Richard had a most difficult task ahead of him. Of all the battles and campaigns he had fought against Napoleon on the Continent in his many years in His Majesty’s Army, nothing had prepared him for what he was about to do from this day on.
Lady Catherine had been displeased by the apparent desertion of both her nephews and rumours of trespassers, and asked her butler, Mr Gilbert, to inform her of Fitzwilliam and Darcy’s presence as soon as they were seen inside the house. So, when he saw the colonel entering the house, he did not waste any time in obeying his mistress and went to her.
“Gilbert!” Richard called the butler, halting the man quick steps. “Please tell my aunt to meet me in the drawing room as soon Mr and Mrs Collins arrive. Oh! And ask Cook to have some herbal tea prepared. At least two pots. Very strong and very sweet.”
Mr Gilbert, who had been Lady Catherine’s butler for the last fifteen years, had never seen Colonel Fitzwilliam’s countenance so dark. He knew something was amiss. Without any further delay, he went to the kitchen and passed on the colonel’s orders.
Mr and Mrs Collins did not take long to arrive, and they were directed to the drawing room. Lady Catherine soon joined them.
After a few more minutes, Richard also entered the room.
“What is the meaning of this, Fitzwilliam?” Lady Catherine asked, concern stamped on her face. “And where is Darcy? Why are Mr and Mrs Collins here?”
The immediate silence in the room became heavy.
Richard inhaled deeply a couple of times. All eyes were on him now. “Please take a seat… and a cup of tea. Gilbert, would you mind pouring the tea, please?”
Richard waited for everyone to accommodate themselves before continuing. He knew his aunt’s weak heart would need him to be careful. “This morning, while I was breaking my fast, I heard a gunshot. I left the house…” he begun, narrating all the events as they had happened. “And so, I believe they were both taken away, and one of them, if not both, is seriously injured.”
Richard turned to Charlotte. “Mrs Collins, considering you are better acquainted with Mr Bennet and his family, would you mind writing a letter informing him of these events? Let him know we are doing everything to find not just my cousin but also Miss Elizabeth.”
Lady Catherine mumbled some strange words; she had a green expression that inspired care. Her lady’s maid was called to assist her. She was then conducted to her bedchamber and, after receiving some sleeping draughts, was left sleeping.
Richard excused himself and headed to his bedchamber. He had some letters to write.
~ ? ~
Making sure Mr Darcy was still breathing, Elizabeth took the remaining bandages and balled them into an improvised pillow, resting his head on it. Then, sitting on the opposite seat, she observed his broad chest rising and lowering in time to his laboured breath. He looked so vulnerable. She lifted another prayer for his life, begging once more for God to spare him.
After a long time, when her eyes were finally dry and she was able to focus them again, Elizabeth opened the curtains and started reading Mr Darcy’s letter.
11th April 1816.
To Miss Elizabeth Bennet,
Please forgive me for presuming you would allow me the right to defend myself against the accusations you pressed against me last night, but my honour demands I clarify them.
The first of them is of a very personal nature and, therefore, I beg for your secrecy, as these facts could seriously damage my sister’s reputation.
Mr Wickham and I grew up together as he was the son of my father’s steward. My father was very fond of him and, after Wickham’s father passed away, my own father supported Wickham at school and later at university. Contrary to what you said yesterday, he received the education of a gentleman. Unfortunately, his behaviour was not consistent with it and soon I found out that his manners were lacking and far from proper, actually more aligned to dissolution and debauchery.
Wickham knew my father wanted him to take orders and receive the valuable living of our family, but when my father passed away five years ago, he seemed to have changed his mind, insisting he would rather prefer to study the law. He then received a compensation of three thousand pounds and our acquaintance was severed — until last summer.
My sister, Georgiana, is more than ten years my junior. After my father’s death, my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and I shared her guardianship — our mother having died shortly after Georgiana was born. Last summer, my sister was enjoying holidays with her companion, Mrs Younge, in Ramsgate, where Wickham presented himself as a family friend. After spending some time in her company, he led my sister to believe she was in love with him and that an elopement was the best way to keep them together. He cleverly pointed out that I would never be favourable toward someone of such low birth marrying my sister .
Fortunately, by God’s grace, planning to surprise her, I arrived at Ramsgate three days before the supposed elopement. On seeing me, my sister could not keep the truth to herself and acknowledged the whole plan immediately.
To my own mortification, I found out that Mrs Younge — the companion I had personally hired for my sister — and Mr Wickham were already lovers and had planned to use my sister’s dowry to start their new life somewhere far away, leaving her behind, disgraced and broken hearted.
You can imagine how I acted.
I do not see any of my decisions as unnecessary or cruel. I swore to him that, if he was found less than two miles from my sister, I would take him to justice. As I had already bought his previous debts in Cambridge and Lambton, I knew I had enough proof to send him to the debtors’ prison for many years.
If you still have any doubts about the veracity of this account, I can only appeal to the testimony of my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, who is acquainted with all of these details.
I hope that with this explanation you may absolve me from the accusations he so deceivingly presented to you. What they were, I know not. But I, once again, appeal to your kindness and sense of justice.
About the other accusations you presented before me, of my disrespectful behaviour towards you, your family and neighbours, I cannot say anything, but plead guilty. Yet, it was not until the early hours of this day, after a considerable battle reliving that dreadful quarrel we had and the remembrance of the deep pain in your eyes, that I was convinced of my shameful behaviour.
Perhaps, after knowing all the circumstances of my life, you might understand my reasons.
I was brought up to be a gentleman in all senses of the word, which includes being fair and kind to those below my position in life. I am ashamed to say that, although I believe I have done that to my servants and tenants, I did not treat other members of society in the same way. In my defence, I must say I was never comfortable in social gatherings. In fact, it would be more honest to say I loathe society in general.
Yet, you have accused me of being selfish, and that I was not able to see beyond the material circumstances of a person. In a way you were correct about the first point, but not the second. As I said, I despise society in general, but especially that of my own sphere. The ton is a savage beast, sanctioning marriages without love, selling daughters to the highest bidder — usually ‘noble’ rogues and cads, heirs of our kingdom, whose occupation in life is to look for pleasure in the arms of a courtesan, or at the card tables of some hell, while their estates are left in the hands of stewards. Some of them use their new brides’ dowry to pay their infamous debts, while their younger brothers are forced into a life of hard work. I lost count of how many of my school and university friends had fallen into this social abyss.
I would like to say that most of those young women are innocent, victims of their circumstances, but I cannot. I have seen enough of the ton to know they are raised to deceive, to look like something they are not; in general, they lack compassion, intelligence and honesty. And, when they do not achieve their primary goal in their first two seasons — to find a husband — they appeal to subterfuges and compromises. Balls are nothing more than a hunting field for ‘proper’ wives and husbands.
And, yes, I despise all those things.
But the recent events concerning my sister, and having witnessed beforehand the deceitful nature of people I had known and trusted — all of which added to my concern of being equally trapped in a compromised situation and, consequently, a loveless marriage — brought out the worst in me. The distress of having my baby sister almost ruined by a man I once considered a friend — almost a brother — simply exacerbated my cynical view of the world and reinforced the barriers around my own heart.
So, when I saw you, such a beautiful and gracious lady, sitting alone at that assembly, I could not think in any other way. Your intention was to call my attention — as Miss Bennet was doing with Bingley — and by your mother’s instruction. I could see the mischief in your mother’s eyes when, even from far away in the room, I could hear her saying ‘ten thousand a year’. My offensive words about your appearance, therefore, more than reflecting what I really thought about you, were spoken as a warning to dissuade your supposed plans — although I was not sure you had heard them.
How I can atone enough to earn your forgiveness is beyond me.
Regarding Bingley’s behaviour, I must trust your secrecy again. I cannot doubt he was touched by your sister’s beauty and amiability; however, his infatuation did not grow strong enough to overlook the limitations of your family and his personal ambitions in life. His mother was a gentleman’s daughter, but his father was involved with trade, so to be accepted in society he needs to marry well.
Please, do not think ill of him. He lost both his parents when we were still at Eton and having known him since that tender age, I know he is a good man. Unfortunately, the desire for status has been a strong inducement in his life.
In the end, if Bingley’s admiration for your sister did not increase, I believe it was for the best. I know in a way I am betraying my friend’s confidence, but, again, I can only count on your discretion. As my admiration for you started growing, so did my understanding of your sister’s true nature. My impression is that Miss Bennet is too kind and too gentle to thrive as Bingley’s wife. I hope you understand what I mean.
I have no doubt your sister, who, in many ways, reminds me of Georgiana, will find a man who can love and cherish her for what she is and not for what she does or does not possess.
When we left Hertfordshire, my intentions were not to flee from an inferior society or unpleasant company as you have thought, but to try to forget you. I had never yearned for any lady until I met you. Your generous and kind nature, and even your interest in Wickham’s situation, a man you could not have known was lying, despite hurting my feelings, showed me how fiercely a defender of those wronged by the injustices of our society you can be. Your intelligence and wit, and even your teasing and impertinence, captivated me. My wealth never impressed you. Even your strong refusal told me of your character; you could not marry a man who you could not trust or respect.
Regarding my resemblance to my fickle friend, in not being consistent with my attentions to you, I could blame the responsibility of maintaining the Darcy legacy; after all, hundreds of lives depend on me. But I cannot. You are the daughter of a gentleman. Your family’s importance in Hertfordshire is testament to the connections they have in the region. Any excuse for this subject would be null. And regarding your mother and sisters’ behaviour, they were no worse than those of many illustrious families in the town.
No. The truth is much simpler than that. I was an arrogant and pompous man.
I am the sole heir of a large estate; hundreds of lives depend on me. I could not be taken away by infatuation. I have the sole responsibility for maintaining the Darcy legacy. So, I believed you unsuited to the position of Mrs Darcy. And you were right. It was never about you but your family.
How can I atone for such arrogance? If there is an answer, I confess, it is beyond me.
My undoing — or rather, my salvation — was that I have failed to forget you, and when I saw you again and knew what a fool I had been, I could only hope everything would end well.
I am not as good with the spoken words as I am with my quill; the result was what we experienced yesterday. For all those things, I cannot say anything else, but ask you to forgive me. My intention was to tell you, show you, that nothing was strong enough to keep me away from you. You are perfect to me.
I could only hope I could be the same for you. In my selfish presumption, I believed I knew about your feelings for me, that I was seeing in your eyes the same consuming fire I had inside my heart. I misread you in so many ways.
Please, disregard this last paragraph. I was led astray. Unfortunately, I do not have the time or the disposition to rewrite this whole page again.
I could say so much more about my motivations and feelings — that I would never have a mistress if I had someone like you as my wife — but I shall not do so, fearing it would be repulsive to you.
I can only hope this letter can mitigate my errors at least a little in your eyes.
Darcy
After reading the letter for the second time, a much greater shadow of regret came over Elizabeth; she could barely breathe. This was much worse than before. Never in her life had she felt the weight of her own shameful behaviour as she felt it now. All her contempt and annoyance for a man whose only crime was to have hurt her vanity, showed her how proud and prejudiced she could also be.
She read the whole letter again, seeing all the facts there mentioned, some unknown to her until that moment, some from another perspective.
The part where he hoped Jane would find a better man certainly spoke highly of his kindness towards her sister. That Mr Darcy would say she would be better without his friend — and not the opposite.
In her blind fury, she had also disregarded his declaration of love, even despised it as a simple expression of his personal whim, offending his feelings and honour, suggesting he would be unfaithful.
How foolish she had been. Had anyone tried to tell her how much Mr Darcy loved her, that he was capable of risking his own life for her, she would have laughed.
Mr Darcy had his flaws, like any other creature of God, but lack of honour and love were not among them. His love for his sister and his need to protect her, and now this declaration of his own feelings, were enough proof of it. He did not lack love or honour, nor was he selfish, as she so harshly accused him of being. No. He was the kindest and most honourable man she could ever meet.
If regret could kill, she would be a pile of ashes.
She looked back at him. Swallowing her pride, she forced herself to admit the truth; she also loved him.
And God help her if she was not going to live every single day of the rest of her life proving that to him.
She only hoped that this end would not come too soon.
Moving back to his side, she took his hand again. For now, this was the only place where she could find peace for her troubled heart.
~ ? ~
Mr Bennet was in his study sorting through his ledgers and letters. It was late in the morning and he was about to finish all his tasks before his midday meal, when an agitated Mrs Hill, the housekeeper, came with a letter in hand, saying it was from an express, and that the messenger was instructed to wait for a reply.
Mr Bennet frowned and took the letter. He did not like expresses, especially those coming at the end of the morning to disturb his meals.
“Send the good man to the stables and give him a meal and some tea while I read my letter, will you, Mrs Hill?”
Curiously, the letter was from Charlotte Collins. He wondered what that could mean. Why would Elizabeth not write instead? A shadow of concern came over Mr Bennet as he looked at the letter. Whatever was in there, he knew he would not like it.
He broke the seal and started reading it.
11th April 1816.
My dear Mr Bennet,
I am very sorry to inform you that a sad event took place early this morning here in Kent. I know not any other way to inform you about it, so I beg you to keep your courage and faith.
This morning, my dear Lizzy and Mr Darcy, Lady Catherine’s nephew, were kidnapped from our neighbourhood by some unknown men. We do not know any details, so I am sorry I cannot tell you more. Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr Darcy’s cousin, is committed to investigate what happened. He asked me to send you this letter informing you of what has occurred, and to put himself at your service.
I do not know what else to say. You are very welcome to come and stay with us, if you so wish. Our house is open to you. Please, let us know your decision.
Yours sincerely,
Charlotte Collins
“Oh, dear God! My dear, dear Lizzy,” Mr Bennet burst out.
Collapsing in the nearest armchair, Mr Bennet felt a tightness in his chest as he reread the letter. This news was much worse than anything he could possibly imagine. His beloved child, abducted. Who would do such a thing? And why?
A deeper concern grabbed his heart, as he remembered those news reports about ladies being taken from the south of England. Could his Lizzy have been taken by those same men?
Good God. No.
Jane entered the room. “Papa, is everything all right? I heard you shouting.” The pale face of her father frightened her. “Papa, what is the matter? Was the news so bad? Mrs Hill told us about the express. Please, Papa, talk to me.”
“Come here, my child,” Mr Bennet said, rubbing his hands over his face. “I need to share this dreadful, dreadful news with someone with good sense. Please read it.”
Jane took the letter and after reading it, she slowly sat on the other armchair, unable to contain her own tears. “Oh Papa. What shall we do? Will you go to Kent?”
It took Mr Bennet some time to react to what his daughter was saying. “ Yes, yes, my dear. I think I must. I am going to Kent and I beg you to come with me. I do not believe I can cope with this pain on my own. Call Mrs Hill and ask the messenger to come in. I have my reply to send.”
After Mr Bennet had written his response and ordered his luggage to be prepared, he gathered his family in the drawing room. The general reaction did not surprise him. Mrs Bennet felt ill and had to be helped to her room. Despite her careless country manners, she loved all her daughters. Lydia and Kitty were speechless for some seconds and then broke down in tears.
Mr Bennet, however, refused to give them too much attention and focused instead on what needed to be done. About half an hour later, he and Jane were ready to leave.
Once the carriage was loaded, they left for a destination that promised no leisure or entertainment, only pain.
~ ? ~
The sun was high in the sky when the carriage finally stopped. Elizabeth’s heart raced when she awoke. Her tired body had betrayed her, and she had fallen asleep. Looking down, she noticed she was still holding Mr Darcy’s hand, and that he was still sleeping.
The door was abruptly opened, and Brown’s gruff voice came from the outside. “We’ve arrived. Leave.”
Elizabeth tried to stand up, but her legs were stiff and cramped.
Ned put his head inside the carriage and shouted at them. “Why are you taking so long? Do you think we can wait ’ere the whole day?”
But Mr Darcy did not even flinch.
“Sir, Mr Darcy is not well,” Elizabeth pleaded as she stepped out of the carriage. “If you treat him harshly, I am sure he will not survive.”
Brown and Ned exchanged a disgusted glance, and Wickham was nowhere to be seen.
“What are we going to do with ’im?” Ned asked .
Brown looked inside the carriage. “We’ll need to carry him upstairs.”
“He has been bleeding since we left Rosings. I am sure he will need a doctor,” Elizabeth added, trying to stretch their luck a little more.
Brown approached her. Elizabeth recognised him as the man who had shot her. “I’m telling you this just once, so for your own sake, pay attention. We’ve already called a doctor. He’s a local fellow. When he arrives, we’re telling him that our friend was hurt during a hunting party. You’ll be his wife, Mrs Smith. I’ll be with both of you all the time the doctor’s in the house. If I suspect you’re trying to pass any kind of message to him, I’ll personally kill the dandy, then the doctor and lastly you. Do not try me, lady. Have you seen Wickham’s face? I did that. Are we understood?”
Elizabeth shivered as the image of Wickham’s disfigured face appeared in her mind and nodded.
He came closer to her. “And don’t try to escape.” He did not need to finish. She understood what he meant.
When Brown moved towards Mr Darcy, she was able to breathe again. Thankfully, her efforts were being rewarded as the men, with some measure of care, carried Mr Darcy inside the house and then upstairs.
Only in that moment did Elizabeth notice her surroundings. They were somewhere on the coast, and the house, a small, three-floored cottage, quite fanciful and picturesque, was situated on the highest point of a cliff. It had an astonishing view.
It was ironic that they could be in such a beautiful place under such dreadful circumstances.
Were they to die there?
They went upstairs, to the third floor, and the only door was opened. Inside, there was a spacious and light bedroom. The walls were covered with a charming and expensive wallpaper that Elizabeth had only seen in fashionable warehouses in London. The remaining furniture comprised a sofa, a well-crafted vanity with a mirror and stool, and a large, elaborate four-poster double bed where they dropped Mr Darcy.
Brown turned to her with a sneer and threw the bag with bandages at her feet. Then, they left.
Ned noticed Darcy’s blood on his arm. “I bet the dandy won’t survive the night,” he said closing the door behind him.
Alarmed, Elizabeth ran to Mr Darcy, sitting by his side on the bed, and feared the man might be right. “I hope the doctor does not take too long to arrive,” she whispered.
Darcy eventually opened his eyes. “Elizabeth…”
“I am right here. Please do not talk. They said a doctor is coming to see you.”
Ignoring her reassurances, Darcy continued. “I need to ask you a favour,” he said slowly, looking down at his blood-soaked bandages. “If the worst comes to pass, please, I beg you, find my sister… give her the love I shall not be able to give. I am confident the two of you will be great friends. I knew it from the moment I saw you with your sisters. Would you do that for me? Please?” He spoke in an almost imperceptible whisper, his strength failing him.
Elizabeth looked down at him with her heart full of compassion and fear. She could not deny Mr Darcy his wish but promising him this would give him the peace of mind she was not sure she wanted him to have. What should she do? How to give Mr Darcy a good enough reason to fight for his life, or even hope they would escape this place, when she had none?
After further consideration, she saw a way, and with his pleading eyes still on her, Elizabeth took a deep breath. “No, Mr Darcy, I am afraid I cannot do that. I am sorry.”
Darcy gasped painfully.
“But, hear me. You have proved that you would die for me,” she added, taking his hand and giving it a light squeeze, “but dare I believe you would… live for me? To live with me enjoying happiness, mutual love and respect? Would you live to ask me… again… to be your wife?”
His frown deepened, but slowly his face lit up as his eyes moved from her wet eyes to her mouth, and to her cheeks, which he slowly tried to reach. She helped him, resting his cold hand on her face.
“What are you saying, Elizabeth? Are you— ”
“I am saying no to your request. I am not going to look after your sister, because I want you to do that yourself.” She spoke with tenderness, kissing the palm of his hand. Then she whispered, “I am begging you to live for us — for me.”
For a long time, they remained there, looking at each other. Darcy’s eyes became moist. “If I live…” he started, emotion hidden in his ragged breathing as he caressed her face. “If I live, would you give me the great honour of being my wife, Elizabeth?”
“If you live, and I live, I promise I will listen to your marriage proposal — a more proper one this time. Would you… live for me?”
A wave of different feelings filled Darcy’s heart, and his breathing became even more difficult. With such strong emotions running through his body, how could he remember his pain? His expression softened. “I will Elizabeth. And may God give me strength to bravely face all that is ahead of us. To see the day when you will finally make me the happiest of men and be my wife.”
“And that is all I need to hear,” Elizabeth said, caressing his face and leaning down to place a kiss on his head, shutting her eyes, lingering there more than was necessary.
Before Elizabeth could move away, Darcy brought his hand to her nape and gently held her forehead against his. For the first time since they had met, their hearts were fully united. No more misunderstandings; no more resentment; no more pain — just love.
Pulling back, Darcy looked at her bruised face, and his heart melted again. He needed her as he needed air. “Elizabeth,” he whispered.
She gazed at him and saw the same expression she had seen when they had fallen in the mud. All of a sudden, feeling the same need, she leaned forward, closing her eyes.
That was the invitation he needed, as their lips touched each other; soft, warm — sublime. Their first kiss, and how wondrous it was.
Slowly, Darcy released her mouth. “I am sorry. Your lip must be sore,” he whispered, looking at the cut in her mouth again.
“The only thing I can feel is your love,” she whispered back .
All the uncertainties, fears and pain intruded again as their lips resumed their mutual passion, and they kissed as if there was no tomorrow.
With a ragged breathing, Darcy slowly broke their kiss again, keeping his hand on her nape. “My God, Elizabeth. You will be the death of me if you keep kissing me like that,” he said perusing every detail on her freckled face. “I love you. And I give you my word I will live… to make you my wife.”
“And I love you, Mr Darcy.”
Darcy froze, his brows coming together, as if doubting her. He would face ten more shots just to hear those words from her lips. “You do?”
The vulnerability in his eyes made Elizabeth shed the tears she had hold back until that moment. “I do, with all my heart. I will never forget that day my eyes rested on you for the first time. You were like a dream, like a full moon shining among the stars. I have loved you for a long time, but because of my pride, I had not admitted it until now.”
He understood her words. She had shouted them at him after his unfortunate proposal. “How could I ever believed I could live without you? It took me being shot to realise that part of what you are is because of your family. I have condemned your mother and younger sisters, but now I can see that despite their occasional unguarded behaviour, you love each other. And that is what counts. I promise you I will give them all the respect they deserve. They will always be welcome in our homes.”
Elizabeth rested her head on the good side of his chest, shedding more tears. This time, however, they were tears of joy. What else could she desire from the man she loved?
A smile reached Darcy’s lips at the ironic thought that he could die of happiness at that very moment. Instead, he raised her face and kissed her once more, pouring in that act all the love he felt for her — and just to make sure he was not dreaming.
Unfortunately, too soon, their crude reality intruded again, and he gently released her, shutting his eyes. Darcy did not know if he was dizzy because of the most amazing feeling was now running through his veins, the feeling of her soft, sweet lips finally brushing against his, or because the damned pain in his shoulder and head were almost unbearable. An enormous wave of frustration engulfed him. Why should the happiest moment of his life be marred by this bloody pain?
“William…” he suddenly said. “Would you mind calling me William?”
Elizabeth’s expression sobered at the sight of his discomfort, but she nodded. “I love you… William,” she said gently, pressing her fingers on the wrinkles of his strained face. “From this moment on, you are bound by your word to stay alive and with me. I will not release you from it. Now, please, do not talk anymore. Save your strength. And please, try to rest, I beg you.”
He was exhausted, in agonising pain, but never happier.
In that moment, the future did not seem so bleak anymore.