One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (47 page)

The letter and the truth contained therein about your sister shall remain secret so long as you remain wholly unconnected to any woman, most particularly the delightful Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Should you court, become engaged or marry, you will regret it as soon as it is known, for I will expose Georgiana's folly to the world, using the letter written in her own hand as evidence of it. I have many friends in Derbyshire, Hertfordshire and London, and you may be certain that I will hear of any attentions that single out any lady of your acquaintance. You deprived me of the woman I loved, and I will exact my revenge in its full measure and deprive you of the same.

I warn you against any attempt to detect my location or involve legal authorities in the matter. These actions will invoke my wrath and I can promise that you will regret your actions should they occur. You will hear from me again soon regarding the financial arrangements previously mentioned.

Sincerely yours,

George Wickham

“I will kill him!” Colonel Fitzwilliam cried as he finished the letter. “I will track him down like an animal; then I shall run him through with a blade before I put a bullet through his black heart!”

“You will not kill him, Richard. If you did so, you would have blood on your hands.” Darcy said firmly. “We must find a way to separate him from the letter and destroy it. In the meantime, we must not provoke him further.”

“I will strangle him—a bloodless death will leave no trace on my hands!” Richard growled.

“I cannot allow you to murder him by any means, Fitz. Think how the scandal would affect poor Georgiana.” Darcy reasoned. “We will first verify that such a letter does exist. We must not forget that among his other charming qualities, Wickham is a liar, and this may be a ruse. I must speak to Georgiana privately.”

“That is all very rational, Darcy.” Richard paced. “Have you no occupation in all this that befits a soldier? I need to
 
do
 
something!”

“You shall.” Darcy said ominously. “While I am in town speaking to Georgiana, you must work with Bingley to evict Aunt Catherine from Netherfield. Jane needs a bedchamber, as do I. Lady Catherine and Anne must depart immediately. That is your task.”

“Thunder and turf, Darcy, you are cruel! You leave me to wrest with that bitter old woman while you go to London?” Richard grumbled. “Next time we play, I am the general and you are the foot-soldier!”

“How is Elizabeth?” Darcy changed the subject as he began replacing his discarded garments in preparation for an immediate return to town.

“So it is 'Elizabeth' now is it?” His cousin teased, “When did she cease to be 'Miss Elizabeth', hmmm?”

Darcy rolled his eyes and said with some impatience as he buttoned his waistcoat, “Not now, Richard!”

“Very well. Darcy, I will tell you what you ask. Miss Elizabeth is much as she was when you last saw her. Her sister is caring for her, but the fever has not yet broken, and she remains in a delirium.” Colonel Fitzwilliam then related all that Mr. Jones had said about her care and told him of the tenant's child who had died, which had an immediate impact on Mr. Darcy's demeanor. He stopped tying his cravat and looked at the colonel in shock.

“The baby—it died?”

The colonel nodded and then paused, weighing his next words carefully. After this brief hesitation, he divulged to his cousin that which he knew Jane did not even want Darcy to know. “She is calling for you, Darcy. I do not know what you have done to warrant it, but somehow you are on her mind. Go to London, as you said, but first, go to Miss Elizabeth. Do not let her call go unanswered.”

With a nod to his cousin, Darcy raced from the room without another word, his cravat in dreadful disarray.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

You Said You Love Me

F
itzwilliam Darcy was not the sort of man who ran indoors. He made no exception today, although his stride was longer and his pace brisker than usual as he closed the distance from the Netherfield library to the stairway leading to the upper floors. His attention was trained on an unsuccessful attempt to tug his cravat into a semblance of order as he hurried through the hallway, and he did not even notice the echo of his footsteps on the floor. Caroline Bingley, however, did.

“Mr. Darcy.” She met him at the bottom of the stairs. “I had nearly despaired of seeing you again today. After that frightful scene with Lady Catherine, a lesser man would have gone into hiding.”

“Miss Bingley.” Darcy drew up short and stiffly bowed in a formal greeting, glancing up the stairs as he did so.

“The housekeeper tells me that they moved your trunks to Colonel Fitzwilliam's room. Did you find a bed in which to sleep, or were you forced to roam the halls all night?” Caroline teased.

“I thank you for your concern, Miss Bingley. I am sufficiently rested.” Darcy said brusquely. “Please excuse me.” He stepped sideways, toward the staircase.

“Mr. Darcy,” Caroline snickered, calling him back. “I was extremely amused to discover the wig of feathers on my brother's prize statue. Whatever possessed you to do it?”

“Do not be fooled, Miss Bingley.” Colonel Fitzwilliam's approach had been silent and startled Caroline. “You may be very surprised to learn this, but my cousin is not as bold as I. He would not have dared such a venture alone.” He nodded at Darcy, who took his signal and, without another word, went up the stairs.

Caroline watched Darcy's retreating figure, her brows knit in consternation. “Mr. Darcy seems out of sorts today. It is insufferable that a man of his station should be deprived of his accommodations. I cannot understand why the Bennets did not take Miss Elizabeth home with them to Longbourn. They are such a tiresome family, do you not agree, Colonel?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam turned thoughtfully. “Tiresome?” He shook his head decidedly. “I do not think they are tiresome.”

“Oh?” Caroline smirked. “And how would you describe our country neighbors, if not tiresome? Surely you are accustomed to finer company than the Bennets.”

“Your country neighbors have a certain liveliness rarely found in the first circles.” Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled warmly. “Finer company may be fine indeed, but the society here in Hertfordshire most definitely has its charms.”

“Their manners are boorish, and there is no evidence of breeding among them at all.” Caroline tsked.

“But surely ... Miss Bingley, what are you saying? Could it be that you do not approve of Charles courting Miss Bennet?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked cautiously.

“Not at all!” Caroline rolled her eyes in disgust. “Jane Bennet is, I grant you, a sweet girl, but her family is beyond the pale! I had hoped to persuade my brother to return to town immediately after the ball. I suppose now, with Miss Elizabeth ill under our roof, we cannot close the house for the winter yet. How I
 
long
 
to leave this place and return to the society of town!”

“Must you stay? Why not just leave?” The colonel asked, genuinely curious.

“My brother needs me to run his household.” Caroline replied haughtily, “But that is not why I remain. To be frank with you, Colonel, if I leave, Charles is likely to make an offer to Miss Bennet, and I cannot allow such a thing to happen. It is only through my diligent persuasions that he has not done so already.”

“You object to her so strongly?” Richard squinted slightly.

“My brother's fortune qualifies him for a far better match than the likes of Jane Bennet.” Caroline sniffed. “There were some among the
 
ton
 
who were quite interested in him last season. I daresay it will raise all of our fortunes considerably when he marries a lady with superior connections and an ample dowry.”

“Your brother's fortune also allows him a degree of freedom in his choice of a bride.” Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled. “If I were in his place and could afford to disregard the size of a lady's dowry, a match to one of the lovely daughters of Longbourn would be a most agreeable prospect indeed.”

~*~

Darcy's long legs advanced up the stairs two at a time, as soon as he was no longer in view of Caroline and the colonel. His only thought was of reaching Elizabeth. He had spent the night pacing the floor of the library, torturing himself with worry, wondering if he had somehow missed some sign that Elizabeth was ill earlier in the evening. His greatest desire was to be of some use to her now, but he felt strangely unable to act.

When his cousin had informed him that Elizabeth was calling for him, he felt as a man shaken from a stupor. The knowledge served as a call to action, and he did as his protective instincts dictated—he raced to her side with no apparent thought of appearances or propriety.

Arriving outside the suite, he found that both the bedchamber and the adjacent sitting room doors were closed. He tried the knob directly into his former bedchamber. Finding it locked, he moved to the other door and impatiently threw the door open, bursting in on Jane and Mr. Bingley, who sat together on a small sofa.

Bingley's arm was tenderly encircled around Jane's shoulders, and Jane's head was leaned against his chest in an exhausted state of slumber. Bingley grinned sheepishly at Darcy and signaled him to be quiet, lest Jane awaken. Darcy nodded his understanding and closed the door softly behind himself.

The door to the bedchamber was open, and the minor disturbance of Darcy entering the sitting room brought Anne from Elizabeth's bedside to discern the source. She saw her cousin with a degree of both relief and concern. Glancing over her shoulder at Elizabeth, she stepped into the sitting room and shut the door.

“You should not be here,” Anne said quietly before admitting, “but I am glad you have come.”

“Why should I not be here?” Darcy replied gruffly.

Anne gestured graciously for him to sit. He instead took a step toward the bedroom door.

With a sigh, Anne replied, “The fever has loosed her tongue, and her sister,” Anne nodded toward the sleeping Jane, “diligently protects against the repercussions of her unguarded state. If Miss Jane Bennet were awake, you know full well that she would refuse you—she would deny you entrance.”

“Miss Bennet is
 
not
 
awake, however, so her refusal is not forthcoming.” Darcy pointed out with another step.

“It is not proper.” Anne replied, shaking her head as she leaned against the door protectively. “She is not fit to be seen.” Darcy closed the distance between them, his cousin the only obstacle to entrance. Anne raised her chin, defying him. “Elizabeth would not wish it—for you to see her like this. No woman would.”

“Stand aside, Anne.” Darcy said, his voice quiet but stern. “I know that she has asked for me, and I
 
will
 
see her.”

Anne glared at him stubbornly, their eyes locked. “It is too soon!” She insisted, “She asked for you in delirium cousin. You must wait until the fever has broken, when she has her wits about her.”

Any person inclined to doubt that the two descended from the same bloodlines before would see it clearly now, in their bearing and the unwavering look in their eyes. Both were determined in their course—she in defending the doorway, while he was resolved to gain passage. Several minutes passed in this posture of silent challenge. Anne's fists clenched until her knuckles ached while Darcy's jaw became ever more set in response to her defiance.

Suddenly, Elizabeth's voice was heard from within the bedchamber, and both Anne and Darcy turned at the sound. Anne, eyebrows raised for emphasis, shook her head in warning at her cousin as she opened the door to return to Elizabeth. Mr. Darcy disregarded her warning and followed her into the darkened room unbidden.

Anne moved directly to Elizabeth's bedside, replacing the cool, damp cloth laid across her forehead with a fresh one. “Hush, Elizabeth, I am here.” Anne soothed, wrapping her arm underneath Elizabeth's back to raise her up slightly. “You must drink this.” She raised a glass from the bedside table to Elizabeth's lips and tipped it, making certain several sips were taken before she returned Elizabeth to the pillow.