Page 19 of The Heir and Spare
Without much further delay, he was packed into his carriage and heading away from Lord Shackley’s estate.
His time with Miss Elizabeth was enlightening, certainly, and heartbreakingly enticing. She had beguiled him, heart and soul, in the short time he’d known her. Even her confusing moods, even her frowns, her uncertainty about him. She had been so increasingly important to him, such a goal for him to reach, a conquest of sorts that he wasn’t certain what to do when not in her presence. She had lit in him an intensity he’d not felt before. He could not leave her to this fate. He had resources. He had experience. And he was going to at least make certain Miss Elizabeth’s situation was improved.
With very little further thought, he rapped on the ceiling. When the driver opened up the small hatch so that he could see the man’s eyes, Darcy hesitated one moment only and then called out to him. “Change direction, man. We are off to London.”
As soon as his trunk entered the London townhome, he sent a servant after the Bow Street Runner who had helped him with his sister. If something was amiss in London withle bon ton, this man would know or discover it. Hopefully he would be as aware of the gentry typically outside of London. He could only try.
Only after he was situated in his study, waiting for news with the first bit of comfortable quiet since the news Miss Elizabeth blurted out to him, did he recall her words, “You who have been the means of destroying the happiness of a much beloved sister…”
He rubbed his forehead with thumb and forefinger. How had he ruined her happiness? She mentioned Jane, but he didn’t know Miss Jane. Miss Mary’s? He could not imagine to what she was referring. But it seemed as though she believed her own words and that her anger over his ruining of happiness was clouding all other thoughts about him. He tapped his fingers on the desk. How could he have done such a thing? He’d stood closer to Miss Mary than was probably expected of his relationship to the family, but he’d been encouraging. He’d been helpful even. Or so he assumed. Perhaps he’d been too accommodating? Did Miss Elizabeth not want Lord Perceval in her sister’s life? No, those thoughts were nonsensical. He had done nothing wrong and certainly nothing to ruin a life. He didn’t know what to make of it. But perhaps it also explained her thoughts about him, her seeming predisposition to dislike him. She was of the opinion that he had ruined her sister’s life.
A servant knocked and then stepped in when called for. “A Mr. Hopper to see you.”
If possible, the man looked darker than the last time Darcy had seen him. But underneath the low-lying hat and the shaggy hair, his eyes twinkled with an intelligence and goodness that remained the same. Darcy trusted him implicitly. And he was the best in his trade. If anyone could find Lydia Bennet, it was Mr. Earl Hopper.
Many hours passed, during which Darcy did little besides pace the floors and ponder words he could never say to Miss Elizabeth before Mr. Hopper returned to his study with a name. “I know who the man is. None other than George Wickham.”
Darcy shot to his feet with a litany of instructions, but Mr. Hopper just nodded. “Remember sir, I’ve been down this road before too. I suspect we will have the cad in hand before the sun is up.” He straightened his hat. “But I also expect we’ll be needing to move ourselves to Brighton.”
Chapter 11
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Netherfield had become insufferable. Bingley could do nothing but mope about, and his sister Caroline’s gloat was nearly as loathsome. He had at last convinced the whole party to depart but they were now insisting to travel home with him instead of to their own places of abode. “Pemberley has the only cure for what ails us all.”
He’d agreed to wait and depart with them all together, but he’d insisted that he himself was not traveling home to Pemberley just yet, so there was no need for anyone else to go.
If Fitz went to Pemberley this time of year, Arthur was certain to task him with all the responsibilities that were his.
Fitz knew they were his.
But Arthur did them so abominably well and Fitz hated them, so why should he concern himself just yet? There would be plenty of time to settle down and run the estate when he married.
And since Arthur seemed as yet in no hurry to marry or move to his own properties, Fitz was content to let his brother continue the lion share of estate running. The servants liked him better. Their steward liked him better, and Fitz suspected thateven their father had liked him better. But who could blame the world? Arthur came packaged as a responsible, likable, diligent and boring person.
Fitz smirked. The people of Meryton might have thought him the same. But he couldn’t possibly have danced with any of them, the lovely Elizabeth Bennet included. Her tongue and her temper sat wrong with him. She’d likely call him out for this behavior or that. She had a way of looking at a man and demanding more of him. And he, Fitz, was not ready to give more.
She’d obviously somehow heard hishandsome enoughcomment. He could tell by her reaction to him. It was a shame. He had no intentions of insulting people. But he’d grown tired of Bingley fussing at him. If his friend wished to enter in the good graces of the Bennet family, then so be it. Fitz would not be following suit.
And then that family turned out to be altogether too difficult in every way. Bingley had been blind to it, but they were all so irreparably socially damaging that he’d had to step in. And when Miss Jane herself didn’t look enamored, he felt duty bound to warn him off of a disastrous situation.
Who would want a mother-in-law boisterously caterwauling all day about his wealth, his children, his business, to anyone who would listen? And then discover that one’s wife was not in love after all. Fitz had shaken his head and then gone about convincing Bingley that Miss Jane did not love him.
Any possible guilt was sufficiently assuaged with the ease of the convincing. No man truly besotted could possibly be dissuaded so easily. He would move on to the next pretty face and Fitz would at last be free of the place.
Theoretically.
But alas, they were not yet free. They were waiting on Caroline and some tiff with her maid.
Darcy checked his pocket watch again. It was hard to believe Caroline and Charles Bingley were related. He was all smiles and goodness, and she? Darcy shuddered a moment. Her smiles were either tight and hinted of disapproval or leery and opportunistic. Hearing her shrill voice shriek instructions to the maid forced Darcy out of doors. His trunk was already atop the carriage. He wandered to the end of the lane at the entrance to Netherfield. It really was a lovely location; wonderful property, well situated. And the house was perfect for Charles. It was an excellent first estate for him. If not for Jane and the Bennets, Charles could have been very happy there.
Horse hooves sounded from down the lane. Fitz wasn’t really looking forward to seeing anyone, particularly not anyone local, but there was nothing for it. He could not very well escape except by running to the carriage and diving inside.
But it looked to be a man, riding his horse at breakneck speed. But as he drew closer to Netherfield gates, he eased back on the pace and came to a stop in front of Fitz.
“I’m looking for Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Fitz recovered from the surprise enough to reach out a hand with some coin for the express rider. “I am Mr. Darcy. Thank you.” He untied the scroll. “Do you wait for a response?”
