Page 58 of Grief and Grievances
“Trust in Mr. Darcy’s love, Lizzy,” Jane urged gently, her eyes shining with sincerity. “His devotion to you is evident—surely he will understand your reasons for confiding in him.”
“Very well,” Elizabeth acquiesced, her resolve bolstered by her sister’s unwavering support. “I shall speak with Mr. Darcy at the earliest opportunity.”
“Remember,” Jane added, squeezing her hand reassuringly, “in matters of the heart, honesty is our greatest ally.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth murmured, her thoughts turning to the difficult conversation that lay ahead. Going to the table, she opened the drawer containing the writing materials and took out paper and pen to compose a letter to Mr. Darcy, urging him to call upon her at his earliest convenience.
“Dearest Mr. Darcy,” she began, her pen gliding across the parchment with uncharacteristic hesitance, “I find myself compelled to request your presence on a matter of great urgency and delicacy.” Her brow furrowed as she struggled to convey her thoughts without betraying the gravity of the situation, for she wished neither to alarm him unduly nor to give cause for unnecessary speculation.
“Pray, do not be overly concerned,” she continued, “but I believe it is essential that we speak in person, as the matter pertains to both our interests, and those of your dear sister. If you could arrange to visit Longbourn posthaste, I should be most grateful.”
As the ink dried upon the page, Elizabeth read over her words, her heart pounding with a mixture of trepidation and resolve. She knew that inviting Darcy to call under such circumstances would inevitably arouse suspicions among her family; yet she was determined to safeguard Georgiana’s reputation and protect Darcy from further harm at the hands of the nefarious Wickham.
“Is it truly right to burden him with this?” she mused, her fingers absently tracing the contours of the gilded inkwell that sat upon her writing desk. “Yet what choice have I? To remain silent would be an act of unforgivable cowardice—a betrayal of the trust he has so reluctantly placed in me.”
Her decision made, she took a deep breath and folded the parchment neatly, sealing it with a drop of wax before tasking a servant to deliver the missive to Mr. Darcy’s residence at Netherfield Park. As she watched the messenger depart, her thoughts turned to the man who had so unexpectedly captured her heart—a man whose devotion had weathered scorn, misunderstanding, and now, perhaps, the most insidious threat of all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thesunhadjustbegun to set, casting a golden glow upon Netherfield’s elegant façade as Mr. Darcy paced the length of the study. His brow furrowed, and his heart pounded in his chest as he clutched a hastily penned letter in his hand.
“Pray, call on me immediately,” Elizabeth’s words echoed in his mind, and he could not fathom what could be so urgent as to warrant her desperate plea. The letter offered no explanation, only a sense of urgency that could not be ignored. He longed to hear her voice, to see her smile and feel the warmth of her presence, but anxiety gnawed at him, leaving no room for pleasant anticipation.
“Is everything quite well, brother?” Georgiana asked hesitantly from the doorway, her wide eyes filled with concern. She had not seen Darcy in such a state since the unfortunate affair with Wickham.
“Elizabeth has requested my immediate presence at Longbourn,” Darcy replied, his voice strained as he fought to maintain composure. “I am uncertain as to the reason.”
“Surely there must be an explanation,” Georgiana murmured, wringing her hands together as she stepped further into the room. “You must go to her, Fitzwilliam.”
“Indeed, I must,” he agreed, folding the letter and slipping it into his pocket. “I have ordered my horse saddled and will be off as soon as he is brought around.”
“Your horse is ready, sir,” the butler announced just then from the doorway.
“You must go to her now.” Georgiana insisted. “Do not delay a moment.”
“Thank you, dear sister,” Darcy replied, pausing to embrace her tightly. “I shall return as soon as I am able, and I promise to bring news of Elizabeth’s well-being.”
“Safe travels, Fitzwilliam,” Georgiana whispered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she released him. “Please, give Elizabeth my warmest regards.”
“Of course,” he murmured, before hurrying outside to collect his horse.
As he galloped towards Longbourn, Darcy could not help but reflect on the emotional tumult that had characterised his relationship with Elizabeth thus far. Despite their numerous misunderstandings, he found himself irrevocably drawn to her wit, intelligence, and vivacity. The thought of losing her—or of witnessing her in distress—was unbearable.
“Dear God,” he prayed silently, “grant me the strength to support her in her hour of need.” And with that fervent plea, he steeled himself for whatever awaited him at Longbourn, determined to stand by Elizabeth’s side no matter the cost.
Upon arrival at Longbourn, Darcy scarcely waited for his horse to come to a halt before dismounting, his heart pounding in his chest. Inhaling deeply, he attempted to compose himself, aware that displaying his anxiety would only serve to further unnerve Elizabeth.
Elizabeth herself opened the door to him, obviously awaiting his arrival, and Darcy’s breath caught in his throat. Her usually rosy cheeks were pale and her eyes, once animated and sparkling with wit, now held an unmistakable shadow of fear.
“Elizabeth,” he gasped as she led him into the parlour and closed the door, “what has happened? You are clearly distressed.”
“Mr. Darcy,” she responded shakily, “I must tell you... it was Wickham.” She hesitated for a moment, as if gathering courage. “He accosted me in the woods today. I know not what might have occurred had Lydia not chanced upon us and intervened.”
“Good God!” Darcy exclaimed, his hands curling into fists as fury coursed through his veins. The very thought of Wickham laying hands on his beloved Elizabeth filled him with a primal anger, one he struggled to keep in check. “Are you injured, my dearest?”
“No, thanks to Lydia,” she replied, a mixture of gratitude and incredulity in her voice. “I am merely shaken.”
“Thank heaven,” Darcy breathed, stepping closer to her and tentatively placing a hand on her shoulder, seeking to offer solace without overstepping the bounds of propriety. “I cannot express how relieved I am to know you are unharmed.”
