19. Taken

CHAPTER 19

Taken

D arcy let his head fall back into the pillow on his soft bed as his thoughts arranged themselves in his mind.

That had not gone badly at all. Instead of Elizabeth's father raking him over the coals and demanding everything under the sun for her in the marriage settlement, he had been polite—friendly, even—and more than pleased with what Darcy had offered. To be fair, Darcy had been more than generous. He could do nothing less for the woman he loved—yes, despite having known her for only a week, he knew she was the one for him—and for the woman who would, he dearly hoped, be the mother of his children. She deserved nothing less than what he had offered.

How could he have fallen in love so completely, and in so short a time? It was all but impossible. In the normal course of events, he would hardly have learned her name in the few days they had known each other. But, of course, he had been in her company, day and night, for a week. They had spent more time together in this short span than in a year of formal courtship, he reckoned, and without the strangling effects of social niceties and disapproving companions. He knew Elizabeth better after their week of frantic travel than he would have after months of exchanging comments about the weather in some over-furnished salon.

He had seen her at her worst, and he could imagine nothing better.

Tomorrow… Tomorrow they would be married. It seemed quite unreal, like something from a dream, or tale about another. Would he awaken in a moment and discover this was all nothing but a moment's delusion, that Elizabeth was a figment of his imagination and nothing else? His heart shuddered at the idea. But no, it was real. Elizabeth might be the stuff that dreams are made of, but Wickham was not. Nor, Darcy realised as he felt for the spot on his ribs, still tender from where Elizabeth had attacked him with her umbrella on their very first meeting, was his bruise.

It was true. He was betrothed, and by eleven o'clock tomorrow morning, would be a married man. Married to Elizabeth. His heart soared at the thought.

But a darker voice whispered as well, one that he could not ignore. He had been generous in his settlement for Elizabeth because he loved her and wanted her to be happy and secure, but he also needed to know that if Wickham did find him, she would be well provided for as his widow. How could he even contemplate leaving Elizabeth his widow before having her as his wife? He swallowed at the lump that lodged in his throat and tried to let his eyes close against that possibility.

He pressed his head into the pillow once more and let himself yawn. It was unlike him to need a rest when the day was only half over, but the previous week's flight had quite sapped him of energy, and he had not slept well the previous night. Not until he found Elizabeth and wrapped himself in her presence. Now that image supplanted his dread: Elizabeth by candlelight, in his arms. She, too, had declared she would rest in the afternoon, and Darcy tried not to imagine her as she unlaced the borrowed dress and pulled her long chestnut tresses from their pins before taking to her bed.

Soft skin, made golden by the sun, sparkling eyes, rose-pink petal lips, dark fanning lashes… He sucked in a stern breath, a warning to himself to regulate his thoughts. How would he ever manage to control himself if she requested a marriage in name only?

His arms ached for her.

"…farmhouse in the shadow of the forest."

Hawarden's voice filtered through the doorway as Darcy made his way into the parlour after abandoning his rest. The echoing murmur suggested two other men, or more, were with him. Three sets of eyes looked up as he stepped into the room.

"Ah, you have decided to join us," Richard exclaimed. "We were telling Mr Bennet of the message we received only minutes ago. Well, are you interested in the news or not?"

Darcy nodded. "Indeed, I am. What have you heard?"

"We have word of Wickham. The men I called in, the ones from the town, have run a couple of his henchmen to ground and have them secured. Two unsavoury-looking oafs, from what I'm told. Would you know them by sight?"

"No. I did not see them, only heard their voices in the public. But they sounded like a couple of London toughs, quite out of place here in these mountains. Elizabeth heard them as well."

"That sounds like them," Richard acknowledged. "They are not saying much yet, but they will. When the alternative to spilling all they know is the noose, their tongues will loosen quickly enough."

"I will be pleased when they've had their say. What of this farmhouse I heard you mention?"

Hawarden replied.

"Thompson, one of the local men, heard them talk of a farmhouse before they were captured, likely where Wickham is holed up."

"Yes, it appears he is in the neighbourhood," Richard continued, "and no, we do not yet know exactly which farmhouse he has found, but it gives us direction."

"I propose to ride out shortly to search for the exact location. One can never know too much about one's enemy." Hawarden's eyes were hard. It seemed the major had as little love for Wickham as did Richard.

"We'll find him, Will, and soon. You can marry your lady with that weight off your back."

Bennet exhaled at these words, his shoulders relaxing as he did so. Darcy imagined his stance echoed the older man's.

"I am relieved. Thank you both, and thank your men. What steps are being taken?"

Richard gestured to the map that still lay on the table. "These are the locations we are searching. You can see where the woods encroach on the fields, here," he pointed, "here, and by the bend in the river. Clifford Thompson and Owen Beddoe are going with Hawarden. They know the area well, and I trust them. Both former military men, now farmers. They respect the rank, even though we are English. I have, by your leave, invited them and their wives to join us at a wedding breakfast tomorrow."

Darcy broke into a grin. "Of course. They are welcome and I will be pleased to know them."

For the first time in nearly two weeks, Darcy finally felt free of Wickham's looming shadow. He felt lighter, somehow, more so than he had in years; the candles burned brighter, and the wine that Richard procured from the cellar was richer than any he recalled tasting for a long time.

"You look happy," Richard observed later as he helped Darcy into the coat they had found in the attic. It was, perhaps, several years out of fashion, but it fit better than the ones Darcy had borrowed. "Good gracious, that cravat looks odd with this cut of waistcoat. Better a frilled jabot than a neckcloth with it. No, no, it will have to do. I doubt Miss Elizabeth cares much whether your clothing is of the latest cut and style. She liked you enough dressed in rags and smelling of horse dung, and I imagine her clothing will be likewise imperfect."

Darcy scowled at his cousin. "Do not malign the lady." His brow cleared. "To me, she is the epitome of perfection. To dress her in silks and pearls would merely be to gild the lily."

Richard rolled his eyes and gave a final tug at Will's cravat. "You really are completely taken with her. Will Darcy in love. I never thought I would live to see the day. Mother will be surprised! I fancy, though, while your lady is more than tolerable to look upon, she is nothing to her sister."

At Darcy's snort, Richard threw up his hands. "You must admit it. The oldest Miss Bennet is beautiful, a work of art, really."

"Richard!" Darcy growled. "This is no game. You begin to sound like Bingley, always falling in love with whatever angel he happens to cast his eyes on. But, cousin, you must leave your poking and prodding. Do not raise expectations that cannot be met. Jane Bennet is a beauty; any man with eyes can see that. But she is not to be toyed with. Stand back."

"What?" Richard mimicked a hurt expression. "You believe that the beauteous Jane Bennet thinks my attentions are in earnest? No, not for a moment! I am merely playing with the pup, taunting him a bit. Miss Bennet is, if anything, exasperated by me."

"Then why do it? You know you cannot seriously woo her, and you do not know that she sees through your game."

"Boredom, cousin, nothing but boredom. You know my ways. Mother had such perfect manners drilled into me at so young an age, it flows naturally from me. It is hardly my fault if people cannot resist my effortless charm. You laugh!"

"I am exasperated. Must you encourage the ladies so?"

Richard had the grace to look chastised, if only for a moment.

"It is a habit I have, perhaps, developed over time, to deflect suspicion. It is unconsciously done. But you surely know I had no intentions of playing this game. I wished only to be friendly and of use, and to assist a family who were as concerned for Elizabeth as I was for you. If your friend Bingley took such exception to my every solicitude, well, what choice had I but to play with him?"

"Badly done, cousin."

Richard tutted. "Turn around. Good. That coat lies well on your shoulders, and the breeches are a better fit than those trousers I lent you yesterday. No, chastise me no more. I shall explain all to your friend later. Miss Bennet is in no danger from me, and Bingley has a clear field, if he wishes to hunt in that quarter. Now, shall we see if the others have come down yet?"

They were a merry party that evening.

Elizabeth was already in the parlour when the men arrived. To match Darcy's brightened spirits, she, too, looked different. Lighter, somehow, buoyant. Once more, she wore one of the ill-fitting frocks that Mrs Lloyd had procured for her from the town, and her hair was done simply, if neatly, but somehow, she glowed. She was not formed for melancholy and had given Darcy more than his share of smiles during their forced flight, but her laughter now came more freely, her eyes shone more brightly. She, too, was now free from the threat that had hung over them both.

She broke into a great smile as she noticed Darcy and walked over to greet him at once. He said nothing, but took her hand to kiss, and then just grinned in return.

An addition to their gathering was Mr Heatherington, the rector from the nearby town, who was to perform the ceremony the following morning. He had driven in to Coed-y-Glyn with his wife, an elegant lady of subtle wit, and their presence, in addition to Bingley's accustomed vivacity, Jane Bennet's pleasant manners, and Mr Bennet's sardonic observations, was only beneficial to the general conviviality of the evening. Even Major Hawarden was enough at ease to offer a wry comment here or an astute observation there.

The dinner itself was no elaborate affair. Mrs Lloyd had been given almost no notice with which to order food and have Cook prepare an elegant table, but she had managed, nonetheless, to arrange for tasty fare, and plenty of it. Instead of endless wine, they sampled good local ale, and in place of ragouts and French sauces, they dined on hearty bread, fresh meat, and tender vegetables. After the dried crusts and hard cheese he and Elizabeth had gnawed upon during their flight, it was the nectar of the gods to Darcy. He believed he would never again take the delicacies of his accustomed diet for granted.

Likewise, the conversation was unpretentious and nourishing. How many times had Darcy been forced to sit through a stultifying dinner, listening to some bore drone on about his pocket lint collection, or complain about the poor quality of staff these days? Too well-bred to object and with no option of other company, he had come to equate fine dinners with a sort of endless torture. Tonight, however, was nothing of that sort.

Mr Heatherington was a scholar of sorts, who at once found in Mr Bennet a kindred spirit, and their discourse over some of the less commonly studied Greek myths was surprisingly fascinating. His wife felt no hesitation in adding her voice to the conversation, providing some enlightening observations, which Elizabeth took up in her turn.

She was clever and unexpectedly well-informed. She offered her opinions with a firmness of sentiment, but was not so set in her decisions that she would not change her mind when presented with a strong argument. What a gem she was. Darcy could have spent the night just listening to her talk. The conversation bubbled like the fresh waters of a country brook, easy and bright, in no hurry but neither stagnant nor slow, the perfect accompaniment to a most pleasant meal. Even Richard, at times the joker or mischievous instigator of trouble, was on his best behaviour, leaving Bingley to dance attendance on Jane Bennet.

With so small and informal a gathering, they decided to forgo the customary separation of sexes; Darcy had no desire to be anywhere other than in Elizabeth's company, after all. And tomorrow… tomorrow she would be his wife.

"We have a small spinet in the morning room." Richard's voice broke into Darcy's reverie. "Do any of the ladies play? Or the gentlemen, for that matter? Mother insisted I learn the pianoforte, although I never had the patience to practice my scales."

Mrs Heatherington offered her talents for a sweet sonata by Mr Clementi, and Major Hawarden surprised the gathering with his rich tenor voice, with which he presented a humorous—and rather shocking—rendition of a country ballad about a young maid and her swain.

"You play so well, Lizzy," Jane declared once the major had taken his bow. "Will you not play for us? We are not so many that we can dance, but a lively air is always suitable."

"Perhaps," Elizabeth replied, "you will sing with me instead. What of that air from the dance in London, before…" She broke off and for a moment, her face went blank. Almost at once, however, she recovered herself. "Before our adventure. Yes, that is how I shall always think of it from now. An adventure."

She began to hum a tune, which Darcy half-recognised.

"Is that a new composition? I do not believe I know it, and yet it sounds somewhat familiar."

"It is called ‘The Arrow's Flight', and it was played at the ball we attended. Here, Jane, sing the words with me."

"Cupid's bow is magic-touched,

His arrow's flight is true.

For when his arrow takes its flight,

My eyes are fix'd on you."

Jane sang and Elizabeth laughed. "Silly words, indeed, but a lovely melody."

She went to the keyboard and sounded out the tune, improvising a simple harmony to her sister's vocal line. It was no masterful performance, but it was enjoyable, and the melody was quite lovely.

His arrow's flight is true… The words danced in Darcy's brain for the rest of the evening.

If this was the ambiance with which he was to begin his life as a married man, Will Darcy was most content. This was the perfect ending to a rather hellish week. Now, with Elizabeth ready to become his bride and Wickham all but done for, nothing could go wrong.

It came, therefore, as a most dreadful shock when, as the party were gathering for tea the following morning, the alarm was raised.

Jane Bennet had been abducted by George Wickham!