Page 27 of Wickham Likes 'Em Young
Of course, Elizabeth did not know exactly what service he had done. Not yet.
She hurried back to him with his coffee and murmured, “Mr Darcy, thank?—”
“Umm…Elizabeth, I thought you were to call me Fitzwilliam.”
“A Darcy by any other name would smell as sweet,” she quipped. “Although I do not actually knowwhythat should be so. It seems like you should be quite as odiferous as Mr Rushmore, our blacksmith, since you have been travelling andriding and walking and rescuing Bennets, for days now. How do you still smell like sandalwood and cloves?”
Darcy threw his head back and laughed, then ducked his head in embarrassment and quieted down. The sun was now well up, but the night had been so badly interrupted, of course there were people still abed.
Elizabeth said, “Laughter is not an answer. Dear Fitzwilliam, this is deeply unfair that you can smell so well after the two or three days you have just had. How?”
He chuckled one more time and said, “I blame my valet. I have been able to squeeze in regular wash sessions and a bath, so it was not all riding and rescuing…”
Elizabeth returned his affectionate gaze, and he said, “Besides, lovely Lizzy, you smell even more delightful.” Darcy pulled her gently onto the sofa next to him and held her two hands in the hand that was not holding his coffee cup. She looked down at her hands, which managed to look quite dainty within his.
Hill arrived with a tray. She put it down on a large table and then carried a smaller table to be convenient to the sofa, where she arranged all the foods. Rolls and lemon cakes. A tart pippin apple cut into wedges. Several hard-boiled eggs. Slices of ham and cheese. A butter dish and a pot of jam. Plates and utensils.
“I thought maybe you were hungrier than you knew, Will.”
“Will?”
“Well, I cannot always say four syllables, and I hate the idea of calling you Fitz.”
Darcy flinched, an expression of pain flashing onto his face but as rapidly disappearing. He asked in careful, neutral tones, “Why should you hate that nickname?”
Elizabeth covered her face with her hands. “I had a nightmare, and Mr Wickham was terrible to you. And one wayhe was being horrible was that he was taunting you…and he kept calling you…Fitz.”
Darcy carefully put his cup down and held her in a tender embrace. “Elizabeth, that is quite odd, because Wickham does call me ‘Fitz.’ And I hate it. Because I despise the name, nobody else uses it but of course he continues to do so since he wishes to upset me by doing so.”
Nuzzling her neck, Darcy said, “I hope you will eat a little with me, keep me company, and then we can go to the bookroom. I owe your father and you a report of last night’s—or, rather, this morning’s—events…”
CHAPTER 12
6 November 1811
The bad news was that Darcy had not even seen Mr Wickham during his search and rescue ride the night before.
Elizabeth’s message informed him of Lydia’s attempted elopement, Jane’s actual disappearance, the hunting lodge, the hollow in the oak tree, little Abigail Raymondson and young Franklin. Darcy had enlisted the help of his two footmen, a stable hand, and one of Bingley’s footmen. They had saddled up and followed Darcy’s plan to search for Jane, Mr Wickham, or both.
“With my expertise of all things Wickham,” Darcy said, “I knew that his boss was probably more swindler than barrister. I had asked around a bit before I encountered you with Wickham in the bookshop yesterday, and discovered that Wickham and Nelson have been renting a room at the White Stag. The two have spent many a late night drinking and playing cards there.
“So I went with Jackson to the White Stag and had the other three men scouring the lanes and roads, the meadows and fields, and eventually the nearby woodlands. Of course, I asked that they check the hunting lodge and the oak tree as well, even though you had already investigated them.”
Mr Bennet asked, “Why didtwoof you go to the inn?”
Darcy shrugged a little and said, “Some folks will tell more truths to someone dressed like themselves, and some folks will be more forthcoming to anyone dressed well. Jackson and I went into the inn separately, dressed quite differently. I wore an outfit I could wear to a rout in Town, and Jackson was dressed in quite common and threadbare clothing.
“Jackson went inside first and ascertained that Nelson had been in the common room of the inn from around nine until nearly two in the morning. He went upstairs quite drunk and, one man opined, utterly broke.”
“And Mr Wickham?” Elizabeth asked.
“Nobody had seen him at all, apparently. In case I got different answers, I went swishing into the place and asked in a really arrogant way loads of questions about the two fellows, and after I characterised them as the worst form of miscreants, I heard the same information.”
“So you never heard anything about Mr Wickham’s movements last night?”
“Nothing. I will try again today.”
Elizabeth’s father made an impatient noise. “But what about Jane?”
