Page 23 of Tempted (Heart to Heart Collection #2)

Chapter 23

P emberley

That very afternoon!

Elizabeth returned to her rooms just after the countess’s departure and looked about the beautiful space that had been her own these few months. The window through which she had sent up countless wishes, the writing desk upon which she had written and read each letter to or from home… or London. She lingered at the bedside table, then on a whim, pulled the spray of lavender from the vase.

“I would like to take this with me, Margaret.”

The maid looked up from packing Elizabeth’s gowns. “But it’s dried out, Ma’am. You can get more at Matlock. I’ve heard they have a whole garden row of five different varieties of lavender.”

“But this was a gift. Please, is there a way to wrap it safely?”

Margaret took it gingerly, with a wry expression that Elizabeth doubted the maid would dare to exhibit before anyone else. “I’ll see what I can do, Ma’am.”

Elizabeth took the maid’s other hand. “I wish you could come with us, Margaret.”

The young woman froze with a bashful expression and squeezed Elizabeth’s fingers. “I’d be right pleased to see you again, Ma’am. I’ll ask Mrs Reynolds if I might serve the tea when you come to call on Miss Darcy.”

“Oh! Miss Darcy—I have not even told her we are going. Do you know where she is?”

“She told Sarah she was walking in the Orangery this afternoon and that she was not to be disturbed.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Indeed. I should speak with her before we go.”

She went downstairs and twirled into her thick winter cape—a gift from Mr Darcy just before he had left. After a moment of deliberation, she declined the offer of a footman to escort her across the grounds, and hurried out.

Miss Darcy would be glad to hear of her going. Elizabeth was already anticipating the false look of remorse, the insincere request to stay, the muttered promises of goodwill and well wishes. Or perhaps the girl would be honest and tell her good riddance—either way, the parting would not be a regretful one.

The Orangery was to the south of the house, situated on a knoll, and overlooking the valley below where a person with clear eyes could see the taller buildings from Lambton. The structure itself was magnificent—more glass and marble in that one oversized greenhouse than Elizabeth had ever seen before coming to England, and it was crafted with the magnificence of a Grecian temple. Mr Darcy told her it had been built over a century before and remained precisely as his great-great-grandfather had designed it so long ago. She stepped inside and closed the door, admiring how the breath that had chilled on the air outside now seemed to be cooler than the environment. She did not see Miss Darcy, but there was a stone bench near the back of the building, the view of which was obstructed by three trees in the centre. If the girl were still here, that was likely where she would be.

“Georgiana, have you made up your mind or not?”

Elizabeth stopped at the sound of a masculine voice through the lemon trees, her stomach sinking in dread.

“All I said is that I wanted to wait,” came Georgiana’s reply.

“Wait for what? You said your funds were available and ready for you in London!”

Elizabeth tucked herself better out of sight, into the boughs of an orange tree, and strained to hear a muffled, indistinct reply from Georgiana. Though Elizabeth could not quite understand the girl’s answer, her companion apparently did, and was not pleased.

“You promised!” he thundered, then followed this bit of temper with an oath. “You said we would go as soon as your account was ready. What possible reason can you have for wishing to delay?”

Georgiana’s tones were flat, with that stubborn lilt to her inflexion that Elizabeth knew all too well. “I decided it would be wiser. What do you care if I wait a week or two?”

“What do I care? I put all else aside to go with you! What is this, have you grown soft and weak, Georgiana? Do you think to wait on Darcy’s return and kindly ask his blessing on the scheme? You said you cared nothing for his permission! What has he done besides manipulate you and keep you locked away? I say, let him rot.”

“You do not understand,” Georgiana finally replied. “He has made me responsible here, and he will cut off my allowance—in fact, has already done so, which is why it was such trouble to pull together enough funds for now. And I have been thinking—you know he could close off my accounts, or worse, he would have the bank inform on me when I try to withdraw my money.”

“He cannot cut everything off,” the man growled. “You have money that is yours alone, and if we were to go to Paris now, he could do nothing to withhold it.”

“What money?” she asked.

“Why, your dowry, of course. We’re eloping, Georgiana, and all that money will be ours.”

Miss Darcy was silent for a moment. “George… We agreed—”

“ You agreed. What, you thought I would simply see you to Miss Younge’s flat in Paris and leave you there? That I would let you kiss me and use me and get nothing for it? I’ve been waiting on Darcy long enough, and it’s time I got mine.”

“No!” Her voice raised a pitch higher. “I do not wish to marry yet! I deserve a society wedding and—”

“And a humble steward’s son is not welcome at the grand St James’ Cathedral? Stuff it, Georgiana. Whatever you imagined in that pretty little head of yours, you can forget it. The plan has always been for us to marry as soon as we got to Paris. We can live fat and content on your 30,000 pounds the rest of our lives, and who knows? Maybe Darcy will even give our children allowances if we convince him they would be badly off without his help.”

“But I never agreed to marry you. I thought we were friends!”

Mr Wickham laughed. “Friends do not trade kisses and secrets as we have. Either you truly are that stupid, or you are nothing but a little whore. If you do not come now, you’re worse than ruined. What will everyone say when word gets out? What will Darcy say when he hears his precious little sister has been deflowered?”

Elizabeth flinched at the sound of a palm cracking against skin.

“I am not! If you dare—”

Miss Darcy’s vehement protest was cut off, and Elizabeth could hear muffled cries snorting and gasping from behind a fierce hand.

“Come, my dear, no reason to become violent,” Mr Wickham crooned. “I had not intended it this way—I meant for you to come of your own will. Are we sailing for Paris or not?”

An enraged shriek was Miss Darcy’s only answer.

Elizabeth was biting her fist, the tears starting in her eyes as her body froze in fear and indecision. Her pulse was in her throat now, and she clutched instinctively at a whip-like branch of the lemon tree. Her hand tensed, and the branch began to rip from the tree—a weapon now in her white fingers. She stiffened and prepared to leap from around the tree, but her knees were like water, and her head felt light. She forced herself to step away, snapping the branch off in her hand with an audible crack.

“Who’s there!” Mr Wickham bellowed.

Elizabeth’s voice caught; her teeth locked as if her own body was trying to stall her. There was another strangled cry from Georgiana, followed by a sob, and Elizabeth’s blood heated. For an instant, her vision ran red and her senses buzzed with the memory of shattering glass and the tang of copper. But what choice had she? She agonised a moment in indecision and with every heartbeat, every breath, she hated herself all the more for the helpless terror that gripped her. She should go back, call for help—yes, that was what she should do…

Then she would forever despise herself for how long she stood there listening to the girl’s fear and suffering. And what would happen while she was away, even long enough to find the gardener? Elizabeth closed her eyes. “ Think, Lizzy, think! ”

Another cry from Georgiana split her consciousness and galvanised all her doubts. Elizabeth curled back her lips in a fearsome snarl and charged forward. Just before the stone bench stood the couple, the man’s hand clamped over Miss Darcy’s mouth and another cradling her throat. He had taken up his stance behind her and now glared at Elizabeth over the girl’s head. She was whimpering, trying to cover her face with her hands, and Elizabeth saw a trickle of blood slipping down her chin.

“Get away from her!” Elizabeth shouted.

He hardly had a chance to sneer or to turn Miss Darcy’s body to deflect the blow before Elizabeth was on top of him, slashing indiscriminately with her branch and beating him over the head with her free hand. It was not enough to cause any real damage, but it flew him into a panic, and he tried to whirl away, throwing elbows and trying to shield his prize from Elizabeth’s prying hands.

That was enough for Georgiana, with terror-stricken eyes, to recognise her chance to escape. She struggled from Mr Wickham’s grasp and ran, but this only freed up his hands to snatch the branch from Elizabeth. He rounded on her, using it to whip her across the arms she held over her face. Temporarily dazed, her eyes were closed when he caught her around the throat with one large hand and pulled her against his chest.

“What shall it be, Georgiana? I warned you not to cross me. Send for the carriage and swear we will leave for London tonight, or watch me snap her neck!”

“George!” Miss Darcy pleaded, “How could you?”

“How could you lie to me?” he shot back. “Six months—six months! You promised, you spoiled little wench! Good lord, did you really think any man would swoon for your imperious snobbery? You have one attraction, and you swore—”

Elizabeth’s fist moved quickly, her heel following close after it. Mr Wickham grunted, his words cut off with bulging eyes and a groan of pain as he clutched his nether regions and doubled over.

This was not enough for Elizabeth—her ire was hot, and her thoughts a blur. Only later would she learn that she was shrieking in rage when she fell upon the prostrate villain, slinging punches like a man and then clawing, pinching, and twisting anything she could reach. A flood of vitriol poured from her, but she was conscious of none of it until someone grabbed her round the torso and pulled her back.

“Elizabeth!” Georgiana cried, her voice choked and unsteady. “Stop it, you will kill him!”

Elizabeth lurched, her fist cocked and splattered lightly with blood—she did not know whose. “He wouldn’t be the first,” she growled low.

Georgiana sucked in her breath. Mr Wickham, who was starting to pick himself off the pavers, gaped at Elizabeth in wary shock. “Good God,” he coughed, rubbing the ear she had savagely twisted. “Woman, you are mad!”

“Lay a finger on me or anyone else, and you will see just how mad!” Elizabeth shot back. “Coward and swine, you are!”

“Elizabeth—” Georgiana was tugging on her elbow now and keeping a weather eye on Mr Wickham. “Please—let us go back to the house.”

Mr Wickham stuffed his hat back on his head and took one—only one—threatening step towards them. “You’ll regret this, Georgiana. No one turns me away and does not pay for it!”

Georgiana’s eyes glittered with tears, but she haltingly thrust her bloodied chin high. “You cannot touch me, George. Go away and never come back.”

He straightened his coat with a jerk, made one last sullen glare at Elizabeth, then stalked away. Georgiana’s breath escaped in a great puff, and she gripped the back of the bench in a daze.

All the starch seemed to leak out of Elizabeth. She swayed—spots danced in her vision, and she staggered against Georgiana. And then the tears… great, gasping sobs, sheets of sorrow and trembling waves of fear shook her until she stumbled into the bench.

Georgiana, for perhaps the first time in her coddled little life, earnestly sought to comfort someone else. Though shaking visibly herself, she had found her handkerchief and was mopping the sweat and hair from Elizabeth’s brow as she wept. After that, she merely clutched one of Elizabeth’s hands, and they choked back their sobs together, though Georgiana was the first to reclaim her equanimity. Only when Elizabeth’s breath had stilled, and she rolled her head back to stretch her neck and gaze blankly up at the glass ceiling, did Georgiana dare to speak.

“Can you walk?”

Elizabeth sniffed. “Yes. Forgive me for being such a ninny—I am well enough.”

Georgiana snorted, then wiped a stray bit of moisture from her cheek. “I have never met a ‘ninny’ who could do what you just did, Elizabeth. I thought you were going to take his head off.”

Elizabeth’s gaze drifted to the ground and remained there when she spoke next. “I do not know what I would have done… truly. Thank you for stopping me before…”

“Before you killed him?”

Their eyes met, and Georgiana thinned her lips. “Do you know, I have wondered about you from the beginning, but I never suspected that .”

Elizabeth scrubbed her eyes with her hands. “It is a very long story.”

“No story worth hearing is not.” Georgiana pressed her palms together between her thighs and blew steadily in and out for several breaths. “I do not feel safe here just now. We need to get back to the house.”

Elizabeth hesitantly dabbed the last of the blood from Georgiana’s split lip. “I think we are going to need a way to explain our current state.”

“Ah.” The girl gave a shaken little laugh. “How very clumsy of you to trip on that stone while you were out walking. A pity we both tumbled down the path as a result.”

Elizabeth arched a brow. “I suppose no one will disbelieve that I might be clumsy, but it will need more than a simple story. That is what I came to tell you—Jane and I have been invited to remove to Matlock. Margaret is already packing our trunks.”

Georgiana’s eyes widened, and the first flashes of regret shone in them. “Not today, you will not. I think you and I both need a good long soak and a bit of wine.”

Elizabeth tried to smile. “Is that an invitation or a threat?”

“Both.”