Page 33 of Unwillingly Mrs. Darcy

Elizabeth

T he morning sun had barely risen when Elizabeth found herself pacing before the grand windows of Pemberley’s drawing room, her eyes fixed on the winding drive. Darcy was returning today as per the note delivered by messenger the night before and she could hardly wait. She needed him at her side, needed him with her.

She had not slept. How could she, when every second felt like an eternity, stretching between them and the terrible truth of what had happened? Mary was gone.

Elizabeth pressed a trembling hand to her temple. The words from Mary’s letter haunted her, each line a fresh dagger to her heart.

Do not. Do not come for me. Do not search for me. I do not wish to be found.

Trust. How could she trust this? How could she trust Mr Wickham when she knew the sort of man he was?

The sound of hooves pounding against the gravel shattered the uneasy silence.

Elizabeth gasped, her breath catching in her throat. He was here.

Without thinking, she turned and ran—out of the room, down the grand staircase, through the open doors of Pemberley’s entrance.

The moment she saw him, her feet barely touched the ground as she rushed forward. Darcy had just exited the carriage, his expression grim and resolute.

“Darcy!” she called, her voice breaking.

His head snapped up. The moment he saw her, he closed the distance between them in three strides.

She barely had time to think before his hands caught her arms, steadying her.

“Elizabeth.” His voice was low, urgent. “Are you well?”

“I—” The words stuck in her throat. Was she well? No. None of them were. And yet, seeing him, knowing he had come, knowing she was no longer alone in this— she could breathe again.

“I wish I could say yes,” she whispered, gripping his sleeves.

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “I understand.”

A wave of anguish rose in Elizabeth’s chest, and she clutched at him desperately. “Darcy, I should have seen it. I should have stopped this before it happened.”

His brow furrowed. “Elizabeth, do not blame yourself, nobody could have seen this coming, it was entirely out of the blue—”

“No.” She shook her head fiercely, the truth crashing over her in an unbearable wave. “This was not sudden. It started long before she left. She—she had changed. Withdrawn. You know this. We thought she was sick for home.” Her breath hitched, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. “But I see it now. It was Mr Wickham.” Her throat ached. “If I had only—”

“No,” he said again, firmer this time. His fingers lifted to her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Wickham is a master of deception. You cannot blame yourself for his wickedness.”

She swallowed hard, searching his face for something—to chase away the gnawing sense of failure.

And she found it. Not in empty words, but in the quiet, steady certainty in his eyes.

“We will find them. Wickham may think he has the upper hand, but he is mistaken.”

Elizabeth nodded, grateful for his strength, even if she felt the weight of it pressing down on her.

Just as she was about to speak again, Georgiana entered the room, her face flushed with an urgency that was unmistakable.

“Fitz, you are back! I am so pleased. Oh, I have so much I want to say but first—” She paused, looking almost embarrassed but determined. “I have read Mary’s diary. I know it is private but I thought there might be something in there. I only read the last few entries and I’ve discovered something. They didn’t go to Gretna Green as we thought. They went to London.”

The words hit Elizabeth like a blow. Her mind raced, trying to process the implications of this new information. “London?” she repeated, disbelief evident in her voice. “But why? Why would they go there? If they meant to elope and get married, they would have gone to Gretna Green, surely.”

Darcy’s expression darkened as he stepped closer, his gaze intense. “If that was his intention, yes. But I fear Wickham never intended to marry Mary. I had time to consider it all on the journey here. It made no sense. He is always looking for a way to one up me. To make my life difficult. He tried it once before…” He paused and waved a hand as if whatever he’d meant to say did not relate to this situation.

“He wants something else,” Elizabeth said. “Money?”

“I suspect it, yes. Or influence, connections. It is something. I would think he has debts and wants them paid off. Or some other arbitrary amount.”

Elizabeth felt a chill run down her spine at the thought. Mr Wickham had never been a man of honour, and she had always known that his motives were often self-serving. But to think he would stoop to extorting Darcy… It was almost too much to bear.

“Do you think… he knew we would find the diary?” Elizabeth asked, her voice small. “He must have planned this.”

Darcy’s gaze darkened, and he nodded. “It seems likely. I am sure he has more than one plan going at once. I feel perhaps he wanted us to follow him to London. If he knew she kept a diary, he likely manipulated her to make a note of it.”

“But for what purpose?” Georgiana asked.

“He would have asked her if she kept one I am certain. If he did not, then he would have made sure she left word some other way. I would not be surprised if he has left us breadcrumbs to make sure that we find out. I suspect he wishes to have us follow him.”

“Follow him, stop him and pay him,” Georgiana said, the disgust evident in her voice. “That is what he wants us to do.”

“I daresay it is so,” Darcy said.

“But what if we do not follow him?” Elizabeth asked. “What if we do nothing and let him marry her? Is that not worse? Then he is connected to the family.”

“That is true,” Darcy said with a sigh. “If we do not follow him and he marries Mary, then he is tied to us permanently.”

“And he thinks he can hold out his hand until the end of days,” Elizabeth said. “So regardless, he will make a pretty penny out of it.”

“It is always about coin with him,” Georgiana said and shook her head.

“Well, he will not get a single coin out of me, not if I can help it,” Darcy said.

Elizabeth turned to see Kitty standing in the doorway, her eyes swollen from crying. She looked fragile, her shoulders slumped under the weight of grief and confusion.

“Kitty,” Elizabeth said softly, stepping towards her, “how are you?”

Kitty looked up, tears still fresh on her cheeks. “I… I cannot believe it, Lizzy. I just cannot. How could Mary have been so foolish? I truly did not know anything about this.”

Elizabeth wrapped an arm around Kitty’s shoulders, offering what comfort she could. “I know, Kitty. But we must focus now on what we can do. We cannot change what has already happened, but we can stop Mr Wickham from causing any more harm.”

Darcy nodded.

“We will leave for London at first light. There is no time to waste. The sooner we arrive, the better our chances of finding them.” The room was heavy with the weight of their decision, and yet, despite the uncertainty that lay ahead, Elizabeth felt a surge of gratitude for Darcy’s unshakable resolve. They would find Mary, they would confront Mr Wickham, and together, they would face whatever came next.

“Then we leave at once,” Elizabeth said, her voice steady. “We will not allow him to win.” Darcy smiled, a rare flicker of warmth in his eyes.

“No, Elizabeth. We will not.” And with that, they gathered their things, prepared for the long journey ahead, knowing that the road would be difficult but that they would face it together.

***

As the carriage sped through the morning mist, the hours of travel seemed to stretch endlessly before them. The landscape blurred past, a backdrop to the silence between Elizabeth and Darcy. Both were lost in thought, their minds occupied with the same heavy burdens—Mary’s disastrous choice, Mr Wickham’s deception, the looming confrontation in London.

Yet, despite the shared goal of finding and rescuing Mary, there was a quiet sense of distance between them, a tension neither of them seemed to know how to address. The journey had already been long, and as the day wore on, Elizabeth began to feel the weight of the fatigue settling into her bones. She had not spoken much, her mind too occupied with the turmoil of her sister’s situation. But Darcy, who had always been more restrained, sat beside her with a quiet intensity, as though he too were unsure how to bridge the growing gap between them.

Finally, as the evening light began to dim and the carriage slowed for a rest at an inn, Elizabeth found herself unable to remain silent any longer. There was something pressing on her chest, something she needed to say—something that had been bothering her for some time, but she had not known how to voice it.

“Darcy,” she began hesitantly, turning her gaze towards him, “I must make a confession. It troubles me to admit it, but I let Mr Wickham influence me by way of Mary.”

“Oh? Pray, whatever do you mean?”

She took a deep breath. “You see, before this all happened, I—well, I had my doubts about our future. You know this. What you do not know is that Mary, she… she advised me to be cautious. She said that you were not to be trusted, that there was something about you—something that didn’t feel right.”

Darcy’s expression shifted at once. His jaw tightened, his lips pressing together in a way that indicated the words stung. Elizabeth could see it in the deepening lines on his face, the brief flicker of hurt before he concealed it again.

“I am certain,” she continued softly, “that Mr Wickham’s influence must have played a part in that.”

Darcy’s gaze darkened, and he turned away slightly, staring out of the window as if to escape the raw emotion in her voice. His hand clenched at his side, his fingers twitching with the tension of unspoken words.

“I understand,” he said quietly, his voice rough, “and I bear no ill will towards you for your doubts. I am not blind to the fact that I gave you cause to question me. But you must know, Elizabeth, I did what I thought was best—always. It was never my intention to hurt you or anyone you love.”

Elizabeth felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She had, in truth, never fully believed the harsh words Mary had spoken, but hearing Darcy speak of them now, she realised just how deeply they had affected him.

“I never meant to hurt you either, Darcy,” she whispered. “I was only trying to protect Mary. But now… now I see how much pain we both carry because of Mr Wickham.”

“I should have known, Elizabeth,” he said, his tone more vulnerable than she had ever heard it. “I should have known that Wickham would not stop at trying to ruin my family. I knew him too well. But I never imagined he would stoop so low as to target you, to target your sister. He attempted something similar with Georgiana but I realised just in time. I dismissed her companion, Mrs Younge, who was in league with him and chased him out of Derbyshire entirely. Or so I thought.”

Elizabeth’s heart ached at the raw pain in his voice. She reached out, her hand resting gently over his on the armrest. His fingers twitched beneath hers, and for a moment, it felt as though time itself had stopped, leaving only the two of them in that intimate silence.

“Darcy,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady, “you stopped him before he could harm Georgiana. You saved her.” He shook his head, the flicker of guilt still clouding his eyes.

“But I should have seen it earlier. I should have known Wickham was capable of anything. I should have tried harder to make his character known to more people. I should have warned you and them more intensely, but he’d been away so long I did not think it would matter. And now, he has done this to Mary.”

Elizabeth’s heart ached, her chest tightening with the weight of his words. “Darcy, you cannot carry all of this on your own. You have done everything you could to protect those you love. You stopped Mr Wickham before he could ruin Georgiana’s life. And now, we will stop him together, for Mary.”

Darcy turned towards her, his eyes searching hers, as if looking for something—perhaps assurance, perhaps forgiveness. And in that moment, Elizabeth realised that they were not so different after all. They both carried the weight of guilt, the burden of past mistakes, and yet they had somehow managed to find a way back to one another.

“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I don’t know how I would have come this far without you. Your strength, your courage, it has been the light guiding me through this darkness. I—” Before he could finish, Elizabeth leaned in, her heart pounding in her chest. She placed a hand gently on his cheek, turning his face towards hers.

The carriage seemed to stop moving altogether, the world outside fading away until only the two of them remained, suspended in time.

“You have been my strength too, Darcy,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. “I do not know what I would have done without you by my side.” Their eyes locked, and in that moment, the years of uncertainty, of doubt, and of everything that had come between them seemed to dissolve, leaving only the raw, undeniable truth of their feelings.

The guilt, the pain, the fear—all of it faded into the background as they stood on the precipice of something more profound. With a soft sigh, Darcy leaned forward, his hand finding hers once more, his grip gentle but sure. And then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he kissed her—his lips brushing hers with a tenderness that left Elizabeth breathless, her heart racing in her chest. For a moment, there was nothing but the soft, steady rhythm of their breathing and the feeling of his body pressed against hers.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered, his voice husky, “we will get through this. Together.”

She nodded, her gaze softening as she gazed into his eyes.

“Together, Darcy.”

The carriage resumed its journey towards the inn, but in that brief, precious moment, the world outside no longer seemed so daunting.