Chapter 13

Thirteen

September 3

As summer began its shift to autumn, early mornings were growing cooler by the day, requiring Elizabeth to bundle herself in more layers for her walks with Darcy. She was far from resentful of this necessity, however, being unusually fond of the combined scent of late blooms, woodsmoke, and a hint of damp. It was an excellent time of year for walking, being neither too hot nor too cold for the exercise, and the air was redolent of apple trees. Today, the third of September, the effect was perhaps a touch marred by the cacophony caused by her younger sisters' music lesson, but she would be away from the house soon enough.

Elizabeth exited Longbourn through the garden door and paused on the step to inhale a deep breath. September was a lovely month, full of vibrancy and plenty, but it was also one of great change. A change in weather, a change in habits, a change in the very world about her. This particular autumn would bring the greatest change of Elizabeth's life so far: marriage and removal from the home she had always known. She greatly looked forward to her life as Mrs Darcy, but her anticipation did not lessen the slight sadness of leaving behind all she had ever known. As the leaves died and drifted away on the wind, so too would her former life as Elizabeth Bennet.

"Good morning, dear sister."

Any likely pleasure in her morning stroll withered away at the sound of an unwelcome voice. Elizabeth's head snapped in the direction from whence it came; she discovered Wickham leaning against the far brick wall, partially obscured in shadow. What on Earth can he be doing here? I have never seen him rise before noon!

"Good morning, Mr Wickham. You are up and about early this morning."

He pushed away from the wall, stifling a yawn. "As you had no time for me yesterday, I had hoped to catch you at an hour when there were fewer demands on your time. Shall we walk?"

As Wickham prowled closer, Elizabeth shuffled back an inch or two. The closed door was behind her and through that the main corridor of the house. She had passed Mary and Kitty in the music room and waved on her way past, but with the noise generated by Kitty's clumsy fingers it was doubtful that anyone would hear her calling out for help should she need it. This, essentially, left her entirely at Wickham's mercy.

"I am afraid that I am already engaged to walk with Mr Darcy this morning, sir." She glanced over Wickham's shoulder to the gate, but espied no assistance incoming through its scrolled iron bars.

Wickham persisted in his approach, a smirk curling at one corner of his lips. "I am sure you can spare me a few minutes of your time. We were always such good friends, and now we are better."

"Truly, I expect Mr Darcy to arrive at any moment." Elizabeth felt the door against her back and began grasping blindly for the latch.

"I should never leave you waiting," Wickham said, resting his forearm against the doorframe above her head and leaning in close. Elizabeth could smell brandy on his breath. "A woman such as you ought to be closely guarded lest some other man attempt to snatch you up."

"Ah…" Her gloved palm could find no purchase on the latch. "I shall pass along your advice to Mr Darcy when I see him. If you would please excuse me."

Elizabeth's attempt to dart round him into the garden was foiled when Wickham blocked her escape route. With one hand on each side of the door, he had neatly trapped her; his grin showed that he knew it. "Trust me, he shall see the error of his ways."

Wickham lowered his head and lunged for a kiss, but Elizabeth's short stature gave her an advantage. She ducked beneath his arm and sprinted away down the flagstone path, headed towards the gate. If she could manage to get through it, she would find a myriad of better places to hide than behind a few thorny rose bushes. Darcy was also on his way and she could turn to him for protection. First, however, she needed to get away.

Unfortunately, where Elizabeth's height had been a boon in wriggling free of Wickham, it was a detriment in a foot race with a taller man. She was also hampered by the weight and drape of her skirts, and so made it no further than a few yards before he was upon her. He grabbed her by the arm and forced her to the wall, where he turned her about and pressed her into the same shadows from which he had earlier emerged.

Elizabeth's heart pounded in her throat. "Let me go or I shall scream." And pray that someone hears me! She was even further from potential rescue than before, and there was no guarantee her cries would be heard in time.

Wickham was panting from his exertions, yet still managed to appear smug. "Come now, Lizzy . We are brother and sister, you know. Do not let us quarrel when we might employ our time more pleasurably."

She opened her mouth, intending to follow through with her threat, but found herself muffled by Wickham's palm. He shushed her and leant in close, pressing the length of his body against hers.

"This need not be unpleasant. In fact, I can promise that you shall enjoy my attentions far more than Darcy 's. I would wager he has no idea what to do with you." Wickham then plucked free the knot in her bow, allowing the ribbons of her bonnet to dangle freely, and buried his face in the crook of her neck. There, he breathed a deep inhale and shuddered in satisfaction. "You do smell delicious, Sister ."

Before Elizabeth could so much as gag in revulsion, Wickham was wrenched away by an unseen force. The loss of his weight caused her to stagger forward a step, but she retained her balance with some quick footwork and the steadying presence of the brick at her back.

A sharp yelp drew Elizabeth's gaze and she was in time to see Wickham crumple to the ground at Darcy's feet. Darcy's back was to her and she could not see his expression, but it must have been something awful for Wickham to scurry backwards on his hindquarters, begging for clemency. "We were only having a bit of fun! She wanted it?—"

Wickham's pleas were cut short by a swift kick to his gut and he curled in on himself like the worm that he was.

"You dare lay a hand on my betrothed and then besmirch her name?" Darcy's voice was low and dangerous and Elizabeth could hear the strain in it as he wrestled with his control.

Wickham, either too distracted or stupid to recognise that his former friend was a hairbreadth away from bloody retribution, gasped, "If she is turning to me for satisfaction, you have only yourself to bl—" This statement, too, was terminated by the toe of Darcy's boot.

"You loathsome, disgusting…"

Elizabeth rushed forward and grabbed Darcy's arm, tugging him away from Wickham before he could cause irreparable damage. He attempted to shrug her off, but Elizabeth held firm and leant all of her weight into the endeavour. Had Darcy sincerely wished to, he might have prevailed, but Elizabeth had faith that he would never deny her. At length, he did capitulate and allowed her to lead him out of easy reach of the vile snake writhing on the ground.

When Elizabeth at last managed to separate the men, she grasped Darcy's face in both of her palms, turned it to her, and nearly stepped back herself. Even during their regrettable interlude at Hunsford, she had never witnessed him look so fierce! Upon meeting her gaze, however, his mien softened and her alarm subsided.

Darcy lightly grasped her wrists where they dangled from his jaw, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Upon releasing this breath in a whoosh, he looked at her again, his gaze probing. "Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No, not that I know of. He merely frightened me."

"Thank God. I do not know what I would have done if…"

"I am well, Fitzwilliam. I am well."

"You are shaking."

So she was. Elizabeth had not realised it before he pointed it out, but she was trembling from head to foot and did not think she could stop. Darcy gathered her more fully into his arms and drew her to his chest where she burrowed into him and fought against the urge to sob .

Darcy shushed her and rocked them both back and forth. "There now, you are safe. You are safe, my love…"

"How romantic." Wickham's mocking voice shattered the moment into thousands of tiny shards. He had managed to scrabble up onto a nearby bench while their attention was elsewhere and lounged there looking unkempt and bitter. "She has well and truly caught you, has she not? The great Fitzwilliam Darcy, who looks down upon the rest of us like something he has stepped in. Tell me, Elizabeth, was it his money which ultimately turned your head? Or merely the opportunity to live above a hundred miles from your lamentable family?"

Darcy turned towards Wickham, his face once again set in that terrible scowl. Elizabeth clung to his jacket, ready to intervene anew. "Hold your tongue, else I shall give you another thrashing!"

Wickham obviously was of no mind to heed this profitable advice. With a sneer, he baited them, "It was entirely too easy to make her despise you, barely any effort at all. She already disliked you long before I arrived and it only took a word or two whispered in her ear to make her believe you the blackest soul in Christendom."

Darcy moved to approach Wickham, but Elizabeth held fast to his lapels. To preserve them all from further violence, she attempted to cut Wickham to the quick. "Save your breath to cool your porridge, sir. While Mr Darcy improves upon further acquaintance, I have found that you sink lower in my estimation daily. Now that I know the truth of you both, there is no question as to who is the better man."

Wickham wiped a dribble of blood from his lip and smirked at Elizabeth. "If you had put up less of a struggle, you might have discovered once and for all which of us was the ‘better man'."

Darcy was free from Elizabeth's hold before the last vile word had dropped from Wickham's tongue. His fist connected with the scoundrel's jaw the next instant, sending Wickham tumbling to the ground. Darcy followed and began raining blows upon his foe's cringing body.

"Fitzwilliam, no !"