Dare to Refuse Such a Man

by MrsMarySmythe

It had never occurred to Fitzwilliam Darcy that, once he had chosen a bride, her father might dare to refuse his consent. However, a woman worthy of being pleased is also worth fighting for. DE, Regency, clean romance. COMPLETE

29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Title: Dare to Refuse Such a Man
Rating: K+ (PG) – because I can't think of anything at this point which would constitute a higher rating. Should be sweet and clean.
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
PSA: I hope that you and yours are safe and healthy during the COVID-19 crisis. Take precautions for yourself and others and please don't hoard any goods that your family doesn't need; we're all in this together, even while we remain physically apart.

Summary: It had never occurred to Fitzwilliam Darcy that, once he had chosen a bride, her father might dare to refuse his consent. However, a woman worthy of being pleased is also worth fighting for. DE, Regency, clean romance.

"He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse anything which he condescended to ask."

Mr Bennet, Pride and Prejudice Volume III, Chapter 17

---

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Tuesday
November 12, 1811
Purvis Lodge, Hertfordshire

"...and so Papa would not allow Kitty or Lydia to attend and remained home to watch over them. I think he might still have been persuaded otherwise had Nanny not eaten half of one of his favorite volumes before he could evict her from the book room, but alas." Elizabeth finished her story with a flourish of laughter, subdued slightly in deference to their public surroundings.

The invitation to dine at Purvis Lodge had proved a boon for Darcy as it had afforded him an opportunity to see his beloved Elizabeth when ordinarily they would have been separated from one another. It was refreshing to be in her company, even if the public setting forced them to curb some of their more...affectionate impulses with one another. Instead, he was allowed the great joy of escorting her about upon his arm, sitting next to her at dinner and indulging in the sort of rational conversation which was in short supply at Netherfield Park (Bingley, God bless him, had a limited literary repertoire and there was only so much discourse Darcy could stand on the subjects of sport, society and sisters). It was an additional pleasure to see Elizabeth in her element, sparkling with wit and vivacity as she charmed everyone within her immediate vicinity.

Truly, she would make an excellent wife and Darcy was fortunate that he had comprehended as much before he had allowed his abominable pride to steer him away from her. She was exactly the woman, in disposition and talents, who would most suit him. Her understanding and temper, though unlike his own, would answer all his wishes. It was a union that must be to the advantage of both; by her ease and friendliness, his mind might eventually be softened – indeed, he was beginning to feel it was so already – and his public manners improved. From his own judgment, information and knowledge of the world, she must receive benefit of greater importance. What were fortune and connections in comparison to all this? When he finally made Elizabeth his wife, Darcy would have everything, both material and metaphysical, that any rational man could possibly desire. Only then would he concede that there was something for others to be envious of.

"Poor Papa," Elizabeth concluded her story with an unsympathetic snicker.

Darcy struggled to contain his own amusement at the lengths the youngest Bennet girls had gone to in order to frustrate the opposition. He felt his facial muscles strain in their attempt to keep his expression in some semblance of stoicism as he said, "I am only sorry for the book."

Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with the mischief she had expressed throughout her tale. "The volume was neither rare nor valuable, Mr Darcy," oh, how he detested the necessity of formality when they were in company, "so there is not much loss. I am sure my father has already sent away for a new copy."

"So no real harm done, then. Unless...Nanny, was it?" Elizabeth nodded and hid her smile behind the rim of her wineglass, "Unless Nanny has eaten something of value to Mr Collins."

After taking a sip, her irreverent humor had not abated a whit, but she replaced her goblet upon the tablecloth anyway. "No, only sent all of his things into the wash again."

"Again?"

"Did I not tell you about Kitty and Lydia exchanging Mr Collins' blanket for one from the stables? Mama was not well pleased that they had let a filthy blanket full of fleas into the house; they were quite fortunate not to get another haranguing over sneaking Nanny in!" Elizabeth's laughter bubbled forth from her in the same fashion as water cascaded over rocks in a creek, reminding Darcy strongly of simpler times in Derbyshire. He longed to reach out and touch her as he had upon that little bridge, but withheld the urge. He satisfied himself with the more subtle gesture of nudging her foot beneath the table with his own. He felt a slight pressure back, noted the additional glint in Elizabeth's eye and felt as if it were enough for the moment. Or nearly so.

Darcy cleared his throat of the thickness which had invaded it before inquiring, "And Nanny?"

Elizabeth blinked at him, her brow lightly furrowed. "What about Nanny?"

Tearing his gaze away from her and redirecting it toward his plate lest he lean forward and kiss that crinkle out of her forehead, Darcy clarified, "Is she in as much trouble as your sisters for her part in the scheme?"

"Oh! No, indeed – at least, not with the ladies of the household." Elizabeth's laugh rippled forward again against the background of clinking china and scraping cutlery. "I know for a fact that my sisters and I have been sneaking her table scraps to atone for being tied up; only Jane, tucked up in bed with a cold, has not brought Nanny a little something."

Darcy's merriment dimmed slightly and he pivoted his head back in Elizabeth's direction, the slice of beef on his fork forgotten. "I had wondered at your elder sister's absence; is Miss Bennet very ill?"

Elizabeth's responding smile was warm and affectionate and Darcy wondered idly if it was for him or the absent Miss Bennet. He supposed he should not begrudge her either way. "Nothing but a cold, I thank you for asking. Jane will be up and about in a few days, I am certain."

"Very good. I know that Bingley was concerned when she did not appear." Darcy inclined his head slightly in his friend's direction where he was seated down the table, speaking to his own dining partner softly. He looked amiable as always, which was an improvement of his initial reaction of dismay at Miss Bennet's failure to arrive.

"I believe my mother had a word with him about it before dinner, to alleviate his worry."

Naturally, Mrs Bennet would wish to make a maneuver on Miss Bennet's behalf if the lady herself could not be present. But Darcy should not think such uncharitable things about his future mother-in-law, not when she had been such great assistance in the war waged against Mr Bennet for his and Elizabeth's benefit. He had no doubt that his ten thousand a year – an amount which was, honestly, a trifle lower than his actual earnings, though within range of the truth – had much to do with her dedication to their cause, but Elizabeth had also had some tender things to say about her mother's more noble reasons for helping them. If his beloved said that Mrs Bennet had better feelings driving her than obtaining a rich son-in-law, then Darcy would believe her. Further, there was something to be said for Mrs Bennet scheming against someone who honestly did not mind the intervention versus one who did. Bingley was decidedly with Darcy in the former camp.

Bingley, true to his nature, had fallen fast and hard for the eldest Miss Bennet. Whether or not this would prove to be a lasting attachment, Darcy had not yet determined, but he had cautioned his friend not to show quite as much affection as he felt lest he raise Miss Bennet's expectations without any real intention to marry her. Elizabeth assured him that Miss Bennet felt more strongly for Bingley than her serene countenance would betray, which was all the more reason Darcy had warned his friend to avoid trifling with her as he was wont to do. It was not his fault, not entirely, for Bingley had an open amiability which gained him admirers from all quarters and he adored female attention, genuinely thinking every lady an angel descended directly from heaven for him to flatter. This, unfortunately, had gotten Bingley into trouble in the past for inadvertently raising hopes higher than they should have been and delicate feelings had been hurt when he had ultimately withdrawn his attentions. It was not a sin of cruelty, but rather one of thoughtlessness to the consequences of his actions; Bingley was a good man and would certainly become a fine husband one day, but before that happy day he would need to search his soul and settle within himself what he really wanted from his life partner. Miss Bennet would soon enough be Darcy's sister-by-marriage and it was his duty to protect her tender heart to the best of his abilities, which had meant a stern word or two with Bingley about whether or not he wished to pursue her in earnest.

When he had confided as much to Elizabeth, she had expressed sisterly concern as to Bingley's future fidelity. Darcy had defended his friend on this point as he knew Bingley to be a loyal sort once sincerely attached; the only question was whether or not he actually were sincerely attached. In short, both parties had been advised to take their relationship slowly, to get to know one another, and to temper their expectations lest one or both face painful disappointment.

The only persons who were not content with this direction were Bingley's sisters who would have preferred their brother to break off all connection to Jane Bennet entirely. Miss Bingley, in particular, laughingly considered the entire family a gaggle of fortune hunters, but it was no great leap of intellect to assume that her feelings of jealousy and bitterness over his engagement to Elizabeth were at the heart of this characterization. It was darkly humorous that Miss Bingley would point the finger at anyone else for being mercenary, though Darcy could not work up any real amusement at the irony as she had become more than usually tiresome of late. Her tantrum at the announcement of Darcy's betrothal had not been repeated, thankfully, but she made a point of flattering him more aggressively than ever she had before and haunting his shadow whenever he happened to be in the house. Darcy had taken to hiding in his rooms or with Bingley in some masculine portion of the house whenever he could not be out in the countryside with Elizabeth, but he could not avoid her at mealtimes and so suffered his hostess' presence daily no matter how studiously he avoided her path.

Miss Bingley was currently seated in the center of the table with a sneer on her face, Mrs Hurst across from her as a mirrored reflection of her younger sister save for the lace cap upon her head and the slightly darker cast to her hair. They spoke quietly to one another, showing no inclination for mingling with anyone else in the room. It was better, Darcy supposed, for them to be more offensive in their silence than in what they actually deigned to say to the denizens of Hertfordshire.

"Better pleased with themselves than what they see, I think," Elizabeth commented, having followed his line of sight to where Miss Bingley sat primly across from her sister.

Darcy nodded in agreement. "So it always is with them. Do you know, I do not believe I have ever heard them say anything complimentary before?"

"Not even about Pemberley?" Elizabeth's smile was pert and everything alluring.

Darcy chuckled and corrected himself. "Pardon, I suppose I meant that I have never heard them compliment anything sincerely before."

Elizabeth's eyebrow raised with surprised skepticism. "But there is so much to admire about Pemberley; I cannot imagine that they found anything wanting in it." It was well she thought so since she would be its mistress one day. Hopefully quite soon; Darcy had no wish to wait for her birthday in June if they could accelerate that timetable.

"Not in its wealth or prestige, perhaps," he conceded with a wry chuckle, "but Miss Bingley did once lament that it was not closer to Town."

Elizabeth's countenance was all insincere sympathy for Miss Bingley. "Well, I suppose that would be a major drawback for her. I prefer it exactly where it is, myself. Pemberley is perfect as it is."

Darcy could not quite agree with her there. "Save for one thing."

"Oh? Your estate has a flaw? Astonish me!"

Her tone suggested challenge and Darcy smirked at the perfection of his answer. "It would be vastly improved by having a mistress."

The flush rising to Elizabeth's cheeks was most becoming and Darcy desperately wished that they were not surrounded by so many people so that he might kiss her. They had suffered the presence of witnesses at some of their previous displays of affection, however, and he preferred not to indulge the gossips any further. As a private man, he already felt foolish for having succumbed to Elizabeth's charms twice in public settings (well, to be entirely fair, he had thought the last setting to have been private until it had proven otherwise). Still, it was most tempting to lean forward for a little taste of Elizabeth's lips. Instead, he contented himself with the lesser evil of reaching out to brush his index finger along the back of her hand where it laid upon the tablecloth, which incited a little shiver in his beloved.

As Darcy withdrew his touch, he heard what sounded like a disgusted snort from further down the table. His eyes wandered in the direction of where he thought it had originated and he spotted Mr Collins glaring at them openly from where he sat. Darcy, naturally feeling his claim to Elizabeth to be stronger than that of the toadying clergyman, returned the glare with cold hauteur and a raised brow before decidedly turning his face away.

When dinner was complete, Mrs Purvis stood to initiate the separation of the sexes. As she walked from the room, the other ladies followed in her footsteps and left the gentlemen to enjoy their libations and cigars round the table. Elizabeth, much to their mutual disappointment, was required to repair to the parlor with the rest of them and bid Darcy an affectionate farewell.

Darcy held her in place, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, for as long as permissible. "I shall find you as soon as we rejoin the ladies."

Elizabeth smiled fondly and squeezed his in return. "And I shall save you a seat, Mr Darcy."

After a soft kiss to her knuckles, she finally turned to leave and Darcy heard a few amused chuckles ripple through the gentlemen at his expense. When he leveled a scowl at them, they only laughed more openly and toasted his besotted behavior. Upon recognizing that he might have behaved similarly in their places, Darcy allowed his expression to relax into a self deprecating half-grin, shook his head and turned to watch as Elizabeth's skirts whipped around the frame of the doorway.

"Mr Darcy."

Darcy tore his eyes away from Elizabeth's retreat and affixed them upon Mr Collins, who had approached while he had been more pleasantly distracted. His amusement drained away and his smile wilted into a thin line. "Mr Collins."

The parson was bent nearly in half by a stately bow and teetered as if he were about to fall over onto his face. He corrected himself, however, and stood more erect, though his shoulders were still rounded in a slouch. When his face was presented, it was spread by an oily smile which was rather unnerving. It was no wonder that Elizabeth was so uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of it. "I have recently been informed that you are the nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park!"

Yes, Elizabeth had warned him about that. "Indeed."

Darcy remained standing, stiffly erect, as Collins launched himself into an elaboration of how he had received such information. "I have had it from her ladyship herself in a recent letter. I happened to mention that you were in the area and when she replied she told me of the connection. May I also congratulate you, sir, on your betrothal to your own fair cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh?" He said this at the top of his voice, drawing the attention of several in the room. Darcy's face tightened to fight off an open scowl. "I am sure that she will make you as happy as Miss Elizabeth will soon make me. I would be most pleased to preside over your nuptials – assuming Lady Catherine approves, of course."

Darcy, to buy himself time in which to cool his immediate reaction to Collins' presumptuous speech, reached over to the table and pulled the nearest port decanter toward him. As he poured himself a glass, he replied in a voice which was equal in volume to the clergyman's, "You have been misinformed, sir. I assumed you had heard, but perhaps you have not; I am engaged to Miss Elizabeth."

"Oh, no, that is quite impossible!" Collins protested with smugness. "For Lady Catherine herself told me of the betrothal. It was formed while the two of you were in your cradles, was it not?"

"Nonsense," replied Darcy, clenching his fingers tightly around the crystal goblet in his hand. From his periphery, he noted that a few of the gentlemen were attending to their conversation, including the husband of that meddling shrew, Lady Lucas. Darcy had a somewhat higher opinion of Sir William, but he did not wish for this rubbish about a cradle betrothal to get back to the man's wife without his objections to it also being on the record. "You are confused, sir. I am not, nor have I ever been, engaged to my cousin. Indeed, I am betrothed to yours."

Collins did not look cowed by this correction in the slightest. To the contrary, his simper took on a patronizing cast, one which inclined Darcy to grit his teeth together, and proceeded to overstep himself. "I find myself called upon, in my duties as a clergyman, to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach of my influence; and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present advice is highly commendable and that the...unfortunate circumstance in which we presently find ourselves will be kindly overlooked on your side and not lead you to reject the offered guidance. You must see that my Cousin Elizabeth, for all her wit and vivacity, is not the lady for you – indeed, she is quite nothing to your actual bride, Miss Anne de Bourgh, who is everything we should all wish for in a future spouse. Why, what man could possibly prefer Miss Elizabeth – who, for all her charms, has a tendency toward hoydenish behavior – when given the more tempting choice of your delicate cousin? Such elegance has no equal! And I am seconded in this opinion by your noble aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh."

Darcy stiffened his spine and clenched his free hand into a fist down by his side; this toad was inches away from blundering into a situation in which Darcy would be forced to call him out and he hardly seemed to realize it. In an effort to alert Collins to the very great danger he was courting, Darcy warned him, through clenched teeth, "I would be very careful, sir, lest you say something which I cannot overlook."

Collins smiled at him in a placating fashion, though his countenance expressed not an iota of either alarm or remorse. "My good sir, you need not fear your venerable aunt's wrath for there is time to put everything right. Go to her at Rosings Park and beg forgiveness – she, in her great wisdom and condescension, will not hold your weakness against you if you show proper contrition and make amends. Lady Catherine – as I am sure I need not tell you – is everything magnanimous."

Darcy had many words to describe his aunt, but "forgiving" and "magnanimous" were not among them. Even were he inclined to crawl upon his belly to beg her mercy, Lady Catherine would not give it without some price in return. A price which was always too steep.

"I have nothing for which to be ashamed," Darcy countered, desirous of saying more but aware of other ears listening in. He would do well to end this conversation quickly. "Further, this is hardly the proper time for such a discussion. It is not appropriate to – "

"Say no more, say no more," Collins waved his hand with the sort of regal hauteur that only made him seem more ridiculous, "I have given you quite enough to think about already. You would be wise, however, to take this opportunity to heed my advice and make amends to your aunt. It is not too late to avert disaster and – "

"It is natural that gratitude should be felt when advice is offered," Darcy cut Collins off, his patience entirely at an end, "and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot – you are misinformed, sir, and as such any counsel you would offer me would be of little aid. Instead, I must ask you to cease and desist in speaking of things of which you have little understanding."

"But – "

"I could not be any clearer, Mr Collins." Darcy glared at the stuttering parson with a coldness which might have frozen the flames in the great fireplace behind the host's chair. "You will not speak to me – or Elizabeth – on this subject again. Am I perfectly understood?"

Collins, his gaping expression indication that he perhaps finally grasped how far he had gone beyond the bounds of his position, swallowed and nodded. "Yes."

"Very good. If you will excuse me." Darcy took his beverage and walked away from Collins to the end of the room furthest from him where Bingley happened to be talking sport with a collection of other gentlemen. They absorbed him into their ranks and, although they occasionally glanced at him with curiosity, none were so ungentlemanly as to refer to any of the tripe Collins had been spouting.

He was momentarily safe from speculation, though Darcy had no doubts that questions would be raised later. Collins – now making himself amiable to Sir William – was a stupid sort of man, incapable of original thought, but with Aunt Catherine directing him behind the scenes he could prove more dangerous than originally anticipated. Darcy further suspected that Mr Bennet had a hand in the fool's actions, as well. He hoped that anyone in the room who had overheard would recall Mrs Philips' clever ruse (if a ruse it was) regarding Collins' simple-mindedness and relegate all notions of a cradle betrothal between himself and Anne as the workings of a befuddled mind. Just in case, he would slip in a few reminders before they all returned to the parlor for coffee with the ladies.

Aside from those little hints regarding Collins' confusion, Darcy contributed little to the conversation as his mind was occupied elsewhere. Tomorrow, he decided, he would have another word with Mr Bennet. It was time to put this farce to an end.

o0o

The evening had ended early on account of the worsening weather and the ride home in Bingley's carriage was as cold and silent as the snow flurries drifting down from the overcast sky, due in large part to the blackness of Darcy's mood. His friend, who had been bereft of Miss Bennet's company for the evening, was perhaps quiet for his own reasons, but his sisters had been cheerful enough upon boarding the equipage. A single chilly glance from Darcy had put paid to whatever they had been tittering about – Elizabeth, Collins or, quite probably, conjectures involving them both; curse that Collins and his wagging tongue – and they had settled into their forward-facing seats in silence. Hurst was asleep, of course.

Darcy sat next to one window and Bingley the other with the snoring Hurst squeezed between them, both looking out upon the landscape, dusted white with fresh snow, and lost in the maze of their own thoughts. Darcy could not speak for Bingley, but his contemplation was focused primarily upon the strange triangle he found himself locked in with Elizabeth and Collins. The lady's preference was of no concern, but her father's and cousin's were no less obvious; the problem lay in the conflicting expectations of the involved parties.

It was high time that Darcy put an end to the struggle lest he and Elizabeth suffer further embarrassment as they had earlier in the evening. Collins, the fool, was incapable of any amount of discretion and was liable to damage all of their reputations if he were allowed to continue considering himself engaged to Elizabeth. Worse, his accusations that Darcy had jilted another in order to offer for Elizabeth painted his good name black – no one respected the sort of gentleman who would trifle with a lady's affections. He believed that his denials had made some impact, but Darcy knew very well that the more sordid version of any story was bound to be preferred by those that heard it. Visiting hours upon the morrow would likely be abuzz with Collins' version of events, however untrue they were, and it would take concerted effort to undermine them. Mrs Bennet and Mrs Philips would remind their fellow matrons of Collins' supposed befuddlement, but the only true way to put a stop to the conjectures would be to marry Elizabeth and be done with it.

But what could Darcy say to Mr Bennet which had not already been argued before this, by either himself or Elizabeth? The elder gentleman had so far proven himself implacable to all logic or sentiment which suggested his daughter was better off married to Darcy. It was as if he refused to hear anything but that which supported the match with Collins. Darcy could understand it, in a detached sort of way, because it would be a boon to any guardian to keep his beloved ward close to home all his life and promote her to mistress of all his holdings, but to push it in opposition to all sense and consideration for others was taking it too far. Darcy would love for Georgiana to always call Pemberley home, but he hoped that one day, when she met a good man who would take care of her, he would be selfless enough to allow it without more than the proper amount of hesitation. Mr Bennet was denying Elizabeth the opportunity to find her own happiness by insisting that she accept the life he had arranged for her.

Darcy's sigh fogged up the glass of the windowpane. It was time to abandon all attempts at persuasion and make a different sort of move. It chaffed to do something so vulgar, but Darcy would march up to Mr Bennet's study upon the morrow and offer him whatever amount the old man deemed appropriate to marry Elizabeth. If he thought it were possible to buy out the entail instead, Darcy would do that, but such things were often impossible; a legal tangle created by men who sought to keep property within family lines regardless of what difficulties their descendants might face because of it. Still, he might as well look into it in an effort to explore all possibilities. Darcy was grateful that his predecessors had not entailed Pemberley for it gave him greater discretion to utilize his wealth wherever he chose, a freedom which had increased that wealth greatly in many areas. The Bennets had not had such foresight, apparently – though, in all fairness to the clan, it was not likely that any of them could have conceived of a Mr Collins when the documents had been drawn up.

As Darcy idly wondered what Mr Bennet would consider a fair price for his avowedly favorite daughter, the carriage drew to a jerky halt in front of Netherfield Park. Moments later, the door was pulled open by a footman; the ladies were helped out first and then the gentlemen, beginning with Bingley who was closest to the exit, followed. Hurst snorted and cursed upon being awakened and then tumbled out in pursuit of his bed (or perhaps more brandy). Darcy was the last to remove and his boots hit the hard ground with a crunch; the snow had already accumulated into a fine soft carpet of white since beginning an hour ago. He hoped that it would cease soon or Elizabeth might not be able to meet him for their daily assignation in the morning. 'It might already be too late for that,' he lamented to himself with another weary sigh that enveloped him in a steamy haze.

When Darcy's gaze rose to the house, he was slightly startled to see a redcoated man standing upon the stairs leading up to the front double doors, engaged in conversation with the housekeeper. At the base of the steps a chestnut horse loitered, stomping his hooves and breathing heavy clouds of breath into the atmosphere. When the door of the carriage closed behind Darcy, the echoing sound seemed to alert the unknown soldier and he turned to observe the Netherfield party approaching. Less than a beat later, he was descending to meet them, a hand outstretched with a letter clenched between his fingers.

"Mr Darcy," the redcoat addressed Bingley first, who was nearest.

Bingley shook his head and pivoted in Darcy's direction, indicating his friend with a pointed finger. "Afraid not. This is Mr Darcy."

Darcy stepped forward as the soldier's attention turned toward him. "I am Darcy. What can I do for you?"

The soldier stepped around Bingley, his sisters and Hurst to approach Darcy, his vermillion coat vibrant against the rapidly whitening background. He held the letter Darcy had noticed up and presented it. "From Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir. It is urgent."

Darcy accepted the missive and, as he struggled to open it with fingers blunted by both the numbing cold and his gloves, wondered at what sort of catastrophe might warrant an express. Richard was not prone to exaggerating situations, nor did he worry needlessly, and so whatever news this letter contained must necessarily be grave. It was not edged in black, thank God, which at least assured Darcy that none of their shared relations had died, but this absence did not negate the possibility of severe illness or injury. Had his uncle suffered an apoplexy? Had one of his cousins or his aunt been in some sort of accident? Or was something amiss with Georgiana?

Eventually, Darcy managed to rip open the epistle and unfold it for his perusal. It took little time to read the words scrawled across the page, but much longer to absorb them, such was his horror. It was far worse than he had expected.

November 12, 1811

London

Darcy,

I cannot say much here in case this letter should fall into the wrong hands, but Georgiana has eloped with Wickham. By the time you receive this I will already be in pursuit, but your presence is immediately required in London.

Burn this letter upon receipt. Lt Reeves can be trusted not to read what I have written.

Col Richard Fitzwilliam

Georgiana had eloped. With George Wickham.

"Darcy?" Bingley's voice called to him from what felt like far away, but was in actuality only a few scant feet distant. Darcy raised his head and stared at his friend who was looking back with an expression of utmost concern. "Is it bad news?"

"I…," Darcy crumpled the letter within his fist and worked to unclench his jaw so that he might respond to his friend. At length, he was capable of saying, "I must leave for Town. Immediately."

o0o

Wednesday

November 13, 1811

Just before dawn...

"And you are entirely certain that there is nothing I can do to assist you, my friend?"

As much as Darcy appreciated his friend's loyalty, there was nothing that Bingley could do which would alleviate the disaster his sister had brought down upon all their heads when she had foolishly run off with Wickham. There might not be anything that even Darcy could do other than see to it that the scoundrel treated his sister well, and even that would not be entirely within his purview. As his wife, Georgiana would be under Wickham's power, completely and utterly, and the law would recognize no intervention on her behalf should her husband feel the inclination to mistreat her. The poor, stupid girl…

Further, Darcy thought as he dipped his quill into the ink pot set before him, he could not unfold the particulars of Georgiana's situation to any human being if it could be avoided. Bingley was trustworthy, of this Darcy had no doubt, but where secrecy might be maintained he had a duty to see that it was. There was still the possibility, however slim, of recovering Georgiana before it was too late and covering up this sad business before it ruined her completely. If anyone could affect this miracle, it would be his cousin Richard and Darcy must hope and pray that Georgiana could be rescued from Wickham's machinations and her reputation salvaged. Dwelling on the alternative only caused Darcy's gut to clench painfully.

Darcy tapped his quill to rid it of excess ink before he brought the tip to the paper in front of him. He wished he could say more to Elizabeth, to pour out his heart and fears in a way that he could not with Bingley or any other person not already aware of his sister's situation, but it would be unwise to put the whole sorry mess in writing. He had followed Richard's advice and burned the express which had come to him the night before and he would not risk further exposure by revealing it himself. It was not Elizabeth he wished to hide from, but rather the prying eyes of anyone and everyone surrounding her. Bingley's sisters were the first obstacle as the note must first pass through his friend, but there were even more dangerous forces within the walls of Longbourn who might use Georgiana's mistake to further their agendas. He could not let his sister – no matter how angry he was with her and her poor judgment – suffer further humiliation at the hands of a man like Mr Bennet or Mr Collins.

Instead, Darcy filled his note with his love and promises to return. He only hoped that he would have better tidings when he did.

How he wished he could wait long enough to meet her upon Oakham Mount this morning, but there was no time; he had already wasted a number of hours waiting for dawn and he could not put off his departure any longer. That aside, it was unlikely that Elizabeth would venture out this morning at all, considering the accumulated snow outside. There was not an excessive amount, the only bit of good luck Darcy had experienced since receiving Richard's express the evening before, but it was still frigid enough to keep his beloved ensconced within the cozy confines of her family home. That being the case, a private meeting was all but impossible and Darcy could not have such a potentially damaging conversation at Longbourn, even were he welcome to visit (which he was decidedly not). No, the note would have to do, no matter how much his heart ached to see Elizabeth once more before going to Town. He was fortunate enough to be able to send word through Bingley, all things considered.

Once his missive to Elizabeth was completed, sanded and folded, Darcy stood and held it out to Bingley, who took it with a grave expression on his face and extended his other hand for a shake. Darcy reciprocated with a vigorous pump of their conjoined palms. "Make sure that this makes it into Elizabeth's hands; I cannot have her thinking that I have abandoned her. I will return as soon as my business in town has been completed."

"I have no doubt of it. Have a safe journey; the weather looks less than ideal." Bingley's gaze strayed to the window on the far wall where the golden glow of sunrise was beginning to illuminate the land. The icy sparkle of a thin layer of snow glittered on the crests of the hills and trees in the near distance. The road, however, snaked through the scenery in the comparatively dull shade of brown, indicating that travel was possible. Slow in deference to any slippery patches of camouflaged ice, but possible.

Darcy released Bingley's hand and moved to leave the room; it was time to depart, regardless of the state of the roads. "We will go slow and take as much care as possible. I shall write to inform you of my arrival."

"Godspeed, Darcy."

"I shall see you again soon, Bingley." Darcy's mouth hung open as he contemplated whether or not he should leave a verbal message for Elizabeth, but ultimately he swallowed deeply and said nothing but, "Farewell."

---

Author's Note: Uh oh, it all just went sideways. o.0

Btw, the angst grows again from here and doesn't resolve completely until the end. If you want to hide behind the blue couch, now is the time to do it. So sorry not to warn you in advance as I did before, but I couldn't give the twist away. Rest assured, however, that an HEA is still on its way.

THANK YOU to those of you who have defended my pacing. I'm glad that not all of my readers feel that this story is plodding sluggishly along. However, in defense of those who did say as much, most of them were perfectly polite about it and I wasn't insulted. I just wanted them to know that their concerns were noted and that further belaboring of the point was unnecessary. I appreciate all kindly meant criticism, but I don't want to be beat over the head with it, lolz. All of that said, feel free to point out any mistakes you see in this current chapter; it's gone through several revisions and I feel that the flow is a tad off. Might be me, but outside opinions would be appreciated.

Oh, and it feels a little strange to be saying this in a footnote to this particular story, but...Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there! Dunno about worldwide, but here in the US we're celebrating on Sunday.

Next Update: June 22, 2020 (MONDAY)
Expected Completion: July 31, 2020

– MrsMarySmythe