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CHAPTER ELEVEN

T he next day, Mr Darcy approached Longbourn. Elizabeth saw him from the side, for she was sitting under her favourite oak, a tree in whose shade she had found comfort since she was a small girl. Of course, by now there were no leaves, but the air was crisp and cool so the shade was not needed.

Mr Darcy dismounted and strode towards the door with confidence and purpose, two qualities she admired. She had had confidence, but one man had crushed it, and she fumed at the thought of how easily what she had admired most about herself had been destroyed.

Before he was able to knock, Elizabeth called out to him, arresting him in his steps. He immediately turned, looking for her. She rose and jogged towards him. “Mr Darcy, how good it is to see you, sir.”

He offered a quick bow. “Miss Elizabeth.” A contrariety of emotions played across his countenance, but she knew not what most of them meant.

“Did you locate him?” she asked, forgoing all pleasantries that were expected.

“Eventually, yes. He proved more wily than anticipated.”

“And?” she asked. “Is my family ruined? Am I?”

“How good you are,” he said quietly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Even in the midst of despair, you ask on your family’s behalf first.”

“Were I any good, none of this would have happened in the first place,” she admitted, looking down. “And here I had always considered myself the sensible sort.”

“Miss Elizabeth, ought this news be shared with your family?”

“In a moment, yes, for they are well aware of Mr Wickham’s treachery, but I would like to know how to prepare myself for what is to come.”

He nodded. “I located Wickham in London.”

“London? How could you find him in such a sprawling place?”

“One must know what rocks to turn over. He had somehow inveigled his way into White’s and was gambling heavily. It was the wrong crowd for him—he was lost well above his touch.”

“Mr Darcy!” called out Mrs Bennet from the front door, her voice shrill and unwelcome. “Have you come to call or have you any news for us?”

“I come bearing news, madam,” he said, his eyes not leaving Elizabeth’s face. It warmed her somehow.

“We will enter presently, Mama,” she called. “We need just a few minutes to?—”

Mrs Bennet marched closer as if Elizabeth had not spoken. “We understand that you went to find that wretched Mr Wickham. None of us ever liked him. I said to Lizzy, ‘Be careful of that one, dear. He has a dishonesty hanging about him like smoke’.”

Elizabeth would have sighed had she not been so entirely irritated by her mother’s lies, as well as her intrusion. “Mama, please allow me to speak with Mr Darcy a moment, and then we will come in for tea and you can express all you desire about Mr Wickham.”

Whether it was the prospect of setting out a tea to impress such a fine gentleman or Elizabeth’s fierce expression, Mrs Bennet excused herself and disappeared within, though they could hear her ordering poor Mrs Hill about from where they stood.

“White’s,” Elizabeth offered to remind him of their conversation, her skin tingling with anticipation and also regret over her mother’s manners.

He turned his head to glance at the door, clearly hoping not to see Mrs Bennet re-emerging, or any other Bennet for that matter.

“Yes. White’s. While the men of the club were enjoying taking his money, Wickham was becoming a liability to a new friend whose good graces had earned his admittance.

When I spoke with Mr Redding, he expressed relief that I had arrived, for he had only just begun to realise the trap he had fallen into with Wickham, and was not sure how he might extricate himself. ”

“Where is Mr Wickham now?”

“Gone.”

Elizabeth inhaled sharply before asking, “Gone where?”

Mr Darcy shrugged. “The important thing to note is that he will not ever speak of you again, nor will he return to London or Hertfordshire.”

“How can you be certain of that?”

Though it was good to hear his assurances, all that she truly wanted was for him to wrap his arms around her and whisper in her ear that she was safe. She had not appreciated how reassuring his presence could be.

“When I confronted him at White’s, he attempted to sully your name and mine, telling his new friends that you and I had…

but never mind that. He claimed that this was why he had been forced to end his engagement with you.

I assured the gentlemen this was not the truth.

I asked how many of them had loaned him money, and how many he had paid back.

Their expressions said it all, and once each realised they had been tricked, as had their companions, their opinions began to turn.

Next, I asked if they had noticed his flirtations with women, specifically if he had directed his attentions to the wealthiest in the crowd.

They affirmed this. Without using names, I shared multiple stories, not just of you or of—but it was enough. ”

Elizabeth was curious about the bit he had begun to say before he stopped himself, but other concerns were more pressing.

“Just as I thought I had fully ensnared him, he asked for permission to gather his belongings and to leave town. I agreed, as long as he went where neither you nor I had acquaintances. He found these terms acceptable, and I thought the matter settled. I desired to tell you myself in person, and planned to return promptly. The next day, however, Mr Curtis, one of the gentlemen at White’s, called on me.

He was frantic, for his family had found a note from his sister explaining that she had eloped with Mr Wickham.

Wickham had left London at least twelve hours earlier.

Mr Curtis and I, along with two other men, raced north, but we were too late.

Upon our arrival, we discovered they were married. ”

Elizabeth could not take it in. Mr Wickham was married.

To someone else. This was both appalling and wonderful simultaneously.

Perhaps he would be settled now and would be consumed with his new wife rather than with defaming her name?

Yet this new woman had to have been fooled in some fashion.

What had she to offer? Likely money, perhaps a title, but would any of it be his if an elopement was involved?

She had no doubt that Mr Wickham had chosen his mark more carefully this time.

She searched his face. “So that is all? This chapter is at an end?”

Mr Darcy nodded gravely.

“Mr Darcy, I cannot thank you enough. I still do not understand why you agreed to help me, travelling all the way to Scotland to do so!”

His eyes left her face for the first time since the discussion between them had begun.

With a deep breath, he began to tell her a tale she could never have imagined.

He spoke of his sister, whom Wickham had seduced, and of an attempted elopement thwarted at the very last minute.

She expressed her anguish at the effect on his poor young sister who had been left bereft and sure that she would never find love again.

“I beg you to keep this a secret, for well you know the damage rumours and indiscretion can do.”

She nodded and thanked him again, and again, as did her family when all was shared.

Darcy was invited to stay and dine with the family, an invitation he accepted gladly. After the meal, when they had all removed to the parlour, Miss Elizabeth surprised him by announcing, “I shall play for you all.”

He raised his eyebrows in her direction, trying to appear exaggeratedly doubtful.

“I have been practising!” she said with an impertinent smirk.

“She has,” said Miss Lydia, “enough to make us all sick of the tunes.”

Miss Bennet gave her youngest sister a severe look, and Miss Mary added, “I can play next, if you like.” No one objected to her offer, not even Darcy, who would never be so rude, but mostly because he was focused on Miss Elizabeth, her fine figure gliding to the seat, settling the sheets in the haphazard and yet still graceful manner unique to her, and lifting her long fingers to the keys.

The tune was jaunty: a country dance that echoed the Highlands. When she was finished, Darcy called out, “And what, pray, is the name of that? I do not think I have heard it before.”

“It is a new favourite of mine called Revenge .”

They all laughed, he harder than the situation necessitated, but it felt so right and such a relief after the heaviness and concern he had felt for the past weeks.

Searching for Wickham, finding him only to lose him, thinking over and over how this fate might have befallen his dear sister, Georgiana, if matters had turned another way, and what damage Wickham could do to Miss Elizabeth, whom Darcy admired more than was reasonable.

“Shall we play a song together?” he asked.

Miss Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled, setting his heart to flutter. “Has your playing improved?”

“Not the least bit.”

She smiled broadly, and now his heart pounded like drums in a marching band.

“Perfect,” she said. “Let us play terribly together.”

He sat, their hips lightly touching and their elbows grazing. The warmth of her sent a shiver through his body. Dare he hope that she was affected by his presence as well? Her first note was misplayed, and he noticed a little tremor in her hands.

“Heavens, Miss Elizabeth, I thought your playing had improved.”

She laughed, though her mother lifted her chin and said, “She is not bad, Mr Darcy.”

“It was a joke, Mama,” Miss Elizabeth said gently.

“What kind of joke is insulting? A joke is funny!”

She offered a sigh that only he heard, and he replied with an equally quiet snicker that he followed with a compliment that was effusive enough to pacify Mrs Bennet.

The tune was halting and imperfect, mirroring how their love had grown and would continue to grow in the next months and years.

He wanted to propose the very moment he sat next to her at the pianoforte, but knew she would need time to trust again and so spent days and weeks doing as a proper gentleman would, courting her, spending time among her family, giving her all the little compliments that she deserved.

He grew accustomed to her family, and while he never was comfortable or quite approving of their ways, he decided he could accept their becoming relations.

He knew he did not mislead himself when he felt their love grow, and when he did finally declare himself to her, she assured him that she had grown to love him more each day and hoped each day would continue in the same way.

A year later, they would sit at the grand piano at Pemberley, a child of their own growing within her, but still with a promise as thrilling as the moments before the first notes of a practised tune were played.