Page 46 of Such Persuasions as These (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

U pon the assurance that Wickham was no longer on the premises, Darcy turned to Wentworth and patted the fine captain on the back.

“That was well done, old man,” Darcy commended him.

“No,” Wentworth replied shaking his head. “I should have known he would try something like this; they always do when their backs are against the wall.”

“Something tells me you did know. You read the situation expertly and saved a young lady from ruin. Your quick thinking ruled the day, Wentworth. I am honoured to call you friend.”

“Likewise.” Wentworth shook Darcy’s hand, urging him to run back to the bewitching partner from whom he had been so abruptly separated.

“Heigh up there, Wentworth,” Darcy called as the captain began making his way back inside.

“You cannot know everything, but I believe you have single-handedly changed the course of my life. Even tonight, you rescued me again from a lifetime of dealing with that haggard thorn in my side, George Wickham. That, in itself, is worth a king’s ransom.

What I am trying to say is, I wish to relieve your suffering in some way, as you have done for me. ”

With that, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope.

He had asked for it to be included when he sent to London for the documents he needed to clear his name against Wickham’s calumny.

As soon as he had heard that Wentworth had ties to Somersetshire, it occurred to him that having these papers on hand might prove useful.

Passing the envelope to his friend, he explained, “I wish to offer you a seven-year lease on a property I hold in Somersetshire. It has several tenants and a capable steward, so one person should be able to run it on their own most of the time with no trouble. You will find the rent quite reasonable.”

Wentworth blinked, completely taken aback, doubtless wondering whether he should be offended at such presumption.

“This should give you a perfectly respectable place to keep a wife while you are at sea and a pleasant situation to enjoy with her when you are not.”

Captain Frederick Wentworth stared at the packet in Darcy’s hand, unwilling to take it, but evidently afraid to lose what he was offering him. Finally, he held his hands up and shook his head. “I appreciate what you are trying to do, but I cannot take charity, not even from Croesus himself.”

“Do you know what you have done for me, Wentworth? You have given me back the woman I love. You have made me see myself for who I truly am, and helped me to become a man who might one day deserve her. I shall benefit from your friendship till my last breath. I owe you more than I could ever possibly give. Please, accept this as the small token of my great appreciation that it is,” Darcy said earnestly, pressing the document into his hand.

“Besides, you shall be a paying lessee; it is not charity.”

Wentworth took the document and, without opening it, secreted it into his jacket’s inner pocket. “This is not a yes.”

“Of course not,” Darcy acquiesced with a smile.

“Good luck tonight, old man. Miss Elizabeth is a gem; I have no doubt you will cherish her as she deserves.”

“I intend to,” he promised.

Upon re-entering the ball, the gentlemen found that their absence had been of little note. Couples were moving through the dance, matrons were talking about their children, and old men were hidden in the card room.

Wentworth headed to his guest quarters to undo the effects of his scuffle, while Darcy simply patted his lapels down to smooth them after the fierceness of Miss Lydia’s grip, eager to seek out Elizabeth.

Darcy espied Bingley and his angel, as well as the clergyman courting Miss Mary. Mrs Bennet was coddling a still-shaken Lydia, who was also being lovingly attended by Miss Kitty.

Scanning the length and breadth of the ballroom, however, he noted that there was one Bennet female who was nowhere to be found. Darcy’s heart started pounding as his eyes moved from corner to corner of the grand room, taking in every dark pile of curls, searching for his goat willows.

Could she have left? Where could she be? How can I finish making amends?

He had been determined to repair all that was broken between them this night, indeed he thought he had made rather a good start.

He had listened with forbearance as she called him out for his changefulness and for not living up to his own ideals.

He had taken the opportunity to assure her that his heart was not so inconstant.

He was about to tell her just where his heart lay when he was so abruptly interrupted by Wentworth—by Wickham, really.

Wickham .

When had that knave not tainted everything Darcy had worked hard to protect?

And tonight, he had almost made Elizabeth’s family a subject of infamy.

Thank Heaven for Wentworth and his quick thinking—they had descended the stairs outside just in time to hear Miss Lydia’s terrified scream, and it was Wentworth who had noted the rustling in the bushes.

He had then suggested they split up—one following them into the hedgerow and the other sneaking upon him from behind. And it had worked beautifully.

How happy Darcy had been to offer the captain the chance of a situation that might answer his immediate needs.

The land had been in his family for decades but without a master or a mistress since the distant cousin who had kept the house had died.

Darcy had not thought about it for years, except to check that the groundskeepers were being paid and the steward was running things as he ought.

If he could make it available to Captain and Mrs Wentworth, it would be as much a blessing to himself as it would be to them.

Truth be told, he had expected another blessing tonight.

He looked down at the clutch of goat willow pins on his lapel.

Pulling out one golden twig, he sighed as he twisted it between his fingers and thumb, thinking of how lovely Elizabeth had looked adorned with them in her hair.

Perhaps he had been too forward, too overt.

Was this yet another case of him being high-handed with those he loved?

His cursed pride! When would he recognise it for what it was and finally have it in hand?

Under good regulation, indeed , he berated himself. Coxcomb.

He was sure now he had gone too far—he might as well have told the whole county they were engaged.

Of course she would be mortified by such gossip-fodder.

His grand romantic gesture—had it been the death-knell of his hopes?

Had she run home as soon as the townsfolk started talking?

Elizabeth would not have gone back alone, would she?

Where is she?

Just then, he saw Miss Bennet approaching Mrs Bennet and her youngest daughters. Surely she would know where her sister had disappeared to.

“Did I not see her speaking with Wentworth?” Bingley volunteered.

“Did you? I am sorry, Mr Darcy, I do not know,” Jane said, obviously troubled that she had to disappoint him. “She simply told me she needed some time alone.” Looking down at Miss Lydia, she added, “Perhaps a quiet refuge would be of benefit to you, as well, darling.”

Refuge. A quiet refuge.

Darcy knew exactly where she was.

It took him two breaths to reach the library door. At the sight of the heavy, ornately carved hardwood planks before him, something made him halt, his hand on the knob. Should he go in? Should he knock? Would she wish to see him? What if she was seeking refuge from him?

On the other hand , he finally reasoned, what if she has been waiting there for me these three quarters of an hour, and I have disappointed her long enough?

Certainly, she knew what his intentions were.

His thoughtlessness had made that plain to all.

Is that why she went into hiding rather than continuing to dance?

She no doubt had a line of beaux awaiting the chance to escort her for a set; anyone who had eyes would wish to be seen with such a divine creature.

Why was she not in the ballroom, rejoicing in her triumph?

Perhaps she was awaiting him after all. He tightened his grip on the knob and turned it slowly, allowing the weight of the door to pull him into the room. He did not wish to startle her, and so gave a gentle greeting by way of, “Miss Elizabeth?”

There was no answer. He pushed the door the rest of the way open, a vision appearing in his mind of his sweet conqueror standing before him, arms wrapped anxiously about her torso, the light of the hearth revealing to him her shapely legs in silhouette through thin white muslin.

His breath caught in his throat, and he stumbled towards the mirage, only to have it disappear as he stepped onto the thick floral rug.

It was not she. Elizabeth was not there.

He turned about to inspect every corner.

Alas, he was indeed alone. His blood was coursing in his ears, and the realisation that his careful designs were frustrated quite unmanned him.

Robbed of strength, he fell into his accustomed chair, and, setting his elbows upon his knees, held his head in his hands.

He was surprised—though he should not have been, he knew—to hear a roaring purr at his feet, then to feel Italics’s soft body as the cat snaked through and about his legs in a figure-eight.

Finally, the feline lifted himself up with his front paws on his knee to rub his face against Darcy’s, causing the man to change his position and allow the mongrel onto his lap .

“I have done it this time, old man,” Darcy told him, his voice dripping with regret.

Italics, ever the comforter, put his heart into giving him the solace he needed by way of allowing him to stroke his back, his chin, and even his belly, all whilst emitting a voluble purr of delight, which could not help but soothe Darcy’s inner ache.

Soon they were forehead to forehead again, Italics nuzzling Darcy’s face as the forlorn lover whispered his sorrows to his feline friend.

It was whilst in this attitude that Darcy heard light footsteps behind him, followed by a feminine voice.

“Oh, to be a cat,” Elizabeth said. “Kisses and sweet nothings from the worthiest of creatures…”