Chapter 21 Of Seedy Places and Ungentlemanly Behavior

Mr. Wickham threw Mr. King to the ground rather roughly. Because his hands were still tied behind his back, the way he fell made his shoulder dislocate. He grimaced in pain with his face against the floorboards but said nothing. A tall, burly man was at their door.

"Matthew, mind the door. Here is the key. If they become too troublesome, come inside and shoot him. Leave her alive. I need to write to an old friend to see how much she is worth."

Matthew nodded. Lydia was shaking. Whoever that old friend was… she was terrified.

Wickham ripped the signed note from Lydia's hands. "As for you, Mr. King, you better request financial assistance from your family."

"How much?" Mr. King grunted.

"At least 1,000 pounds to start. I intend to travel comfortably, and Scotland is far away. I will bring you a meal later," he said and left.

It was not until the door was locked and they heard Wickham's boots go downstairs that either captive could breathe. Lydia bent at the waist to try and free her feet with her still-untied hands. No use. She leaned forward carefully, putting most of her weight and that of the chair, in her hands and pushing against the one bed with her hands so she would not fall on her face. She reached for her sewing kit. There were small embroidery scissors there. She took them and, with great difficulty, reached Mr. King, who was mostly facing down and splayed on the floor. She whispered, "Do not move." He nodded briefly. She started cutting the fabric that was tying Mr. King's hands. When she finished, his left arm fell forward like dead weight.

Using his right arm and a maneuver that Lydia had never seen before, the man popped his shoulder back into place with a pained expression. His right arm immediately supported his left one. "I need some sort of brace."

Lydia nodded and jumped to her suitcase. She had brought yarn and needles. "I doubt he is coming back soon."

"What are you doing?"

"Black or blue?" she asked as she riffled through the yarn and looked at him over her shoulder.

His jaw fell when he saw her quickly swelling and bruising face, "It will probably be both. Good Lord! When did he hit you?! He's a savage!"

Lydia took a shaky breath. Her ears were still ringing, "I bruise like a peach. I will look like I tried to break a wall with my face tomorrow… I meant, what color for your brace?"

"I am so sorry I could not protect you… Since my suit is black, I suppose that is the right color."

She nodded and motioned for him to lie down on the bed. Then, she gave him the black yarn to hold with one finger of his right hand so it would not tangle as much, and she could work quickly. He saw with astonishment how the young lady took two knitting needles and began creating separate 'ropes' of similar length. She was a very fast knitter. Mr. King had spent countless hours at his grandmother's feet, holding her yarn. He had never seen anyone who could knit as fast as she did until now.

Lydia whispered to herself, "Who would have thought I'd be copying spiders?"

"What?"

"Shhh! He can hear us."

She started to put the 'ropes' together, and soon enough, he had a brace that looked to be imitating a spiderweb. He was glad for her idea. It was bound to be less hot than a typical fabric or leather brace. Her knitting had been done tightly, so the brace did not yield much, but she placed some buttons on the neck support so that he could tighten or loosen the brace. He was stunned by her resourcefulness and efficiency. She put it on him on the loose button.

"Thank you, Miss Lydia."

A knock made them jump.

Matthew growled, "Food." He unlocked the door, placed one tray down on the floor, and pushed it enough so he could close the door back up.

"Wait! There is only one tray!"

"You share!"

Mr. King closed his eyes and sighed. He wanted to bathe. He wanted a big juicy steak and potatoes.

Lydia took the shepherd's pie and cut it. She ate one-third of it and brought the plate to him. She put a forkful in front of his mouth.

"Mr. King?"

He opened his eyes and looked at the loaded fork. "I can feed myself, but I thank you for cutting it up." He took the fork with his right hand and ate quickly. He had another third and offered her the rest.

"You need to eat more."

"Why?"

"Because you are a man," Lydia deadpanned.

"We do not know when the next meal is coming. Finish this, please."

His thoughtfulness touched Lydia. "Fine. Then, we share it."

Mr. King smiled and nodded.

Mr. Wickham came back in his cups. Lydia was forced to go to a separate room to use the chamber pot and to change clothes so she could sleep. She cleaned herself as best as she could with the wash basin that was in the partially darkened room while she looked around to try and find anything that could be used as a weapon. Nothing. While she looked, Mr. King was negotiating with Mr. Wickham as well as could be, considering the latter's state. He made him see that if he hoped to sell Miss Lydia to a Madame, he needed to keep his hands to himself. Not hurt her again. He should not even consider taking her virtue because that would cost him a lot in the event of selling her. Wickham grumbled. He hated that the other man was right. An untouched woman was worth a lot in some circles. Furthermore, if he needed to apply to Mr. Darcy for money, he would not get one shilling if Lydia was hurt, with child, or dead.

Mr. Wickham loudly protested that maybe all Mr. King wanted was to bed Lydia first. Mr. King assured him that he had no interest in the girl as a woman. He did not even see her as such. She was a child to him. No more an adult than his sisters. He even offered to sleep tied to the chair. Wickham nodded and told him Matthew would stay at the door and that they would leave very early. He stared at his strange brace in confusion.

"It is dislocated. There is no need to tie up that arm. I will have no strength on it for at least a fortnight."

"I can set it," Wickham slurred. "I am not an animal."

"I already did. It is only swollen now."

Wickham nodded, "I am not a bad man."

Mr. King narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

"All these stupid chits are always throwing themselves at me. I cannot help my good looks or my charm."

"Does it ever give you pause?" Mr. King asked in a sedate tone.

"What?" Wickham said, then burped.

Mr. King grimaced at the stench of his breath, "Thinking about all the bastard children you have abandoned and all the women whose lives you have ruined?"

Wickham turned to him in a fury, "Careful, Mr. King... She needs to look presentable and unharmed. You do not."

"I just… I do not understand. When Miss Lydia was born, you were already a young man."

"So?"

"Do women throw themselves at you, or do you pull them away from safe company and use your many years of experience in your favor to disarm them and overcome all their objections and their modesty?"

Wickham scoffed, "King… Women are all whores. I am just lucky that they all allow their indecent side to come out and play with me."

Mr. King ground his teeth not to curse as he wanted, "Miss Lydia is fifteen. She is not a woman. She is a child."

"If I chose to seduce her, she would moan like a professional, regardless of her age."

Mr. King's scowl was a sight to behold, "You disgust me."

"No, I do not... Men like you… Honorable men… You just hate men like me because we do what you wish you could do but will not because your education and breeding prevent you from doing so…"

"I have never done anything like what you do."

Wickham laughed, "Please, do you expect me to believe that at your age, you have not enjoyed the pleasures of the world? That on your artistic endeavors during your trip through the continent, you did not enjoy the courtesans, the actresses, the singers, the lonely rich widows… King, you cannot impress me with your fake sainthood."

Mr. King rolled his eyes, "I am no saint, nor have I ever pretended to be. However, I would never be involved with anyone more than three years younger than myself, and I have never bedded, nor would I ever bed a fifteen-year-old child who is the age of my youngest sister!"

Wickham almost fell as he straightened back up from tying his feet to the chair, "You do not know what you are missing out on, man! The innocence, the malleability, the tightness-"

Mr. King grimaced and dry heaved, "Shut up. Nothing you can say will ever make me change my mind."

Lydia waited as Matthew opened the locked door. She could hear them talking.

"We will see… If you end up seducing Lydia, I will charge you what I would have charged the Madame. Understood?"

"I would never dishonor a gentlewoman."

"Gentlewoman," Wickham scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Keep telling yourself that. Especially about this one who is one strong wind away from falling in bed with her legs spread wide open," Mr. Wickham tied Mr. King's healthy arm to a chair.

Outside, Lydia tried not to look too shocked at what she had just heard. Her eyes got misty, but she kept her head down. Wickham warned her not to allow Mr. King any liberties. She shook her head and kept looking down. Wickham took Mr. King to the communal bathroom and brought him back, locking the door behind him as he left. No doubt, Mr. King thought, to find someone to warm his bed. Disgusting pig.

Lydia stood facing the corner of the room. Mr. King struggled to get comfortable on the chair he had been tied to, and then he noticed the young girl's shoulders shaking as she tried not to make any crying sounds.

"Miss Lydia?"

"Sorry."

"I would offer you my handkerchief, but my only useable arm is tied to the chair. If you want it, it is in my coat pocket." Lydia walked with difficulty to him with her tied ankles and pulled out the offered cloth to dab her eyes. Her face was hurting worse now that it was swollen. She took deep breaths and wondered how Kitty was handling her being gone. Had she told her aunt and uncle? Had they sent an express to Mr. Darcy? Did her father know what happened? Did it make him take a turn for the worse? She sniffed.

"Miss Lydia. Lie down and try to get some sleep."

She turned to face him. "No."

He looked up to the heavens in clear annoyance and then looked at her, "Whyever not? Lord knows if we will have another chance to sleep for a while."

"I… I… I do not feel safe."

"Neither do I. We-" he looked at her. She seemed terrified, and when their eyes connected, she looked down immediately. "Oh. Oh… You think you are not safe with me."

She looked up with reddened eyes. "I heard your conversation before I came in."

"I see. Well, I do not think I said anything reproachable. However, you are within your rights to be upset, especially at your age. You have never shared a room with a man. Correct?"

"No."

He nodded, "Count your blessings that it is me and not him. In his drunken state, he has even less common sense than when he is sober. He tied my legs and the one hand I can use to this chair. I cannot move without falling flat on my face. You can sleep on the bed."

"It is too close to the door."

"Hmm… I see. Well, if you help me move there, we can place my chair and, therefore, my body on the way, so they must move me to get to you. Will that suffice?"

"Yes. Thank you."

They managed to get him to the door. Lydia rushed to get a small cushion to place it between his head and the door. He was surprised when she went to her suitcase and took a knitted shawl from it. She came back and covered him with it as best as she could. She lay down and covered herself from chin to toe. She crossed her ankles when she remembered Mr. Wickham's comment. Her eyes were wide in the dark. Their candle was about to burn out. She was shivering under the musty covers. She wished she was at Longbourne, where she felt safe, where she was still a child, and where she was not afraid someone would hurt her in the dark.

Mr. King started to hum a melody she could recognize from Mary's favorites but could not name. She turned to face him with a questioning look. When he noticed her stare, he stopped and blushed.

"Forgive me. I am not trying to keep you awake. That piece calms me."

"No, no… please… Keep humming, please. What is that piece? My sister plays it."

"It is Franz Schubert's Serenade," he smiled. He went back to humming, and Lydia finally fell asleep. He quietened and started to doze off himself. He would try to rest for a couple of hours, then be alert.

The colonel, Darcy, and Walker got to London as soon as they could and started asking former associates of Wickham. Getting any trustworthy information was expensive. Wickham's people were essentially lowlifes, drunks, gamblers, and womanizers, not the kind of people that the men looking for Lydia wanted to associate with at all. They are given clues. Walker took off toward the girl's hometown to do damage control and to acquire as many of Wickham's debts as possible so they could have the option of sending him to debtor's prison in case the colonel managed to get a grip on his murderous rage. At this point, not even Darcy, who was of a more forgiving and peaceful nature, wanted the man to keep breathing. Every night that he had to spend away from his Lizzie made him want to wring the man's neck with his bare hands more.

Lydia was roughly shaken awake by Matthew. She immediately brought her knees up to her chest protectively.

"Where is Mr. King?" she asked. Neither he nor the chair were in the room.

"In the carriage," Matthew motioned, "Grab your things. You are leaving."

"May I use the chamber pot first?"

"Yes, but make haste."

He dragged her to the room and threw her inside without knocking. A maid was in there cleaning. She jumped when the door was slammed closed, and she saw the young, battered girl. The girl made a pleading gesture not to talk. The maid nodded and helped her to the corner of the room. They whispered.

"I need your help."

"What happened? Mean husband?"

"No. I was kidnapped. They want to extort my family for money."

"Oh no. But I am just a cleaning maid, Miss. What can I do?"

"What is your name?"

"Amy…"

"Good. Amy, I need you to write a note for me and send it to my sisters."

"I do not know how to write."

"Do you have any parchment?"

Amy rifled through her pockets. She pulled out a small piece of parchment. "No pen, though."

"Miss Lydia!" Matthew grunted impatiently.

"I'm sorry… I need my suitcase!"

"What? Why?" his tone was suspicious.

"I got my monthlies."

"Ugh. I will bring it here. Just wait."

Lydia hid Amy behind a closet door and went to retrieve the suitcase. The man looked at her with disgust. It was almost like he wanted to throw up and never touch her again.

"Thank you," she said, taking the suitcase and closing the door. She hastily went through the sewing kit. She had a small piece of charcoal for art, but she also had needles. No time. She went into a small side compartment and found almost dried ink in a small pot and an old pen. She took both and wrote a succinct note to send to Pemberley.

Sisters,

I am sorry he took me. Mr. King is injured. So am I. Not serious. Please help us. You were all right. If I do not see you again, I love you all. Send my love to Mama and Papa and tell Kitty it was my fault, not hers."

Lydia

She added the name of the inn and a note saying, 'Talk to Amy. She helped me. She thought we were heading north from here.' Lydia made sure the inn and the town were clear. She removed her boot and gave the maid enough for an express and something extra for her help.

"This is my favorite hair comb. Please make sure it goes with the letter. That way, they will know it is me who wrote it... Please send it as soon as we leave," Lydia took off her other hair comb. "Keep it. It will look quite pretty on your hair color. I cannot thank you enough."

The maid nodded, shocked at the girl's generosity. "I will, Miss. They will want evidence of your monthlies."

Lydia rushed to put on her suspender, and the maid rushed to see if any guests had forgotten a used one. Someone did.

"I know this is not pleasant, but… it is better if they ask that you have one ready. That man clearly does not care to hurt a gentlewoman."

"Yes, of course. Thank you," Lydia carefully folded the bloodied piece of cloth and placed it on top of everything in her sewing kit. "I will owe you my life if this goes well."

"My husband was like that. I hope you can escape," the maid patted her hand and hid back where she had been before.

Lydia nodded and whispered a teary-eyed "Thank you."

Darcy winced as he sat to read an express that his London staff gave him as soon as he arrived. It was from Mr. King senior. He had received a demand for money from his son. His son said he feared for Miss Lydia's safety if they were not found soon. According to his father, he did not seem to care about his own. Mr. King Sr. also wrote that his son would marry Miss Lydia if need be. However, if his daughter's botched elopement were made public knowledge, the scandal would be significant. Darcy massaged his temples. He sent an express to Walker at Mr. and Mrs. Philips' home to have him find out how big a scandal would be. The colonel came back with three of his most trusted men. They were ready to do anything, no matter how unsavory, to help their colonel. They even signed the secrecy agreements that Walker had made, not that the colonel thought them necessary, but still. It was for Darcy's peace of mind. They ate and returned to the seediest parts of London to try and find the infamous Mrs. Young.

As soon as they were moving fast enough that the hooves were loud and Wickham would not hear them, Lydia looked up to find Mr. King further bruised and hurt.

She scooted forward and whispered, "I got a maid to send an express to Pemberley."

"Where?" he blinked. He had never heard of it.

"My sisters and parents are there."

"I see."

"Why did he hit you again?"

"Because I refused to travel with you on my lap so Matthew could come along."

"Oh… I am sorry."

"No, do not apologize."

"I would not have minded."

"Miss Lydia, you should. It is most improper."

"As you said, it is not as if my reputation will survive this, and I would rather sit on your lap than anyone else's."
Mr. King blushed and looked away. "I would say thank you, but that does not feel like a compliment."

"Good. It was not meant to be. What I mean is that I know they would fondle me and," she had a whole body shiver. "And they would not care if I am in pain or uncomfortable. You are a good man."

He nodded, "Thank you… Are you… Are you in any pain?"

"My face is not throbbing anymore. It looks a lot worse than it feels," Lydia shrugged.

"I meant your monthlies…"

"Oh!" It was her turn to blush. "No. I do not have them. I just used that excuse to be able to send the note."

"What if they check?"

"I have bloodied cloths."

"How?!" he whisper-shouted.

"The maid helped me."

"I see," Mr. King nodded. He did not see, but he was smarter than to ask further questions. His expression must have been more transparent than he hoped because Miss Lydia chuckled.

"If I were bleeding, I would become completely deranged with pain so… You would know. I am permanently furious. If you so much as stare at me for too long or breathe too loudly next to me, I will bite your head off. I am angry, very hungry, and very easily inconvenienced because I bleed a lot and I get swollen, so I do not fit into any of my clothes."

Mr. King blinked but offered no reply. His sisters had never told him anything. He knew they were in pain, but they rarely left their rooms those days. Finally, he asked, "Why are you telling me all this?"

She looked at him amused, "Because… if you are to be my husband, forewarned is forearmed? Is that not the expression?"

He nodded. "I shall stay out of your way, stock up on laudanum, commission you a monthlies wardrobe, and keep you well-fed."

"My hypothetical future self appreciates that," Lydia smiled softly.

"I am nothing if not a stellar hypothetical future husband."

Lydia chuckled and focused on trying to find the somewhat comfortable position she found the day before.

Wickham sent an express to Darcy house. It was brief, condescending, and profoundly infuriating.

Darcy,

I have the youngest of your sisters to be. Is she still to be your sister? She is… relatively unharmed.

The same cannot be said about Mr. King. I require 10,000 pounds from you and 10,000 pounds from Mr. King Sr.

L is convinced that we are going to Gretna Green, the stupid chit. Her destiny is either working for a Madame or going to your home thoroughly compromised, carrying my bastard, to marry Mr. King Jr. It is your choice. You may meet me at the Scottish border.

GW

What on Earth does relatively unharmed mean!? Darcy slapped the surface of his desk angrily. The Earl had insisted to join them in London. His influence would go a long way to get them help, "Mr. Reynolds! Is my uncle back?"

Lizzie was exceedingly angry with the whole situation. She missed William terribly. She knew they were all in a dangerous situation, so she was very worried. Mrs. Reynolds was doing her best to keep everyone calm with teas and healthy meals, even when most of them were not that hungry. Lizzie walked. She paced. She worried about her mother. Mrs. Bennet was -to her shock- being attended to by Lady Elinor. She was being exceedingly kind. She talked to her aunt to try and think of possible solutions.

Mrs. Gardiner had been most shocked when she was finally made aware of what was going on. She tried to stay positive. Lord knew the Bennet ladies were already pessimistic (or well, realistic) enough for them all. Lizzie informed her they had sent an express to her husband. She was glad. With Mr. Bennet in his current state, it fell to her husband to represent Lydia's family. Lizzie was very upset with her sister Lydia, with Kitty, with Mr. and Mrs. Philips… Every time she mentioned Wickham, her tone turned caustic. Madeline had never heard such a hateful tone from Lizzie. She just let her niece vent her frustration. She was right to be furious. She could lose Mr. Darcy over this. Jane could lose Colonel Fitzwilliam. Worse still, Mr. Bennet had spent the dowries of two of his daughters. All their prospects were now very diminished.

If Lydia's foolishness became a scandal, the whole family would be ruined and be turned away by society. Mrs. Reynolds stopped by to ask if she wanted to be taken downstairs. She acquiesced straight away. She wanted to talk to the rest of the girls and check on Mrs. Bennet, who was waiting for news with batted breath. Lady Elinor was excellent company, so much so that her nerves were being kept at bay. The grand Lady promised to help her find matches for all her daughters if things went awry. Francine was glad to see that regardless of their differences in rank, the Lady seemed genuine and kind. Other women would have turned and physically left the vicinity of anyone about to be thrown into a horrid scandal.

Mary, who had been happily planning lessons before the letter, reverted to praying all day. She was more often than not seen with her eyes swimming with unshed tears or jamming her indexes hard on the inner corners of her eyes. Parson Villiers had come back to Pemberley to see how much she had advanced with her lessons. He was very shocked to hear the latest news. He thought something had happened because he heard several stallions speed away, followed by a carriage. He feared either Mr. Bennet or Mrs. Gardiner took a turn for the worse. He did not expect something like this. Miss Mary had been telling him all her worries and troubles. She was speaking fast and passionately. He would not dare stop her. She looked beautiful even when she was clearly heartbroken. He did not know what to say at all. She was already physically forcing herself not to cry. He was no good at handling crying people.

"And please do not tell me that the Lord is testing me, sir!"

"I would not be that cruel," he whispered.

Mary did not hear him and said, "Because I feel like if this is a test, I was not allowed to study! And that is simply not fair! After all my devotion, my fasting, my hours of prayer, my helping those less fortunate? It is NOT fair. Is it not enough that my father spent my dowry and cares not about me or my future? Is it not enough that I am not pretty or fun like my sisters? Is it not enough that all my potential will be wasted just because I am the middle ugly child of an irresponsible man? Is it not enough that all I can hope for is to work for a living for the rest of my life?"

"Miss Mary-"

"Nobody ever asked me if I dreamed of being a wife or a mother! Everybody thought it was a given I would not get to do either because no man would choose me! Everyone assumes I must be fine with being overlooked and referred to as 'the other one' because many will not even learn my name. After all, why bother? I am not the smartest, prettiest, or most fun…"

"Miss Mary, please-"

"I would have loved to be a mother... To have my own family, to raise children with a lot of love, so they never feel as inadequate as I have felt my whole life. My youngest sisters have teased me and disrespected me for trying to lead a modest life of decorum as per Fordyce's sermons, as if something is wrong with that. And yet Lydia has disgraced us all, but this was a long time coming, and no one bothered to check her. And when she comes back, she will be welcomed like the prodigal daughter, even if she comes back with child or with a very expensive marriage that Mr. Darcy and the colonel will have to pay for, and she does NOT deserve that! She does not deserve a beautiful wedding, a wedding breakfast, or a husband for being stupid and careless! he does not deserve to be fawn over for ruining or almost ruining her family! She does not deserve forgiveness! She would not even ask for it because she thinks she is above reproach!"

The Parson sighed. "Do you?" he said in a soft voice, looking ahead at the rose bushes.

Mary looked at him. She gasped. In an angrier tone than he had heard from her before, she replied, "I have ALWAYS been reproached about EVERYTHING. If I play the piano, it is too much, too loud, too somber. If I read, it is always boring and slow. If I dress the way I choose, I look twice my age. If no man looks twice at me, it is my fault for not flirting outrageously like my younger sisters or for not being beautiful like my older sisters. I am too dour, too serious, too old for my age. There has never been something I have done at home that has ever been applauded or encouraged. To my parents, I was born a spinster. To my younger sisters, I am the other one. My older sisters were kind to me, but we were too dissimilar. We are not friends. I have no friends. I think the first true friend I have ever had is Miss Darcy, and I just met her."

"I see… Miss Mary… I know your faith has taken a beating. It is only natural that you are so upset. I would just like you to exercise prudence. Miss Lydia could be hurt or worse. She is probably really scared."

"You do not know her. She thinks this is funny. I warned her. She chose not to believe me, and now we are all ruined. If she gets married, she will rub it in our faces, saying she was the first to get married regardless of the cost and-"

"Do you hate your sister, Miss Mary?"

"Right now, I do. I know it is very unchristian of me."

"I am not judging you," he said softly.

"You should. Lord knows I do."

Someone cleared their throat behind them, "Miss Mary, pardon the interruption."

Mary jumped up. It was Lady Elinor. She curtseyed.

"Any news?"

"None, dear. Your mother wishes to speak with you."

"Thank you. Excuse me, Parson," Mary fled as fast as she could, feeling like she had thoroughly humiliated herself.

Lady Elinor looked at the confused Parson. "It is not your forte, is it, Alex?"

"Pardon me?" he blinked.

"Giving advice to young women..."

"I never got to the advice part..."

"May I give you some advice for a change?"

"Always, Lady Elinor. You never stopped. Your letters kept me from giving up on my calling."

She remembered all the struggles he had been through. His parents had begged her and her husband to talk to him and impart some common sense, but they had instead made him realize his wish was not a passing fancy. Lady Elinor patted his hand, "And I am very proud of you… Now, when it comes to young ladies… Many a time they do not want advice. They want to vent. They want to be heard. They may even want someone to commiserate with them or take their side."

He blinked but remained quiet.

"Yes, dear. Even if they are wrong. It is a matter of friendship, of loyalty. Young ladies have so much of the world set against them already that they would all go insane otherwise."

"Is this where the expression 'a lady can be as contrary as she chooses' comes from?"

"Probably," Lady Elinor chuckled. "Now, for the most important question I can ask… Are you planning on taking a wife, or is celibacy-?"

"Lady Elinor!" he blushed.

"Darling, I live to marry people off! If I were to take payment, I would be even richer than I am now," she laughed.

"Be that as it may… I have far too many obligations. It would be most unfair to marry and have no time for my wife or children."

"Mhmm… Very sensible."

"I try."

"And yet…"

"You do not believe me?"

"I do not believe you. I know you know that when you marry, Parson or not, your parents will start expecting you to participate in family events."

He sighed. "I love them. I really do, but they look down their nose at everyone…"

Lady Elinor's eyebrows raised, "Would they have any reason to look down their nose at the lady who has captured your attention?"

He opened and closed his mouth several times. He was unable to reply.

"Should I interpret that as a yes?"

"You… I… This is most improper, Lady Elinor!"

"And yet, your mother wants grandchildren!"

"LADY ELINOR!"

"And so does the Lord. Does He not? Or did I misunderstand the 'be fruitful and multiply,' dear?"

His eyes widened.

"Did I misunderstand?" Lady Elinor asked slowly.

"No."

"Good. Is it Miss Mary?"

"I will not answer any more of your questions, Madam."

Lady Elinor laughed, "Alex, dear. I wish you happy and in love. You are such a good man. You deserve a good relationship, dear. You would have such beautiful children together."

"She thinks she is not pretty," he whispered before even thinking it was an admission.

"Oh, that is absurd! But I am glad to know I was right," she smirked, triumphant.

"Lady Elinor, please. In these circumstances-"

"No. Say no more. I can wait. It gives me time to scheme," he turned to face her, his face bright red. She smiled her most innocent smile, "Forgive me, Alex! I meant to plan."

Miss Darcy sent her tutors away for the rest of the week. She had no presence of mind to pay attention in her lessons; neither did Mary. She had no idea how to bring up her wish to relocate to Darcy House in London. She knew that with Mr. Bennet's and Mrs. Gardiner's conditions, they could not all travel, but she really wanted to be there. Her brother would be most upset if she took off with those who could travel and leave the two of them behind. She paced in the entrance hall, waiting for a letter or any news. Her eyes lit up when she heard hooves and the sounds of a carriage drawing near, except that what she saw was not a welcome sight. Without any care for decorum, she rushed to the family room, "Aunt Elinoooooor! Help!"

Lady Elinor rushed out, "What is it, love?"

"Did you see the carriage?"

"No. What-?" Lady Elinor peeked from behind a curtain. She gasped. "Oh no." They had five minutes at worst. Ten at best.

"What are we to do?"

There was only one thing left to do, "MRS. REYNOLDS!"