The Journey (19 page)

“Care of him! Yes, I believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. I would think Bingley very much indebted to him.”

Mr. Darcy had begun to squirm in his chair. He sat up straighter, coughed lightly, and placed his hand at his throat as though his neckcloth might be in danger of strangling him.

“What is it you mean?” I asked. “Did Mr. Darcy give you his reasons for this interference?”

“I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady, is that not correct, Darce?”

“Well, uh — ” Mr. Darcy said.

“Is that true, sir? Do tell us.” I demanded. “And why were you to be the judge? Why should you determine and direct in what manner your friend is to be happy?”

He stared at me, looked away, opened his mouth, and then closed it.

Colonel Fitzwilliam evidently was not even slightly aware of his cousin’s discomfiture, for he simply laughed. “Believe me, Darcy rarely interferes unless it is warranted. All I can say is he is exceedingly fortunate that you, Miss Bennet, were the one to accompany him on this journey and not a daughter of that fortune-hunting mother. Would you not agree, Cousin?”

Mr. Darcy picked up his glass and took a long drink from it. I took the opportunity to rise from the table, which, naturally, caused both men to stand, also.

“Miss Bennet?” the colonel asked. “Are you unwell?”

“A sudden headache,” I replied. “Perhaps I have tarried over the wine too long. If you will excuse me, gentlemen.” I smiled at the colonel and turned aside.

Mr. Darcy pulled back my chair. “I shall see you to your room.”

I turned and stared at him with an expression I made certain he could not mistake.

“Do not trouble yourself, sir. Stay and enjoy your wine
and
your talk. Perhaps you can further enlighten the colonel on the savagery of Hertfordshire society. I am perfectly capable of finding my own way. Good night.”

Before he could make any response, I fled the table, but not before I heard Mr. Darcy admonish the colonel. “Fitzwilliam, have you taken leave of your senses? Must you repeat everything I tell you?”

I hurried up the staircase into the sanctuary provided by my room. Dropping my shawl upon the bed, I walked to the fireplace, grabbed the poker and jabbed viciously at the burning log. I was breathing heavily, my anger blazing as much as the fire before me. I began to pace back and forth, chewed my lip, and clenched my fists.

Very strong objections to the lady
! How those words echoed round and round in my mind. Oh yes, and I knew exactly what those strong objections were — she had one uncle who was a country attorney and another who was in business in London.

“To Jane herself,” I exclaimed aloud, “there could be no possibility of objection, all loveliness and goodness as she is! Her understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners captivating. Neither can anything be urged against my father who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities which Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain and respectability which he will probably never reach!”

When I thought of my mother, however, my confidence gave way, and I could not deny the imprudent behaviour of my younger sisters. Those objections, though, would have little material weight, were it not for Mr. Darcy’s pride. Their want of sense would warrant a wound, but not as deeply as that of our connections. Yes, it was that worst kind of pride that had produced such venomous interference on Mr. Darcy’s part.

How had I ever thought he might love me, I wondered, and even more, why had I ever entertained the idea that I loved him? It cried against my every belief. I had hoped to be swept up by love and that I would not have to marry without it. I knew for certain that I could not possibly love a man whose character I found sorely lacking.

I threw myself across the bed, pounded the pillow until feathers began to fly, and then I buried my face in my hands and began to weep.

What a fool I had been! How had I allowed myself to indulge in such fantasy?

And what was I to do with this aching need deep within me — this horrid betrayal of all I espoused — this painful, physical yearning to be held in his arms in spite of everything?

Chapter Nine

I did not speak to Mr. Darcy again until the time came to board the carriage and return to London the next day. Sometime during the evening before, a maid had entered my room with a message that the gentleman wished to see me, but I refused, instructing her to tell him that I had retired for the night. I was far too angry to trust myself to speak with him in a civil manner.

I still could not believe he had actively interfered between Mr. Bingley and Jane and then bragged about it in a letter to Colonel Fitzwilliam. I certainly was not interested in hearing any trumped-up excuses he might attempt to render.

Even though it was the first night I slept in a real bed in five days, my sleep was disturbed, and I spent far too many restless hours. The next morning the circles under my eyes appeared even more prominent, but with a maid to dress my hair and proper clean clothing, I at least felt presentable.

At my request, I breakfasted alone in my room on sausages, muffins, and steaming hot tea. I had just risen from the small table when the maid reappeared, stating that I was wanted below stairs.

“I told you to extend my regrets for breakfast,” I said. “Did you not tell Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Miss, it is not those gentlemen who ask for you.”

“Then who?”

“It’s an older gentleman, Miss, and a young lady,” the maid replied. “They didn’t give me their names, but they’re ever so eager to meet with you.”

I was dumbfounded as to their identity, for I knew no one who lived in Hazleden. With a quick pat of my hair and a glance in the mirror, I left the room and made my way downstairs. The maid led me into the public room, and in a far corner, I saw the two souls I desired to see most in this world!

“Papá! Jane!” I cried, almost running into their outstretched arms. We kissed each other and embraced, my father clutching me closely in spite of the arena in which we met.

“Lizzy,” he said softly, his eyes misting. “I feared I might never see you again.”

“Oh, Father, I am well. Do not distress yourself.”

“You look so tired,” Jane said, openly crying. “You have deep circles under your eyes and scratches on your face and hands. Was it so very horrid?”

“Not so very.” I smiled, attempting to make light of all that had happened, hoping to put them at ease. We sat down at the table, and the servant brought another cup and saucer for me. “The cuts shall heal. In truth, I have emerged without scars and nothing worse than these dark circles, which will soon vanish when I have slept in my own bed once more. You may depend upon it.”

“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane said, squeezing my hand. “We were all so worried about you.”

“And I for you! I knew you would be concerned, fretting on my behalf. Tell me, how is Mamá? Has she left her bed these five days?”

Jane shook her head, but my father added, “Her appetite, I am happy to report, has not suffered during the ordeal. For that we can give thanks.” We laughed, and I was thrilled that we were able to do so.

“But how — why are you here, and how did you know where to come?” I asked.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam was good enough to send one of his men with a message as soon as you were recovered,” my father answered. “He arrived at Gracechurch Street last evening, and I made plans to depart before first light and see for myself that you were truly well. Jane would not allow me to leave the house without her. Your uncle wished also to come, and indeed, he is outside seeing to the arrangements for our return to Town.”

“What a tiring trip for all of you. Here you have travelled since early morning, and you shall have to turn around and make the journey all over again.”

“It will not tire us, dear Lizzy,” Jane said, “if we have the joy of your safe company.”

She caught my hand anew. In truth, I did not want her ever to let go. A few moments later, my uncle joined us, and I basked in the glow of my family’s affection.

Both Mr. Gardiner and my father lauded Colonel Fitzwilliam with praise. They also spoke highly of the Earl of Matlock, telling how both men had gone out of their way to put their minds at ease, and how capable and efficient the colonel was in his detective work. More and more, I liked what I heard of Mr. Darcy’s cousin and his family.

“’Tis a pity that Jane’s affections are already attached to another,” my father said with a twinkle in his eye, “or her mother would recover from her malaise quickly enough and have her set her cap for the colonel.”

I turned to Jane, raising my eyebrows in expectation.

“My affections are not attached, Father,” she said demurely, blushing like a pink rose.

“Then I must write to your mother straightaway. The impending thrill of securing an earl’s son will surely cause her to spring forth from her bed!”

Jane and I both protested, laughing at his fanciful speculation. Mr. Gardiner, however, put the truth of the matter to utterance. “I am sorry, Jane, but I have it on the best authority that the colonel is a younger brother, and thus, must marry a woman of means. Otherwise, I am sure you would be first on his list.”

We continued to talk happily, as though they needed to keep up my spirits. I wondered, though, in all their jesting why they did not include me as a possible match for the colonel. It was most unlike either my uncle or my father to leave me out of their teasing refrain. Perchance, they were treating me gently because of what I had gone through.

Not long past mid-day, our carriage was ready for the trip to Town, and so were we. I had little to carry with me — only the small valise my aunt had sent, which now held my soiled garments. There had not been time for the servant to launder them, and I elected to take them back wrapped in newspaper.

While overseeing the maid’s packing, I received an unforeseen jolt! As she spread out the paper on the bed before placing my clothes on it, I happened to see a headline.

EARL OF MATLOCK’S NEPHEW STILL MISSING

The words amazed me! I had somehow never thought our kidnapping would make the newspapers — how naïve of me. I grabbed up the paper and directed the servant to secure another. Carrying it to the fireplace, I sank down on the settee facing it and began to read.

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire has now been missing four days, along with Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn from the county of Hertfordshire. Highwaymen abducted the couple on Thursday from the London Road. When last seen, they were carried off through the woods in an eastern direction.

Also robbed, bound, and left for dead on the road were Mrs. Ambrose Hurst and Miss Caroline Bingley. The ladies and their servants have now been rescued and returned to Town. The gentlewomen are in seclusion, still suffering from nervous conditions and the loss of their jewels and funds.

The constable refuses comment as to any possible ransom sought for Mr. Darcy. Requests for information from his uncle, the Earl of Matlock, also remain unanswered. One of the recovered servants, however, reports that before they were kidnapped,
Mr. Darcy announced that Miss Bennet was his wife
— an acknowledged surprise to all of London.

I stopped in shock and re-read that last line before continuing with the article. I could not believe it had been written in the papers for all to see!

Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park in Kent, aunt of Mr. Darcy, has offered a reward of five thousand pounds for his safe return. Anyone with information concerning the case should report to the constable’s office immediately.

Although I scanned the remainder of the article, it mentioned neither Mr. Darcy nor myself again, but continued on lamenting the fact that the plague of highwaymen preying on innocent travellers was not a thing of the past as had been recently announced. Even though such instances were uncommon, the writer called for immediate means to rid the country of said curse.

Much of the article blurred in my thoughts because of that singular sentence that resonated in my mind: London society now thought Mr. Darcy and I were married!

Surely it could not be. It was impossible! Did not Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst explain that Mr. Darcy had made that statement solely for my protection? I wondered if he had seen the paper. Most likely he had. Perhaps, that was what he wished to speak to me about last evening, to warn me of what was to come.

I had thought he might wish to apologize or make some excuse in defence of the colonel’s revelation. How foolish! He did not regret warning his friend against marrying into my family. I knew with what little esteem he held my connections. And now he was in a pickle, for he must explain to society in some way that he had not made a similar blunder. Oh yes, I could certainly see his need to speak to me and secure my cooperation in explaining the matter.

He had little to fear. I could hardly wait to make it known that Mr. Darcy was the last man I should ever marry!

Outside the sun shone brightly, providing welcome warmth against the recent cold wet weather we had experienced. My uncle and father awaited us at the carriage, and Jane and I hastened to join them. As one footman lifted up my valise, another opened the door for us to enter.