Chapter 23 : A Farewell

The sun was setting as Darcy and Elizabeth idled under an ancient oak tree in the fields of Netherfield. The grand house could be seen in the distance as one by one lights twinkled alive from within its many windows.

Two days had passed since the events that shook the quiet town of Meryton. Mr. Soames and Mr. Adley, together with the group of men that they had brought with them, had been of significant help in the swift rescue of the injured. The authorities had come to collect the body of Mrs. Younge on that very same evening.

Mr. Bingley was recovering steadily, and with Jane ever present by his side, he was quite the amiable patient. Darcy's men were on the mend as well, it had been a very close call with his footman, Nibley. But the physician and a surgeon, who had been called for, had been able to pull through. Even Mrs. Bennet had surprised everyone, save her own household, as she took it upon herself to efficiently supervise the Netherfield sickrooms. Such was her focus and determination when it was her own that needed attention, that indeed, all others were astounded at the skill and proficiency of the seemingly simple woman.

As they watched dusk take over the day, Elizabeth traced her fingers along her beloved's face. His head rested on her lap, the breeze gently fanning his dark hair. Darcy's eyes were closed and he lay still, his hands which rested on his chest clasped one of hers. Her eyes viewed the last rays of the sun as they bid farewell to yet another day. He had reasoned with her earlier that day that the outdoors would revive him much sooner than staying in his rooms. He was almost up to his normal self, except for some lingering pain in his throat, and the occasional weakness when he exerted too much effort. The physician had deemed his lungs clear, his head wound healing nicely, and this would have been enough for the strictest of nurses, but Elizabeth would not be satisfied. Having almost lost Darcy, having seen him almost lifeless, was an image her mind could not forget.

Darcy could feel this with the way she hardly let him out of her sight, with the way her hand clasped his, always with imagined urgency. The only cure for this, he knew, was to live. To live their lives fully and thoroughly, to plunge into life as if that day was their last, to make his Elizabeth so happy that all worry, everything that made her brows crease, would be forgotten. He had started by speaking to her of their wedding, although not yet acknowledged and with only a few days remaining, all plans would have to be pushed back until both the grooms were fit enough to proceed. If Darcy could only have his way, he would wed Elizabeth even with him lying on his bed. And very sure was he, that Bingley and he were of the same mind. But as it was, they had spoken of a fortnight's delay with resignation.

Very soon they must head back to Netherfield. In truth, if it were up to Elizabeth, she would have rather had Darcy stay abed. For she felt, indeed, that he had ventured out too soon for her own comfort.

"We went further out yesterday." Darcy had added to persuade Elizabeth on taking the outing, but no sooner had the words left his mouth, that his expression turned somber. They had both grown silent, remembering the events of the previous day.

Elizabeth recalled as she had met Corwin in the Netherfield drive, still holding the reins of his mount, his face had held a grim countenance.

"Mr. Wickham, ma'am, they tell us he—he will not last the day."

The summons that they received had Darcy rushing out of his bed. Although at that time not yet completely at his normal strength, he had felt stable enough. Had he been feeling otherwise, he would still have gone, and Elizabeth knew better than to stop her betrothed. Thus, they had proceeded to the rectory with utmost haste.

When they had arrived, the rector, Mr. Harrison, had greeted them himself. Bowing and showing all the concern for both their well-beings.

"We thank you again for all your assistance, Mr. Harrison. My family sends their deepest gratitude for your immediate attention to Mr. Bingley and all the others." Elizabeth had said with sincerity.

"'Tis not just my Christian duty to help those in need, but my duty as a friend to be of every assistance." The rector had clasped his hands together, his expression grave, he focused on Darcy. "But I am afraid that I must impart terrible news."

Elizabeth had observed Darcy's face, he betrayed no expression.

"Mr. Wickham might not be long with us, the physician and the surgeon tried their best, but—" Unable to finish, Mr. Harrison shook his head.

"May I—may I see him?" Darcy had asked, his voice blank, but in his eyes had been a flicker of some emotion, perhaps sadness, perhaps grief, but what Elizabeth had been most certain of was regret.

The scene that had followed was one that she would not soon forget.

Weak and pale, Wickham had lain on the bed, his partly open eyes, looking blankly at the window he had asked to remain open. He had looked so far from the young man who had captured Elizabeth's interest at the beginning of their acquaintance. Sensing that he was not alone, Wickham slowly turned his head, he attempted a frown when he saw who his guests were.

"You–you should not have come." Wickham had said falteringly.

Darcy, who had stood rooted just upon entering the threshold, tensed at the words.

"I had rather our parting to–to be the one where I w-was the hero."

"Even to the last you mock me." Darcy had said gravely.

"I always had a–a talent for it, will you not agree?" Wickham had looked straight at Darcy this time and smiled faintly.

"George, I–"

"Must we say the words, Darcy?" Here Wickham had paused, seeming to catch his breath. A few moments passed in silence as both Darcy and Elizabeth had watched helplessly. The words that Wickham said next looked as if they had taken all the strength left in him. "Can we not forget?" Suddenly, his breathing came in fast, shallow breaths. He shut his eyes.

Elizabeth had started. "I will get the physician." Her eyes had brimmed with tears, she felt as if she had glimpsed Darcy and Wickham as they were in the past, before the world had taught them that there were differences, that there were inequalities and privileges. She moved to the door.

"Pray, Miss Elizabeth, do n–not go. I welcome it."

Her shoulders shook at his words. She had disliked him for so long now, the heartache he had bestowed upon Lydia was still very much an ache in her own heart. She had seen him as the immoral man that he was. Indeed, he had caused so much pain to her family, even now she could not fully say if and when they could forgive him, but in her own heart she knew as well that as soon as he had pushed Darcy aside to save him, George Wickham had stood acquitted. Here he was now, fading before their eyes. She covered her face, felt Darcy grasp her shoulders and pull her to him. He led her to a chair near the windows.

"Darcy." Wickham beckoned to the other man. Darcy sat rigidly on the chair beside the bed.

"Your father's opal cufflinks are in a hollowed out brick, in the–the morning room fireplace." Wickham's lips were dry, he spoke slowly. "Look for the one with a s–small crack in the shape of a robin."

Darcy had stared at Wickham, his mind going back to just before he had left for university. The older Mr. Darcy had given his son his favorite pair of cufflinks as a gift to him. On the day of their departure, they had been nowhere to be found. Darcy had never even considered that Wickham had taken them, for at that time things were very much the way they were in their youth.

"George, do not tire yourself."

"Darcy." Wickham had sighed almost impatiently, as if telling him that he had no more time. With surprising strength and intensity, he had gripped Darcy's arm. "I ask for Lydia's forgiveness, she may n–never give it, but everyday I felt remorse." Darcy had remembered seeing him from where they hid in the woods, behind the cottage in Cobham. He had been kicking at the ground, his expression deep, now Darcy knew what it was that he felt. "I tried to p–protect her, I tried!" He looked pleadingly at Elizabeth who sat listening, weeping. "If I could but change the past..."

"I will tell Lydia, I will convey your message." Elizabeth said softly.

"Thank you." His eyes had shifted to his old friend's then, searchingly. "I have always loved Georgie."

Darcy looked down, he had for so long been unable to bear the thought of having his sister's name linked to Wickham's. But now, on his deathbed, he knew that his old friend spoke only the truth.

"I swear to you, Fitzwilliam, had we eloped, I w–would have taken care of her. I would have loved her, if not as a husband then at the very least as a–a brother." Darcy shook his head. "You do not believe me, I know my word amounts for nothing, b–but it is God's own truth."

"Shut up, George." Darcy whispered, he moved closer to Wickham's bed, grasped his hand. A tear flowed now, he cried for the friendship that they had, for the friendship that they could have had.

"Darcy, I feel it upon me. I need to sleep." His breathing which had been erratic only a moment ago, began to even out, his face calm, but his eyes had lost their focus. "I loved her, a desperate kind of love I suppose. A sad one. We were, the pair of us, pitiful, needful. But I could not give her what she asked for you see. She was mistaken, I never had a claim on you, on your name." The words had been barely audible.

Darcy knew he had meant Mrs. Younge, and the things she said on the Meryton bridge as she raged at Wickham, flinging disappointments and accusations at him when he had expressed his unwillingness to succumb to her wishes.

"It was you, your father, who had always had a claim on me. To the very end, my loyalty is yours, my brother. Forgive me if it took all this for me to see that." Wickham let out a breath, as if releasing a heavy weight from his shoulders, his face had held relief. "I have many regrets, but in leaving this life I am happy that I was of one last service, perhaps the most important one in my mediocre existence." Darcy had looked down, eyes closed. "Live your life, Darcy." He had looked at Elizabeth, smiled softly at her. "Live full and true."

"I will bring you home to Pemberley." Darcy had said hoarsely.

"Yes. Yes, to the spot where we hid Mrs. Reynolds' silver polish. Beside the birch tree."

"Yes."

"I am so very tired, William."

"Rest now, my brother." It had taken all of Darcy's will to say those words. "I thank you for our grand adventures, I thank you for your frienship. Sleep well, George."

Not long after that George Wickham had indeed succumbed to sleep.

"He has found his peace." Elizabeth had whispered as she and Darcy sat in the carriage headed back to Netherfield.

"Yes."

He had lost a friend, a brother. No matter the things that happened between them, no matter the things he had done, once George Wickham pushed him out of the way, the past had rendered itself expunged. Wickham had given his life for his. The bullet, the weapon that caused his old friend's demise was not Darcy's, he had known better than to blame himself. He had also known that Wickham and Wickham alone had been responsible for the circumstance that he got himself into. He would not color his old friend's life, portray him as a saint, no. But in Darcy's heart of hearts, deeply rooted, had been gratitude towards this gift of life.

Elizabeth had placed a soft kiss on his temple. Darcy had taken her hand and rested it against his cheek.

Now, as they shared the quiet dusk, their thoughts wandered, but the hands that gripped each other anchored them to what they knew; their future awaited. Behind the thinning clouds there was their life together.

Elizabeth leaned down to brush her lips against Darcy's forehead. Eyes still closed, his lips formed into a smile. "We must head back, my love." She said.

Darcy sighed. "Must we?"

Elizabeth chuckled softly. "You should not even be out of bed." She traced his brows. "It is a miracle my mother has not had Mr. Bingley's men scouring the countryside for us."

"She is very formidable when she sets her mind to it." He glimpsed at Elizabeth smilingly. "You are much more alike than you acknowledge."

Smiling widely at her beloved, Elizabeth tapped the tip of his nose. "Think not that you can distract me with flattery, sir." She gently pulled at him. "Let us head back, I myself, am very anxious to have you back in bed and recovering."

"I suppose it can not be helped." Darcy sighed. "But truly, Elizabeth, I am feeling better." He almost whined.

"Surrender or be dragged back to Netherfield." Elizabeth replied in mock seriousness. "You are no match for the Bennet ladies."

Darcy smiled widely. "I surrender." He sat up and framed Elizabeth's face with his hands. Looking at her features intently, he said a silent prayer. Very grateful was he for the day the Heavens sent this fascinating woman to be his match. Darcy would never take anything for granted now, no, this he learned. Life was too precious. He had a notion of this when he had lost his parents, but his youth and his privilege made him believe that he could not be touched, not for a long time yet. Now he knew, no one could ever be certain. He knew himself to be the luckiest of men, to have got past what he did. But he could not credit it all on luck, for it was Elizabeth who had saved him. Somehow she had found him, dragged him to safety, and pumped life back into him. Even before that, his life had already belonged to her, more so now that she was literally his savior. Darcy would look at her everyday now and see her as truly his reason for living.

Wanting to alleviate his gravity, Elizabeth touched her lips to his. What began as gentleness grew into a passion they both knew well. The grass blew against their legs, an errant leaf found its way in Elizabeth's hair, the red of autumn nestling in her dark mane, only to be brushed away by Darcy's exploring hands.

"My heart is yours, Elizabeth." Darcy whispered. "My mind, my soul, my body, indeed my life. Yours now and always."

Elizabeth's eyes shone with love, she brought his hand to her heart, even as Darcy's eyes widened in surprise. He felt her softness, felt the beating of her heart. "You are my beloved, and I am yours. Now and always." She echoed softly.

A/N:

I hope George Wickham has redeemed himself in your eyes. It might be just me, but I have often felt that he was a character that could have been a good man, had he made different choices, had he been more restrained, maybe just maybe. But, oh well! Our beloved J.A. has deemed it so, let him learn (and suffer) with Lydia in Newcastle! Meanwhile, this is what fanfiction is for! ;D

Thank you very much for staying with me, two more chapters (I think!) and we'll be done. I wish everyone the best in these trying times, please stay indoors if you can, and keep calm; read fanfiction!