"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours," he coldly replied. She said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in silence; and on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree, for in Darcy's breast there was a tolerable powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon, and directed all his anger against another.

- Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice (p. 91)


Chapter 1

Elizabeth straightened from her curtsey as soon as propriety would allow and retreated from the dance floor with alacrity. Her anger caused her thoughts to swirl almost incoherently around her head, with only her fury at his pride staying at the forefront for very long. She made her way towards the terrace, intent on clearing her thoughts as much as was possible before she was located by her personal, loquacious shadow, Mr. Collins.

As she moved towards the terrace door, she spotted Lydia in a most unusual attitude. She was glancing furtively, making sure she was not observed, before slipping out the side door into the garden.

Elizabeth felt a sense of dread overcome her as her sister disappeared from the ever-lackadaisical observation of their father. She quickly changed course and followed Lydia out the door. As soon as the sounds of the hall were muffled, she could hear the sounds of Lydia's giggles echoing from deeper in the garden, accompanied by the shushing of a male voice. Elizabeth could think of no positive reason for Lydia to be where she was, nor whom she could possibly be meeting, for all Lydia's favorites among the regiment were contained within the ballroom when she left it only moments before. Fearing only ill, Elizabeth followed them deeper into the hedges, hoping her frequent morning walks would give her the stamina needed to catch her errant sister before it was too late.


Darcy's mood was dark, and he himself was entirely to blame. He had been forced to attend this evening by the simple fact of his residence in the host's household. The idea of being subjected to the most ruckus elements of the local society, as they put on airs in an attempt to match his own, made his natural reserve turn to sullen silence. He could not find pleasure in this setting, he was convinced, until a pair of alluring eyes stepped into the entrance hall. In those eyes, and in that moment, he saw the salvation of his sanity. Fully cognizant that he would not be able to monopolize her wit, he was determined to find half hours sane dialogue. Other than her charms, he had only Miss Bingley's biting sneer and Bingley's fascination with Miss Bennet to look forward to; every other local patron would give him wide berth.

He could see the annoyance written on her face as she danced with her cousin. Though perhaps, Darcy mused, dancing was the incorrect description for the punishment Miss Elizabeth's toes were receiving from the soles of Mr. Collin's shoes. Darcy had every confidence that his dance with her would be received with far more pleasure by both parties, and his anticipation only grew when she accepted him.

But though it had begun comfortably, her ready mention of George Wickham had soured the event. And while he was sure that she had only intended to engage him in the intelligent banter and debate that had defined their communication previously, this was one subject to which he would object. He regretted letting his anger at Wickham color his words to her. He valued her conversation, for it was truly the most intelligent he had ever heard from a lady.

Now he stood with his back against the wall, in the corner of the ballroom, brooding over his lost entertainment. Her father stood only a pace away, holding a glass of punch, but neither Mr. Bennet nor Darcy moved to begin a conversation. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that the occupants of this corner had no desire for talk. The older man was staring idly over the heads of the gathered crowd. His distraction with his own thoughts was betrayed by the lack of reaction his eyes made to the undulating movements of the dancers.

Unlike his fellow observer, Darcy found the sight of so many people disconcerting, and he turned he back to the revelers, gazing at his reflection, in the darkened window. As he stared out the pane, his eyes slowly adjusted until he could see the outline of the balcony railing and the garden hedges in the distance. In the midst of his longing for the peaceful solitude of the grounds, Darcy spotted a figure hurrying towards the house. As it drew closer, he was able to discern the presence of skirts being thrown about a running lady.

Darcy turned quickly back to the dancers, hoping to locate his host; Bingley would need to be informed of any arising situation on his property. Darcy was able to catch him as he and Miss Lucas completed their turn down the line. He noticed Miss Bennet resting along the side of the hall, more attentive to her beau than Darcy might have expected given her local popularity, aware of his interference. He caught Bingley's arm as he made to turn back into the opposing row. "Bingley, something as amiss. You are needed," Darcy informed him in an undertone. Miss Lucas too stepped from the dancing line as she saw her partner detained.

Bingley sent her an apologetic smile. "I am sorry to have to abandon our dance, you'll have to promise me another for a later occasion so I may make amends. A situation has come to my attention that needs to be rectified. Please, continue to enjoy the ball." He dipped her a quick bow and followed Darcy through the doorway Mr. Bennet was standing in front of, still gazing absently at the far wall.

The two gentlemen had just stepped onto the terrace when the female figure rushed laboriously up the garden stairs. As the light from the windows lit her face, Darcy recognized Miss Lydia Bennet. She moved towards them, hysterical cries wracking her frame. As soon as they were in arms reach, she grasped the sleeve of Bingley's jacket, and mouthed soundless pleas that she could not voice through her panic and labored breathing.

"What has happened Miss Lydia?" Bingley pressed in a gentle voice, but this only served to worsen her state. Though it was a risk to leave them alone on the balcony, Darcy felt it necessary to return through the door to retrieve her father. Mr. Bennet's reverie had been interrupted by his eldest daughter and Miss Lucas. As Darcy passed the doorway he met the inquisitive gaze of Miss Bennet, who must have been curious as to what could have detained her ever attentive suitor upon the terrace. As the two ladies were already aware of an unusual circumstance, it would be impossible to defer their attention, especially when his need of Mr. Bennet became known.

Darcy stepped up behind the gentleman's shoulder and cleared his throat. "Pardon me sir, but Bingley has need of your assistance on the terrace. I do not wish to alarm you, but some hurry would be prudent." Mr. Bennet surveyed him narrowly, shrewdly weighing the gravity of his speech with his unusual forwardness. After only a moment, he turned for the door without taking any leave of the two ladies he had just been attending. "Excuse me," Darcy muttered, bowing shortly, before also proceeding out the door. Their curiosity and concern had been peaked however, and Darcy was not more than three steps past it when they as well joined the party on the terrace.

Any potential outrage from Mr. Bennet was gainsaid by Bingley's obvious discomfort at having a crying Lydia clinging to his forearms, and his earnest cry of "Mr. Bennet, thank the lord! I can make neither heads nor tails of Miss Lydia's predicament." His call alerted Lydia to the presence of her father, and she relinquished her hold on his sleeves in favor of her father's arms.

"What has happened, child?" His tone was as gentle as the arms that gripped her shoulders. He glanced up then, seeing the two ladies approaching, "Jane, Miss Lucas," he shifted to glance behind them, "and no Lizzy." He said this with a perplexity that spoke not of his surprise at their presence, but the expectation of Miss Elizabeth always finding the most interesting events to attend. He was not left with his confusion for long, for at the mention of her sister, Lydia let out particularly pitiful moan.

Words finally breached her gasping sobs, though they were less coherent or informative than Mr. Bennet would have wished for. "Lizzy is… she followed us… he was so angry…" she broke off here to keen once more, "She bade me to run… he was so angry… I don't know what he'll do…" as she spoke, she gestured in the direction Darcy had seen her hurrying from. "Wickham he—"

That was all Darcy needed to hear to galvanize a headlong sprint into the garden, images of his beloved sister, so injured by this very man, warring with brilliant brown eyes.

Darcy found her first. His long strides had carried him far ahead of the others. As he followed the path Lydia had indicated, a growing sense of dread gnawed on his stomach. The amount of time it was taking him to reach her was too long, and it was compounded by the assuredly longer trip Lydia had taken to reach them.

When he spotted her white dress looming out of the darkness in the distance, he stretched his legs even further, determined to reach her before any additional harm could befall her. She was alone, huddled at the base of a tree, hugging her knees to her chest, and staring glassy eyed at her now bare feet. As he neared her, he slowed to a walk so as to not startle her, and, seeing her trembling, removed his coat. She made no reaction to his presence until he draped the coat around her in an effort to shield her modesty in her ripped dress as much as from the cold. She flinched and moved even farther into the base of the tree, tucking herself into a tighter ball with her eyes squeezed shut. But she clutched his coat around herself, so he was content to kneel beside her, just out of arms reach, and attempt to soothe her with his voice alone.

Her response to his presence had only made the pit of his stomach clench harder. He murmured soft reassurances as the sound of his fellow pursuers grew in the distance, but if she heard him, she made no response.

Bingley was the next to arrive, and Darcy was surprised to see Miss Bennet only a few feet behind him. Mr. Bennet and another female figure trailed far behind. He supposed that perhaps the sisters were not as dissimilar as they had previously appeared, if Miss Bennet's apparent fitness was taken into account.

Miss Bennet made to push past the gentlemen, but Darcy gently caught her arm. "Not so hasty, Miss Bennet," he murmured, "she has not responded but to recoil from my presence, I fear—" but he trailed off, unable to yet give a voice to the terrible thoughts in his head.

"Lizzy?" she called tentatively, "Lizzy dear, can you hear me?" Miss Bennet took a small step forward, clearly desperate to reach out to her beloved sister. Darcy had feared that she would remain unresponsive, but at the sound of Miss Bennet's voice she raised her head.

"Jane?" came the tremulous reply, barely audible. It was all the permission Miss Bennet needed to rush to her sister and wrap her arms around her.

"What has happened?" Miss Bennet queried softly as she curled Miss Elizabeth into her embrace.

"Oh Jane," was Miss Elizabeth's only response as she buried herself further into her sister's arms, tucking her head into Miss Bennet's neck. She was shaking, and sobs, muffled into her sister's shoulder, began to issue forth.

Darcy's gut tightened even further. It was heart wrenching to watch a fellow being endure such pain, but even more so, someone he knew and respected. He had been witness to a woman weeping so only once before, when his darling sister had wept her broken heart into his cravat the past summer. Miss Elizabeth's pain was no less terrible.

Mr. Bennet finally arrived with Miss Lucas in tow. Mr. Bennet was panting substantially harder than she was, and nodded in agreement to something that Darcy had not heard. Mr. Bennet patted her hand, and she turned back towards the house after exchanging a meaningful glance with Jane.

Mr. Bennet stepped up closer to Darcy and muttered just loud enough for the two gentlemen to hear, "I had a footman call for my carriage, Miss Lucas will ensure Lydia is placed there with a maid and footman before detaining Mr. Collins with her company for the remainder of the evening." Darcy had forgotten about the sniveling parson, and he commended Mr. Bennet's forethought. "Mr. Bingley, I must ask your assistance in maintaining as much discretion as possible."

"I am at your service sir," Bingley replied earnestly, his ever easy nature always eager to please.

"Return to the ballroom, take my Jane with you, and grace each other with your smiles. We cannot be sure that people will not notice Lizzy and Lydia's absence, but we can be sure that they will shortly notice yours, if they have not already."

Bingley was mildly taken aback by the request, perceiving initially that Mr. Bennet was brushing off any aide he could provide. Darcy however, understood immediately and nodded for his friend to comply. His opinion of the older man was rising as he realized the extent of his quick thinking. While Darcy had flown out the door in combined rage toward Wickham and blind panic at the symmetry from the summer, Mr. Bennet had arranged for the safety and security of his entire family.

Mr. Bennet then turned to Darcy. "I am afraid that I must trouble you too for aid." At Darcy's sharp nod, a crooked grin peaked through his currently austere visage. "These old bones are not what they once were, and your absence will be far less remarked upon by most than your friend's. Can I beg your assistance in transferring Elizabeth to my carriage?"

Darcy froze momentarily. Though he recognized the rationality of that request, the inherent intimacy of carrying a woman in his arms was not something he had prepared for. Realizing the necessity of the act, he shook himself mentally. "Of course, sir."

Darcy returned his focus to Miss Elizabeth, still encased in her sister's arms. Her heart wrenching sobs had quieted somewhat as Miss Bennet whispered in her ear. It appeared that Miss Bennet had been attentive to her father's directives, as she looked up at Darcy and slightly loosened her hold. She continued to whisper in her sister's ear, and as Darcy stepped forward, he began to comprehend the murmured words.

"—to let go. Lizzy, I promise you are safe now, but we must move before we are seen. Can you walk Lizzy?" Miss Elizabeth nodded against Miss Bennet's shoulder. As they began to rise, she was unable to keep her faced pressed into Miss Bennet's shoulder, and Darcy, with his eyes now adjusted to the darkness, could see the tear tracks on her cheeks. Though she kept her gaze resolutely on her feet, she staggered in her first few steps. Darcy stepped closer, and when she stumbled only a few steps further on, quickly swept her up into his arms before she could tumble to he ground.

She was stiff in his arms, every muscle of her body tensed. But she did not struggle, and for that he was grateful. Darcy did not speak to her, but he ensured that his coat was still wrapped securely around her.

She was smaller than he expected her to be. While she was still a solid mass in his arms, her actual stature seemed diminished in comparison to the force of her personality. As the lights of the house neared, some of the tension left her body. She nestled herself further into his body and clutched his lapel, seeming to cower from the lighted windows. The new timidity was contradictory to her normal fire.

He bypassed the house entirely, making straight for the waiting carriage. Bingley and Miss Bennet split from the group in order to return through the garden door. He hoped briefly that his friend would exercise enough sense to stagger their re-emergence into the hall. There was no need to cause a second potential scandal this evening. But he was unable to give his friend the attention he might have otherwise. As soon as he turned the corner to the drive, the footman standing with the carriage hurried towards them. When he made to remove Miss Elizabeth from Darcy's arms, Darcy shook his head and directed the man otherwise.

"Samson, send word to the stables to have my horse saddled immediately. And send word to my valet to retrieve my greatcoat." Mr. Bennet moved to face him momentarily at these instructions, but otherwise did not deign to comment. He stepped into the carriage, turning so Darcy could hand Miss Elizabeth up to him. Darcy could see Miss Lydia tucked into the corner with one of the Netherfield maids.

"Thank you, for your assistance Mr. Darcy. Can I presume from your directions that you intend to search for the scoundrel that has done this to my daughter?"

"No sir, Wickham can be better dealt with by the militia. I intended to follow your carriage back to Longbourn." In the light of the house Darcy could see Mr. Bennet's eyebrows lift in surprise, but he made no other comment than to nod before he too settled himself into the carriage. Darcy caught one more, brief glance of Miss Elizabeth before the door closed. She was staring blankly ahead, eyes dull and unfocused. But Darcy took some hope from the newfound elevation of her chin and tall posture. The carriage began to move, and Darcy was left to pace the gravel drive with only his thoughts for company while he waited for his horse and coat.