Title: Under the Influence
Rating: M – for sexual situations just this side of explicit.
Disclaimer: Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.
Setting: Regency

Summary: A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care of myself, and of Mr Wickham too. He shall not be in love with me, if I can prevent it."

– Elizabeth Bennet, Pride and Prejudice Volume II, Chapter 3

Chapter Eleven: If She Can Prevent It

Elizabeth
Tuesday December 24, 1811

Monday December 23, 1811
Darcy House, London

Dearest Elizabeth,

I know you expected my arrival by today, but some pressing business has come up that prevents my departure until the morrow. Know that only the most urgent matters will ever keep me from your side, now and in the future, and that I long to be with you even as I write this.

I will be at Longbourn early as possible in the morning and anxiously await our reunion, as I hope you do. I will only add to these sentiments,

God Bless,

FD

Elizabeth lowered the short missive from her fiance to her lap with an impatient sigh. Already it was late afternoon and another of Fitzwilliam's promises was broken, though she supposed he had not meant to do so. His words of longing for her company seemed sincere, even in austere print, and she was certain that he was on his way now. However, she would be most pleased when their marriage had taken place and she could simply follow him wherever he went without raising any eyebrows.

It had been a startling thought only days ago that Elizabeth would not only miss Fitzwilliam's presence but also that she eagerly awaited their wedding day. After the 'incident,' everything about her perception of him had changed; instead of considering him aloof, he was now admitted to be uncomfortable with strangers; instead of a decided villain who preyed upon the downtrodden, he was an honorable man who had stood by her throughout tribulations; instead of prideful...well, he was still that, but now she felt as if he had an excuse for it rather than simply thinking himself above his company in a country neighborhood.

Now, if only he would return.

A soft knock on the outside of her bedroom door drew Elizabeth's attention and she, from her position where she sat upon the edge of her bed, called for the person or persons to enter. As the portal slowly opened, Elizabeth belatedly remembered the letter on her lap and folded it back into thirds before tucking it beneath her leg where it would not be seen.

She needn't have bothered, however, because it was her Aunt Gardiner paying a visit and that estimable lady would never pry into the contents of someone else's letter like her mother and younger sisters might. "Aunt Gardiner! To what do I owe this honor?"

To her mild surprise, Mrs Gardiner quietly shut the door behind her before approaching, a soft smile upon her features. "I have come to speak with you, Lizzy, about an important matter. May I sit?"

"Yes, of course." Elizabeth slid a little more to the left to make room upon the mattress edge for her aunt, waving her hand toward the spot in welcome. She could not imagine what Aunt Gardiner wished to speak about, but by the placidity of her countenance and air Elizabeth supposed it must not be too serious.

"I had intended to speak with you before now," admitted Mrs Gardiner, "but I have yet found a private moment. I thought now, while the rest of the family is preparing for the party tonight, would be a good time."

Elizabeth agreed that she was at leisure, having already dressed in a deep green evening frock and now only awaited her turn with the maid to see to her hair. As Lydia and Kitty more often than not claimed Sarah for themselves immediately and took up an inordinate amount of her time, Elizabeth assumed that she had at least an hour to wait before her turn came.

Before beginning whatever subject she intended to discuss, Aunt Gardiner took a deep breath. "I know that this is usually the providence of a mother, but as Fanny is...well, I thought you might prefer to receive this information from myself. It is about your wedding night."

Immediately, Elizabeth flushed. Her aunt smiled in return, a certain knowing quality about her expression with one eyebrow raised slightly, likely assuming that her niece was flustered by the mere idea of marital relations. In actuality, Elizabeth's change in color was more a combination of shame for knowing that there was no need for Aunt Gardiner's apparently prepared speech and general embarrassment in regards to some of her more recent salacious thoughts about Fitzwilliam. Should she tell her dearest aunt, who in some ways had been more of a mother to her than Mrs Bennet had been, and face the disappointment Mrs Gardiner would inevitably express?

Elizabeth opened her mouth, ready to divulge her shameful secret, and then closed it again without saying anything when she recalled the eavesdropping incident with Mr Collins. She was certain that she could trust her aunt's discretion as Mrs Gardiner, much like Jane, had been a long time confidante, but what if there was someone lurking at her door? Her nosy, meddling cousin was gone, but Kitty and Lydia were in residence and were entirely unacquainted with the concept of discretion. Her mother almost equally so. No, she could not risk it, much as she longed to divulge it to her dear relation.

When Elizabeth said nothing for several stretched moments, Aunt Gardiner took her opportunity to begin. "Now Lizzy, I know that you have likely heard some...unfavorable things about a wife's marital duties, but I want you to know that there is nothing to be concerned about. The first time can sometimes be a mite uncomfortable, but any pain you experience will be small and brief. After that, it is often a wonderful experience between man and wife which, more often than not, brings them closer together. It is an important, emotional intimacy as much as it is a physical one – particularly when a couple cares for one another, as I understand that you and your Mr Darcy do."

Elizabeth felt the heat in her cheeks intensify and looked down toward her lap where her fingers were laced together into a knot. She picked at one thumbnail with the other as her aunt continued.

"Now, when your husband comes to you, he will likely wish to kiss and touch you" –

– warm, glowing images of Fitzwilliam tipping himself forward to press his lips against hers, his tongue wet against the seam between them, and his hands roaming to forbidden places rose to the surface of Elizabeth's consciousness –

– "and will probably want to undress you" –

– the slide of thin muslin across her skin, tickling her as it whispered over her thighs –

– "and you should not feel shy to participate. Men often appreciate it when their wives do something other than lie there. Reciprocate" –

– her own hands reaching out to tangle in his curls, tugging gently to guide him on top of her in some instinctive understanding of what needed to happen next –

– "and when he is ready, he will place himself between your legs and put his member inside of you" –

– there had been awkward fumbling as Fitzwilliam sought to both continue kissing her and also guide himself toward her apex simultaneously, and he swore in frustration when it proved impossible to do both at once –

– "and he will move back and forth until he achieves completion. As undignified as it sounds, if you have seen animals around the farm copulating, it is much the same" –

– Fitzwilliam grunted in her ear much like a beast, but in between these guttural sounds he whispered endearments of love against her throat –

– "Do you have any questions, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth looked up from her tangled, fidgeting hands and shook her head in the negative fashion. "No, Aunt, that was very...explicit."

Mrs Gardiner smiled soothingly and reached out to pat Elizabeth's knee. "It sounds much more frightening than it is, dear. Truly, it can be very enjoyable between partners who wish to make it so and will bring you closer to your husband."

"Thank you, Aunt."

"Now, there is one further thing that needs to be discussed, and that is the signs that you are with child," continued Mrs Gardiner, more briskly than before.

This would be useful information, indeed, as even now Elizabeth could be carrying the consequences of her inebriated tryst with Fitzwilliam. She sat up straighter upon her quilt, mastering the discomfort of the past few minutes, and looked at Mrs Gardiner attentively. "Oh?" she prompted.

Her aunt shifted a little, finding a more comfortable position, and began, "Yes. Once you begin sharing your husband's bed, it is imperative that you know the signs so that you might be on the watch for them when they appear. It only takes one single instance of conjugal relations to beget a child, though it may still take months – or even years – to do so. However, it is something that every bride must know straightaway in case a babe comes early on."

Elizabeth flinched a little at the thought of an early babe, but understood that her aunt was not implying what she was thinking. She refocused her attention on what Aunt Gardiner was saying, knowing that this information was important and that she would need to review it carefully to determine her current condition.

"First and foremost, your courses will cease," said Mrs Gardiner and something inside Elizabeth relaxed significantly; she had experienced her "monthly friend" – a euphemism her mother was fond of – two weeks prior, "and you will feel tired frequently, to the point you will feel incapable of your regular activities."

The relief was becoming stronger; she had been as energetic as ever since the incident, save for whenever she had been forced to deal with her mother or Mr Collins. That exhaustion, however, had been more a result of exercising patience beyond her normal endurance, however.

"And you might also feel some tenderness in your bosom," continued Aunt Gardiner, "as well as a persistent queasiness, particularly in the morning or when you have not eaten recently. Some smells or particular foods might also agitate your stomach or you could become physically ill, but none of these things are anything to concern yourself over; they are a perfectly normal, if vexing, part of the condition."

As Elizabeth was able to cross more symptoms off her internal list, she began to feel entirely at peace. Aside from the continuation of her monthly bleeding and her lack of inexplicable exhaustion, she had experienced no stomach ailments, aversion to scents or comestibles and, in general, she was at peak health. Fitzwilliam would be pleased –

– or would he? Honestly, Elizabeth was unsure; every man wished for an heir sooner rather than later, but it would certainly be less embarrassing for a babe to come more than the minimum amount of time after the wedding vows. Even those of society who would be watching Elizabeth's belly with interest, expecting a squalling bundle to explain Fitzwilliam's choice of penniless country bride, would be disappointed. And Lady Catherine would be able to prove nothing.

"Do you have any questions, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth smiled at her aunt and shook her head. "No, I believe you have covered everything. Thank you for being so...thorough."

Aunt Gardiner laughed and patted Elizabeth on the leg again, a sign of amused fondness. "I find it much easier to face new experiences with as much information as possible beforehand. Knowing you as well as I do, I had rather assumed that you would feel the same. Is it not the case?"

"It is," Elizabeth agreed, which was not untrue; in general, that was absolutely the case and the advice regarding signs of a coming child had been most enlightening. "I appreciate your candor. As you must have suspected, Mama told me to simply 'lie back and think of lace.'"

The ladies laughed at this characteristic advice from Mrs Bennet, clearing the awkwardness lingering between them.

"Well, now," said Mrs Gardiner as she began to rise, "I shall leave you to ready myself for the party. Feel free to find me again – or write to me, after you are married – if you require more clarification on anything related to being a wife. Though I am sure being Mistress of Pemberley is quite different from being married to a London tradesman, there will still be overlapping areas of interest, I am sure."

"I will, Aunt."

"Sarah! Where is that girl?" Both Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner, now standing beside her niece's bed, heard the shriek of Mrs Bennet from beyond the closed door and the loud pattering of slippered feet as she raced up and down the corridor. "What are you doing in here? Never mind Miss Kitty's hair, girl – see to Elizabeth! She must look perfect for Mr Darcy – if he even shows up at all – "

Shaking her head, Mrs Gardiner tossed one more amused glance in Elizabeth's direction as she exited the room, sliding deftly between the door frame and a harried looking Sarah as she scurried inside. Mrs Bennet was not far behind, waving her handkerchief in a shooing motion toward the poor maid and issuing frantic instructions.

"No, no, Sarah! Have you gone blind?" complained Mrs Bennet as Sarah picked up the same ivory ribbon Elizabeth had worn in her hair to the Netherfield Ball. "She is wearing green tonight – use the gold. She must look like a queen!"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes as she sat herself in the chair before her vanity, not bothering to interject her own opinion. As Sarah braided and decorated her hair – utilizing both the gold and the ivory ribbon – she allowed her mind to drift toward Fitzwilliam, his letter and the wisdom her aunt had imparted.

o0o

A couple of hours later, the annual Bennet Christmas Eve party was in full swing, their sitting room packed with family, neighbors and officers making merry with one another. Their dinner table would be crowded, that was for certain, but most would consider the closeness to their nearest companion to be cozy rather than stifling. Fitzwilliam would probably detest it, but –

Elizabeth bit her lower lip as another stab of disappointment lanced through her breast at her betrothed's tardiness. It was already nearly time to dine and he still had yet to arrive. Fitzwilliam's letter had indicated affection and longing for her company, so she did not suspect him of growing cold feet, but she was getting impatient to see him and her mother's lamentations over his absence were growing tiresome.

Worse, however, was the fact that Mr Wickham was in attendance tonight in Fitzwilliam's place. She had rather hoped – vainly, as it turned out – that the cad would reason that his lies had been exposed once her betrothal to his much maligned former friend was announced, but apparently Mr Wickham was incapable of coming to such logical conclusions. Or perhaps he was simply incapable of feeling shame.

Either way, Mr Wickham had already made a point of addressing her in an overtly friendly manner upon coming into the house – "Miss Elizabeth! You are looking more lovely than ever. A man would have to be blind not to be susceptible to your charms." – and she often felt his eyes resting upon her from across the room. Elizabeth made a concentrated effort to maintain space between them, often finding a friend to speak with whenever she saw him approaching or fetching a guest a refreshment whenever she sensed him drawing closer, but he was persistent in his stalking. She had no doubt that, if she gave him an opening, he would take it and corner her. Elizabeth did not know, exactly, what Mr Wickham was after, but assumed that it must be in relation to her engagement with Fitzwilliam and, thus, that it could not be innocent.

Jane and Charlotte, both at least somewhat familiar with Mr Wickham's perfidy, ran interference where they could, but it was impossible to always be by Elizabeth's side when so many other social obligations intruded. More surprising, however, was that Colonel Forster had once stepped in to divert Mr Wickham's attention, his eyes cold and smile grim while Elizabeth made her escape to another corner. She did not understand why the lieutenant suddenly seemed so out of favor with his superior officer, but she was grateful nonetheless for the timely intervention. Mr Wickham had almost caught her under the mistletoe that time.

When she was not monitoring Mr Wickham's whereabouts in relation to her own, her gaze was flickering constantly toward the door to the sitting room and hoping, praying, that Fitzwilliam would walk through it. With him near, Mr Wickham would be forced to stay away and she would have the immeasurable relief of being with her absent fiance once more.

"Dinner is served," announced Mr Hill, bowing to the crowd within the room. The chatter died for a moment to listen to this message before it started up again, cheerful and rapid as the guests all rose and began maneuvering toward the door that would lead them into the meal.

Elizabeth followed the horde and had nearly reached the exit when her path was blocked by a red-coated chest. Equal parts defeated and exasperated, she raised her eyes away from the brass buttons on the uniform to rest upon the smugly grinning visage of Mr Wickham. "May I escort you in to dinner, Miss Elizabeth?"

Though she wanted to sigh – or refuse – Elizabeth reigned in her irritation with the persistent lieutenant and accepted the arm he presented to her, allowing the escort without vocalizing it directly. Causing a scene before nearly every person of her acquaintance was to be avoided, and so she reluctantly submitted to his request, intending to find some premise to part from him once they reached the dining room. He led her from the parlor at the back of the mass of other guests, moving forward slowly as if disinterested in actually achieving their destination.

Once they reached the vestibule, he stopped entirely under the guise of allowing Lady Lucas and Maria go ahead of them, but failed to resume motion after the two ladies had successfully bypassed them. Elizabeth waited, impatiently, for him to do so for a few long seconds, but Mr Wickham remained in place as the last of the guests disappeared into the dining room.

"Come, sir, or there shall be no seats for us," Elizabeth subtly but firmly admonished, tugging on the arm he had gifted her in the sitting room.

Mr Wickham did not give way, his feet planted upon the floorboards. "I had hoped to speak with you, Miss Elizabeth, on a matter of some importance. We will not be missed for a few minutes."

Elizabeth jerked her hand free of his arm and took a step backwards, toward the open door of the dining room which was positioned a little ways down the hall. The warm light of dozens of candles – wax, in honor of the special occasion – and genial rumble of conversation beckoned her as a beacon of safety. "I am sure there is nothing you can say to me which cannot be said in the presence of everyone else, Mr Wickham. Let us go in to dinner."

Mr Wickham shook his head and, finally, put a foot forward so that he was closer – much closer – to her. "I think we both know that is not true, Elizabeth."

"That is 'Miss Bennet' to you, as my elder sister is not currently present," she reminded him with marked asperity. "Otherwise, you may address me as 'Miss Elizabeth' – or, better yet, not at all."

"I see that Darcy has been blackening my name again," said Mr Wickham and, she must give him credit, his tone was suffused with a false sincerity which she might have taken as genuine had she not already known of his malingering nature. As wounded as he sounded, his expression was more so, his eyes clenched shut in imaginary pain and the line of his jaw rigid. He sighed with implied heaviness before opening his eyes and looking at her with sorrowful supplication. "I had wondered why you would suddenly accept him after all I had revealed to you. The other officers surmised that you must have been dazzled by his wealth, but I knew that my Eliz...ahem, that you could never be so shallow. No, he must have filled your head with lies to turn you against me."

"To the contrary, Mr Darcy has enlightened me to the truth, sir," Elizabeth countered through gritted teeth. "How you manipulated events to create a convincing tale of woe when, in fact, you were not only offered the position you appear to regret now but also refused it in lieu of an exorbitant sum!"

Mr Wickham's face clenched in the dim light of the corridor, a grimace that was meant to induce her sympathy, no doubt, for his supposedly aching heart. "I see you believe him over me. Did it not occur to you, Miss Bennet, that Darcy might bend the truth to his will to trick you into marrying him? He has his pride and the rejection of a young lady whom he considers himself enamored with would be an injurious blow! Once he has achieved his goal and the sparkle of his prize has dulled, I fear that he will not be happy to have been caught by a simple country maid, no matter how witty and charming she may be. I beg of you – please, do not tie yourself to such a man."

Now Elizabeth was growing truly angry at Mr Wickham's gall. Far from stepping back and out of his influence, she lifted her hand and jabbed him in the center of his chest with one of her index fingers. He stumbled a little, clearly surprised that she would respond so vehemently to his so-called warning, and stared at her with wide eyes. "How dare you speak of Fitzwilliam in that manner! He is twice the man you will ever be, you conniving...you amoral…," in the heat of her ire, Elizabeth struggled for a word strong enough to convey the contempt she felt for him, eventually settling for, "philanderer!"

"Now, Elizabeth – "

"Miss Bennet – soon to be Mrs Darcy – and do not forget yourself again!" she exclaimed, poking him again and again in the chest to emphasize each syllable. "You are obviously too convinced of your own charm – or else completely daft – to think that you can swindle me a second time. If you came here expecting me to fall into your arms because you spoke a few pretty words and affected an injured mien, then you can forget that right this instant. You tried to use me to malign an innocent man, one who has treated you far better than you deserved, and now you have the nerve to try and do so again by cuckolding him with this paltry attempt to seduce me? At least, I assume that must be your aim by the way you so tenderly inflect my given name, despite all my requests that you address me properly, and follow me about like a lovelorn puppy. Well, it will not work – go peddle your invented woes elsewhere, sir, for I am no man's dupe any longer."

Mr Wickham's face, at first a mask of shock and awe in the face of Elizabeth's dressing down, grew steadily darker throughout her speech, his jaw clenching, eyes narrowing and lips puckering into a displeased line. It was perhaps the first genuine expression he had ever displayed in her presence. "Is that all you have to say?"

"No, in fact," replied Elizabeth, finally withdrawing and crossing her arms over her chest. "I will leave you with a warning to leave me, Fitzwilliam and the rest of my family in peace. If I must, I will insist that my father ban you from Longbourn and all association with us, but I hope that you will have the sense to stay away on your own. Now I have done, Mr Wickham, and will be going in to dinner; join me if you must, but feel free to leave if you wish it."

Elizabeth twirled on her heel, the hem of her skirts and the loose curls spilling down her neck flying out behind her as she did, and proceeded to march down the hall to where the rest of the party was enjoying their first course.

Before she had made it even halfway to her destination, she heard the loud thump of rapid steps behind her, those of a pair of military issued boots, and felt a painful grip on her upper arm yanking her backwards and nearly off her feet. Mr Wickham pulled her side up against his chest, his fingers bruising the flesh beneath the puffy sleeve that capped her shoulder, and swung her back around to face him. His anger was terrible to behold. "I have not done with you yet, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth allowed herself only a moment of alarm at his expression and exclamation before her courage rose to the fore in response to his attempt at intimidation. She jerked hard on the arm he held captured within his grasp, though she could not successfully tug it free, and demanded, "Release me, sir, or I shall scream! There is an entire room full of people nearby who will happily come to my rescue if I do and I have no doubt that Fitzwilliam will show you no mercy when he hears of how you have manhandled me."

Mr Wickham scoffed. "Your Fitzwilliam is not here," he reminded her, his teeth glinting in the light of a wall sconce as he bared them at her.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to cry out, just as she had promised, but found her attempt stymied by Mr Wickham's own as he bent forward and kissed her most violently. Instinctively, she clamped her jaw shut, impeding the search of his encroaching tongue, and attempted to wrench her face sharply to the side. He followed and she tried again in the other direction, only to be recaptured when he parried her move.

Finally, recognizing that she was not about to win her freedom in this fashion, Elizabeth raised the hand not captured by Mr Wickham and swung it hard. With a satisfying SMACK, her assailant was forced to break his kiss when his head was suddenly thrust to the side by the connection of her palm to his cheek.

Elizabeth breathed heavily in the aftermath, filling her lungs greedily with each inhale, as she could now draw in air properly with Mr Wickham no longer attached to her like a leech. Before she could gather enough breath to scream for help, however, he was upon her again, the hand not crushing her upper arm rising upward to grab her face. His fingers dug into her cheeks painfully and jerked her face around so that they were looking one another directly in the eyes. In her periphery, Elizabeth could see that his face was turning red where she had struck him and beginning to swell. Good.

"Do not do that again," he warned, shaking her head slightly, but forcefully, from side to side and making her dizzy.

Without much alternative, she simply glared at him, but it was impossible not to wonder what he would do next. How much could he do with so many potential witnesses in the next room? No one had seemed to notice their absence just yet, but surely Jane or Charlotte or her father would realize soon that she was missing. Or even her mother, who had taken to bragging about her second eldest excessively since her engagement to Fitzwilliam, might look up to point her out to a neighbor and see that she was not at the table. Even if Mr Wickham dragged her upstairs –

– no, she would not think of that.

The hard rap upon the front door behind Mr Wickham drew Elizabeth's notice and her eyes darted toward it. Her distraction was contagious and her captor turned toward the source, unintentionally loosening his grip slightly upon her face. Taking this unsolicited but very welcome opportunity, Elizabeth wrenched her face free of his grasping fingers and called out, as loudly as she was capable, "Help! Please, help me – !"

Mr Wickham's palm blanketed her cries before she could say more, but he was already too late. The front door burst open to reveal three figures standing just over the threshold, each lightly dusted with snow in the twilight, and one of them charging forward at an alarmed pace. Another followed a step behind while the third lingered in the doorway.

Before she could properly determine the identity of whomever was coming to her rescue, their faces shrouded both by the shadows of the dim foyer and the brims of their beavers, Mr Wickham was pulled off of her and flung to the floor. Due to the sudden momentum, Elizabeth was thrust forward as well, but managed to maintain her upright balance – though only just barely.

Upon the ground, Mr Wickham was far less lucky as he was at the mercy of a fist repeatedly pummeling at him from above while the tall, dark figure of a man pinned him down. With each strike, Mr Wickham yelped like a whipped dog, each exclamation sharp to her ears, and begged pitifully for his attacker to desist. Another stood there, watching, without making any movement to help either party in the conflict. Why was he doing nothing?

As the light from the wall sconce to Elizabeth's right finally filtered at the proper angle to highlight her rescuer's face, she recognized the visage of the man she had been waiting for since Saturday.

"Fitzwilliam!" she cried, lunging forward to grasp at his forearm before it made another downward swing toward Mr Wickham's face. "Fitzwilliam! Stop!"

Fitzwilliam tugged his arm as if he were trying to shake her off and resume the pummeling of his old enemy again, but Elizabeth held fast and called out to him again. Finally seeming to hear her, he relaxed his tensed appendage and pivoted his head enough to look at her from the corner of one eye, panting heavily. Beneath him, Mr Wickham whimpered pathetically.

"What the devil is going on out here?"

Elizabeth whipped around, both of her hands still grasping Fitzwilliam's wrist, to see her father standing just behind her. Beyond him, a cluster of friends, neighbors, officers and various relations were grouped, staring at the scene with horror. They were, as yet, too visibly stunned to gossip.

Feeling that the danger to Mr Wickham was passed now that Fitzwilliam was more in control of himself, Elizabeth released his arm and turned more fully to Mr Bennet. She was shaking, she realized, when her voice expelled from her mouth and the words trembled. "Mr Wickham attacked me...and then Fitzwilliam...he – he came and s-saved me..."

She heard the rustle of fabric behind her and felt the gentle touch of a hand upon her shoulder. Elizabeth pivoted her face to see that of Fitzwilliam's, his expression one of lingering rage mixed with fearful concern. Despite this, and despite the small flecks of blood glimmering on his cheeks in the candlelight, Elizabeth felt comforted by his presence.

"Attacked you?" Mr Bennet repeated, drawing Elizabeth's attention back to him for a moment. His own glaring gaze, however, was fixed upon the writhing form of Mr Wickham, who was beginning to sit up with a hand tenderly stroking his jaw.

Wincing, Mr Wickham rebutted, his pitch high in scrambling panic, "No matter what she says, I was not attacking her! She welcomed my advances until Darcy here showed up and then pretended that she never wanted them – to preserve the good opinion of her wealthy betrothed, no doubt! Why, had you not shown up when you did, Darcy, I am certain you would have come across something scandalous – "

Mr Wickham hissed in pain as the toe of the boot of Fitzwilliam's companion found his ribs with a swift kick. "Quiet, worm," this man, his face folded into an expression of contempt, sneered.

"I must agree with this gentleman, Mr Wickham – hold your tongue," added Mr Bennet, his tone and expression unusually severe. "My Lizzy has never been known for sneaking illicit kisses in dark hallways and I will thank you to keep your lies to yourself. Where is Colonel Forster?"

"Here," came the hoarse grunt of Mr Wickham's superior officer as he waded through the crowd.

"I can explain – " Mr Wickham whined to Colonel Forster, but whatever self-serving speech he had been cooking up was halted by the wave of the older man's hand.

Instead of addressing his wayward lieutenant directly, Colonel Forster looked about him as if searching through the crowd. When his gaze had apparently landed upon whom he had been looking for, he beckoned them with a short grunt. "Carter, Saunderson – place Wickham in custody and escort him back to camp. He is to be locked up until he can be transported to London where he will face the authority of the courts. Come on, step lively."

The two officers, once amongst Mr Wickham's friends in the regiment, charged forward and seized their former comrade by the arms and hauled him upright. Mr Wickham objected to this treatment, maintained his innocence vociferously, but they ignored him and dragged him backwards through the still open front door.

The third person who had arrived with Fitzwilliam – now revealed to be a young, frightened lady in the dim glow of the house – stepped quickly to the side to let the trio pass. As she did, Elizabeth could hear the prisoner calling out to her – "Georgiana! Please!" – but was able to say no more than that before Captain Carter pulled the door shut behind him.

Georgiana. Fitzwilliam's sister, the one whom Wickham had...oh, the poor dear! To arrive at the home of her future in-laws and come upon such a scene! Elizabeth's accusations, her brother's violence, her former lover's arrest; Miss Darcy must be very shaken, indeed.

"May I ask why he was here at all?" called out Fitzwilliam's male companion, drawing all eyes in his direction. He was glaring directly at Colonel Forster. "Mr Payne visited you yesterday with all the proof you needed to make an immediate arrest for unpaid debts, did he not?"

The colonel bristled as most men who are unused to hearing their decisions questioned often do when faced with an accusation. "And you are, sir?"

"Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, attache to General _, at your service," replied the gentleman, bowing ironically to his militia counterpart.

Colonel Forster's face was suddenly infused with ruddiness. "I had intended to make the arrest after the holiday; there was no suspicion of violence, so I had not thought a delay unreasonable. I liked the lad and did not wish to ruin his final Christmas as a free man if I could help it."

Colonel Fitzwilliam – it was strange associating the name of her betrothed with another man, uncomfortable even – scoffed and began a heated tirade against the detriment of lazy superior officers, which caused visible offense in more than one quarter, but Elizabeth's attention was drawn away from the brewing conflict by a gentle tug on her uninjured arm.

"Come," the voice of her Fitzwilliam whispered, intimately close to her ear. When he tugged again, she followed his lead away from the gathering of increasingly irate men toward the staircase.

Author's Note: Oh, Wickham...someone needs to swat him with a newspaper. Then again, after Darcy's fists of fury, that might be somewhat redundant. XP

Another chapter out on Thursday, y'all!

Next Update: February 13, 2020
Completion Date: February 20, 2020

– MrsMarySmythe