The Darcys were at breakfast several mornings later when the post arrived. A delighted smile spread across Elizabeth’s face as she plucked from the elegant silver tray held by one of the servants a thick letter addressed to her in a familiar hand. “What brings you so much pleasure, Mrs. Darcy?” her husband inquired.
“It is a letter from Charlotte.”
“Ah, yes. Miss Lucas. And what news does she send from Hertfordshire?”
Elizabeth broke the seal and began to read. “Oh dear,” she said after a few minutes. “She writes that her anticipated wedding to my odious cousin will take place at the end of next week. She says it is her dearest wish that we might attend.” She laid aside the missive and bit her lip as her husband scowled.
He studied her before he spoke, his voice tinged with barely concealed bitterness and a hauteur she had not heard from him for some time. “You cannot tell me you wish to bear witness to your intimate friend pledging her obedience to that ridiculous excuse for a man, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth sighed. “Fitzwilliam, Charlotte and I have been the closest of friends since we were young girls. I do confess I am extremely loath to see her consign herself to such a fate—to enter into a marriage where there is little chance of any real affection or respect—especially with such a man, but however I happen to disagree with her choice, Charlotte has asked this of me, and out of respect for our friendship, I feel obligated to accept her invitation. Indeed, I realize it makes very little sense, especially since our paths are not likely to cross again for some time—if ever—but I know what it would mean to Charlotte. She mentions she has written to Jane, as well. Perhaps she and I could travel together with Mr. Bingley in his carriage. That way you would not have to attend an event I know would bring you nothing but vexation and grief.”
He stared at her with incredulity. “How, in all that is holy, can you honestly believe I would allow you to travel all the way to Hertfordshire without me, Elizabeth, so soon after our own marriage, especially now that you believe you are with child?”
“All the way to Hertfordshire?” She laughed. “It is but half a day’s journey. And Jane and Charles would be with me, so I would hardly be alone or unprotected.” Her eyes developed an impish gleam. “Of course, I would greatly prefer your company to that of Mr. Bingley, Fitzwilliam. Excellent man though he is, I cannot but find your society far superior to that of any other man of my acquaintance, my future brother included.”
Darcy rolled his eyes and pretended to consider her request, all the while knowing he could not bear to part with her or deny her anything he knew would bring her pleasure. Sighing, he nodded his acquiescence and grumbled, “Of course I will accompany you, Elizabeth. Though it will give me absolutely no pleasure to be once again in company with Mr. Collins, I would not wish to deprive you of sharing in your friend’s joy on her wedding day. When would you care to leave? Are you certain you are feeling well enough to make such a journey?”
“I assure you, my love, I am quite well. As for our departure, it shall, of course, depend upon any obligations you may have, but I was hoping to be able to spend at least a few days with Charlotte and our families before the wedding. I cannot think of when she and I may be able to meet again.”
Darcy pursed his lips. “I would have suggested you meet in Hunsford during my yearly pilgrimage to Rosings; however, I highly doubt that to be a possibility in our immediate future, if ever.”
She rose then and, situating herself upon Darcy’s lap, kissed his frowning mouth. She meant it as a passing gesture, one with which to reassure him before broaching the uncomfortable subject of his aunt Catherine, but her husband seemed to have other ideas; he captured her mouth in what quickly became an ardent kiss before she could even begin her speech. When their lips finally separated, Darcy buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing deeply while his arms held her close. “My love,” Elizabeth began but was soon silenced by his muffled words.
“Pray, do not mention that woman, Elizabeth. I care not to discuss her abhorrent behavior at this time. Only know that I cannot so easily forgive her for her disrespect of you.”
Elizabeth acknowledged his words by gently running her fingers through his hair and holding him a little tighter against her breast. “As you wish,” was all she replied.
The trip to Hertfordshire was uneventful. Bingley, Jane, Darcy, and Elizabeth all left London in Darcy’s carriage late Tuesday morning, stopping only for a light luncheon at an inn along the way, so they, as well as the servants and horses, might rest themselves. They arrived at Longbourn at teatime, much to Darcy’s consternation, as he had been most persistent in his insistence that they first stop at Netherfield so their party might refresh themselves somewhat after a rather tiresome journey.
He was especially concerned with Elizabeth’s comfort, worrying himself over her current state and trying to gauge whether or not she was fatigued by their journey, but Elizabeth was not of a mind to acquiesce to any particular demands to rest herself, stating she had managed to fall asleep for a while in the carriage and felt perfectly well enough to dine with her parents and sisters. Though Darcy remained skeptical, he reluctantly let it go, as she had agreed to his proposal that they stay with Bingley at Netherfield, rather than at Longbourn with her family.
Elizabeth had given in to this arrangement mostly for the sake of her husband, whom she knew would be far more inclined to be open in his cordiality to the neighborhood should he not have to share the same roof with her mother so soon after they had just parted company in Town.
Though she very much wished to accompany her brother and sister to Hertfordshire, it was decided between them that Georgiana would remain in London under the protection of Lord and Lady Matlock until their return. Neither Darcy or Elizabeth wished to risk having her meet accidentally with Wickham, should he still be in the vicinity. They soon saw their judgment proven quite sound, for, when they dined several evenings later at Lucas Lodge, many of the officers, Wickham included, happened to be among those in attendance.
For Darcy, it was a doubly trying evening as he found himself thrown into the rather unsavory company of his father’s former favorite as well as his aunt’s officious clergyman. As could be expected, he bore the insincere flattery of the latter with less than civil forbearance; the former, who leered at him with a smirk throughout the course of the entire evening, he found far more difficult to treat with indifference. Darcy found himself glaring at the man for the duration of the night, particularly when he noticed Wickham’s gaze sweeping over Elizabeth’s elegantly dressed figure. As a precaution, Darcy strayed little from her side.
The party, for the most part, was a merry one, especially with the two youngest Miss Bennets in attendance. They flirted with all the officers and called upon Mary to play lively airs so they might dance with them, as well. Both girls, but Lydia in particular, had become intimate with Colonel Forster’s young wife, Harriet, who just happened to be close, both in age and temperament, to Lydia. At one point, their laughter was so effusive it actually drew Mr. Bennet’s notice from his conversation with Colonel Forster, who, rather than sharing Mr. Bennet’s sentiments on the silliness of the young ladies, commented, instead, on his pleasure in seeing such liveliness in females, as he found it to be a welcome diversion from the oftentimes grave responsibilities he carried as a soldier in a time of war.
Toward the end of the evening, in an effort to get some much-needed fresh air and a few moments to herself, Elizabeth slipped away while Darcy was engaged in conversation with Colonel Forster and her father. She had not enjoyed above two minutes of solitude on the terrace located just outside the drawing room, when she overheard a disturbing conversation being conducted in hushed voices by Lydia and a gentleman whose voice she could not quite identify. Appalled by her sister’s total want of propriety and decorum, Elizabeth advanced several feet toward a manicured hedge and discovered her youngest sister in a most disgraceful and compromising situation with none other than Mr. Wickham.
“Lydia!” she cried, “you will return to the house immediately!”
The lovers jerked back in obvious surprise. Lydia hastily covered her exposed bosom, which Wickham had been fondling just moments before, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “La, Lizzy! Just because you are now shackled to such a dour man, it does not give you the right to spoil all the fun for the rest of us. You are hardly in charge of me just because you are now a married woman. I shall continue to do what I please with my dear Wickham, never mind what you say.”
Rage flowed through Elizabeth’s veins at Wickham’s nonchalance. “Come now, my pet,” he said in a voice that made her feel ill, “be a good girl and run along inside while I have a word with your sister. I will join you shortly.”
With a look of resentment toward her sister, Lydia kissed Wickham full on the lips before flouncing through the French doors, slamming them behind her. Elizabeth turned to follow her but found herself detained by Wickham, who was quick to circle around her, blocking her way to the house. “Well, well, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with his usual air of insincerity, “or rather, I should say, Mrs. Darcy. I see we are destined to meet again, though I must confess to have been rather shocked when I heard from your sister that Darcy had actually deigned to marry you. Quite out of character for one in his station, I assure you, but I do suppose being caught in a compromising position by a clergyman must carry some weight with his conscience.”
Elizabeth turned her head away, but he only laughed. “You must have made it quite impossible for Darcy to refuse you, Mrs. Darcy.” He ogled her figure in a repugnant manner that brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. Seeing her agitation obviously excited him. Wickham’s breathing became shallow and he raised his hand to touch the swell of flesh at the neckline of her gown. As in her aunt’s drawing room, Elizabeth attempted to strike him, but again, she found her wrists captured by his strong grip. He laughed. “I see not much has changed, Elizabeth. I still find you undeniably fetching, in spite of the fact your temper leads you to hasty actions you may soon find yourself sorry for… or not.”
Her eyes widened as he drew her against his body. She began to struggle in an attempt to extricate herself from his grasp, his evident arousal pressing against her stomach. “Mr. Wickham!” she exclaimed. “I beg you to reconsider your actions, sir! Surely you know my husband will happily kill you for such an insult, as would his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam!”
This seemed to sober him somewhat, for he scanned the area around them, his gaze darting to the doors leading back into the house. He soon returned it to her figure, however, and tightening his grip so it was especially painful for her, he said hoarsely, “You do make an excellent point, madam; however…”
Elizabeth held her breath, praying for some opportunity to escape. Wickham was, by now, holding her far too tightly for her to be able to free herself, and realizing this, her stomach lurched.
“Tell me,” he demanded as he lowered his head close enough for her to smell the brandy on his breath, “did you scream and fight when your husband first insulted you, or did you dutifully submit to his will when he took possession of you?” Elizabeth gasped, and with one swift motion, Wickham pressed his mouth to hers in a brutal kiss as he shoved her body back against the wall of the house.
She fought against him with every ounce of strength she could muster as he continued to take possession of her mouth, his lower body undulating against her hips. Just as Elizabeth thought she would become physically ill, he released her, grasping the base of her neck with one hand while he ran the fingers of his free hand along one side of her face.
“Not a word, my dear Mrs. Darcy, not a word,” he panted. “I just wanted to have a little taste of what Darcy delights in every night, although he cannot possibly appreciate such a feisty little chit in the manner he should.” Upon seeing the fear in her eyes, he murmured, “Be not alarmed, my dear. I doubt our paths shall cross again after tonight, but if they should, I daresay your loveliness shall most likely force me to claim some further basis for my comparison between you and, well, let us just say, one other young lady of my intimate acquaintance.” With one last, hungry look, Wickham released her and disappeared into the night.
Elizabeth slid to the ground, her legs finally giving way beneath her, and, holding her face in her hands, she cried for some time. Not long after she ceased, she heard lively music being played in the drawing room. Attempting some semblance of composure, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood, but not before hearing her husband’s voice raised in alarm as he questioned her sisters about her whereabouts.
In the next instant, Darcy threw open the French doors and strode out onto the terrace, where he found Elizabeth doubled over near the hedge, emptying the contents of her stomach. He looked at her in horror as he took in her tear-stained cheeks and swollen lips. She raised her handkerchief to her mouth, and he gasped at the angry bruises beginning to encircle both wrists.
Elizabeth found she could not meet his eyes, which held just as much pain and anguish as she suspected her own did, and felt herself sway as another wave of nausea washed over her, fear of her husband’s reaction to what had just occurred gripping her.
Darcy shut the door and, closing the distance between them, enfolded Elizabeth in his arms, where she finally collapsed, a few unshed tears escaping from her eyes. She clung to him, terrified to release him for fear of what she would see in his eyes when she pulled away.
He held her just as tightly, whispering endearments and stroking her back, all the while struggling to keep his alarm at bay, lest he add to Elizabeth’s distress. There was no doubt in his mind her discomposure had something to do with George Wickham, who Darcy noticed was conspicuously absent from the drawing room only moments earlier.
Elizabeth soon calmed, though Darcy continued to soothe her with his touch and gentle words for many minutes to follow. He was afraid to ask what she had been forced to endure at the hands of that… man and remained silent on the subject for as long as he dared before his fear for her well-being finally got the better of him. Pulling her from his breast, he said, in a tight voice, “Elizabeth, dearest, you must tell me what he has done.”
She glanced at him before averting her gaze and, placing a shaking hand over her eyes, said, “I… he has not done the absolute worst. At least not to me.”
He stared at her, his eyes fearful as he brushed a stray curl from her face with a trembling hand. “Are you certain?” he whispered.
She nodded. “Forgive me, but I cannot be concerned solely with myself right now.” She took a deep breath and told him of how she had discovered Lydia in an amorous encounter with Wickham only moments before. “After all that has occurred in the last several months, I cannot believe she is blind to the true nature of such a man! He told me our paths are not likely to cross again after tonight, but he alluded to the eventuality of… something, though I hardly know what. I cannot fathom what might be in his mind, but I am concerned. And what of Lydia? She cannot possibly marry someone like him, yet Lord only knows the liberties she has allowed him. It is in every way horrible!”
Darcy took her hands in his, his anger rising as he traced his finger along her bruised wrists. “I must speak with your father and Colonel Forster immediately, and you must come into the house. You are freezing with only a shawl.” He looked at her, his steady gaze boring into her. “Are you certain you are not… injured any more than what I can see, Elizabeth?” He nearly choked on the words.
Elizabeth noticed then that his eyes were glistening. She offered him a weak smile and cradled his face in her hands. “I am not injured,” she said softly, “I am only feeling unbelievably foolish for having gotten myself into such a dangerous predicament in the first place; though, if I had not come out for some air, I never would have discovered Lydia’s partiality to him, and God knows what would have happened to her, that is, if it has not already taken place.”
Darcy drew her against him and placed a kiss upon her hair, thanking God she had not been seriously hurt or worse. He reluctantly released her, and lacing his fingers with hers, he bestowed another gentle kiss upon her temple before leading her around to the other side of the house, where they entered through another set of French doors. To Darcy’s relief, they found themselves ensconced in a comfortable parlor, mercilessly devoid of any members of the Lucas family or their guests. He settled Elizabeth in a chair by the low-burning fire and removed his tailcoat, wrapping it around her shoulders.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, inhaling his scent as it lingered on the fibers of the fabric, allowing its soothing effects to wash over her senses. After a few moments, she felt some of her agitation fade, and she was able to relax, if only a little.
Darcy added several logs to the fire, and very soon the entire room was bathed in a glowing warmth. He walked to where Elizabeth sat and knelt before her, taking both her chilled hands between his. Rather than raising them to his lips, however, he lowered his head and laid it to rest upon her lap, closing his eyes and willing himself to rein in the powerful emotions churning in his breast.
Elizabeth kissed his curls and laid her cheek against their softness. Both gave and received comfort in equal measure. They remained thus for some time before they were intruded upon.
Mr. Bennet had roamed the house in search of his favorite daughter, only to find her hidden away in the small parlor and engaged in an intimate embrace of sort with her husband. The elder gentleman could easily see all was not well between them, and after hesitating a minute, he cleared his throat. Elizabeth raised her head, and Darcy rose to his feet, but rather than turning to face the intruder, he strode to the window, where he remained for several minutes with his back to the room, his hand passing repeatedly over his eyes. Elizabeth, her father noted, wiped at tears that were glistening upon her cheeks.
“Lizzy, my child,” he asked with concern as he approached her, “what is wrong? Have you quarreled?”
Elizabeth shook her head, not yet trusting herself enough to speak, and glanced at Darcy, who was still staring out into the darkness.
Mr. Bennet turned to his son-in-law. “Darcy, what has happened? If it involves my Lizzy, I will not rest until I know.”
Without so much as a backward glance, Darcy spoke in a controlled voice punctuated by ill-concealed anger. “Then perhaps you should invite your youngest daughter and Colonel Forster to join us. I am certain they would be most interested to hear what has taken place tonight.”
Mr. Bennet gaped at him. He was just about to demand Darcy reveal all, but upon seeing the pained, pleading look from his daughter, he simply nodded and left them. He returned moments later, leading Lydia by the arm with Colonel Forster close behind. Darcy strode to the door and closed it firmly, a scowl upon his face as he returned to his place near the window. From there, he glared at Lydia with distaste.
“Lord, Lizzy!” she exclaimed. “You look positively wretched! It is no wonder your husband looks so cross.” Then, looking around her, she asked, “Where has Wickham got to? Lord! He is not still waiting for me on the terrace, is he?”
Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows shot skyward.
Elizabeth turned aside her head at her sister’s lack of shame.
It was all Darcy could do not to throttle the ignorant girl. “Lydia,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “Mr. Wickham has left, perhaps forever, and you would do well to forget you ever had any dealings with him.”
Lydia gasped. “What? Why?” She rounded on Elizabeth. “Lizzy! You did not send Wickham away, did you?”
Elizabeth rose from her chair, walked to where Darcy stood, and took up her own vigil at the window.
“Why could you not simply allow me to be with the man I love?” Lydia whined. “It is so unfair, Lizzy! You and Jane always get to have all the fun, and I have none!” she exclaimed and ended with a pout.
One glance at his son-in-law made Mr. Bennet see how perilously close that gentleman was to unleashing his temper. He knew he had better act, and he had better do it quickly. “Lydia!” he admonished, and rather more harshly than he was accustomed to doing, “Is this true? Have you been meeting with Mr. Wickham?”
Lydia lifted her chin. “Of course, I have, Papa, for we are in love, and Wickham says when he has enough money saved up we are to go away together.”
Mr. Bennet’s face paled. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice deadly.
Lydia huffed. “Lord, does not anyone listen to what I say?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, enough!” he hollered. “You will go out of this room now and return to the drawing room, where you will await me with your mother and sisters!”
She made to protest, but her father, who very rarely ever raised his voice to any of his daughters, did so again. Lydia retreated with haste, slamming the door behind her.
With a grim expression, Darcy regaled the two gentlemen with the events that had taken place that evening. To say Mr. Bennet’s anger upon hearing of the disgraceful and willful antics of his youngest daughter was severe would have been a gross understatement, but it was almost nothing in comparison to the deep distress he received when he learned of that same gentleman having forcefully taken similar liberties with his favorite daughter.
As far as Lydia was concerned, Darcy wanted very much to believe she would be properly chagrined by the exposure of her thoughtless actions. He would also have liked to believe she would feel a deep and abiding concern for the disgraceful treatment Elizabeth had been forced to endure at the hands of her lover, but, judging from her petulant and selfish attitude, he dared not even hope for such an outcome.
Colonel Forster’s countenance was fierce. He immediately took the blame for Wickham’s nefarious actions upon himself, proclaiming he had failed in his duty as a commanding officer, which should have included his keeping a close watch upon the unscrupulous lieutenant—especially after the incident with Darcy in Meryton several months prior. Shortly after Darcy finished relating the disturbing particulars, the colonel departed Lucas Lodge with his officers, hoping to catch Wickham before he could flee Hertfordshire, where he would very likely leave behind numerous unpaid bills with his creditors and, no doubt, several debts of honor involving their daughters.
Darcy, who had become even more agitated after watching his wife struggle to keep her composure while he informed her father of Wickham’s abominable treatment, expressed his intention of accompanying the colonel and his men. He was finally dissuaded from doing so by his father-in-law, who impressed upon him the probability of such rashness adding greatly to Elizabeth’s heightened distress. One look at his wife decided him. He would not leave her.