13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

The billiard room at Netherfield was warm and cosy, a fire crackling in the grate warding off the winter chill. Darcy stood to one side, leaning on his cue, contemplative. He stared at the billiard balls, unseeing, his mind drifting. He could almost see Elizabeth Bennet's smile, hear her witty words. How he longed to see her again, but he had no excuse to visit Longbourn just now. Bingley had promised they would go that afternoon, and he would have to be content with that.

Bingley was much more relaxed, calling out, "Darcy, stop wool-gathering and come on! I am going to beat you hollow this time!" He leaned over the table, lining up his shot, and the balls clicked together. Darcy smiled slightly, shaking his head. Bingley was so open, so easy-going.

"That is highly unlikely, Bingley," he said, moving forward to take his own shot. "You are a terrible player."

Bingley laughed. "I do not care, I enjoy it anyway. And I am looking forward to our visit to Longbourn this afternoon. I am sure Miss Bennet will be pleased to see me."

Darcy did not respond, but he was sure Elizabeth would be pleased to see him too. He bent over the table, lining up his shot, and the balls clicked together again. The fire crackled in the grate, and the light from the lamps reflected off the green baize of the table.

The door opened, and Darcy straightened, looking over his shoulder. It was the butler, Hobson, a look of consternation on his face. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy," he said, "but a maid named Martha has brought an urgent message from Longbourn."

Martha entered the billiard room at a near-run when Hobson beckoned her in, her clothes wet and bedraggled, her hair dishevelled, her face pale with fear. Her eyes were wide and her hands trembling. She tried to curtsey but nearly stumbled over her own feet. "Oh, sir, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy," her words spilled over each other, almost incoherent in her haste. "Oh sir, oh, it's terrible, Mr. Collins, he proposed first to Miss Elizabeth and then to Miss Mary, and they both, oh sir, they both said no, and then he – then he –" Her voice broke. "He threw them out of Longbourn, sir. He threw all the ladies out."

Darcy's immediate reaction to Martha's news was one of utter shock. He froze, staring at her, unable to move. The warmth and cosiness of the billiard room seemed a million miles away; Darcy felt suddenly cold, numb. His hands tightened on the billiard cue he held, as if he could find some anchor in the smooth wood, and his face paled at the enormity of what Martha had said .

He could not breathe for a moment, and his mind seemed to have stopped working. Collins had proposed to Elizabeth? Collins had dared to propose to Elizabeth? He dared, knowing of Darcy's prior claim? Darcy's mind reeled with the enormity of the insult, the affront to his sense of propriety, the offence to his honour. His pride and his deep feelings for Elizabeth combined in a rush of possessiveness and anger. How dare Collins? How dare he?

Martha was still trembling, her wide eyes fixed on Bingley, her lips still moving in a panicked litany of words.

Bingley recovered first. He stepped forward, his face flushed with worry, his voice urgent. "Martha, where are they now? Where are the Bennets?"

Darcy stood still, his mind reeling from the shock. He could not move, could not think. His eyes widened as he processed the rest of Martha's words. Collins had proposed to Elizabeth, and then to Mary? He had thrown the Bennet family out of Longbourn? It was unthinkable. And yet, Martha was clearly speaking the truth.

"Where are they now? Where are the Bennets?" Bingley's voice seemed to come from a long way away, and Darcy's mind began to work again. Elizabeth. Elizabeth out in this weather, in the snow, in the cold, with her sisters and her mother. Elizabeth in danger. He would not have it. He would not allow it.

He forced himself to think. Collins had thrown the Bennets out. They would have had to leave Longbourn on foot, in the snow. Where would they go? They would not have gone to Meryton; it was too far in such weather. No, they would have gone to Lucas Lodge. The Lucases were their close friends, and Lucas Lodge was the closest gentry home. It was not so far, less than a mile from Longbourn, but in this weather...

Darcy's mind worked quickly. He knew the area well, had ridden around it often enough. Lucas Lodge was the most logical place for the Bennets to seek refuge. And he would not allow Elizabeth, or her sisters, to be in danger a moment longer than necessary.

"They will have gone to Lucas Lodge," Darcy said, his voice steadying as he thought it through. "If they left Longbourn on foot, they would have gone to Lucas Lodge. It is the closest house, and the Lucases are their friends." He looked at Bingley, his eyes urgent. "We must go there at once."

Bingley turned sharply to his housekeeper, who had followed Martha into the room, his expression a mixture of concern and determination. "Mrs Aberdeen, please take Martha to the kitchens and get her warmed up. She is wet through and shivering." His voice was urgent, but clear, and he glanced at Martha again. The girl was trembling, soaked to the skin, her cap awry and her face as white as a sheet.

"Yes, sir," Mrs Aberdeen said, her skirts rustling as she hurried to Martha's side. "Come along, my girl, and we'll get you a hot drink and some dry clothes." She put a comforting arm around the maid and led her from the room.

Bingley turned back to Hobson, his voice firm. "Have the carriage made ready at once!" He strode to the door, calling for his valet. "I will not have Jane and her sisters in danger," he said grimly, and Darcy felt a rush of admiration for his friend's decisiveness. Bingley might be a little too easily swayed by others' opinions, but when it came to those he cared for, he could be as firm and determined as any man.

Darcy was still processing the shock of what he had heard, but Bingley's orders spurred him into action. They would go to Lucas Lodge, and they would find Elizabeth and her family safe. They must be safe .

The snow was relentless as the carriage set off for Lucas Lodge, a thick curtain of white that reduced visibility to mere feet and added a sense of danger to their journey. The crunch of the snow under the carriage wheels was loud in the silence, and even inside the carriage Darcy could feel the cold seeping through his thick clothing.

How much worse must it be for Elizabeth and her family, he thought, forced out of their home into the snow and the cold. They must be suffering terribly, cold and frightened and vulnerable. Darcy's fear for Elizabeth's safety was a tight knot in his chest, and he could only hope that they would reach Lucas Lodge quickly.

The carriage pulled up to Lucas Lodge through the heavy snowfall after what felt like hours, the crunch of the wheels on the snow loud in the stillness. The cold was biting, even inside the carriage, and Darcy shivered as he stepped down. He could see his breath misting in the air, and he pulled his greatcoat tighter around him. Lucas Lodge was a welcoming sight, though, warm light spilling from the windows and a sense of refuge about it. Darcy could only hope that the Bennets were safe inside.

He had no time to worry about his own comfort, though. His heart was in his throat, his mind filled with images of Elizabeth, cold and frightened and vulnerable. He hurried up the steps to the front door, Bingley at his side, and they were admitted at once.

"Mr. Darcy!" Jane Bennet jumped to her feet as he entered the parlour, her face tear-streaked, her golden hair dishevelled, her hands trembling. She saw Bingley come in behind Darcy and almost threw herself into his arms, sobbing his name. "Oh, Charles, Charles!"

For a moment, Bingley held Jane close, murmuring words of comfort. Then he pulled back, and Darcy was startled to see his friend's expression change. His jaw set, his eyes steely with determination. " You shall go to London," he said, his voice filled with urgency. "All of you. It is not safe for you to remain here."

Darcy stepped forward. "Miss Bennet, Bingley is quite right. You must go to London, and at once. I would be honoured to offer you the use of my house there. It is large and comfortable, with ample staff, and in a secure and affluent part of town." He glanced at Bingley, who nodded his agreement. "You would be most welcome, and I am certain my sister would be delighted to make your acquaintance."

Elizabeth rose from her seat then, her expression resolute. "Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, we are most grateful for your kind offer. But I fear our departure will not be so simple. We cannot leave Longbourn's servants to Mr. Collins's tender mercies. Every one of them walked out with us, and they are all here. We cannot leave them behind, and we cannot take them all to London with us."

Darcy looked at Elizabeth, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright with determination, and felt his heart swell with love for her. Even in this extremity, her first thought was for those below her station. A woman like that would be a fine Mistress of Pemberley, he thought. "Miss Elizabeth, I promise you this. Every one of your servants will be found a new position, with excellent references. And I will personally pay each and every one of them a year's wages in advance, so that they need not return to Longbourn."

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Mrs Bennet burst into tears, but this time they were tears of gratitude.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Darcy!" Her face was flushed, her eyes glistening with genuine gratitude, and she clutched at Darcy's coat, stammering her thanks. "Thank you, sir, thank you, thank you!"

"Madam, it is no more than you deserve," Darcy said quietly .

It was Mrs Hill, Longbourn's unflappable housekeeper, who stepped forward, her calm demeanour evident as she gently patted Mrs Bennet's shoulder, her voice soft and soothing.

"There, madam, there, it will all be well now."

Darcy observed the scene for a moment, Mrs Bennet calming quickly, then looked at Mrs Hill. "Mrs Hill, I think it is clear that Mrs Bennet would be most grateful if you would remain with her as her companion."

Elizabeth could only stare at Mr. Darcy, her eyes filling with tears of relief and gratitude. She had not cried, not once, not since the moment Mr. Collins had thrown them all out of Longbourn. She had not dared to, knowing that she could not afford to, that she must be strong for her mother and sisters, for Jane, for Lydia and Kitty, who were only frightened children, for Mary, who had been so badly shaken by Mr. Collins's proposal and then his bullying of her. And for the servants, who had so loyally walked out with them, even though it meant they too had no home now.

But now, in this moment, she could feel the tears welling up, though she fought to hold them back. For it seemed that Mr. Darcy was determined to take all her problems away. He would see her family safe to London, he would see her servants safe and cared for, and now it seemed he would even see the beloved Mrs Hill stay with her mother, giving Mrs Bennet a bulwark she so desperately needed in her grief.

Mrs Hill stepped forward, her calm expression belying the emotion Elizabeth could see in her eyes. "Miss Lizzy, it will be all right," she said softly, and Elizabeth could not help but think that Mrs Hill had been saying those words to her since she was a tiny girl. Then Mrs Hill turned to Mr. Darcy, and curtsied deeply. "Sir, I thank you for your kindness and generosity. I have always been proud to serve the Bennet family, and I would be honoured to continue to do so in the capacity you suggest."

"You shall do so for as long as you are willing," Mr. Darcy said firmly, and Hill curtsied again, even deeper.

Elizabeth blinked back her tears and looked around the room. They had been fortunate, to be sure, that Sir William and Lady Lucas had been at home and able to take them in. Lucas Lodge was a warm and comfortable house, though not as large as Longbourn. The parlour which they now stood was a bright and cheerful room, the walls painted a sunny yellow. The fire was burning brightly, tea and cakes served to warm the cold and wet refugees. It was a warm and welcoming place, and Elizabeth was glad that at least her family had been able to take refuge here. It was bitterly cold outside, the snow falling thick and fast.

She could not stop the tears of relief that were falling from her eyes, try though she might. She could not have wished for a better reaction than they were receiving from Mr. Bingley and especially Mr. Darcy; despite her brave words to her sisters and mother, Elizabeth had been very much afraid. Fishing her handkerchief from her pocket, she pressed it to her eyes and tried to regulate her breathing.

Darcy could not look at Elizabeth's tears. He wanted to, oh, how he wanted to, wanted to take her in his arms and soothe her, to press her head to his shoulder and stroke her hair, to whisper in her ear that she need not cry, that he would take care of everything, that she would never need to cry again. But he could not. It would not be proper. He had already overstepped the bounds of propriety in speaking as he had, but he had not been able to stop himself.

Lucas Lodge was a warm and comfortable house, and it was a welcome contrast to the bitter cold outside. It was a warm and welcoming place, and Darcy was glad that at least the Bennets had been able to take refuge here.

"Lady Lucas," Darcy said, turning to their hostess. "I thank you for your kindness in taking in the Bennet family in these difficult circumstances. However, I think you will agree that Netherfield is far better equipped to accommodate them, at least for the night, as obviously it is too late to set off for London today."

Bingley immediately nodded. "Of course, Darcy, you are quite right. My carriage is here, ladies, let me convey as many of you as will fit to Netherfield at once."

"Oh! Oh!" Mrs Bennet burst into tears again, but this time they were tears of gratitude and relief. "Oh, Mr. Bingley, you are too kind! Oh, my poor nerves! Oh, my poor girls!"

"Madam, you are quite safe now," Bingley said firmly.

"Easy, Mama." Elizabeth placed her hand on her mother's shoulder. "Perhaps, Mr. Bingley, if you can take Jane and Mama, and Mrs Hill, and… probably Kitty and Lydia?" She glanced at her sister Mary, who nodded calmly, though Darcy noticed Mary's hands were gripped together so tightly that her knuckles were white. "Mary and I will wait here."

"You are being very brave, Miss Elizabeth," Bingley said approvingly. "Darcy will stay with you until the carriage returns, and I will send another for your servants. Lacy Lucas, thank you so much for taking the Bennets in, but Netherfield will be their refuge now."

"Of course, Mr. Bingley," Lady Lucas said warmly. "I am sure we will all be glad to see the Bennet family safe and comfortable at Netherfield."

"Thank you," Bingley said, and turned towards the door. "Mrs Bennet, ladies, let us be on our way."

The warmth of Lucas Lodge was a sharp contrast to the bitter cold outside. The snow was falling thick and fast, the wind blowing hard and cold. Darcy shivered as he stepped outside, the cold biting at his face. The snow was already several inches deep, and it was still falling heavily. He was glad, at least, that the Bennets had not had far to walk from Longbourn to Lucas Lodge, in such weather.

Jane was still crying, clinging to Bingley's arm, and Darcy was not sure she would have been able to walk without his support. Kitty and Lydia were shivering, their faces pale with fear. Darcy was not surprised that they were afraid. Kitty and Lydia were still just children really, for all their silliness around militia officers, and they had just been thrown out of their home in the middle of winter by a man who was supposed to be their protector.

Bingley helped Mrs Bennet into the carriage first, then Mrs Hill. Darcy was a little surprised to see Mrs Hill take Mrs Bennet's hand and pat it comfortingly. Certainly Mrs Bennet seemed to appreciate Mrs Hill's presence.

"Miss Bennet," Bingley said, his voice soft with concern, and Jane managed a weak smile as she allowed him to hand her up into the carriage.

"Miss Kitty, Miss Lydia, come now," Bingley said, and the two girls scrambled into the carriage, Kitty still shivering and Lydia clinging to her sister's hand .

Bingley turned to Darcy. "I will send the carriage back directly, Darcy, and another to convey the Bennets' servants. We'll have everyone safe under Netherfield's roof before nightfall."

Returning inside Lucas Lodge once the carriage had rattled away, Darcy's gaze fixed on Elizabeth. She had slumped into her chair, her eyes closed, and he could see the weariness and tension in every line of her body. His heart ached for her, and he felt a strange, sharp pang of... something. Not quite jealousy, but the thought that another man had dared to propose to Elizabeth, that another man had dared to believe he could win her hand, was like a knife in his gut. He wanted to stride across the room, take her in his arms and tell her that he would take care of everything, that he would protect her and her family from Mr. Collins and anyone else who tried to harm them.

He couldn't, of course. He was barely able to admit to himself that he loved Elizabeth, let alone make such an admission to her. He could only stand and watch, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, his heart in his eyes. The parlour at Lucas Lodge was warm, a bright fire crackling in the hearth and the walls painted a sunny yellow. The snow was still falling heavily outside, he could see it through the window, and the contrast between the warmth of the room and the bitter cold outside was stark. He had just come in from the cold, his cheeks and nose still stinging from the wind, and he couldn't imagine how Elizabeth must have felt, walking through the snow with her sisters and their servants, not knowing what welcome they would receive at Lucas Lodge.

She was exhausted, he could see that. She had had to be strong for her mother and sisters. She had had to leave her home, the only home she had ever known, and now she was here, safe for the moment but with no idea what the future would bring. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how. He didn't know what to say, what to do .

She must be so tired, Darcy thought. He took a step towards her, then another. The fire crackled in the hearth, the light streamed in through the windows, and the tension in the air was almost palpable. Darcy found himself standing before her, not knowing what to say.

Elizabeth's eyes were still closed. Darcy looked down at her, his heart in his mouth. He wanted to take her in his arms, to comfort her, to tell her that he would take care of everything, that she need not worry. He could not, of course. He could only stand there, feeling helpless, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

After a moment, he moved, taking a seat beside her. His movements were cautious, hesitant, as though he feared to startle her. He did not know what to say. He did not know what he could say, what words would be of any comfort to her. He wanted to tell her that he would take care of everything, that she need not worry, but he could not. He could only sit there, looking at her, his heart in his eyes.

Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open. She looked up at him, and for a long moment they simply stared at one another. Darcy was the first to break the silence, though he would not have spoken if he had known what was coming. "Elizabeth," he said softly, and she smiled wearily at him.

"I knew you would come," she said, her voice so soft he could barely hear her, but he heard the words nonetheless.

Darcy could only sit there, a lump in his throat, unable to speak. He wanted to reach out, to take her hand, but he feared she would pull away from him, and he could not bear that. He did not know what to say, what he could say. He sat there, helpless, unable to offer her any comfort.

Outside, the snow was still falling heavily, and Darcy shuddered at the thought of Elizabeth and her sisters walking through it. He reached out tentatively, his hand trembling .

Elizabeth did not hesitate. She put her hand in his, her fingers curling around his. Even through his gloves, he could feel that her fingers were cold.

Darcy did not know what to feel. He was jealous, he realised, of Bingley, who had been able to comfort Jane. He was helpless to do anything for Elizabeth, and yet he loved her so much that it was a physical ache in his chest. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but he could not. Such an action would be unforgivable, and she would never allow it.

His gaze was fixed on her face. She looked so tired, so worn, and yet he could see that she was relieved. Her family was safe, and they would be cared for. With her hand in his, he felt a profound connection to her in that moment.

The only thing he could say was the truth that came from his heart, a truth he suddenly realised had come to define his very being. He squeezed her hand gently and looked into those dear eyes, their sparkle dulled with exhaustion.

"I will always come for you," he said softly, the words holding the solemn weight of a vow.