Despite Elizabeth's best intentions, George managed to claim her for a dance by asking in public, loudly enough and in such a charming manner that it would have been seen as churlish to refuse.
Grudgingly she allowed him to lead her to the line and soon after the music struck up, she found a reluctant smile curving her lips. He was a handsome man, and danced with a pleasing lightness of foot all while making the most roguish little comments and otherwise exerting himself to be an amusing companion. Elizabeth relaxed into the dance, finally giving way to allow her natural pleasure of the sport take precedent. She hardly realized when they danced twice in a row, for it felt natural.
In her mind, they whirled and laughed, hiding hands on the grounds of Pemberley right in front of the forest line as Will smiled begrudgingly and occasionally joined in. She spun and spun and spun, head tilted back to watch the sky confident George would not let go of her hands. . .until he did and they both went sprawling to the ground in fits of laughter.
"Your dress will be all mucky, Lizzy," Will called out.
"Mucky muck muck," George hooted.
She blinked and they were now a man and a woman, years and unhappy circumstances distancing them from those precious times in the sun. And William—where was William? Tears began to prick her eyes, a sudden stinging loss in her breast before she shook herself out of the near reverie.
The second dance ended and she shook her head sharply when Wickham began to speak.
She made her way through the crowd, using the time to calm herself when she felt a presence suddenly at her elbow. A strong hand took her arm, guiding her to a quiet corner.
"What did he say to you?" William asked tersely. "Do not lie to me, Elizabeth, I see it on your face."
She wrenched her arm away. Of course, it would be will to recognize that she was upset, even though she knew her face was composed. He had always been the one most in tune with her feelings, even though Wickham was more demonstrative, exuberant in his expressiveness.
"I am fine."
He said nothing and when she glanced up at him he was frowning down at her, a slight narrowing of his eyes.
"Really, I am fine, Wi—Mr. Darcy. Thank you."
He nodded after a moment. "Do you need something to drink? You exerted yourself during the dancing."
"You were watching us?"
"What else is there to watch?" he paused, then spoke thoughtfully. "Though, your younger sisters are making quite the spectacle of themselves. Jane is quite a pretty dancer. The most handsome woman in the room. Charles is lucky."
Elizabeth scowled at him. Not that she minded the compliment to Jane, nor could she disagree with his assessment of her younger sisters. . . But really. What gentleman stood in front of one lady while proclaiming another to be the most handsome? Fitzwilliam Darcy, that was who.
"Well?" he prompted.
"Oh—no, I do not need anything to drink. Thank you."
Darcy seemed to be waiting for something, and Elizabeth sighed. He would not repeat himself, simply stand there all night until she said what he thought she should say. Stubborn.
"But perhaps some fresh air will do me good."
He held out an arm, which she took, and escorted her through the crush and out of the building. It was a cool evening, but after the warmth of the revelers and the heat in her blood from exercise, she could stand several minutes in the cold.
"Let us move away a bit," Darcy said, leading her away from the entrance where the lanterns' glows did not quite reach. They stood in silence, nodding at the occasional individual leaving from or going to the gathering. For several peaceful minutes, she and Darcy stood rather closer to each other than decorum might dictate, once he had released her arm, but his hands were clasped behind him at his waist. She glanced at him sideways. He held the pose of a man content to simply stand, still as a stone guardian, until the lady at his side indicated otherwise. She shook her head.
He caught the movement and glanced at her, eyebrow raised in silent inquiry. Elizabeth sighed, touching his arm. "Thank you, but I do not need a knight to save me from George Wickham. I can handle him quite well."
"I am certain you can. It is my pleasure to be of service, regardless."
His voice was even but lacked both distance and coldness. There was not much she could say in reply, so she simply enjoyed the soothing stillness of his company under the moonlight, realizing how comforting it was to be allowed to enjoy his quiet companionship.
"How many times did we sit for hours at the lake, saying nothing?" she asked in a quiet murmur. "The sun warm on our necks, the birds chirping." She glanced at him and found a small smile on his lips.
"You were the only girl I knew who did not feel the need to fill silence with chatter."
Elizabeth began to laugh. "You always hated chatter. It is a wonder you make yourself endure the confines of a crowded ballroom, where there is nothing but."
"I astonish myself as well."
She fought the sudden urge to lean her head against his shoulder but instinctively moved a little closer to him. He noticed, of course, for he moved at a slight angle as if to accept her nearness. His hand touched her back briefly, and the small caress held the same power as if he had wrapped an entire arm around her and drawn her in for an embrace. They remained quiet for several more minutes before the peace of the night was shattered.
"So there you two are! An assignation, how quaint."
Elizabeth stiffened, turning fully to face Wickham as he approached. Darcy went very still, warmth fleeing, face now like granite.
"What do you want, George?" William asked. "Go back to the party."
"Are you Lord of the Assembly, then, to tell me where to come and where to go?"
Wickham's smiled flashed as he approached. As he neared Elizabeth, Darcy stepped neatly in his path.
"Leave her alone. Your presence disturbs her, and she requires a moment of peace and quiet."
"Get out of my way, Will." Wickham's smile did not leave, it merely hardened. Elizabeth could tell by his tone that the situation would escalate fast if she did nothing. George wished it to escalate, and from the set of William's shoulders, he would be happy to oblige.
"We will all return to the party," she said, attempting to step around William.
He blocked her path. "Stay back, Elizabeth."
She stared at his back in astonishment. "Excuse me? Mr. Darcy—"
"He upset you, any fool could tell. George excels at upsetting women. He thrives on it. I will not have it here."
"You will not have it?" Wickham repeated as Elizabeth tried to process the words, stunned by Will's uncharacteristic vehemence.
Not that he was lazy, or a coward, but William was more likely to consign a person to their fate, especially if he deemed them foolish. He was not a knight—for he had always said a person should save themselves, or at the least not make stupid decisions in the first place. Once or twice he had stepped in to protect her, but usually, that was as a result of George dragging her unknowingly into some scrape. Once George had insulted a farmer's son, and the boy returned with reinforcements. Those reinforcements had attempted to restrain Lizzy while he and George fought. When Will arrived, alerted by who knew, he had immediately defended Elizabeth, assessing that she had been an innocent bystander.
There were other times, though, he had refused to help, knowing she had willingly followed George into some trouble or other.
"You have done enough damage, George. Take your leave."
"Or you will make me?"
William was silent. He would not posture, not trade insults. Simply wait for his opponent's decision.
"Darcy, move," Elizabeth said.
"You heard her," George snapped. "The lady does not desire your protection. Move."
"I do not want you to defend me either, George! You two wish to quarrel and you will not use me as an excuse."
"I need no excuse to pummel this one into the dirt," George said. "Just the promise he will not use his rank to hail me throw in gaol once I have thoroughly thrashed him."
Darcy laughed coldly. " You are deluded, sir. Such it is with scoundrels and drunkards. They always believe themselves superior in force."
"As opposed to gentry, who believe themselves superior by right of birth and wealth." Elizabeth heard the sneer in his voice. "But do not have the mettle to test their superior like men, with fists."
"Step away, Elizabeth," Darcy said.
"Yes, run along, Lizzy. You do not want to see this."
"What is wrong with you two?" she cried. "You will make a scene. Darcy."
She grabbed his arm, trying to turn him to face her. He did not budge, of course, though he glanced at her.
"You do not know him like I do, Elizabeth. He brings nothing but mischief in his wake and his intentions are never honorable. The right thing to do would have been to leave you alone, not renew the acquaintance. Ask him what he intends, once he has wormed himself back into your heart and trust."
"You speaks as if I plan on ruining the girl," Wickham said.
"If not her," was the stony reply, "then another. Any girl with a decent enough dowry will do."
Wickham exclaimed, and swung. Darcy pushed her back in a lightning-quick move, enough force that she tumbled to the ground, momentarily stunned before scrambling to her feet, not even a fleeting thought about the state of her gown as she watched the men. . .brawl.
Darcy blocked the punch and swung, and they engaged. A series of swift blows, back and forth attesting that at some point both men had extensive pugilist training. And not only that, experience in the street, in real fights. Even Darcy, who defended himself with a poise and speed that spoke volumes.
They broke away, circling each other. "You do not have to suffer the humiliation of defeat," Darcy said. "Promise me that you will stay away from her, and any of the Bennet girls, and I will walk away. You will have your dignity."
Wickham laughed scornfully. "You do not order me. I will have any Bennet sister I want, beginning with the second eldest."
Elizabeth gasped, striding forward. "I might have a thing to say about that, sir!"
They ignored her. "You fiend. You admit it," Darcy said, sounding coldly pleased.
"As my wife," Wickham snarled. "Every man deserves a wife. There is no reason why I may not offer for her or any other."
"There is every reason."
Wickham's next blow glanced off Darcy's cheek and then they were silent again, faces grim. Darcy's fist met with George's jaw and the man stumbled back, swearing. Darcy did not advance, merely waited.
"Well?"
George swore, and advanced again. "What gives you the right?"
Darcy darted, avoiding a blow. "The right of might."
"Might by station and wealth, you mean. You are no different from any other entitled man of your class."
Darcy's next feint distracted Wickham, and then a solid blow to the midsection, followed by a punch to the jaw sent George sprawling, dazed.
"No," Darcy replied, voice even as he stared down at Wickham. "The might of superior character. And superior intentions."
George spat in the dirt. "What intentions do you have?"
"For now, the intention that you will never harm that family again with your ill-thought actions."
Darcy turned on his heel and strode towards Elizabeth, a light in his eyes she could only describe as being the heat of battle. "I will not allow it," he said as he stopped in front of her. His voice was quiet. "Do you understand?"
"You have no say in any part of my life."
He smiled a little. "You may think so, Lizzy, if it pleases you."
There was a murmur and exclamation, and the sound of several feet. They both looked over and saw a crowd of ladies gathering as two gentlemen rushed forward to help Wickham to his feet. George glared in Darcy's direction.
"I merely sought genteel conversation with the lady," Wickham was saying, "and he attacked me. Almost as if he had a claim on her, but they are not engaged, so why would he take exception?"
Elizabeth stiffened. He was only making the situation worse and from pure peevishness. He might necessarily be angry with her, but like any wounded animal he sensed Darcy's present weakness and aimed for it.
"Have a care how you speak," Darcy said, tone icy.
George shook off the men helping him and strode forward. Uniform askew, hair disheveled. He looked rakish and for a moment when the light from the party brushed off his cheek, a little devilish. A dark blonde beauty fallen cast from heaven upon the earth.
"What will you do?" Wickham asked, tone equally cold. "You attempted to deny me once. We are no longer children and I do not rest under the shadow of our father."
"Our father," Darcy repeated, voice very soft.
Wickham stiffened, then his head turned to Elizabeth. "They took you away from me once. Not again."
"I am not theirs to give or take," she replied. "And this conversation is drawing the worst sort of attention. It is time to salvage what we may of this situation."
George took a single step forward, triumph in his eyes, Darcy still and silent at her side. An almost contemplative silence, when she snuck a wary sidelong glance at his profile to determine whether he would again lower himself to actual brawling in the streets.
"Do you not see, Lizzy?" he asked, ignoring Darcy. "We are not children any longer. You are almost on the shelf—"
"Thank you."
"—so no one will gainsay you should you choose to wed a man with matrimonial intentions." His look, and his tone, were significant. "Give me some sign, and I will fight for you. I am no longer a child."
Elizabeth sighed. "You keep saying that, George. And it is true. We are no longer children." She gentled her tone. "I do not wish to marry you."
Wickham's expression darkened and as he moved even closer, William suddenly inserted himself between them. "She said no, George. She will not have you."
Wickham laughed. "Women enjoy playing these little games, they think it heightens a man's ardor. No mind, I shall simply bide my time, the patient suitor."
"No," Darcy said. "You will not. I will not allow it."
"Again, what do you think you can do to stop me?"
"I think I may scream from the childishness of this discourse," Elizabeth said in a conversational tone. "You are both beginning to repeat yourselves. it is boring."
Darcy turned smoothly, Elizabeth a little surprised he presented his back with such impunity to his brawling partner of just mere moments ago. She heard Wickham's inhalation but forgot about him as she looked up into Darcy's deep eyes, the blue turned dark with the night. There was no anger on his face. Only contemplation.
"I have might on my side," he said to her. "The might of honor and duty."
Before she could ask what in the world those slightly pompous words should mean to her, Darcy lowered his head and sliding an arm around her back, seized her in a kiss.
In front of everyone.