Chapter 1

Library

Pemberley

Friday, 7 th August, 1812

Fitzwilliam Darcy stepped out of the library into the wide, main hall and just as hastily ducked back in at the sound of two female voices approaching from his right. He knew those voices – knew them all too well – and had absolutely no desire to speak even pleasantries with Mrs. Louisa Hurst and Miss Caroline Bingley, both of them unwanted guests at Pemberley. He had invited them, of course, as no one stayed at Pemberley without his exclusive invitation, but the presence of the Bingleys and Hursts was most inconvenient given that Darcy had, only three days previously, unexpectedly encountered the love of his life, Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.

Darcy shut the library door carefully and wandered over to stare out the window. He was master of Pemberley, a grand estate with a yet grander home, and he took a moment to really gaze at it, to think about its many glories.

Glittering sunlight drew his eye to the large graceful pond some short way from the house, fed by a trout stream that vanished off into the forested park. Some small creature peered out from a bush before vanishing again in a whisk of gray fur. The trees were heavy with their crown of deep green leaves, the grass and shrubs spotted with dabs of colorful flowers blooming and shivering in the slight breeze.

He was blessed; he knew. Pemberley was large and thriving and bounteous, and Darcy had little concern for the future. But his estate's magnificence came at a price; his position as master of the estate required a great deal of hard work. He spent many hours a day dealing with business and estate concerns and thinking about the needs and problems of his tenants.

"Perhaps Mr. Darcy is in the library!" Miss Bingley's strident voice exclaimed from just outside the door.

Darcy jerked in surprise and distress, and he looked around as if he were a hare attempting to hide from the hounds. He did not want to speak to Miss Bingley on the best of days, but today, with his mind entirely on Elizabeth Bennet, he most certainly did not!

He hurriedly made his way into a small alcove in the corner of the room and, inspired by panic, raised the window to its full height and rolled himself out of the library and into the bushes directly beyond the window. For a minute, he merely lay there, panting, even as he heard Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst enter the room behind him.

"Mr. Darcy!" Miss Bingley cried out in an arch tone. "Mr. Darcy, are you here?"

A moment passed, and Darcy found himself thinking, with horror, how incredibly foolish he would appear if Miss Bingley happened to pop her head out the window above his hiding place.

"He is not here," the same lady said in a disappointed tone. "We have checked the other obvious places. Where can he be?"

"Mr. Darcy has a great deal of business," Mrs. Hurst replied soothingly. "Perhaps he is speaking to a steward or something of the sort."

"He could be. Oh, Louisa, I do hope Mr. Darcy offers for me during our visit here. Just think how much I could help in managing the estate if I were Mrs. Darcy!"

Darcy, cowering under his bush, cringed at these words. He would never, under any circumstances, offer for Miss Bingley.

"Given that he is not here, perhaps we should practice our duet on the pianoforte?" Mrs. Hurst suggested.

"Oh yes, that is a wonderful idea. Your voice is far better than Miss Eliza Bennet's, and I play far better than she does too!"

A moment later, Darcy heard the welcome sound of retreating feet. Once he was certain that he was safe from being seen, Darcy made his stealthy way along the bushes in the direction of the stables. He would take his favorite stallion, Phoenix, into Lambton now, and he hoped would have the opportunity to speak with the lady he adored.

/

Phoenix was familiar with the path to Lambton, and thus Darcy was not required to pay much attention to guiding the horse. That was for the best, as his mind was whirling over his complex relationship with Elizabeth Bennet.

He was, as nephew of an earl, as master of a great estate with an income of ten thousand pounds a year, a most eligible bachelor. For many years, he had been seeking an appropriate wife. Regrettably, he had so far been entirely unsuccessful, largely because he did not want an attractive ornament on his arm, but a loving, capable wife at his side. He longed to wed an intelligent lady who would assume the traditional responsibilities of the mistress of the estate, who would care for the tenants and the house and their own children. For many years, he had gone in search of precisely such a woman, attending balls and Venetian breakfasts and small family dinner parties in London. Unfortunately, the society ladies had universally bored him, despite their wealth and high position and abundant accomplishments.

It was not until he traveled to Hertfordshire, to stay with his friend Charles Bingley, that he had met a lady whom he found genuinely fascinating. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the second of five daughters, was the child of a lazy gentleman and a shrill solicitor's daughter, without any sort of a dowry, with pert manners and fine eyes in a remarkably pretty face. She had captured him utterly. She was lively, and lovely, and graceful, and intelligent, and had no qualms at all about debating with him on any subject.

Darcy had not at all intended to fall in love with her, cheerful arguments not withstanding. Her connections were execrable, her lack of wealth deplorable, her status unacceptable. He had ignored his own heartache when he had departed from Hertfordshire in late November, telling himself that it was all for the best – that his strange infatuation with the lady would soon pass. And perhaps it had briefly gone to rest, but had flared back stronger than ever when he had, most unexpectedly, encountered Miss Elizabeth in Kent when he went to visit his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, mistress of the great estate of Rosings.

The memory of first seeing her rose now in Darcy's mind, as strongly as if it had been but yesterday. She had been out on a walk, her straw bonnet decorated only with a white ribbon, her dress a delicate green which had flattered her complexion and chestnut hair. He had reined in his horse, watching in stunned amazement, all his old admiration rising like a venerable billowing dragon from its resting place. She had not spotted him, and he had forced himself to ride on.

He had learned from his aunt that Miss Bennet was visiting the local rector and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Collins, and that very day, he had visited the parsonage with his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had come down from Town with him. Elizabeth was just as enchanting as he remembered, and he realized that the magnetic attraction he felt for her was still as strong as ever. For two full weeks, Darcy had battled his adoration to the lady before giving into his passionate desire to make her his wife. He had called upon her at the parsonage one evening when the Collinses were at dinner with Lady Catherine and Miss Bennet had stayed behind with a headache. He had found the lady alone and promptly offered his hand in marriage.

Thinking of his proposal still made him wince. It had, he acknowledged, been very poorly done on his part. It could not by any stretch be considered diplomatic to insult the relations and the standing of the lady to whom one was proposing, and yet that was exactly what he had done. Miss Bennet had been rightfully furious, and still he had been stunned beneath the weight of her full disapproval. It had never so much as dawned on him that Elizabeth, with no dowry and poor connections, would refuse him!

She had thoroughly dressed him down for his ungentlemanly conduct in his proposal, those fine brown eyes flashing, before accusing him sharply of orchestrating her sister's broken heart. He had listened in astonishment as she told him of her gentle sister's deep and abiding love for Charles Bingley, who, at Darcy's suggestion, had abandoned the eldest Miss Bennet the previous autumn.

But it was her spirited defense of the utter reprobate, George Wickham, that had sent him away with boiling blood and confusion in his heart. Darcy would fully admit, now, how poorly done his proposal was, along with his own culpability in Bingley's abandonment of Miss Bennet, but there was no viable argument in favor of Wickham.

He had taken his heartbroken leave of her in the parsonage and then written a letter in his own defense, which he had handed over to her the next day before hurrying back to London with a broken and battered heart.

He had thought to never see her again. And so it had been like a lightning strike across his soul some three days previously, when he encountered Elizabeth Bennet standing outside his home of Pemberley upon his arrival from London. She had been openly uncomfortable as she explained that she and her aunt and uncle were on a tour of Derbyshire and had just toured the mansion with Mrs. Reynolds, Darcy's housekeeper. At his request, she had then introduced him to her tradesman uncle and his wife, who were genteel and refined. Eventually, the three visitors had made their way to a carriage and vanished down the road without a backward glance, leaving Darcy to watch with a wildly beating heart and a spark of hope that perhaps – perhaps – he and Miss Bennet would be able to be friends.

Or more.

Darcy was determined to offer that road, and the house and the land to go with it, to Elizabeth once more. He would do better this time.

Today, he decided, was his chance. He might well never see Miss Bennet again once she journeyed onward from Derbyshire. He would act now; he would tell her how ardently he loved and admired her, how enduring his passion was. He was not blind or cocky; he knew that she might refuse him another time. He had braced himself for such a possibility. But whatever her answer, he was confident that he had matured since the time when he had first met her, and that was something. But he hoped, and prayed, and longed for so much more. He longed to make Elizabeth his wife.

/

The Inn

Lambton

Darcy swung easily out of the saddle and handed over the reins over to a stable boy, who was all eager wonder at being permitted to look after the magnificent black stallion, if only for a little while.

"I will be back in perhaps an hour," Darcy said, handing over two coins. "Take good care of him."

"I will, sir," the boy said in awe, and Darcy watched with a critical eye as the young man led the great beast into the stable attached to the inn. It was obvious that the boy was skilled at handling horses, and Darcy relaxed and hurried into the inn, where a servant met him and, upon being told of Darcy's desired destination, guided him up the stairs and to the door which led to the parlor currently being rented by Mr. Gardiner.

The servant opened the entrance, and Darcy stepped forward into the room, only to halt in amazement at the sight of Elizabeth, dressed in a simple blue muslin gown hurrying toward the door, her face pale, her manner tumultuous.

"I beg your pardon, but I must leave you," she cried out. "I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to lose."

"Good God! What is the matter?" he exclaimed and then, pulling himself together, said, "I will not detain you a minute; but let me, or let the servant, go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are not sufficiently well; you cannot go yourself."

She wobbled in place, and Darcy stepped forward close enough to catch her if she fainted, which seemed possible.

"You are correct," she finally managed and hurried past him into the corridor, where he could hear her directing the man to find Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and bring them as quickly as possible to the inn.

Darcy was relieved to see her looking slightly more steady when she returned, though still entirely miserable in her demeanor, and he said, "Let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? Shall I pour you a glass of wine, perhaps? You are very ill."

"No, I thank you," she replied, collapsing onto a nearby chair, her handkerchief in her hand. "There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well. I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just gotten word from Longbourn."

She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes, could not speak another word. Darcy watched her with horrified distress. Such grief spoke of death – perhaps of one of her parents? Or one of her sisters? He could still remember the pain of losing his own parents, and his heart broke that she might have received similar information.

"I have just had a letter from Jane, with such horrible news," she finally choked out. "It cannot be concealed from anyone. My youngest sister has left all her friends ... has eloped. She has thrown herself into the power of ... of Mr. Wickham. They have gone off together from Brighton.Youknow him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to ... she is lost for ever."

Darcy jolted in astonished horror. " What??"

"Lydia ... Lydia has run off with Wickham," she repeated. "Oh, I was such a fool! I knew what he was, I knew he was a reprobate, but it did not occur to me – I did not imagine that he would have any interest in my youngest sister. I should have said something ... it is my fault!"

Darcy felt an almost overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms and kiss away her tears, but that was not the action of an honorable man. No, what Elizabeth needed was actual assistance in this family tragedy.

"I will find them," he said flatly, "and deal with the matter as best I can."

This provoked a look of astonishment along with, he thought, a glimmer of hope.

"You?" she asked a moment later. "Oh no, sir, it is not your problem..."

"It is my problem!" he exclaimed, "because I love you, and I always will, and if I had done what I should have in dealing with that scoundrel, this never would have happened."

"It is not your fault," Elizabeth cried out. "It is my father's, and my mother's, and Lydia's, and Wickham's, and yes, even mine. It has nothing to do with you. Moreover, I would not have you sharing our shame in any way."

"Miss Bennet."

She looked up at him, her eyes red, her cheeks mottled in her distress, and yet he had never loved her so much as in this time of weakness.

"Yes?" she asked shakily.

"My own sister agreed to run away with Wickham," he pointed out gently.

Elizabeth swallowed convulsively and whispered, "He would have married Miss Darcy if he had succeeded in running away with her."

"Because of her dowry, yes, that is true. But your sister and mine both made terrible mistakes where George Wickham was concerned. I will not step aside and leave you to settle this alone. I have long known Wickham to be dangerous, but my own foolish pride, and my fear for Georgiana's reputation, kept me silent. No more, Miss Bennet, no more. I will find them, and I will deal with Wickham, and I will make this right."

"How can you?" she asked, and the despair in her voice made his heart twist in agony. "The only solution to save us from ruin is for them to be married, and yet Wickham will refuse. Surely he will refuse, given that my father is not wealthy enough to provide much support to them."

Darcy considered this for a long minute and finally said, "Do I have your permission to speak to Colonel Fitzwilliam on this matter? He is even more eager than I am to punish Wickham after what he did to Georgiana. I am certain there is a way to save your family's reputation without tying your youngest sister to Wickham forever – a fate I would wish on no woman."

Elizabeth blinked hard and managed a wavering smile. "She will not understand that, you know. To her, Wickham must seem the most wonderful of possible husbands in all the world. He is both handsome and charming."

"Yes, and he is a profligate, and a gambler, and he will not be faithful to her. Perhaps we will need to arrange for a marriage between them, but if it can be avoided – my dear Miss Bennet, he will be the worst possible husband to Miss Lydia, and while you are undoubtedly angry with her, she is very young to be shackled to such a horrendous man."

"That is true enough," Elizabeth said miserably, "but if they do not marry, we will be ruined, all of us!"

"Not in my eyes," Darcy said gravely. "Never in my eyes. I will not importune you during such a ghastly time, but be assured of my love, my respect, and my friendship forever going forward, regardless of what happens."

Elizabeth rose to her feet, and he was relieved to see that the deep despondency had retreated. While she was still solemn, she no longer appeared completely without hope.

"I thank you so much for your kindness," she said softly and held out her hands toward him. "When I think what a fool I was in Kent..."

"You were not," Darcy said sternly. "I behaved very poorly from the moment we first met in Meryton through our time at Kent, and..."

The door opened at this juncture, and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner hurried in, both looking worried.

"Mr. Gardiner, Mrs. Gardiner," Darcy said, bowing, "I will leave Miss Bennet to explain the situation. I will be journeying to London to assist in this matter as quickly as possible."

The Gardiners looked bewildered at these words but did not protest as he departed. He would need to speak to Georgiana, and perhaps Bingley, and then make his hasty way to London.

It was time to deal with Wickham once and for all, and if he was very fortunate, he would win the lady he adored.