Page 35 of The Fire at Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Darcy walked down the pavement in London at a swift pace, eager to enter Hatchard’s hallowed portals in search of new books for his library.

The doorman was waiting, and he opened the door with a flourish and a bow, allowing Darcy to step into the main vestibule.

Immediately, his eyes lit on the most welcome face and form in all of England.

“Elizabeth!” he exclaimed.

“Fitzwilliam,” the lady responded eagerly. “How wonderful to see you!”

“It is wonderful to see you too,” Darcy responded, stepping closer to her. Too close. But he loved her so much. He wanted to be with her, to embrace her, to kiss her. He reached forward to take her gloved hands...

“Do not step on Jackson,” Elizabeth said with a touch of anxiety in her voice.

“Jackson?” Darcy repeated, his gaze following her pointing finger.

He took a hasty step backwards as his mouth drooped open.

“Is that...?” he began.

“A peacock, yes,” Elizabeth said, stooping down to pat the bird’s blue head. “He is a handsome fellow, is he not?”

Darcy stared at the peacock, who glared back at him with beady, suspicious eyes.

“I did not know you had a peacock, Elizabeth,” he said weakly.

“Oh yes, I adore peacocks,” Elizabeth replied, her brown eyes dancing merrily. “They are so beautiful, are they not?”

She bent down, picked the bird up, and pushed the crested blue head toward him. “Would you like to kiss him, Mr. Darcy?”

Darcy goggled at her incredulously. No, he most certainly did not wish to kiss a bird! He wanted to kiss her, Miss Elizabeth, but not a peacock.

Perhaps if he kissed the bird, then he could kiss Miss Elizabeth?

“Sir? Sir!”

Darcy’s eyes flared wide as he sat up in bed, and he stared at his valet who was standing by his bedside, dressed in his nightclothes, holding a candle in one steady hand. Despite the oddness of the dream, he felt disappointed at its end.

“Percy?” he rasped, shaking his head to rid himself of the last vestiges of his dream. “Is something wrong?”

A foolish question, of course; Percy would not wake him up unless the matter was an urgent one.

“Yes, sir,” Percy replied. “Mr. Bingley received an urgent summons for help from Miss Bennet, and he requests your assistance in the matter. I believe you would wish to be of service in this, sir.”

Darcy blinked at his valet and narrowed his eyes. Percy had served him for many years, and Darcy knew the man’s expressions and tones well. There was something going on here, something beyond his current understanding, but it mattered not at the moment.

“Yes. Thank you. Help me dress,” he said, suddenly wide awake.

“Of course, sir.”

/

Milton Stables

Meryton

“Dear God above,” the blacksmith breathed, looking down on the battered form of George Wickham, and then he turned to scowl at his underling. “Joe, whatever is this all about?”

Joe shrugged and said, “Lieutenant Wickham hired the carriage, and I was to drive him to London tonight, Mr. Milton. There was a scuffle of some sort, and I found Wickham like this on the ground and brought him here.”

Milton frowned down at the unconscious form of Wickham; the man was lying on his side with a nasty wound on the right side of his head, breathing stentoriously. Blood oozed from the injury, and the blacksmith grimaced. He was no doctor, but he knew enough to realize that Wickham was in a bad way.

The stable boys were gathered in an avid circle around the battered militia officer, and Milton grunted and gestured toward them and said, “Peter, my boy, you had best run to the apothecary’s and tell him we need him. Mark, Caleb, help me carry Wickham into the house where he will be warm.”

“Yessir!” the young men chorused.

/

On the Road to Meryton

Darcy was thankful for the moonlight, but it was still sufficiently dark that he and Bingley dare not gallop their horses. It was infuriating to slowly trot down the lane which led away from Netherfield, when his mind was full of confusion, and his heart pounded with terror.

“Miss Bennet said nothing specific about her sisters’ injuries?” he asked again.

Bingley, who was obviously as eager as he was to reach their destination, shook his head and said, “Nothing. She merely said that her sisters were hurt, and she requested my presence as soon as possible.”

“And they are at their aunt and uncle’s house?” Darcy questioned again, and then berated himself. He had already asked these questions once, but he was so confused!

“Yes,” Bingley said, and Darcy was thankful that he sounded puzzled instead of exasperated. “It is most peculiar, I agree. Why are they not at Longbourn? Perhaps they were visiting their aunt and uncle when they were hurt? We will find out soon enough.”

Darcy nodded at this and spurred Phoenix to a faster trot as the two men turned onto the main road leading to Meryton, which was well maintained.

They would arrive in a few minutes, and while he was relieved, he was also terrified. If Elizabeth had sustained a serious hurt, if she were...

No, he would not think of that. He could not! He could not live without her.

/

The Phillips’ House

Meryton

Five minutes later

“Oh Charles, thank God!” Jane cried out, rushing forward into his arms. “I am so thankful to see you!”

Bingley returned the embrace with fervor, even as he looked around anxiously.

Lydia, her eyes closed, was lying on a couch pushed near the fire, carefully wrapped in blankets, while Elizabeth sat near her, her face hidden in the shadows.

The room was otherwise empty, though he could hear Mrs. Phillips’s voice, raised in distress, from somewhere else in the house. What on earth had happened?

“Mr. Darcy!” Jane said a moment later, disengaging herself reluctantly from her love. “I do apologize for my...”

She trailed off, blushing, and Darcy immediately said, “Not at all, Miss Bennet, I assure you. I hope you are not injured?”

“I am not,” Jane replied, and the quivering tears in her eyes spilled down her pale cheeks, “but Lydia is, and Lizzy as well, and Mr. Jones has not yet come...”

Darcy felt a lurch of terror in his soul at these words, and he hurried toward the lady he loved.

Elizabeth looked up at his approach, and he now observed the bruising along the left side of her lovely face.

He was filled with both horror and fury at the sight.

How could this have happened? Who had attacked the woman he adored?

“Mr. Darcy,” she said faintly. “Thank you for coming. I know that it is terribly late, or early, depending on your point of view.”

Darcy waved this aside. “Miss Elizabeth!” he said, sitting down next to her and reaching out to take her hands in his own. “Whatever has happened?”

Elizabeth felt a sudden, hysterical urge to laugh. How could it be that she, who had hitherto lived a calm and even humdrum life, had experienced both a house fire and a physical attack in a few short weeks?

She struggled to calm herself, even as she found her fingers tightening on Darcy’s larger ones, surprised to feel a stability which had been missing for several hours.

It was absurd that he could inspire such calmness within her; they were not related, after all, and he owed her family no obligation.

Indeed he had been remarkably kind and generous in these last few weeks, given that he had no connection to them beyond being the close friend of her elder sister’s betrothed.

But he wore an air of quiet, competent authority as easily as he wore his coats, and as becomingly.

His very presence was reassuring, conveying a sense that all would be well now, and her troubled soul was eased with his arrival.

She knew, vaguely, that she had never felt like this toward a man.

She loved her father and she admired Mr. Allen, the rector, and Mr. Bingley, who adored Jane, but Mr. Darcy was a man apart from all of them.

He was handsome, generous, intelligent, and very attractive.

She did not recall him being so attractive when they first met; perhaps knowledge of his true character had improved her view of him.

She was too confused at the moment, and too distressed, to understand her feelings entirely, but …

was this indeed love? And if so, was there any hope that the master of Pemberley admired her in return?

He was waiting for her to speak, and as the seconds ticked by, she saw his face grow dark with worry.

“I ... I do not yet know the whole story,” she finally managed to say, her voice trembling.

“It seems that Lydia overheard a meeting between Mr. Wickham and Mary King, during which they made plans to elope to London tonight, and Lydia chose to creep out of Longbourn to stop them. Wickham attacked her, and when I intervened, he attacked me as well.”

Darcy stared at her in distress and found himself lifting a hand toward her bruised face, only to jerk it away as he realized what he was doing. It would not do to cause her any anxiety.

“Wickham,” he said numbly.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, and released Darcy’s hands in order to reach for a handkerchief, the better to wipe her swimming eyes. “I knew him to be a villain, of course, but I had no idea he could be so brutal!”

“Nor did I,” Darcy replied, guilt roiling in his heart. “I have disliked him, nay, I have loathed him, for many years, but as far as I know, he has never been violent.”

“He warned me,” a soft voice suddenly said, and both Elizabeth and Darcy turned to look upon Lydia, whose eyes were now half open. “He told me if I tried to interfere, he would kill me. But, oh Lizzy, I never truly thought...”

The girl began weeping hysterically, which in turn caused her to cough, and Elizabeth rose to pour a glass of water, helped Lydia sit up, and lifted it to her sister’s lips. The girl drank thankfully while Darcy, filled with horror, observed the dark red marks around Miss Lydia’s throat.

“He tried to strangle you?” he asked.

“Ye...,” Lydia began, which provoked another coughing fit.