Page 58 of Unwillingly Mrs. Darcy
Darcy inclined his head slightly but said nothing. His mind was already racing ahead, trying to think what he could do to stop this. There was no time for old wounds, no time to lose.
“They must be found at once,” his aunt said, saying what they were all thinking.
Lord Matlock let out a short, dry chuckle, shaking his head in weary amusement. “I must say, Catherine, I am astonished to see you so invested in Miss Bennet’s fate.”
She turned to him with a look of disdain, her expression unmoved by his subtle mockery. “Do not be ridiculous, Henry. I care little for the girl. I have never even met her.” Her tone was clipped, dismissive, as though the very notion were beneath her. “The entire Bennet family is beneath our notice, and I still think so.”
Darcy stiffened, his jaw tightening as anger flared within him. His aunt’s arrogance had always been insufferable, but to speak so when Elizabeth’s sister was in danger—when Elizabeth herself would be devastated—was intolerable. He fixed her with a glare.
Lady Catherine, unbothered as ever, returned his look evenly before continuing, “However, if this foolish girl is not stopped, the consequences will be far-reaching. It will not merely be her own ruin, but that of her entire family. Which means it will affect our family. We will be talked about like common peasants, our good name sullied.” She exhaled sharply, as if the very idea was offensive. “And nobody wants that.”
Darcy forced himself to release a slow, steady breath. Regarding the present situation, she was entirely correct. A scandal of this magnitude would taint not only Mary Bennet but her sisters as well—including Elizabeth. The thought was unbearable.
Richard, who had been watching the exchange with a frown, finally spoke. “I will make enquiries within the militia. If Wickham has taken Mary, someone will have heard something. He was never particularly discreet.” He glanced at Darcy. “If I can track his movements, we may not have to go far.”
Lady Catherine nodded approvingly. “That is well. But it may not be enough. If they mean to marry, they will go to Gretna Green.” She turned to Lord Matlock, her sharp eyes narrowing. “We must send someone there immediately.”
Lord Matlock let out a sigh, rubbing his temple as though he already regretted what he was about to say. “I will send Gregory.”
Richard let out a low chuckle. “I am sure he will be delighted.”
His father shot him a warning glance, but there was no real censure in it. Gregory, as the eldest son and heir to Matlock, rarely concerned himself with family affairs unless absolutely necessary. This would hardly be an assignment to his liking. Still, Darcy knew he could be trusted and would do it if asked.
Darcy, still gripping the letter, felt his focus narrowing. The conversation continued around him, but his thoughts had already begun shifting towards action. He had no time for further debate.
“I will return to Pemberley,” he declared. His voice was steady, decisive. “Someone there may know something—perhaps a servant, perhaps someone in the village. If Wickham had any previous communication with Mary, there will be traces of it.”
Lady Catherine studied him for a moment before inclining her head. “And I will do what I can to suppress the gossip before it spreads too widely. If we act quickly, we may yet prevent complete disgrace.”
The weight of their task settled upon them. Each had their part to play. The sense of urgency was thick in the air as they prepared to depart, their paths set.
As Darcy turned, already anticipating the long journey ahead, a voice halted him.
“Fitzwilliam.”
He turned back, surprised to see Lady Catherine watching him intently. There was something different in her expression—not quite regret, but something less imperious than before.
“I never meant to harm you,” she said, her voice softer than he had ever heard it. “Though I still think it would have been best had you and Anne wed as intended.”
Darcy stared at her, his body rigid. The memory of her cruel words to Elizabeth, the way she had tried to tear them apart, still burned in his mind.
“Then we will always disagree,” he said evenly, his voice devoid of anger but firm, nonetheless.
Lady Catherine regarded him for a moment, her mouth pressing into a thin line. “I suppose we shall. I only hope that this will not mean we shall never see one another again.”
Darcy hesitated. It was not quite an apology—Lady Catherine de Bourgh did not apologise—but it was, in its ownway, an overture of peace. He had not expected it, and though he was still too raw to consider it deeply, he could not deny that it moved something within him.
He gave her a slight bow. “In time, we shall find a way to accept our difference in opinion but now I must tend to this matter. Good evening, Aunt.”
She nodded once before turning away, as composed as ever.
Darcy exhaled and turned on his heel. There was no time to dwell on family discord, no time to consider what Lady Catherine’s words might mean for the future.
There was only one thought in his mind now.
He must return to Pemberley.
He must return to Elizabeth.
