Chapter 48

48

A fter a fine dinner, Darcy settled into his chair beside the fire in the drawing room. Georgiana was playing the Broadwood, and a general air of contentment surrounded her.

He chuckled to himself. This morning's call at Gracechurch Street had been the reason why he was equally satisfied this evening. Although Georgiana had dominated Miss Elizabeth's attention, Mrs. Gardiner had somehow managed to arrange that his sister and Miss Mary had gone to the pianoforte first, giving him a few moments with Miss Elizabeth. Her aunt had determinedly taken the attention of the other ladies, and he could speak to her with some confidence of privacy.

He had leaned forward. "I am pleased your aunt has afforded me the opportunity to ask you a question, Miss Elizabeth."

Her eyebrows rose. "I am listening, Mr. Darcy, although you may only get a few moments before my mother will notice." She looked amused.

He nodded. "I am aware we have not had the opportunity to speak for a few days, Miss Elizabeth — not since you told me that your uncle was the publisher of Santorio's work."

She nodded, her expression closing up, but she didn't say anything, and he shook his head.

"I am sorry about it; although it is only a few days, so much has happened, it is difficult to go back to where we were." He met her gaze. "I know you do not know me very well, madam, but I am asking you if you might grant me the privilege of being able to call upon you, here and at Longbourn. I would wish that you could come to know me better, and permit me to show you that I am a better man than you might currently think me." He smiled slightly, taking hope from the fact that her expression softened a little. "My wishes are that I might come to know you better, too, and that there might be fewer misunderstandings between us." He smiled hopefully.

She looked down at her hands resting in her lap and he waited, heart hammering. Would he fail at this first hurdle?

Then she looked up. "You are not angry that I kept the secret of Uncle's involvement in his publishing?" Her expression was wary, and Darcy thought quickly.

"I am content that I did not say anything precipitous at the time, Miss Elizabeth. Once I had taken time to think, I understood that I had not the right to know. Why ought I expect you to tell everything to a man you are barely acquainted with?" He hoped he was saying the right thing. "In fact, there is something I have kept from all others. But I would like the honour of being able to tell you and explain why the facts have meant you have needed to come to town."

Her eyebrows went up. "I can see Mama is about to call me — undoubtedly the serious matter of yet more lace on my gown for the wedding," she sighed. "You might call on me tomorrow and tell me then." Her smile was mischievous.

He had to know for certain. "So I may call upon you — and beyond tomorrow, Miss Elizabeth?"

She nodded, "You may. I would welcome the opportunity to sketch your character, Mr. Darcy. Sometimes you puzzle me exceedingly."

He was drawn back to the present when Georgiana finished her piece and began playing The March of Hope.

Darcy straightened. The music suited his mood perfectly. He smiled; he would see Miss Elizabeth tomorrow, and begin his efforts to have her think better of him. Miss Elizabeth. His heart warmed; she was perfect, and his heart began to race.

The next morning, his heart was light as he assisted Georgiana up into the coach. She was clutching her music case along with her reticule, her expression showing her delight at the prospect of a call on her new friends, and his heart lightened by the chance of at least a few moments with Miss Elizabeth — if Georgiana could be persuaded to turn her attention to Miss Mary.

The shots, when they came, were shockingly loud and unexpected. Something plucked at the sleeve of his jacket. Georgiana's scream was cut short as she pitched forward onto the coach floor. Had she been hit, or tripped, or had his instinctive push sent her to the floor? There wasn't time to look as he hurled himself in front of the door, dragging his pistol from its concealed holster, glad that Richard had insisted he go armed until Wickham was accounted for.

The two armed officers, who had been relaxing beside their horses while still outside Darcy House, had snatched for their weapons, and several footmen and grooms had run forward. But Darcy could still see beyond them all.

Wickham was taking aim at him again, and Darcy lifted his pistol and forced his attention to take the time for a deep breath and hold it to steady his hand. He aimed at the belly, knowing he had not the time for a head shot.

Their shots coincided, and Darcy jerked away as soon as he had fired. A bullet buried itself in the wooden door frame behind where his head had been an instant before, and he jerked back, twisting the barrel.

He had a brief moment to thank Richard for insisting on the double-barrelled flintlock pistol, despite its cumbersome size, before he took aim again. This time to one of the two thugs who had been beside Wickham, who was writhing on the ground.

Darcy's second shot took down the man on the left, and another shot from one of the officers accounted for the other.

He could not go to Georgiana until he knew Wickham had been disarmed, and he strode forward to ensure the weapons were all well out of reach. Then he could run back to the coach.

His sister was lying still — very still — on the floor between the seats as he bent over her.

"Georgiana. Georgiana, dearest. All is safe now. Tell me you are not hurt." His heart raced; she could not dead. She could not be dead.

His relief was absolute as she moved to look up, tears flowing freely. "William? You aren't hurt?"

"No, dearest. He missed me. There is no more danger. Tell me you have not been injured?"

She laughed shakily. "No, just my pride, and I twisted my knee as I fell in." She glanced up. "Why is the coach rocking?"

Darcy leaned forward and drew her into his arms. "The horses are restive. Allow me to carry you indoors, and then the grooms can take them back to the stables to calm them."

As he crossed the driveway back towards the house, he saw his London steward hurrying towards him, and jerked his head to bring the man closer.

"Mr. Leigh. Ensure there is no further danger out here, and that your deputy is summoned to take charge. I will get Mr. Jones to call the doctor and the constable as I go in. Then you are to take a horse and ride to Gracechurch Street. Express my sincere regrets, but explain there has been an incident and we will unfortunately not be able to call this morning."

He nodded once and hurried into the house. "Mr. Jones!" His butler was already waiting.

"Mr. Darcy."

"Call for our physician for Miss Darcy, and a surgeon for the men outside." Wickham would not live long enough for the surgeon to arrive, he thought, but he must be seen to do what was gentlemanly. "And the constable. At once, please."

He hurried for the stairs, concerned that Georgiana could hear all this, yet was not making any attempt to speak, or to control her tears. Then, as he shouldered the door to her chambers open, his housekeeper came through the door.

"Miss Darcy's maid and companion are waiting within, Mr. Darcy."

He nodded and carried Georgiana through her sitting room to her bedchamber and laid her down with the greatest of care.