Chapter 25

It was a beautiful afternoon as Elizabeth and Jane rode to Netherfield in Mr Darcy's carriage. It almost too hot and the clouds were high and wispy in the brilliant blue sky. Mr Bennet had refused to let Mary and Kitty come along, insisting that they spend their time in some rational, and in Mary's case non-Fordycian, manner.

Mrs Hurst was waiting to greet them, and it quickly became apparent that she was determined to be gracious and welcoming. Although whether this was due to her own goodwill, or fear of her suddenly decisive brother, Elizabeth was unable to determine.

Georgiana was everything that was loving, hurrying to embrace her future sister, words tumbling over themselves as she hastened to assure Elizabeth of her own happiness and her assurance of her brother's future felicity. For the first time, Elizabeth could see traces of the young woman Georgiana could be, with her own help and encouragement. As she looked past Georgiana, she could see Darcy looking at them both fondly, and recognised that her own hopes for their marriage stood on firm foundations.

The afternoon was full of surprises, not least of which was Mr Hurst's shy production of his flute. Every one of them with any pretence at skill had their turn, although it was very quickly obvious that the Darcy's, brother and sister, were the true musicians amongst them. There was very little sheet music for their ill-assorted selection of instruments, but they managed to enjoy themselves and entertain their listeners. Elizabeth, in particular, found she loved to watch Darcy play. His eyes rarely left hers, and it seemed to her that he played directly to and for her. She remembered the evening at Rosings when she had so misjudged his actions, and realised that he had been playing for her then too. She smiled and his face seemed to light up and his fingers danced on the strings.

After the music, they adjourned to the sitting room for tea and cakes. No one knew why Darcy insisted on providing Elizabeth with a footstool she did not need in the slightest, and Jane at least determined to discover why this made Elizabeth blush. The conversation was much livelier that any Elizabeth had known at Netherfield and she spared half a second to feel sorry for Miss Bingley, who was missing so much through nobody's fault but her own.

When tea had finished, Mrs Hurst and Bingley invited Jane to look over her future home, Mr Hurst wandered off somewhere, and Elizabeth, Darcy and Georgiana stayed behind to talk.

"Sir," said Elizabeth sternly. "You may find something to occupy yourself with, while your sister and I become better acquainted."

Georgiana looked rather alarmed at this mode of address but Darcy merely smiled and bowed. "Yes ma-am," he replied. "I shall retire to the desk. Georgie, I am writing to our uncle, let me know if there is anything you wish me to include."

"Now then, Miss Darcy," said Elizabeth. "Let us have a cosy chat. It is not every day one meets a new sister."

Georgiana blushed and had to be coaxed into conversation, the first flush of enthusiasm at the door to Netherfield having exhausted her courage. However, after few minutes they were "Georgie" and "Lizzie" and after a very few minutes more, she felt comfortable enough to produce her needlework, some handkerchiefs she was embroidering for her brother and for Elizabeth. It did not take long for Elizabeth to confirm her first impressions of a young lady of sense and education, who lacked only a little confidence to be a welcome addition to any circle. Without being immodest, Elizabeth knew she could be of great assistance to her new sister and was glad that there was something else she could bring to the marriage, other than whatever it was that Darcy saw in her.

They had not been talking for long when Georgiana rummaged around in her work box and pronounced herself out of a particular colour of thread. "But it is no matter, I have more in my room upstairs." And with that she left the room.

Elizabeth and Darcy looked at one another and smiled. "I suspect that is my sister's idea of romantic discretion," he said. "I shall have to ask Mrs Annesley to have a word with her, when she gets back from visiting her brother."

"She is a lovely girl."

"I know and I am delighted to see you becoming friends. You are both very dear to me and I would be distressed if she felt herself neglected in any way."

They looked at one another across the room, the curtains in the open windows billowed in the slight breeze and the only sounds were birdsong and footsteps over head as the inspection party passed from room to room.

"We can't." They both said together and laughed.

"They might be back at any moment and we have to set Georgie a good example."

Elizabeth could not help but laugh. "Oh dear, I am not sure I like being a good example. Can't I be an awful warning instead?"

He got up and strode over to her and she was never afterwards sure whether he had intended to move. He took her hands in his and kissed them both, one after the other and then led her over to a high backed chair. "Now, madam, you can sit where I cannot see you and drink your tea while I finished writing my letters, without distraction." He brought the footstool before the chair and she rested her slippers upon it. "There, you can think of what might have been, instead of tormenting me." She smiled up at him from beneath her lashes and he had to tear himself away.

Back at the writing desk, he pulled the paper towards him and continued his letter to his Uncle Matlock. He wondered briefly how the news would be received and then shrugged. He owed no duty to anyone but himself and Elizabeth and, while he hoped that his uncle would be happy for him, had no intention whatsoever of being swayed by any disapproval.

After his uncle, he penned a brief note to Lady Catherine. He owed his mother's sister that much at least, although he had no hope of anything but ill-manners in reply. He saw a slim arm and hand come out and replace the empty cup and saucer, and take up one of the books he had left on a side table. He wondered how she would enjoy Marmion as he took up another sheet of paper, determined to write to his Great-Uncle, Sir James Darcy. His father had been estranged from the older man and Darcy had followed his father's lead. He was no longer sure that this was always wise and he paused a moment to think best how to word the letter.

"Got you, you bastard!" Framed in the open window, pistol in hand, a familiar if ragged figure.

"Wickham!"

"Sit down and shut up, Darcy. This is loaded and I've nothing to lose." He flung a long leg over the windowsill and climbed in.

He didn't know Elizabeth was in the room. Oh God, if he found out then there was no telling which of them he might shoot. And Georgie might come back at any moment.

"What do you want, Wickham?" The bell pull was at the other end of the fireplace, well away from either of them, there was no way to summon help.

"I want you to suffer, you bastard. You've got everything and you've made damn sure I got nothing - NOTHING!" He was shouting now, almost in tears and he was standing not far from the high backed chair in which She was sitting.

"If it's money you want...."

"I want what's rightfully mine. I want Pemberley."

Dear God, the man was mad. Wickham looked thin and feverish, the hand that held the pistol grimy and unsteady.

"Killing me won't get you anything but a noose."

"Be worth it to see you done down. I should have been heir, I was the one he loved, not you, boring, rigid, dull, dull, dull."

"Is that what you've thought all these years?" Darcy pushed back his chair and stood, not caring that the pistol came up and pointed at his heart, desperate to make Wickham shoot before he could chose another target. "Don't you understand? I was the son he made in his own image. You were merely entertainment."

"NO!"

The cocking of the pistol was audible in the room and Darcy put one hand on the desk, preparing to vault it in an effort to get to Wickham, if the shot missed or misfired. Before he could do so, something came flying round the back of Elizabeth's chair, grasped in a slender hand, and caught Wickham squarely on the back of the head. He crashed to the floor. The pistol discharged with a crack like lightning as the room filled with smoke.

Darcy rushed round to him, kicking the pistol aside and running his hands over the prone body, looking for other weapons. A long knife he found thrust into the back of the belt under the coat was tossed out of the window. The room filled with people, Bingley, Hurst, two burly-looking footmen. Wickham was seized, blood pouring from his broken nose. He looked stunned and bewildered. The footstool which had hit him was kicked under a sofa and he was led away, struggling feebly, to be locked in a cellar.

At last it was safe for Darcy to take Elizabeth into his arms. She was trembling, as well she might, and he could tell that tears were not far away, so he rocked her gently, calling her his brave love, his valiant Elizabeth, until she raised her head. "I couldn't let him," she said, "I was sitting in that chair and I knew I couldn't let him." Then firmly and loud enough for everyone to hear, she said, "You're mine - I won't let anyone hurt you!"

He kissed her then, in front of the servants, Bingley, Hurst, his sister and hers; had they been alone, he would have carried her off and made her his. She twined her arms round his neck, neither of them caring that he had lifted her off her feet. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her throat. She flung back her head and gloried in it.

A loud cough from Bingley brought them blushing to their senses. He set her back on her feet and had to watch as Jane and Georgiana descended on her with cries of alarm and concern.

Bingley took his arm and led him into a corner. "Shall I send for the constable?"

Darcy shook his head. "No. I can't do that to him."

"He tried to kill you, man!"

"We grew up together. I can't hang the man I went fishing with when we were both boys." He shook his head. "The ironic thing is, he might have been a brother to me, if he hadn't hated me. Yet he loved my father who treated him like a lapdog."

"You mean to let him go free!" Bingley was looking at him as though he were mad.

"No. I'll have him shipped off to the Americas somewhere. Perhaps he can make something of himself over there." He smiled wryly. "It's fortunate I have no plans to visit the colonies, I suspect I'd get there to find myself painted as the blackest devil from hell." He clapped Bingley on the shoulder. "If you don't mind keeping him locked up overnight, I'll take him up to the Pool of London in the morning and send him off."

"With a present of money and a suitable outfit, knowing you," said Bingley but he did not attempt to persuade his friend, who went back to sit with Elizabeth.

Jane took Georgiana by the arm and led her to a different sofa, and Darcy and his Elizabeth sat together, hand in hand, her head resting on his shoulder, until it was time for her to go home.