The Road to Pemberley (11 page)

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Authors: Marsha Altman

BOOK: The Road to Pemberley
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“Right, Gov'ner.”
“Do you know whether Lieutenant Wickham is in?” Darcy looked up at the boarding house windows.
“The fancy one?” the boy asked.
Darcy smiled knowingly. “That is the one.”
“Hasn't come down yet.”
Darcy handed the boy another coin. “Keep my horse close.” Then he made his way into the building. Although it was not in the best area, the house's interior was cleaner than he expected. Within
moments, he found the marked door for which he searched. Rapping heavily on the knocker, Darcy waited impatiently for someone to answer. Finally, the door swung wide, and the man he most hated stood on the other side of the threshold.
“Darcy!” Wickham seemed truly surprised to see him. “What brings you to no-man's-land?”
“You know why I am here.” Darcy tried to see beyond Wickham to the interior rooms.
Wickham gestured him in, leaving the door ajar. “I am afraid that you have me at a loss. Hopefully, you have found a way to end my marriage, and you have come to take Mrs. Wickham back to Hertfordshire.”
“Not likely.” Darcy stood in the main room's middle. “Is Mrs. Wickham not at home?”
Wickham picked up his abandoned cup. “I am sure my wife is out spending money we do not have.” He gulped the last of the coffee. “I am still awaiting an explanation for your visit.”
“I came for Miss Elizabeth.” He hated to give away his personal information to someone with Wickham's instinct for manipulation. “Is Miss Elizabeth residing with your wife or not?” he demanded.
Wickham smiled deviously. “I would say that the lady is residing more with
me
than with Lydia. A woman with a broken heart needs comforting.”
Wickham had done this to Darcy all their lives—this pulling at Darcy's sense of honor—but the man did not understand that for Darcy reason did not exist when it came to Elizabeth Bennet. The words had no more escaped Wickham's lips before Darcy pounced on the man.
They hit the floor in a mass of arms and legs. Punches landed. Jabs blackened eyes and tore lips, but still the fight continued. Furniture exploded under the force of their combined weight. For
nearly two decades, Darcy had concealed his feelings. Now, they poured out in each punch. Each strike. Every taunt. Every manipulation. Every disservice he had suffered at Wickham's hand guided Darcy's assault.
Within minutes, Darcy straddled a semiconscious Wickham and literally pounded the man's head into the wooden floor.
“Oh, my God!” Elizabeth gasped as they turned the corner and headed toward her sister's let rooms.
“What is it, Lizzy?” Lydia Wickham reached for Elizabeth's hand.
“Mr. Darcy. He is here.” Seeing the waiting horse, Elizabeth caught her skirt tail and ran for the boarding house.
“Lizzy!” Lydia chased after her.
Elizabeth slammed open the outside door and raced up the stairs. The noise from Mr. Wickham's rooms told her trouble waited. She could hear Lydia struggling with the basket that Elizabeth dropped on the first landing, but she did not stop. Completely out of breath, she burst through the partially opened door. “Fitzwilliam!” she called, but he did not hear her. He sat astride her sister's husband, intent on doing the man bodily harm.
“This is for leaving me on Dark Peak for two days when we were twelve!” Darcy caught Wickham's head with his large palms, lifted it, and slammed it into the floor.
“This is for weaseling your way into my father's good graces!” Slam.
“This is for Georgiana.” Slam.
“This is for Eliza…”
Elizabeth propelled herself onto Darcy's back; her arms locked around his neck, struggling to pull him backward before he killed George Wickham. “Fitzwilliam! Stop! Please stop!” She managed to
knock him sideways, and they tumbled to the floor together. “Fitzwilliam, I am here,” she said to pacify him.
Lydia rushed in and added her hysterics to the commotion. “Wickham!” she screamed and rushed to her husband's side. “My dear Wickham!”
Meanwhile, Elizabeth cooed words of devotion to Darcy, calming him by her presence. She shoved the hair from his face. “You found me,” she rasped. “Oh, my sweet William. You came for me.”
Darcy twisted to move away from Wickham's body. “I love you, Elizabeth Bennet. You are coming home with me.” Darcy held her close to him.
Elizabeth cuddled in his loose embrace before checking on the chaos just over her shoulder. “When you lose control, you create a mess, Mr. Darcy.” She smiled broadly at him.
Darcy raised his head to take in the broken furniture and the sobbing Lydia draped over the badly bruised body of George Wickham. “Georgiana said that you wanted the grand gesture.” His split lip kept the smile from his face. “I need you in my life.” Darcy traced a line down her cheek with his fingertip.
A military officer, followed by two enlisted men, rushed through the door. “What goes on here?” the officer demanded.
Darcy pushed himself to a seated position. “Family quarrel,” he said, straightening his clothes.
“Whose family? Who are you?”
“Lieutenant Wickham's soon-to-be brother by marriage,” Darcy declared. “This is my fiancée, Elizabeth Bennet.” He stood and reached out his hand to Elizabeth. “She is Mr. Wickham's sister. In fact, I bought Wickham's commission for him. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy. My cousin is Colonel Edward Fitzwilliam.”
The officer frowned. “You did us no favors, Mr. Darcy.” He gestured to where Wickham lay.
“But you did me one.”
The officer nodded his understanding. “It appears Mr. Wickham will have a legitimate excuse for missing his duty today.”
Darcy reached in his pocket and took out a fifty-pound note. “Might I entrust that you will see to Mr. Wickham's medical care and the replacing of any damaged goods?”
“Certainly, Mr. Darcy.” The officer pocketed the money.
“Might be that Mr. Wickham's nose be broken,” one of the enlisted men observed.
“Maybe he will not be so pretty,” the officer remarked.
Darcy smiled with satisfaction. “Maybe not.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Please pack your bags, my Dear. We need to leave today.”
“They are already packed.” She moved closer to him. “I bought a ticket to Lambton this morning. I was coming to you. I belong with you, Fitzwilliam.”
They found a room at the coaching inn. They stayed only long enough for Darcy to wash away the blood and dirt before they set out again. “There is no carriage available to rent,” he told her. “So, you will take the public stage, and I will ride beside. Tomorrow we will marry.”
“But how may we marry so quickly?”
“Hardesty confessed his part in your staged engagement. Mr. Pinncatch sent me a copy of the banns, and I have the common license. Both are good for three months. It has been three weeks. There is time. Tonight, we sleep in separate rooms, but after the vows, you will sleep with me, Lizzy. I will not tolerate our separation ever again.”
“Even after that horrifying sham I put you through?” Darcy heard hope's touch in her voice, and he knew what she wanted to hear.
He raised her fingers to his lips. “You did it because you loved me…because you thought you were not what I needed in a wife.”
Elizabeth's eyes met his. “I have treated you so poorly.”
Darcy smiled deviously. “Yes, you have, and I expect it will take a lifetime for you to make it up to me. I suggest that we start immediately.” He kissed the inside of her wrist, and she rewarded him with a quick intake of air. “Your father is very worried for your safety.”
“I should have told him where I was going, but I did not decide until after I was on the public coach,” she confessed. “I left him a note of apology for shaming the family.”
Darcy swallowed the last of his anger. Elizabeth had suffered on more than one level: her family, the Meryton residents, Captain Hardesty, and him. “We will write Mr. Bennet to tell him that you are safe at Pemberley as my wife.”
“You really love me?” she said still in disbelief.
“Elizabeth, I want us to have snowball battles with our children. I want to share honey straight from the hive with you. I want us to go swimming in the lake behind the manor house. I want to dance with you at the tenants' ball. I want to see you heavy with my child. I want our family portrait hanging in Pemberley's gallery. I want our house to be filled with laughter and love.” Darcy lowered his voice. “And I want you in my bed. In
our
bed.”
“You have thought of us as such? Throwing snowballs, swimming, dancing, and…?” She could not say the words, but Darcy whispered them in her ear. Surprisingly, Elizabeth did not blush this time. “I want those things also, Fitzwilliam.”
He saw her into the coach, mounted, and then leaned down to hand her a piece of paper. “A letter from Georgiana,” he said. “She wants her sister at Pemberley.”
When the coach rolled from the inn yard, Elizabeth sat back into the well-worn cushions and opened the letter.
Dearest Elizabeth,
If you are reading this, Fitzwilliam has found you, and you are on your way to Pemberley. I have executed our plan as you designed it. It was so smart of you to write to me through Mrs. Annesley. You know my brother's pride. He would not have gone looking for you if he thought you were safe. Going to visit Mrs. Wickham was a stroke of genius. Fitzwilliam cannot tolerate the idea that Mr. Wickham might best him. I just hope my brother's recent frustrations do not make him do something drastic. You have certainly had him beyond reason of late. I have suggested to Fitzwilliam that making a “grand gesture” as the way to win a woman's heart. I await you with open arms at our home. Love Fitzwilliam with all your heart, and you will earn my lifetime devotion. He is truly the best of men.
G.
“That he is. The best of men,” Elizabeth murmured.
Part 5
“It is a lovely evening, Mr. Darcy,” Caroline Bingley said in her most genteel tone.
Darcy's attention remained divided, but he managed to respond, “I am sure I will find it a memorable one, Miss Bingley. It has been more than a decade since Pemberley hosted a formal ball.”
To his dismay, the lady lingered, delaying those behind her in the receiving line. Darcy offered Charles Bingley's sister a brief smile as he brought her gloved hand to his lips. Then he shifted his attention to his next guest. Miss Bingley curtsied prettily, revealing more cleavage than was considered proper, but Darcy was already extending his hand to Mr. Hurst. Then he bowed to Mr. Hurst's
wife, Louisa Bingley Hurst, who was Miss Bingley's older sister. Miffed, Caroline frostily greeted Darcy's sister, Georgiana, before entering the ballroom.
Georgiana fidgeted with nervousness beside Darcy, and more than once she blushed because of the familiar salutations from their guests. But it did not escape Darcy's notice that a year ago—or even a month ago—he could never have convinced Georgiana to join him in welcoming their guests. It was
her
influence on his sister. In the same way that Elizabeth Bennet had changed him, she had worked her magic on Georgiana. “Welcome to Pemberley, Mrs. Hurst,” Georgiana said in her soft voice.
Darcy wondered where
she
was at this moment—wondered what she was doing—wondered if she thought of him as often as he thought of her—wondered exactly how long it would be before he laid eyes on her again. Only God understood how he suffered with their separations. He had once thought of himself as an excellent choice for any young woman of a certain background. He had not realized how arrogant that was. Darcy remembered with heartclutching pain how he had wrestled with his sense of responsibility to his name and to his estate. The thought of
losing
her had made him feel utterly empty.

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