"For once in my life, Elizabeth, I cannot decide. I wish nothing but the best for our daughter - but I fear her resentment if we ignore her counsel."
"Or her free will."
"Indeed."
They had retired that night - both husband and wife - to tiring, uneven sleep. Uncertainty that they had not faced for years - not since their own unlikely courtship - settled with great weight upon their room, their minds, and their lives.
"Shall we have her return then?" Darcy had asked before she had blown out the final candle.
It had taken Elizabeth three heartbeats to reply, "I suppose we must."
And here they were, once again, pensively cautious of the day ahead as they awaited another carriage to arrive at Pemberley. Neither the letter for Lady Matlock nor the one for Bethanne had alluded to the presence of Mrs. and Francis Wickham. Both had merely stated that Mr. and Mrs. Darcy wished for their daughter to return.
It was with great relief that Elizabeth learned of their immediate, unquestioning compliance.
At least, she need not witness her daughter arriving at Pemberley more eager to see her cousin than her own father and mother.
"When is she due to arrive?" Darcy whispered as he finished breaking his fast.
"By noon," replied Elizabeth.
Darcy nodded, looking less troubled than he had last night.
Perhaps the reality of their choice had finally begun to take root in their hearts.
It was not as if they were ready to bless a union between Francis and Bethanne. That desire was far - still incredibly far from their intentions.
They had concurred, however, that repressed infatuation would only grow - and their best alternative was to observe the two young people occupy the same room. Perhaps, if heaven allowed it, familiarity would breed contempt and the cousins would tire of each other. Or, perhaps, they would seek to begin a courtship.
And if it were destined to be the latter, then Darcy and Elizabeth would much rather have it occur within their sights.
They parted soon after, leaving Elizabeth to her leisure as she readied Bethanne's rooms for her return. Then, having finished the task, she settled herself to await Pemberley's carriage.
Lydia had a headache today and rested in her guest room. Francis had taken to the library. With her husband in his study, Elizabeth felt alone - uneasily alone - in the drawing room. It was not her first time indulging in such solitude. But there was something different today - an odd sense of foreboding.
She tried to read and to sew - but, soon, the clock struck noon.
"A note - for Mr. Darcy." The footman appeared all of a sudden, causing Elizabeth to jump.
Elizabeth found herself fearful for no apparent reason as she met the servant's eye.
Why did the footman not bring the note to the study? Why did he appear so frantic, so worried?
"Is anything the matter?" Elizabeth stood.
"The man who delivered it - was not of the regular post, madam."
"I see." Quickly, Elizabeth stalked across the room to retrieve the note. She dismissed the footman, witnessed the unsavory condition of the roughly-folded paper, and broke into a run for her husband's study.
"Elizabeth?" Her husband frowned at her state when she dashed into his sanctuary. He stood. "What has happened?"
She shoved the note into his hands. He read it with trembling lips and trembling fingers.
"Is it as I feared?" Elizabeth cried.
"Yes - Bethanne has been kidnapped." Darcy's voice, and his entire frame, shook violently. "They demand a ransom of ten thousand pounds to be delivered by the morning - else they threaten to take her life."
It took all of Elizabeth's efforts not to faint.
"And what if the kidnappers were to come here?" Lydia Wickham wailed when they informed her at last, just before the party departed.
"Hush, Lydia!" Elizabeth was quick to rebuke her sister. "We do not wish to have word spread. Bethanne's safety and reputation are at risk."
"Can we not pay them to go away?" Mrs. Wickham moaned. Her shuddering frame made Darcy wonder how his prudent, resilient wife could possibly have shared a home with this whimpering woman. "They wouldn't harm her, would they?"
"Mama, Uncle Darcy is right to seek a faster solution," Francis spoke then, his youthful energy reverberating throughout the guest room the four of them currently occupied. "We must rescue Cousin Bethanne while we can."
"Do you even know where she is?"
"We can - find her," Francis replied before looking towards Darcy.
Darcy met the young man's eyes briefly before releasing a sigh.
His heart aches with every word he uttered, "We have news - historically - of where the highwaymen tend to hide themselves in these parts. We must try."
"But do you even know, Mr. Darcy?" Mrs. Wickham's hysterics were fast rivaling her mother's.
Darcy clenched his fists. "We must try."
"I will help Uncle Darcy every way I can," Francis vowed openly.
"And what if anything were to happen to you!" Mrs. Wickham now addressed her son. "How could I bear having anything happen to my only child!"
To Francis Wickham's great credit, he stood tall and answered plainly. "My life's worth can be measured only by how much I can use it to save and serve. I refuse to leave Cousin Bethanne in danger while I tarry in Pemberley."
"And shall neither of you stay here to protect us?"
"Pemberley is safe, Lydia," Elizabeth intervened. "We will not see harm. We merely chose to inform you because Francis will be aiding his uncle in the search."
"And if you find these men," Mrs. Wickham lamented, "how are the two of you to fight them? You are - scholars and gentlemen! My Francis could never survive a brutal fight with desperate thieves!"
"Mama!"
An urgent knocking at the door interrupted whatever other protests Mrs. Wickham was about to offer.
"Yes?" Darcy commanded.
A footman and a maid, both pensive, revealed themselves slowly.
"Mr. Darcy - "
"Yes? Out with it."
"You have a visitor, sir."
Darcy frowned. "Who?"
"A - a Mr. George Wickham."
"What reason could you possibly have to justify your presence!" Darcy thundered in his study. He marched behind his desk, every inch the rightful master of Pemberley.
At least Wickham did not try to seat himself without asking.
"I can help, brother."
"I consider you no brother." Darcy turned to glare at the man who insisted, through the decades, to plague his life. "Speak! Why are you here?"
"My regiment happened to be stationed two villages away. I heard through my men regarding the abduction."
"And am I to presume you innocent in this matter, Wickham?" Darcy practically sneered at his worthless scum of a relative.
Wickham took one step back, hands braced in the air before him. "I swear, Darcy, I have done many unworthy things - but I have lived my life straight since Francis' birth."
Darcy huffed, burdened by the myriad unwelcome events - and their never-ending consequences - this long, desperate day.
"And why - should you have heard of this attack - do you believe yourself capable and willing to assist us?" Darcy asked, when he finally caught his breath once more. He planted his eyes firmly on Wickham's person, surveying him for any signs of insincerity.
"Similar attempts had been made upon the Harringtons - a mere three months ago." Wickham did not seem to be pulling facts out of thin air. "The eldest Miss Harrington was kidnapped as she returned from London. We learned of the event because she had been in correspondence with one of my men."
Darcy listened, patiently.
"Mr. and Mrs. Harrington requested for our help, under the highest level of discretion. We recovered Miss Harrington by acting swiftly under the cover of night."
"And these men are with you now - in my home?"
"I brought only my two most trusted officers," Wickham replied.
Darcy stopped to think.
It was very difficult to think.
"Darcy, I apologize - for every single offense I have committed against you and your family in the past. But marriage, and fatherhood, and life has taught me that actions yield results - and I have striven to make wise choices ever since. Please, believe me, today, for the benefit of your family. Allow me to help."
Darcy wondered just how many risks he was being called upon the take this bloody year.
"Very well. Let us depart, posthaste. Do not betray my trust."
"I promise - on my only son's life."
"You believe this to be their station?" Darcy whispered, hunched behind the thick bushes.
Through the foliage, he caught glimpses of a sturdy, sparse hut well-lit from within. Two men clad in rough, scant clothing paced back and forth across the sole entrance. One man carried a knife, the other a rifle.
"It is the very same place where we'd delivered Miss Harrington," Wickham whispered back.
It was a choice that Wickham made - to have his best man approach the hut from the back, to have Francis and his other soldier approach from the left, and to have the two fathers advance from this angle. Darcy, too anxious for further rational thought, had simply agreed.
"If they hear sounds of an attack, would they not harm Bethanne?" Darcy asked, fearful that his reservations were based in truth.
"They do not expect a meeting until morning. The night is deep. We are safe," replied Wickham.
Darcy sighed under his breath. He had always been an athletic man - and even fatherhood, prosperity, and advancement in years had not kept him from his saddle or his magazine.
Still, all those activities he did for sport.
Tonight, it was his daughter's life at stake.
"Your footman indicated that there were three attackers, correct?" Wickham whispered, another long and frightful minute later.
"Yes," said Darcy.
"Good. Then we shall easily outnumber them."
Darcy waited, and he waited.
A thought lingered and tugged at the back of his mind.
When another minute passed without interruption, he finally asked, "Why did you choose to assist us?"
Wickham took two moments to reply, "I do it for my son."
"Your son?"
"Francis - cares for Bethanne."
To Darcy's surprise, Wickham's tone carried no victory or sting - and only resignation.
"You knew," Darcy grumbled.
"Francis wrote."
"And you approve?"
Wickham let loose what could only be described as a harsh yet helpless laugh. "What good does it do if you do not? For, surely, there is no remote possibility that you would grant your blessing."
It was a discomfiting feeling to be seen through by one's most sworn enemy.
"You are not wrong," said Darcy.
In the limited light they had, he could see Wickham nod.
"I tried to provide for him. It took many years to have a child, and I insisted that he be raised by his sensible grandfather rather than his ridiculous mother. I ensured that he be better than his old man ever was."
The soliloquy was unexpected, but Darcy listened to every word.
"If he had fallen for a tradesman's daughter - or a parson's child - or even a woman similar to his mother by birth, I believe he would have been worthy," Wickham continued, one eye on the guarded hut. "But, of course, he had to admire a young lady - perhaps the only young lady in the entire world save royalty - who was least attainable for him."
Darcy frowned. When was Wickham's man to begin the distraction - to save him from the musings of a reflective George Wickham?
"If you need me to deliver the blow to Francis, I will gladly carry out the task," Wickham concluded all on his own. "God knows you have done far more for me."
The signal came then - a horse's neigh and a gunshot. The men outside the hut ran towards the source of the noise. A quarter of a minute later, another, taller man emerged from the hut and turned to face the direction of his running comrades.
"Now!" Wickham commanded. All four men emerged from their hiding places and dashed to deliver the maiden trapped within.
A/N: I have to admit that I originally expected a little more sympathy for Francis, hehe. But I guess we all identify with D&E more than anyone else! I hope I am doing this unique plot justice.