family. I swear to you: I will recover her.”
Elizabeth’s hands fluttered up to him. She slipped out of her chair onto her knees, took up his hand and caressed his fingers against her damp cheek. “God bless you, Mr Darcy,” she whispered tearfully.
“Oh, my darling girl,” he said, lifting her up to her chair and sinking into a crouch in front of her.
She looked so fragile and diminished, a twisting, searing pain shot through his heart.
He blinked as he took both her hands in his and kissed her knuckles.
“Do you not know that I love you, Elizabeth?”
“How can you still?” she murmured.
“How can I not?” he replied gently. “I have tried, my love. But I cannot give you up.”
They were staring into each other’s eyes, on the precipice of a moment of great import, when Mr and Mrs Gardiner burst into the room. Darcy knew better than to scramble upright. He stood up calmly, and only when he turned to face Elizabeth’s relations did he relinquish her hands.
“What is this?” demanded Mr Gardiner. “Lizzy?”
“May I speak with your uncle, Miss Bennet?” Darcy asked.
She nodded and went with her aunt into the adjacent bedroom. Before Mr Gardiner could say anything about the gross impropriety he had just witnessed, Darcy handed him Elizabeth’s letters.
“You will want to have read these before we decide what to do,” he said grimly.