Hinton had never seen a lady like that in his life. She was round and to his knowledge, should have been jolly. However, she showed a severe distaste for him and his frogs and was always complaining of headaches and fainting spells. He just did not understand this. His pretty little momma never had headaches and never ever fainted and his sister was more likely to give others headaches and cause others to faint.
The little boy sat in the doorway of Mrs. Bennet's open bedroom in Indian style, elbows on knees, chin in fists, scowl firmly in place. The clock had not yet struck seven in the morning and Hinton had snuck from his room in search of an adventure. Adventures, apparently, were scarce lately. He had been passing through an obscure hallway on the second floor when he heard a loud scratchy noise. He recognized it as snoring; his father snored. Creeping closer to the sound, he discovered that the door from which it was coming from was wide open. Two people Hinton recognized as Miss. Elizabeth's parents occupied the bed inside the open room. The snoring was coming from, not her father, but her mother who was laying flat on her back, graying curls poking out from under a starched white sleeping cap. Perplexed, Hinton plopped himself down on the floor of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet's doorway, thinking that perhaps, if he watched closely, he'd be able to figure the odd woman out.
George Wickham looked gloomily into a his thick cup of ale. Throwing back his head, he downed the rest of the dark beverage and eyed the busty serving girl who was wiping down the bar but a few feet from his own place sitting precariously atop a dangerously small stool. It was a testimony to his current state of mind that he didn't reach for the unwitting girl and pull her into his lap. Instead, he called for another glass and stared gloomily into that one as well.
He had come back to the place of his childhood to find a way to force new funds from Darcy. Wickham had left the welcoming arms of the country as soon as he heard of Darcy's bold and insane move. He was forced to give the usual uptight man a bit of respect, however grudgingly.
Wickham was not happy that his long time rival had snagged the lovely Elizabeth out from underneath his own greasy grasp. Of course, he had had no serious intentions toward the lady. She was not, after all, well off, and could not supply him with the funds he would need to pay off his ever-increasing debts. No, he was rather glad when ole 'stick in the arse Darce' kidnapped the girl and made off into the seedy depths of Scotland with her. It gave him time to plan his next move. Surely, with Darcy so involved elsewhere, he'd be able to perhaps steal something from Pemberly, or maybe blackmail the old boy with some deep dark secret that he would find when he broke into the vast estate to snoop around Darcy's personal belongings.
Thee search had, Wickham remembered with another frown, tossing down a swig of liquor, proven unfruitful. Darcy was as big a bore as ever… except for this latest development.
Elizabeth, he ruminated, was quite well off now that she had married Darcy. And so it appeared was Darcy. Of course this was nothing new, the stuck up arrogant snob, thought Wickham, had always been extremely rich. He was now, it would seem, rich in other areas as well; specifically, he was in possession of a very fine, very lovely lady.
The Lord's commandments had never seemed overly important to the charming Wickham; he never let them stand in his way. And coveting his neighbor's wife was certainly not beyond him. Unfortunately, neither was kidnapping his neighbor's wife and holding her for ransom.
Wickham rose from his chair, tossed back the last of his drink, and strode purposefully from the tavern.
It is fortunate to remember here, that neither Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine, nor Miss. Bingley are any of them remotely bright. Instead, it is reassuring to note, that they are all rather dim witted. For where their plan was devious and horrible in its intent, it was so poorly executed as to make a debacle of the entire event.
"Perhaps we should have hired someone to do the kidnapping," whispered Caroline a bit peevishly. "I am beginning to believe that we went about this all wrong."
"Of course we haven't!" exclaimed Lady Catherine as she clung to the arm of a rather strange, rather tall and gangly man in a white robe. "Father Laine, you assure me that the couples' consent is not absolutely necessary for you to perform the ceremony?"
"Ceremonies," hissed Caroline.
Lady Catherine glared at her. "What?" she snapped.
"Ceremonies. Two. Collins and Bennet and Darcy and I."
Lady Catherine glared even harder and murmured temperamentally, "Fine. Ceremonies. It is not absolutely necessary for you to have complete consent to perform the ceremonies?"
"No, my lady," replied Father Laine, "it is not necessary at all. I pride myself in the knowledge that love comes most often after vows have been said, and that marriages in which one partner is initially unwilling, often end up the happiest." His words were soft and serious, and his long face drooped with the weight of his words.
Lady Catherine smiled. "Good."
With an oomph, Mr. Collins finally freed himself from the hedge they had climbed through, and righted his clothes. He scurried to catch up with the swiftly retreating group and, tripping, almost fell to the soft grass.
"Perhaps we should have done this in daylight…" he suggested with a wheeze as he caught up to them, pacing his steps to those of Lady Catherine.
"Kidnap in the daylight! Ha! You truly are a fool," exclaimed Collins.
"But," he argued, "we really aren't kidnapping them. We're simply breaking into the house and forcing them to marry us on the spot. I do not see why such a thing could not be done during the day."
"Of course you could not," murmured Caroline under her breath.
"Quiet!" ordered Lady Catherine as she came to a halt, bringing the entire group to a skidding stop. Mr. Collins bumped into the preacher and mumbled an incoherent apology. "Mr. Collins, lift the window."
"But the window is already open Lady Catherine," Collins answered, unsure of his own observation.
Lady Catherine walked to the window and threw her hand through where glass should have been. "So it is, Mr. Collins, so it is. Help me through. Mr. Collins and Father Laine handed Lady Catherine and Caroline through the window, then stepped through themselves.
"What a beautiful room!" Caroline observed, staring at the indistinguishable dark shapes of furniture. "Although," she said, thought in her voice as she strode across the room a large bureau, "This chest is quite too big for this room, I believe it shall have to go once I'm mistress of Pemberly."
Lady Catherine winced at the thought of Caroline painting the whole of the prestigious Pemberly orange as Caroline let out a quickly stopped scream.
"Well I say… you're not Miss. Bennet." The voice that spoke stepped out from the shadow of the bureau and was as sleek as it was stumbling. "But… It appears to be… it can't be. I think I've had too much to drink."
Lady Catherine could not abide incoherent rambling, and charged forward toward the dark shadow that was holding captive her partner in crime. "Just who do you think you are!" she exclaimed. "What do you think you are doing in this house!"
"I've broken in. Just as you have," replied the shadow.
Caroline broke the man's gripe and turned in his arms to face him. "Mr. Wickham!" she raised one eyebrow and pursed her thin lips into a frown. "I assume you have some good reason for breaking into my house!" She stepped quickly from the circle of his arms and placed her hands on her hips.
"Your house! This place belongs to me more than it does you! I'd say you have no right or say to it at all!"
"Indeed she does not!" agreed Lady Catherine, warming to the man she now knew as Mr. Wickham. "However, young man, I most certainly do." Pulling all the authority up her short height to reside in her very high placed chin, Lady Catherine introduced herself. "I am Lady Catherine De Bourgh, aunt and future mother in law to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy."
Caroline gasped. "Future mother in law! I think not! We had a deal, and I will see that you do not go back on it!"
Lady Catherine grumbled. Wickham merely smiled.
"I, Lady Catherine, have heard much of you. I am the son of the late Mr. Darcy's steward. George Vickham at your service m' lady" he said with a slur. Wickham knew Darcy would not have told his aunt about the affair concerning Georgiana. It would not do for the young shy girl to be ousted by her own, and very influential aunt. "Now," spoke Wickham, getting straight down to business, "we've both broke into Darcy's hum-hum- humbumble abode. The question is… why? I believe that- hiccup- we may have common motives, and just might be able to help each other achieve our own ends."
"Indeed…" surmised Lady Catherine, attempting to ignore the fact that she could smell the alcohol on his breath from ten feet away. "I do believe you might have a point Mr. Wickham." The thought of partnering with someone so obviously lower than her made her pause, but the idea that Mr. Wickham might possibly have some qualities her two other partners certainly did not was too tempting for the lady. "Let us first hear your reasons for being here sir."
"L-Elizabeth," he managed to get out, his tongue getting in the way.
"Miss. Bennet?" questioned the great lady.
"Yes!" exclaimed Caroline, seizing the opportunity. "She is a terrible flirt! I'm afraid that not only has she seduced Mr. Darcy and Mr. Collins, but Mr. Wickham as well!"
Lady Catherine humphed disapprovingly. "Three men is certainly over the limit of the decent amount of suitors for someone of her low station in life.
"Certainly," agreed Caroline. Father Laine agreed with a slow nod of his head, and Mr. Collins, who had long given up on voicing his or anyone else's opinions, stood sulkily near the window.
Mr. Wickham also nodded his agreement. "I've come to get her back," he said, attempting to regain proficient use of speech. "You see," he murmured, his voice low, his head hanging to his chest, "I'm in love with her and I mean to get her back."
Mr. Collins seized his own opportunity. "Indeed Mr. Wickham! You are in love with the lovely Elizabeth? I then would not dream of standing in true love's way. Not just the other day I was telling-"
"Miss. Bennet is rightfully engaged to marry Mr. Collins Mr. Wickham."
"But I do not want her!" wailed a now panicked Mr. Collins. "She would not make a fit wife for me at all! Not in the least bit!"
"Oh do stop your crying Mr. Collins, it is not becoming. Perhaps… perhaps something can be worked out," she replied, gazing thoughtfully at Mr. Wickham. "It does not matter who she marries, just as long as it is not my nephew."
Both Wickham and Collins grinned.
"You will come with us Mr. Wickham, and you shall have your Miss. Bennet tonight." Lady Catherine turned to walk from the room, the preacher following close behind her.
"One more thing," she said, turning to face Mr. Wickham. "What were you doing in that bureau boy?"
Wickham's eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "I… I don't know."
Darcy kicked off his boots and lay back on his huge four-poster bed. The deep green curtains were tied to the posts and he leaned against the mahogany headboard. He closed his eyes, remembering the way moonlight had played upon his Lizzy's face in the garden earlier. He opened his eyes when he heard the soft humming coming from behind the door that connected his room to his wife's.
He frowned. That blasted door. He did not see why they had to occupy separate rooms. It was a waste, according to Darcy, since they always slept in the same bed. Eyeing the wall that separated him from his wife, Darcy considered having it knocked down. One big room, perhaps with an even bigger bed, would be much more preferable.
He was shaken from his reverie by what was unmistakably the sound of a gunshot, followed by a scream from Elizabeth's room. He jumped from his relined position just as three figures burst through the door.
"Aunt Catherine! Miss. Bingley!" he exclaimed as he looked from one lady to the other and then towards the man in the white robe. "What is this?" he demanded. The sound of glass breaking in the other room swept his gaze immediately toward the closed door. Muffled yelling raised the hair on the back of his neck.
"Elizabeth!" he yelled loudly, hoping she'd hear him and know that he would save her.
"There's no use yelling dear nephew," said Lady Catherine coolly. Darcy turned to look at her, and found himself staring into the dangerously near and steady barrel of a gun. "Sit," she said, pointing towards a chair near the fireplace. "I'm sure Collins and Wickham have things in hand next door. More thuds and curses from the deep voices of men passed through the closed door from the adjoining room. Though the thought of Wickham and that odious Collins in his wife's room enraged him beyond belief, he found himself hiding a smile. Apparently, they were having a rougher time of it than his aunt had. It sounded as if Elizabeth was using every projectile within reach to do harm to the two men who had invaded her room.
Lady Catherine sat in the chair opposite Darcy, never once moving him out of range of her pistol. Did Wickham have a gun next door? Do as they wish Elizabeth, Darcy pleaded in his mind, do as they wish.
"Now," began Lady Catherine, ever to the point, "I asked you nicely once to do as I wished Fitzwilliam, and you foolishly disregarded my commands. But you see, I am not without my own resources. Have you forgotten dear nephew, I always get my way."
Darcy had only half way been listening to his aunt, therefore, the pause she had given him for reply in her monologue went unused. Most of his attention had been on Elizabeth's room. The noises had stopped; Darcy grew more worried. His dark brows knit tightly together and his lips pressed into a thin line.
"You will, nephew, annul Miss. Bennet right now. And then you will marry Miss. Bingley here. After the proper papers have been signed, and the ceremony concluded, Father Laine will perform the same in the next room, and your Miss. Bennet will quickly become Mrs. Wickham." Lady Catherine's face was unreadable and Miss. Bingley smirked smugly.
"Mrs. Wickham!" exclaimed Darcy. He had never thought of this possibility. It had never occurred to him that Mr. Collins would not be the one wishing to marry the woman who had been stolen from his own wedding. He had simply assumed that Wickham was…well… he hadn't a clue why Wickham was there. It was just natural for the devilish fiend to be at the heart of any scheme against Darcy. "What makes you think I'll agree to any of this? Annul a marriage that has made me happier than I've ever been, to connect my life and fortune with this overly plumed, dimwitted fortune hunter?" Darcy would have laughed had Lady Catherine not moved the gun inches closer to his face.
"I believe I can coerce you my dear," said the lady confidently.
He would not do this. He, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberly, the Dread Pirate Darcy, would not be forced in so cowardly a manner! But how could he escape? Surely it was impossible with a gun pointed at his head. And wouldn't he simply want Elizabeth to give into the same demands in order to save her own life? But the thought of her married to his enemy angered him even more.
"I'll do it," he said simply, his face an unreadable mask.
Lady Catherine blinked and Caroline's jaw dropped open ever slightly. "You will," they said in unison.
"Yes."
Caroline who had to control herself from jumping up and down and clapping her hands, allowed herself a huge smile, her eyes glowing greedily.
"Father Laine, produce the documents." The long faced man pulled a piece of paper from his voluminous white robes and handed them to Lady Catherine. "Darcy, go to that desk and bring a pen." Darcy stood from the chair, attempting to ignore the way the barrel of the gun followed him steadily as he made his way toward the desk by the door.
The door. Elizabeth's door. He schooled his ears to hear whatever muffled conversation was coming from the other room. Nothing. Cursing under his breath, he retrieved the pen and went back to his aunt.
"Now," she said, handing him the document, "sign it."
Taking the cursed paper into his hand, he withdrew to a low dresser. Caroline, Lady Catherine and Father Laine made a semi circle behind him, closing him him, trapping him.
Darcy signed the annulment papers.