Page 56 of Grief and Grievances
“Your words are unwelcome, sir,” Elizabeth retorted, her indignation rising. “Let me pass immediately.”
“Or what?” he challenged, moving closer to her, his breath warm against her cheek, smelling of stale liquor. “What would Mr. Darcy do if he knew you were here, alone and vulnerable, with a man he despises? Would he still wish to make you his wife?”
Shocked that he could know of the proposal—how was it possible?—Elizabeth lifted her chin, trying not to show her sudden fear. “Mr. Darcy’s opinion of me is none of your concern,” she replied, her voice quavering despite her efforts to maintain her composure.
“Isn’t it?” Wickham pressed, his eyes gleaming with malice. “You see, Miss Bennet, I believe that Mr. Darcy has wronged me in the most grievous manner, and I intend to exact my revenge by compromising the woman he so foolishly adores.”
“Your intentions are despicable!” Elizabeth cried, her heart pounding with fear and fury. She searched desperately for an escape route, but with each passing moment, Wickham seemed to grow more determined, and her situation more dire.
“Despicable, perhaps,” he acknowledged, grinning cruelly. “But effective, nonetheless. And who knows? You might even find that you prefer my company to that of your precious Mr. Darcy.” His hand curled around her wrist in a cruel, punishing grip, and he began to drag her deeper into the woods.
In a desperate attempt to free herself from Wickham’s menacing grasp, Elizabeth tried to wrench her wrist away. But the more she struggled, the tighter his grip became.
“Unhand me, sir!” she cried out, her voice choked with indignation and panic.
“Quiet now, Miss Bennet,” Wickham hissed, his eyes darting around their secluded location. “We wouldn’t want to draw any unwanted attention.”
Elizabeth most certainly did want to attract attention. She opened her mouth and screamed, hoping desperately to be overheard, though she feared it might be hopeless. The lane was not particularly well travelled, and there were no houses close enough that any residents might hear her.
“What are you doing to my sister?” a shrill voice cried, and Wickham whipped around, cursing under his breath.
Lydia stood between two trees, eyes wide as she stared at them, taking in Elizabeth’s flushed, panicked expression and Wickham’s hand clamped tight around her wrist.
“You little…” Wickham’s expression turned murderous, and he started forward, dragging Elizabeth with him.
Suddenly afraid he would hurt Lydia, Elizabeth shouted “Run, Lydia, get help!”
She saw Lydia’s expression change from bewilderment to shock, and then sudden, absolute fury.
“Unhand her, you brute!” Lydia cried, her voice shrill with anger and fear.
“Stay out of this, girl!” Wickham snarled at Lydia, his handsome features twisted into a malevolent sneer. “This is none of your concern.”
“Mr. Wickham,” Lydia said, her tone icy and resolute, “I will not allow you to harm my sister any further.” She stooped and snatched up a large fallen branch, its jagged end sharp enough to cause serious injury if wielded with sufficient force.
“Let her go!” Lydia commanded, brandishing the makeshift weapon like a sword.
“Or what?” Wickham challenged, his eyes flicking between Elizabeth and the branch in Lydia’s grasp.
“Or I shall strike you down where you stand!” Lydia shouted, a tremble in her voice betraying her fear, but she stood firm, ready to defend her sister. Elizabeth had never felt more proud of her.
“Lydia, be careful,” Elizabeth whispered, her eyes pleading with her sister to tread cautiously, even as she silently praised her for her courage.
“Enough of this foolishness!” Wickham spat, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You will not dare to touch me!”
“Try me,” Lydia retorted, her grip on the branch tightening.
“Very well,” Wickham growled, lunging towards Lydia. But before he could reach her, Lydia swung the branch with all her might, striking him hard across the shoulder and the side of his head, briefly stunning him.
Wickham’s grip on Elizabeth loosened as he struggled to regain his composure from the unexpected blow. Seizing the opportunity, she raised her foot and delivered a swift, forceful kick to his shin. The man cried out in pain, his face contorting with fury as he finally let go of her wrist.
“Run, Lydia!” Elizabeth shouted, grabbing her sister’s hand and pulling her away from the seething Wickham. There was no time for hesitation or expressions of gratitude; their escape depended on speed.
The sisters dashed through the undergrowth, leaves and branches whipping at their faces as they fled. Their breaths came in short, ragged gasps, and Elizabeth could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage like a caged bird desperate to break free. But she refused to let fear control her; she would not allow Wickham to succeed in his wicked plan.
“Mark my words!” Wickham’s voice echoed through the woods, full of venom and malice. “You will regret crossing me!”
Though his threats sent shivers down Elizabeth’s spine, she knew she had to remain steadfast. Her sister’s safety, as well as her own, depended on their determination to escape him.
