After finally finding the time to talk to Charlotte about Mr Collins, Elizabeth decided she had done exactly the right thing: nothing. Charlotte had things in hand and her intervention would have been both presumptuous and superfluous. After speaking with her friend for several minutes, Charlotte was called away by Lady Lucas, and Elizabeth went to the refreshments table for a glass of wine.
As she was enjoying her drink, she was startled by a very agitated Kitty. "Lizzy, you must come help me!"
Liking neither the call for help nor the volume of her sister's voice, she pulled her aside and made certain they were several steps from any possible eavesdroppers, thinking she had pushed her luck with overheard conversations quite enough for one fortnight.
"Calm down, Kitty, and tell me problem… quietly!"
Looking somewhat chagrined, Kitty explained, "Lydia is in the garden with Mr Wickham."
"Mr Wickham?" Elizabeth snapped in surprised consternation, looking around to ensure they were not overheard.
After meeting the soldier briefly in the street a week earlier, she spoke with him for a quarter-hour in her aunt's parlour, saw him leave the house once when returning from Netherfield, and had otherwise not seen or thought about him. Mr Wickham seemed the least significant man of her acquaintance.
"What in the world is he doing with Lydia… and why did she go with him for that matter? Has that girl no sense at all?"
Kitty fidgeted nervously. "I told her not to, but you know Lydia. She wants to be the hero. Mr Wickham says he has critical information about Mr Darcy. He says he is a very-very bad man, and claimed he had proof."
"If Mr Darcy is such a terrible man, and Mr Wickham so gallant, why is he sneaking around in the garden instead of speaking with our father? It makes no sense!"
Kitty shook her head, and Elizabeth got the sinking feeling her sisters had read one too many novels where the heroine saves the day when they did not have the maturity to realize it almost never worked out that way.
Elizabeth sighed. "Why did you not go with her as chaperone?"
"I tried… but… Lydia slipped away."
Elizabeth felt like smacking her forehead in frustration but suspected it would be pointless. She looked around for Darcy and saw him happily dancing with Georgiana. She did not want to kick up a fuss, but she was not wild about spending a lot of time dragging Lydia away from Mr Wickham. She could not imagine he was doing anything too nefarious, but simply meeting Lydia in the garden alone would cause trouble enough. Discretion was required.
"All right, here is what we shall do. It is imperative nobody know what a dunderheaded move Lydia has made. ALL of our reputations can be damaged by her stupidity. I know she is playing the hero, but she is doing something inordinately dangerous to our reputations."
"Might he hurt her?" Kitty asked.
"I doubt it. He is a militia officer, not a common criminal. She will be fine as long as nobody knows where she is and with whom," she said with more confidence than she felt. "The most important thing for you is to keep your mouth shut."
Kitty nodded vigorously, and Elizabeth thought there was at least some chance her younger sister might actually keep her tongue in her head.
Elizabeth looked again. "Let us do this quietly! We do not want anyone to know what we are about… most especially our mother."
Kitty nodded again.
"We do not want to sow panic. The present dance ends in a few minutes. Wait for it to end, isolate Mr Darcy from his sister, and tell him what you told me."
"What if Mr Wickham is telling the truth?" Kitty asked nervously.
"It is very unlikely, but if he has some actual proof, I will have seen it by the time Mr Darcy arrives and deal with it appropriately."
Kitty looked dubious but willing. "Isolate him from his sister, send him out to find me in the gardens, then spend the next dance talking to Miss Darcy."
"All right, Lizzy," Kitty said, becoming more dubious by the minute.
It took nearly a quarter-hour to wander through the gardens calling Lydia's name softly to find her missing sister, and what she found did not fill her with confidence.
They were at the folly at least a hundred yards from the house, and they were arguing vigorously and in voices that would carry if anyone was in the gardens to hear. The only thing saving them was that it was November, and most people had enough sense to stay indoors.
"Lydia, what are you doing?" Elizabeth said with the sternest voice she could muster.
When the pair heard her, Lydia snapped her head around to look, while Wickham gave a very ungentlemanlike sneer. "Miss Lydia and I are engaged!"
"WE ARE NOT!" Lydia screamed hysterically.
He laughed. "We most certainly are. I told several comrades in arms we were meeting here for a clandestine elopement, and you have been alone with me for a half hour. You are compromised, my dear."
Elizabeth snapped, "She absolutely is not. I was with her the whole time. Do you seriously believe your word will beat mine?"
"It matters not. Ladies' reputations are as brittle as they are beautiful. Just the whiff of scandal will be enough to send your beau packing, Miss Elizabeth. You will be neither the first nor last lady he has abandoned to her fate. I am only wondering if he has your virtue yet. Tonight would be right on schedule if he retains his usual form."
"He most certainly has and will not. You cast aspersions on his character, yet it is YOU who is trying and failing to abscond with my sister."
The look in the man's eyes finally convinced Elizabeth she was dealing with a truly dangerous man. She had never been exposed to one, so found herself thoroughly unprepared to even accept the possibility—much to her regret.
"We shall see," said he, and grabbed Lydia by the forearm in a vice-like grip and started dragging her towards the drive thirty yards away.
Belatedly, Elizabeth saw a coach waiting. She recognized neither the coach nor the driver, so it was not a local she could work on.
Lydia let out a muffled scream as the man started dragging her backwards toward the coach. The ladies were so shocked, that for the time it took him to drag her halfway, neither got their wits about them enough to even struggle.
Elizabeth abruptly came to her senses and sprinted across the intervening distance to grab hold of Lydia's other arm. For a moment, they played tug-of-war until startled by a loud voice shouting menacingly.
"WICKHAM! This is the last straw. Walk away if you want to live!" Darcy bellowed from a dozen yards away.
Elizabeth yelled, "WILLIAM," in great relief.
Wickham abruptly let go of Lydia's arm and shoved her hard toward Elizabeth.
When Elizabeth stumbled, he jumped over the top of Lydia, who had fallen, grabbed Elizabeth's arm, and dragged her back ten yards until he stopped with his back against the folly, presumably so nobody could sneak up on him. While she was reeling in surprise, he dragged her against his chest, held her left arm tightly against his chest, grabbed her right wrist in his left hand to hold her fast—and held a knife against her throat.
Wickham sneered menacingly. "Not this time, Darcy! This time you will pay what is owed!"
"I owe you nothing," Darcy said through clenched teeth, though with the knife at Elizabeth's throat and her eyes as big as saucers, he said it with far more gentleness than he probably preferred.
"Yes, you do! You paid me a pittance for the living your father designed for me. He intended me for better things."
"Believe as much if it gives you comfort, but what I gave you was far too much if anything. £3,000 for a living of £300 is a decade of income without having to wait or do anything at all. Not my fault if you frittered it away gambling."
"It is no matter. I have your piece of fluff here… and by the way… have you tapped that keg yet?" he said with a leer, while the knife wandered back and forth, and Elizabeth cringed in terrified embarrassment.
"What is your plan, Wickham?" Darcy asked, while Lydia, who had climbed unsteadily to her feet, stood in dumbfounded horror, muttering, "my fault… my fault… my fault… my…"
Elizabeth spoke gently but loud enough to be heard. "This is not your fault, Lydia. You could not have known the depravity of this man. Neither of us has ever known true evil."
"I would be careful with that wicked tongue if I were you, little Miss Priss!" Wickham hissed menacingly, while pulling the knife out in front of her face so she could see it clearly and presumably reflect on her fate long enough to be quiet.
"Coward," she muttered, to which he growled menacingly and moved the knife closer.
"How do you imagine this ends, Wickham. You know I will never let you leave with her."
"Well… since my life is forfeit if I let her go, I suppose we will see. Your Miss Bennet is about to take a little trip. I will give you my word of honour as a gentleman I will not touch her, and you can retrieve her for the very reasonable price of £10,000. Come come, Darcy… old Simonson probably has that much tucked away under his valet's cot."
"I will not go with you," Elizabeth said, though her eyes were cast down far enough to watch the blade that was back against her throat and her belligerence came out much closer to a squeak than a roar.
"All right, I will give you what you ask, but I assure you if you harm one hair on her head, or spill one drop of blood, I will take you back to Pemberley and drop you down the Cubar mineshaft with a quart of water to enjoy the spiders and snakes in the dark for the remainder of your brief, miserable life."
Elizabeth felt the man stiffen and shudder, so presumed Darcy was mentioning some place from their childhood. She had no idea what his game was, but a careful look at his relative position showed he was powerless to attack the man with anything save his voice. She assumed he was softening the scoundrel up with the only weapon at hand, waiting for a chance to strike.
She shuddered and hoped the villain would not notice it. "Unlike you—Mr Darcy is a man of his word. You may release me right now and you will get your money with no more risk to yourself. I would take it and run if I were you."
She heard the man chuckle grimly. "Perhaps Darcy is as honourable as you say… but his cousin is another matter entirely. No, my dear, I will need a bigger head start than that, and you are my ticket."
Elizabeth noted Darcy had crept forward until Wickham said, "Far enough, old sport. Would not want to make me nervous, would you?"
Darcy stopped, and whispered, "Lydia."
She was still muttering to herself, but his voice got her to desist, and he held out his hand. She came immediately, and huddled behind him, peeking around his very tall shoulder, which Elizabeth thought was probably by design so he could protect her, while coincidentally clearing the field between him and Wickham. It was obvious he was waiting for a chance to take advantage of any lapse with the knife.
Elizabeth looked into her lover's eyes and saw pure unbridled terror and suspected she showed the same in hers.
She noticed whenever Wickham talked, he moved the knife away from her throat, probably unconsciously calculating that a drop of blood would cause his life to end quickly and painfully right then and there.
"Out of curiosity, what makes you think Mr Darcy owes you anything, Mr Wickham?" she asked innocently.
He let out the story he had apparently been dying to relate the night at Aunt Philips' house and she wondered if he knew who she was at the time. It seemed unlikely, but possible, she supposed. She let him speak his fill while watching the knife like a hawk as it moved back and forth between being pressed against her throat or her collarbone, and a spot half a foot away—far enough to be slightly less threatening, but too close to make an escape. He talked… and he talked… and he talked; whingeing about the fact that his godfather had given him too much, as far as Elizabeth could tell from the story.
In a break in the man's ceaseless whinge, she asked rather innocently, "Lydia, are you well?"
"She is fine," Wickham snapped, clearly getting more and more nervous by the minute.
"I am sorry, Lizzy," Lydia said despairingly.
"Do not be. You were trying to protect me. You could have gone about it more sensibly, but your motives were pure. You should feel no shame."
"AAAAAhhhhhhhhhhhh…. Are the two of you not touching. I believe I may cast up my accounts," Wickham sneered in a voice Elizabeth hoped would be ripped from his throat sooner or later.
She ignored him to the extent she could with a knife at her throat. "This reminds me of Antonia. Do you remember her, Lydia?"
She saw her sister scrunch her head in confusion, then finally say, "Yes, I understand… this is the same situation."
"Understand what?" Wickham said while the knife waved around threateningly.
Darcy saw the knife move away slightly and thought the distraction was probably somewhat for the good, so he threw his two pence in. "I must admit to some curiosity myself, Lydia," hardly noticing he had omitted the 'miss'.
At that moment, things happened quickly… very-very quickly.
"NOW LYDIA!" Elizabeth yelled, and her sister let out a scream that would wake the dead from three counties away. It was enough to make Darcy jump at least two feet away and sent chills down his spine, especially since it occurred a foot from his head.
Wickham startled alarmingly at the scream, which made the knife move away from Elizabeth's head and pointed slightly away from her. She had been watching the knife and waiting for exactly that scenario. Like a snake striking, Elizabeth, careful to avoid the point, reached down with her head and bit his thumb hard enough to draw blood; and simultaneously stomped on the instep of his foot as hard as she could. She was wearing dancing slippers which was not nearly as efficacious as walking boots for stomping, but in a contest between heel and instep, the heel emerges the victor every time. Such a direct hit was bound to hurt like the devil—boots or no.
Wickham dropped the knife and started screaming like a banshee to go along with Lydia.
A couple seconds later, when the knife fell to the ground, Elizabeth shot across the ten yards separating the groups, turned around to face the threat, and ended up ploughing her back into Darcy's chest at a dead run.
Darcy wrapped his arms around and held her tightly, just as he heard, "Darcy, what the devil is going on?" from the hedge behind him.
In a flash, Elizabeth saw red streak across the gap between them, and no more than a blink later, she found Colonel Fitzwilliam standing over Wickham, laying on the ground with a sword at his throat.
The tableau was frozen for several seconds, nobody quite believing that such a foolhardy plan had actually worked.
Elizabeth finally said, "Well done, Lydia."
Lydia still sounded on the verge of crying. "Do not praise me for helping fix a problem I created."
"Enough of that… you did well… better than well," Darcy said softly.
The colonel spoke gently, feeling that a valuable lesson had been learned fairly cheaply. "Perhaps, we might enter a discussion about propriety and safety later, young lady, but you did what you had to do when you had to. Accept the victory!"
There was still no word from Wickham, much to Elizabeth's delight.
Fitzwilliam said, "I daresay I missed most of this drama. I only came in at the end, so may I enquire of something that puzzles me greatly?"
"Of course," Elizabeth replied.
"I saw you bite his thumb, and I saw you stomp his foot… all well done, by the way …"
"Thank you," she replied distractedly.
She was definitely distracted, but with her racing pulse returning to something akin to normal, she was mostly preoccupied by the feeling of Darcy's arms around her chest and his fingers tightly interlaced with hers. It felt… it felt… well, wonderful seemed such a weak word, but it was the best she could come up with. The feeling was extraordinary.
Apparently unaware of her distraction (or more likely engaging his soldier's instinct for self-preservation), he continued, "… how the devil …" then he looked slightly embarrassed until Lydia giggled softly.
He continued, "… I mean, how in the world did you knock him out. He is dead to the world."
Elizabeth sighed, looked down at Darcy's hands, and gave them a squeeze. She thought about separating herself to restore some semblance of propriety, but they were facing a hardened criminal (though, unconscious on the ground at the moment), so she reckoned she could disregard the normal rules. Not only that, she quite liked the sensation and was loath to give it up.
She finally sighed. "If I tell you, will you promise no consequences?"
"That I cannot do," Darcy said softly, then chuckled when she stiffened in his arms, assuming he would pay for it later. He continued quickly, "I can promise no retribution, but a reward is a consequence, and if someone helped you, they will certainly be rewarded handsomely."
She laughed at his joke and was nowhere near as mad as she probably should have been with his little prevarication. "Simon, you can come out. I suppose you have Jenny with you."
"Yes ma'am," Simon said, and stepped out.
"How?" Darcy and the colonel asked at the same time.
Simon said, "That reward should go to Jenny, sir. I believe she beat me to the mark this time."
"No need to be stingy. You are both owed a debt and will be handsomely rewarded. That said, an explanation would probably stop the colonel from chewing his collar in agitation."
Simon seemed disinclined to speak, and Jenny even less so; but he nudged her, and they both held up leather slings.
"Miss Lizzy taught us to read. When we got to David and Goliath, she read half and made us work out the rest. We loved the story so much we practiced with slings until we were deadeyes. Now we carry them everywhere we go. It comes in handy from time to time with ruffians."
Darcy laughed lightly, while the colonel bellowed with laughter, stepped over to the pair and slapped Simon on the back. "Well done, you, well done! Darcy, you should take them to Derbyshire with you."
"If they will go, they could take the Wainwright cabin."
Simon and Jenny nodded enthusiastically, and Darcy said, "Come speak to me tomorrow."
They smiled vigorously, assuming a Mr Darcy would pay better and more reliably than a new-money fellow like Mr Bingley."
Jenny looked nervously at Wickham. "Is he dead?"
Fitzwilliam gave a wicked chuckle. "No… not yet at least. Of course, he attacked a woman with a knife while wearing the King's uniform and under observation by an officer and a gentleman of high-standing. His fate is sealed."
"Will he be hanged?" Lydia asked with a level of enthusiasm Elizabeth was not certain she approved of.
"Most likely. He will be court marshalled of course. They will either hang him or draft him into a penal battalion for use as cannon fodder on the continent. You will certainly never see him again."
"Good riddance," she said emphatically.
Fitzwilliam looked askance at Darcy, who still had Elizabeth still tightly clenched in his arms. "Are you engaged? I am indifferent to the propriety myself, but we may have very little time until someone comes to investigate Miss Lydia's scream."
Elizabeth laughed. "They will come from Hatfield, I fear."
Darcy reluctantly replied, "We are not engaged," then he leaned down closer to Elizabeth and added, "do not rush yourself. If and when we become engaged, it will be at a time and place of your choosing."
"Has he already asked?" Jenny said, then ducked her head in embarrassment.
"Do not duck your head, Jenny. It is a fair question," Elizabeth said gently, then stood still for a few seconds.
She finally looked around carefully at her friends. "William asked a week ago Sunday," which resulted in gasps of surprise from one and all since everyone knew that was the very day of his apology in the church.
Elizabeth looked around again and thought carefully. "He allowed me the privilege of holding my answer so I could select the time and place. The time is NOW! The place is HERE! We are engaged," she said with a smile that practically lit up the garden.
Everyone exploded in boisterous happiness with Fitzwilliam slapping Darcy on the back and giving Elizabeth a quick cousinly hug, and another for Lydia just for good measure.
Just in time, Colonel Forster exited the garden with a couple of men to investigate the (now long-ago) scream. When he saw one of his officers laying on the ground, he demanded an explanation, but relented when Fitzwilliam gave him the regular officer's stare. Fitzwilliam essentially issued orders to Forster, and the colonel seemed surprisingly sanguine about arresting Wickham with a vague promise of an explanation on the morrow.
Elizabeth was still ensconced in Darcy's arms, and she said emphatically, "The rest of you… go away. William and I are engaged. Lydia, it is imperative you remember you and the colonel were out in the garden as chaperones. That is our story, and you will stick to it."
"Certainly, Lizzy," she said, sounding slightly affronted.
Elizabeth relented slightly. "You understand Mama and your friends can never know what happened here until you are safely married. Your reputation is still at risk."
"I am not a total nickninny," she retorted, but with less fire than usual.
Elizabeth laughed. "Once again… GO AWAY!"
In surprisingly short order, Wickham was dragged away with a laugh and the colonel escorted Lydia to a spot just short of the ballroom to await the couple.
Elizabeth reluctantly wiggled out of Darcy's arms, only to turn around immediately and merge back into them. She thought that after such an ordeal they should have a great deal to say, and reflected they probably would eventually… but for that night, she simply wrapped her arms around his head and dared him to kiss her.
He accepted the challenge, and their first kiss was nothing short of incandescent. She felt it all the way from the tips of her hair to her toenails. She had thought nothing could beat the intensity of the terror she felt with a knife at her throat, but the pleasure of that kiss far exceeded even that lofty goal. It was, by far, the best moment of her life. They continued exploring lips and tongues with a feeling of contentment that could never be described.
For the first time in a very long time, Elizabeth Bennet was happy, peaceful, and contented in the moment.
She finally released his neck, but only long enough to pull her arms down to wrap around his waist while his arms went around her so she could lay her head on his shoulder.
She whispered into his ear. "William, I had quite a surprising thought. Being held at knife point was terrifying beyond description, but can you guess the worst part of it?"
"I imagine you experienced ten times the terror I felt, where a tenth part would be sufficient to turn my hair grey. Tell me the worst?"
She sighed. "I worried I would not have the chance to tell you something so very important that I have been afraid to admit, even to myself. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
He squeezed her and kissed the side of her neck for some time, and finally said, "How did this come about in only… what… eleven days? It defies imagination."
She laughed and playfully kissed his ear. "I suppose, like you, I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun. The only difference is you said it was so long ago you could not remember, whereas for me it has been barely more than a week, but quite a lot has happened."
She sighed and snuggled closer. "I suppose there is something to be said for the pleasure of being loved so fiercely. You were caught out with ungentlemanly conduct, corrected it at the first opportunity, then did not beat around the bush. You rather presumptuously staked your claim with Mr Bingley and went after me with ruthless efficiency. It is a case of …" then she paused for some time, looking for the exact right phrase, finally whispering, "… virtuous presumption."
With a laugh, she leaned back, boldly gave him another teeth-rattling kiss, then took his hand with a laugh. "We should go rescue the colonel from Lydia."
Instead of the shivering and half-frozen sister they expected, they found her happily chattering away at the colonel wearing her cloak, which Elizabeth had to presume Jenny had a hand in. She saw Jenny and Simon standing off to the side guarding Lydia's reputation, and considering how well armed they were, she thought it safe enough.
Darcy pulled them aside. "I cannot possibly thank you enough, but I shall make the attempt. With your permission, I suggest you will both be in the service of Mrs Darcy, and I would ask you to always keep your slings handy. Naturally, you will both have a reward, and when you marry, your own cottage and a good living."
They bowed and curtsied, and with bright smiles, brother and sister went back to finish their evening's duties.
The colonel asked, "By the way, who is Antonia?"
Lydia laughed. "She is from 'The Monk'. She screamed like mad when she was assaulted by Ambrosio. Lizzy was just telling me to scream, and long experience has taught her I am quite capable."
The colonel chuckled, then ushered everyone back into the manse.
A half-hour more saw the happy couple being toasted by the assemblage with backs slapped, drinks consumed, toasts made (most of which suffered from some slight slurring), Mrs Bennet beaming in pride (and surprisingly, mostly silent), and Mr Bennet looking on in amusement.
Every single person in the room, with the surprisingly notable exception of Mrs Bennet, loudly proclaimed some variation of 'I knew how it would be. I always said it must be so…' Naturally, everyone had jumped straight from an announced courtship to a presumption of marriage, which was not a bad bet when you got right down to it.
Mrs Bennet for her part, simply gave her now-favourite daughter the first embrace in quite some time, and even managed a kiss on the cheek from her soon-to-be-son. She felt no great need to crow when the rest of the assemblage was doing such a good job of it on her behalf (and it was not as if she could not start on the morrow).
The Longbourn party were the last of all the company to depart, and, by a manoeuvre of Mrs Bennet, had to wait for their carriage a quarter of an hour after everybody else was gone. For her part, the matron was perfectly ready to get to her bed, but suspected she did not quite have the wherewithal to separate her daughter from her beau. Everyone left, with the possible exception of Jane and Mr Bingley, were having a marvellous time anyway, so truly, what was the hurry.
They finally left in good order. Jane was full of questions, and dawn was well breaking before the sisters finally lay their heads down for some well-deserved rest.