Chapter Twelve

Elizabeth

26 th November 1811

The King’s Head Inn, Dunstable

T he following morning, Elizabeth awoke to a feeling of disorientation. The room was still veiled in darkness, save for the light streaming in through the edges of the curtains. The unfamiliar surroundings only added to her confusion, but then, in a rush, it all came flooding back—the retreat from home, the unexpected rescue by Mr Darcy and his sister, and her current predicament.

“Maggie?” she called softly, turning to her right, but the spot where Maggie had been sleeping was empty. She sat up with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. Where was she? Swiftly swinging her legs out of bed, Elizabeth was immediately greeted by the biting chill of the floor. The other bed in the corner, which had been occupied by Georgiana, was likewise empty. Could Georgiana have taken Maggie for a walk? The thought unsettled Elizabeth. It would be most unwise and dangerous for Maggie to go anywhere without her.

She hurriedly dressed and, pausing only for a moment to consider whether to knock on Mr Darcy’s door to see if he might know where Georgiana had gone. However, she thought better of it and, with her nerves fraying, she rushed downstairs.

Descending the stairs, she passed several fellow guests moving in the opposite direction. The tantalising aroma of food caused her stomach to rumble. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told her it was just past half-past seven—breakfast time.

As she reached the doorway to the dining hall, Elizabeth stopped short, greeted by a sound that was both surprising and heartening—Maggie’s laughter.

Georgiana sat at a nearby table with Maggie beside her, and opposite them was Mr Darcy. To Elizabeth’s astonishment, he had two bread rolls skewered on forks, which he was moving across the table in a playful manner, making them dance back and forth. This was evidently the source of Maggie’s gleeful laughter. Elizabeth felt a wave of relief at seeing Maggie so well looked after and in such pleasant company. A smile tugged at her lips as she gazed at Mr Darcy, finding him quite transformed in her eyes.

The previous night, he had reassured her in a way she had not realised she needed. Now, here he was, amusing a child with such playful grace. Elizabeth regretted ever having thought so ill of him, even accusing him of abandoning her by the roadside only the day before. But no—Mr Darcy had done his utmost to comfort her, and now, he was entertaining Maggie with surprising tenderness.

Just then, Maggie noticed her and leapt from her chair, rushing towards her. The little girl clapped her hands twice, the signal Elizabeth had taught her to indicate her name. Elizabeth smiled warmly as Maggie mimicked Mr Darcy’s earlier motions with the bread rolls, giggling as she did so.

“Do you like that game?” Elizabeth asked, taking Maggie’s hand and leading her back to the table. Maggie nodded enthusiastically and hurried back to her seat, pointing eagerly at the rolls. Mr Darcy, seeing her delight, gave a soft laugh and took up another roll, ready to continue the game.

“I did not realise my performance was to be in such high demand,” Mr Darcy said with a wry smile, inserting the fork into the roll and preparing to resume his playful dance.

Elizabeth stood for a moment, noting with some awkwardness that the only available seat was beside Mr Darcy. With a slight lift of her shoulders, she moved forward and he immediately rose, pulling out the chair for her with quiet grace.

“Thank you,” she murmured as he adjusted the chair while she sat down.

“I was quite worried when I awoke and saw neither of you,” Elizabeth said, glancing at Georgiana.

“I meant to leave a note, but I fear I forgot,” Georgiana replied, looking a little sheepish. “Maggie was awake so early, I thought it best to bring her down for breakfast.”

“Oh, never mind,” Elizabeth said with a kind smile. “I am glad you took such good care of her. She is quite the early riser.” She squeezed Maggie’s hand affectionately.

Mr Darcy, having set aside the roll once more, placed his fork on the table. “I have news from the messenger I sent. Your family is well,” he said. “It seems your elder sister, Miss Bennet, and another—Miss Mary, I believe—have been sent to stay with your aunt and uncle in Town. Your mother and your two younger sisters remain with your other uncle in Meryton.”

Elizabeth sighed with relief. “That is good to hear, indeed. And what of our visitor?”

“I am led to believe that the appearance of your uncle dissuaded him from his course of action,” Mr Darcy said. Elizabeth realised his words were deliberately vague so as not to distress Maggie.

“Hopefully that is the last we shall see of him.”

“We should reach Northampton by tonight if we make good time,” Mr Darcy continued. “If we set off after breakfast, we can find your father before nightfall.”

“That is good. Thank you very much,” Elizabeth said sincerely, reaching for a bread roll. With the anxiety about her family eased, her appetite had returned, and she noticed Maggie was already happily eating.

As Elizabeth began to eat, she could not help but reflect on how strange it was to find herself breaking bread with Mr Darcy, given all she had believed about him. Mr Wickham’s tales of Mr Darcy’s cruelty had painted him in such a harsh light, but nothing about his recent behaviour fit that image. And Miss Darcy—far from the proud, aloof girl she had imagined—was nothing but sweet and gentle.

How curious it was, too, that Mr Darcy had taken it upon himself to protect them, despite the lack of any great affection between him and her family. It was an unexpected kindness.

“It is a pity Charles was called back to town,” Georgiana said suddenly. “Otherwise, your family could have come to stay at Netherfield. I am certain he would have been delighted to have you, and with Charles, Fitz, and Mr Hurst there, you would have been perfectly safe.”

Elizabeth looked up, swallowing her bite of bread. “I wonder why he had to leave in such haste.”

Mr Darcy cleared his throat, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “I am uncertain. Some business matter, I believe. It could not be helped.”

Georgiana ventured, “I must admit, I am rather sorry we left Meryton so soon. I enjoyed my time there—with one notable exception, of course.”

Elizabeth glanced up. “Mr Wickham, I presume?” She had to assume that if he was not fond of the Darcys they felt the same about him.

As soon as the words left her mouth she realised that something was wrong. Georgiana’s face turned pale, as if the very name had conjured up something unpleasant. “Mr Wickham?” she repeated, her voice tight and anxious. “No—I was unaware he was in Meryton. I was referring to Mr Hurst’s constant snoring.” Her attempt at levity was faint, and the undercurrent of tension in her tone did not escape Elizabeth’s notice.

Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed. She had made a mistake, one she wasn’t quite sure how to rectify. Though, while she was considering her next words carefully, Georgiana’s spoke, “How do you know Mr Wickham?”

Elizabeth hesitated. How could she explain her acquaintance with Mr Wickham without revealing too much? Just then, Maggie, who seemed to be blissfully unaware of the unease around her, let out a delighted little sound, a mock swoon and blinked her eyes rapidly the way she had obviously seen Lydia do with her officers, as if playfully echoing the flirtations of adults. The child’s innocence, though charming, made Elizabeth’s heart sink. This was not the time for such forwardness.

Mr Darcy’s posture stiffened visibly, and Georgiana seemed to shrink into herself. There was no retreat now, Elizabeth had to answer.

“Well,” Elizabeth began, faltering slightly, “I… I know Mr Wickham from Meryton.” She forced herself to look at Georgiana, whose eyes were now fixed intently on her. “He called on our family several times, but I haven’t seen him in quite some time. He left town after a brief courtship with a Miss King. It did not end well, evidently.”

Mr Darcy’s reaction was immediate and sharp. He let out a derisive snort, his eyes hardening. “I would think so,” he muttered, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable.

Elizabeth blinked, taken aback by his vehemence. She wondered about the cause, unease settling in her chest. There was clearly something unspoken here, something significant. Georgiana’s pallor, Mr Darcy’s disdain—what were they hiding? The more she observed their reactions, the more she realised she had unwittingly struck a nerve.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Elizabeth’s voice trailed off, uncertain how to salvage the moment.

Georgiana seemed too shaken to respond and her gaze was lowered to the table. Mr Darcy’s expression had grown even more severe, his jaw set as though he were trying to keep something unsaid.

Feeling the weight of the silence, Elizabeth tried to steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable territory. “Well,” she said awkwardly, “This certainly is a delightful inn.”

But Mr Darcy’s mood had soured beyond repair. Without looking at her, he placed his napkin down with deliberate precision. “It is time we prepare for the next leg of our journey,” he said, his tone firm, leaving no room for further conversation.

Elizabeth watched him rise from the table, a knot tightening in her stomach. She wondered why he reacted so fiercely to her mentioning of Mr Wickham. She had never known Mr Darcy to display such open hostility before, not even when provoked. But now, it was as if the very mention of George Wickham’s name had summoned a storm within him.

Georgiana remained seated, her face pale and troubled. Elizabeth felt a wave of sympathy for her, but it was mingled with confusion. What had Mr Wickham done to cast such a shadow over their family?

As Elizabeth rose to follow Mr Darcy’s lead, she glanced once more at Georgiana. “I beg your pardon if I upset you,” she ventured softly.

Georgiana gave a faint shake of her head, but the troubled look remained. “No, it is not your fault,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Elizabeth felt her heart twist with guilt. She hadn’t meant to cause such distress, but clearly, she had stumbled upon something far more serious than she realised. And Mr Darcy’s curt departure only confirmed that.

As she made her way to gather her belongings, Elizabeth’s thoughts swirled in confusion. Mr Wickham had spoken so charmingly of Mr Darcy’s faults, painting him as cold and unforgiving. But now, seeing the reaction at breakfast and the chill that settled on their table after the mere mention of his name, it was clear there was another side to the story—one she had been too eager to dismiss. What could Mr Wickham have done to earn such contempt?

Her mind raced with questions, but for now, one thing was certain: the truth about Mr Wickham was far more complex than she had been led to believe.