Chapter 2

Two

August 14

London

The carriage shifted as Thomas Bennet climbed inside and threw himself upon the backwards-facing bench with a weary groan. His entire body ached from bouncing about in the vehicle for days on end, to say nothing of tromping about the seediest portions of London until his feet blistered. He was much too old to be gallivanting after his youngest, most provoking child and that libertine with whom she had run off. The door shut behind his brother Gardiner and they were off again into the stinking, dirty streets to the next likely hovel in which they might find Lydia. Bennet held no great hope of finding her there, but they must press on until all of said hope was extinguished.

A spasm in his hip required his shift in pursuit of a more comfortable position. As he was rearranging himself, he heard the distinct crinkle of paper. Reaching behind him into the back of the seat cushions, he discovered a much-worn packet of papers folded in on themselves and addressed to Elizabeth. It appeared to be some sort of letter, though he did not recognise the hand. How odd; she must have forgot it when the Gardiners returned her to Longbourn.

"We will find her, Bennet."

It would have been unfeeling to deride Gardiner's guileless encouragement, but this constant refrain was beginning to chafe Bennet's already taxed temper. Tucking the letter into his jacket pocket with the intention of returning it to Elizabeth, he replied, "Even if we do find her, I know not what we shall do with Lydia. She cannot come home to Longbourn, she cannot remain in your household with innocent children, and I have no distant relatives to foist her upon—though it is tempting to send her to the Collinses." He emitted a rueful chuckle which Gardiner did not emulate.

"You think her entirely lost, then?"

"I think she was lost before she ever ran off," retorted Bennet, bitterly. "Lost to all decorum, decency, and common sense. I have always thought her silly like her mother, but this latest misadventure proves her to be lacking even in the fundamentals of morality."

And to think all of this might have been prevented had he only listened to Elizabeth's advice back in May. She, at least, had shown the greatness of mind that he himself had lacked in predicting that Lydia would make a cake of herself with only Mrs Forster as chaperon. Had he but taken her concerns seriously and kept Lydia home, they would not now be scouring London for the wayward chit and her wicked beau.

"Surely you do not believe her as bad as all that! She is but a child led astray by a scoundrel."

"I think her more than culpable," Bennet growled. "Lydia has always had a knack for getting her way and leading others down the path of destruction—just look at Kitty!" While not as wilful as Lydia, Kitty deserved some share of the censure for what had occurred. Keeping her sister's ruinous scheme a secret! Was her head entirely empty? That girl would not stir from Longbourn again until she could prove that she had two words of sense to rub together!

"Nonsense, Lydia can still be redeemed," Gardiner said, his voice low and full of misplaced optimism. "She is but sixteen and has her entire life ahead of her to improve."

Bennet snorted. "You presuppose, first, that we shall find her—which I doubt at this juncture—and, second, that her reputation can be salvaged when we do."

"You genuinely believe this Wickham will refuse to marry her, then? Elizabeth seemed fond of him several months ago."

"Lizzy's former recommendation notwithstanding, I cannot think that a man such as Wickham, swimming in debts and apparently fond of all manner of debauchery, will take Lydia for a farthing less than ten thousand pounds."

Gardiner's mouth flopped open, apparently aghast. His expression might have brought Bennet some amusement in different circumstances. "Ten thousand pounds! Surely not."

"He would be a greater fool than even I consider him if he did not. That said, he is most probably aware that I cannot afford even half such a sum for his worthless hide and so it is a lost cause. Lydia will have thrown away her virtue—what little of it she had—for nothing."

Gardiner shook his head and the shock dissolved from his features. "There is no cause to borrow more trouble. Let us find her first and worry later over what must be done to restore her reputation."

Weary of the subject, Bennet merely grumbled an indistinct response and fell silent.

The remainder of the day was similarly disheartening and the wayward couple remained undiscovered in whatever nest in which they had holed themselves up. Bennet hoped Lydia was comfortable wherever she was—little though she deserved it—because she would not be found until the morrow, at least.

As he was shedding his greatcoat in the vestibule of Gardiner's home, the butler approached his master with a card.

"A Mr Darcy paid a visit today, sir. He was quite anxious to speak to you."

"Darcy, you say?" Bennet queried before Gardiner had the chance. "Whatever could he want?"

While his eyes perused the calling card, Gardiner distantly replied, "We made his acquaintance in Derbyshire before we were called away. In fact, we were set to dine with him the very day we left."

Bennet, though benumbed by fatigue and worry, felt stirrings of surprise at this news. "Was this a different Mr Darcy than the one I met in Hertfordshire? I cannot imagine him lowering himself to so much as speak to a tradesman, much less invite one to dine at his table."

Gardiner flicked him a terse glare. "I assure you, it is the same Mr Darcy you met last autumn; there is only one master of Pemberley, after all. Furthermore, he and Lizzy were…familiar with one another."

"Familiar? I suppose he felt his slight acquaintance with Lizzy required him to issue the invitation, though I cannot imagine why."

"Actually," Gardiner said, his gaze now trained keenly upon Bennet, "he was most attentive to us while we remained in the country, and to Lizzy, especially. I believed him rather taken with her, if I am to be honest."

"Lizzy?" He guffawed at the notion. "I daresay that Mr Darcy never looks at a woman save to see a blemish and I doubt he ever looked at Lizzy at all. You are mistaken."

Gardiner pressed his lips into a grim line but did not press his point. Instead, he ushered Bennet into the dining room, where a late supper of bread, cold meat, and cheese was set out for them.

After eating as much as he could stomach, Bennet trudged upstairs to his chambers; he hoped to get at least a few hours' sleep before resuming at daybreak what he was certain was a doomed quest. He required it if they were to have any sort of chance at accomplishing their mission.

He dismissed the servant Gardiner had sent to him, desirous only of time alone with his miserable reflections. He could undress himself capably enough and did not require the attentions of a gentleman's gentleman.

As he shed his jacket and threw it over the back of a chair, he heard the distinct crumple of paper. Curious, Bennet searched the pockets until he discovered the letter addressed to Elizabeth; he had entirely forgot about it. He moved to set it aside, but stilled his hand when he caught a glimpse of the writing which formed his second daughter's name. If he were not mistaken, it appeared to have been penned by a man.

A surge of panic burned in his chest. The writing was not his, nor did it belong to any gentleman of his acquaintance who might have the innocent privilege of corresponding with Elizabeth. Could she , his most sensible offspring, be cavorting with a man behind his back? Bennet never would have believed it before, but he had learnt much from Lydia's escapade about how greatly he underestimated his daughters' wiles. He had shirked his responsibility as a father long enough. He would not do so again.

With shaking fingers, he unfolded the missive and looked to the bottom of the second page for a signature.

Fitzwilliam Darcy