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.
The evening was soon at an end for the Bennet family. Darcy’s blood boiled with the barely contained fury he felt toward the outrages Wickham had perpetrated against Elizabeth. He marveled at his ability to project some modicum of control over his roiling emotions as he tended to his wife and ordered the carriages. Mr. Bennet, with the assistance of Bingley, urged the rest of his family to offer their appreciation to Sir William and Lady Lucas and take their leave.
Once seated in the carriage, Darcy flouted propriety, taking Elizabeth onto his lap and cradling her in his arms as she buried her head in the crook of his neck. Confused and knowing only that something unsavory had occurred involving Elizabeth, Lydia, and Wickham, Bingley indulged his friend and stared out of the window in silence until they arrived at Netherfield. Once they had gained the sanctuary of the house, Bingley grabbed Darcy by the shoulder and inquired about the situation. Darcy glanced at the sleeping woman in his arms and, after a moment of indecision, consented to join Bingley in his study once he saw Elizabeth settled for the night.
When he pushed open the door to his wife’s bedchamber, Darcy saw that Sonia was waiting to assist her mistress, but he dismissed her, not wanting any hands other than his to touch her again that night. He undressed her with tenderness, and though she did awaken, he continued his ministrations, tucking her beneath the counterpane while speaking soft words of devotion and love, and stroking her face until she finally seemed to succumb to what he hoped would be a peaceful slumber.
Darcy swallowed down the lump in his throat and joined Bingley, who handed him a glass of brandy as he waited for him to begin his tale. Darcy began pacing almost immediately, draining his glass in several large gulps and offering it without comment to be refilled. His friend complied and watched with concern on his face as Darcy took up his customary position at the window, looking out into the darkness as he drank without tasting.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. “That blackguard dared to touch my wife; he dared to
He drained his glass and hurled it into the fire, where it shattered into dozens of pieces. Catching sight of Bingley’s shocked expression and distrusting his own emotions, Darcy turned his back to him again, laying his forehead against the cold windowpane. It did little to soothe his temper. “This is no one’s fault but my own,” he continued in a defeated voice full of self-admonishment. “If I had only kept my emotions and desire for Elizabeth in check that day several months ago in Meryton, none of this would ever have happened. Wickham singled her out, not for her beauty and vivacity, but because he recognized my admiration for her, just as I am certain he has
