16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

London One Month Earlier

" M iss Bennet, you'll have me thoroughly out of breath if we keep this pace!" Elizabeth's partner teased, spinning her through the final turn of the dance.

Elizabeth laughed, her breath coming quick as she curtsied. "Then I have done my job well," she replied. "Be sure to save something for your next partner, sir." Her heart still fluttered with the exhilaration of the reel, the music lingering in the air as couples began to leave the floor.

The gentleman laughed and bowed with a flourish. "I daresay you have ruined me for the evening, Miss Bennet. A pity you haven't a dance left this evening, or I should have asked for a second."

"A pity, indeed." Elizabeth curtsied in reply to the compliment. Her partner led her to the edge of the dance floor and moved off. She glanced eagerly around the crowded room because Captain Darcy had spoken for her next dance. She couldn't help but smile. His easy charm had always made their conversations light and enjoyable, and besides, his tall, athletic figure made him a highly diverting partner. She had been looking forward to her dance with him all evening.

But just then, she caught sight of him slipping out toward the portico, his steps seeming hurried and unnatural. How very odd! Captain Harold Darcy was always prompt to claim her hand, and he never left a lady waiting. Perhaps he forgot? Strange, but surely there was a reasonable explanation.

Elizabeth made her way through the clusters of dancers pairing off for the next set, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses fading behind her. Curious—and with a sense of expectation fluttering in her chest—she made her way toward the garden doors, weaving through the throng of guests who lingered near the edges of the ballroom.

The cool evening air greeted her as she stepped out onto the terrace, the muffled strains of music fading behind her. The contrast was refreshing, the crispness of the night calming after the warm bustle of the ballroom. Lanterns lit the portico, casting soft pools of light across the stone walkway while the faint scent of autumn leaves mingled with the last bloom of summer roses.

Elizabeth strolled along the length of the portico, her heart light with the pleasant anticipation of a quiet moment with her favourite gentleman. They were friends, she and he—friends who understood one another well enough to know they could never be more, and that had opened the door to an artless, open sort of camaraderie that she had grown to depend on through these long evenings among strangers. The night was peaceful, and the stars glittered faintly overhead, making the scene all the more inviting.

As she approached, the sound of voices broke through the serenity. She slowed her steps, her brow furrowing as shouts of anger reached her ears. A low, harsh murmur carried on the breeze, the words indistinct but unmistakably tense.

"Blast you, if you so much as breathe a word of this, your career is over, Darcy!"

Elizabeth hesitated, peering through the shadows toward the covered portico where the voices seemed to be coming from. The light of a nearby lantern flickered, and the glow of glass doors nearby illuminated two figures standing close together. Her breath caught—one of the men was unmistakably Captain Darcy in his dress uniform. The other was also in uniform, but she did not recognise him yet.

What was happening? Elizabeth moved a little closer, her curiosity mingling with concern as she tried to make sense of the situation. The other man—a lieutenant, by his insignia—was entirely unfamiliar to her. The lieutenant snarled, shoving Harry back a step before lunging again. His fist sailed through the air, narrowly missing Harry's face as he ducked.

Harry, his own expression fierce, landed a solid punch to the man's jaw. "I don't care about my career!" he snapped, his voice thick with frustration. "What I care about is you doing the right thing. You can't walk away from this, and you know it!"

The lieutenant spat, his lip split from the blow. "You're a self-righteous prig, just like your brother. Always spouting honour and duty like it's some bloody holy grail."

Harry pushed him again, slamming him against the stone railing, teeth gritted. "This isn't about me. It's about the men you've betrayed. And not just the men, curse you!"

"You don't understand the half of it," the lieutenant growled, struggling under Harry's grip. "But if you keep your mouth shut, you won't have to. You think your family name and your brother's wealth can save you? I'll have you court-martialed, Darcy. They'll see you hanged for treason before I let you ruin an entire regiment."

"You're already ruined. I saw everything. I have records, proof, and I'm sick of hiding behind my promotion to keep quiet." Harry's voice dropped dangerously low, his face inches from the lieutenant's. "I swear it."

The lieutenant sneered, managing to shove Harry off just enough to regain some ground. "Let's see how much you care about your honour when it's your neck on the line. You say anything, Darcy, and you're finished."

Elizabeth moved closer, the words each sounding like a drum beat in her ears. Treason? Betrayal? Her heart raced, panic clawing at her as she tried to make sense of what was unfolding before her eyes.

Should she call for help? No, that would only expose Harry, and clearly, he had come out here specifically to avoid that. Should she turn back? Yes, yes, that seemed… But what about the captain?

Her spine stiffened, a trickle of courage finding its way into her limbs. Surely, the protection of her sex would be sufficient to break up this unpleasantness. No officer would be so ungallant as to discommode a lady at a party, no matter how heated his conversation might be. Captain Darcy might even be spared the ignominy of a duel if she were tactful enough.

She cleared her throat. "Excuse me, sir, but I believe you have waylaid my dance partner for the next set. If you would be so kind as to return him to me undamaged, I should be terribly obliged."

The lieutenant's gaze shifted, catching sight of Elizabeth's figure hovering near the edge of the portico. His eyes narrowed, and an icy grin spread across his face. "Well, well, what have we here? A little bird caught spying, is it?"

Harry's head whipped around, his eyes widening in horror as he saw her. "Elizabeth—"

Without warning, the lieutenant lunged toward her, his hand snatching at her hair, yanking her toward him. Elizabeth gasped, the sudden pain wrenching through her scalp as she was pulled into the fray.

"Let her go!" Harry's voice cracked with fury as he stepped forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Release her. This doesn't have to go any further!"

But the lieutenant only grinned, his grip on Elizabeth tightening. "Oh, I think it does, Darcy. A promise for a promise."

Elizabeth's mind reeled as her hands twisted behind her head, trying to at least lock the lieutenant's grip close to her scalp so he couldn't rip her hair from its roots. Promise what? What was this man holding over Harry?

Harry's expression shifted, the anger giving way to something far more unsettling—panic. He glanced around as though seeking an escape. "We can settle this between us. With honour. There is no need to involve an innocent lady!"

The lieutenant laughed, pulling Elizabeth closer to peer into her face. "She does not look so innocent to me. I assume she has some attachment to you since she has exposed herself coming out here to look for you."

Elizabeth tried to make a lunge away, feinting to the right with her upper body even as her heeled shoe drove into the toe of his boot. "Let me go!"

The lieutenant winced, but his grip did not weaken. Instead, he whipped out a blade and pressed it to her throat. "Have some manners, Miss," he tsked.

Elizabeth snapped her head back, trying to twist away, even as Harry lunged forward in alarm. "Elizabeth!" he shouted. "Leave her be!"

The lieutenant started slowly dragging Elizabeth backwards. "Savage little chit, isn't she? You always did like the saucy ones. Very well, you shall have her, but I need some assurance, Darcy—a worthy diversion to make sure you don't speak of this. We wouldn't want the higher-ups getting word that you were having ‘doubts.' Not while certain notables happen to be just inside. I say, it's going to be difficult to explain your dishevelled state once you return to the ballroom."

Elizabeth's heart hammered in her ears. What was he talking about? Her pulse raced until she was lightheaded, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. She couldn't allow Harry to be ruined—or worse. Whatever this was, it sounded worse. The music from the ballroom was still playing, voices and laughter drifting through the glass door just behind Harry's back. More open doors surrounded them on all sides. Any moment, someone could walk out.

"Let her go back!" Harry snarled, yanking the lieutenant's arm. But the man's grip remained locked in Elizabeth's hair, the knife at her throat, and the way he was twisting her about between them kept the captain at bay.

"Try again. What say you, my pet?" the lieutenant crooned into her face. "How shall you explain what you saw? Do you have any strokes of genius to offer our rather dull-witted Captain Darcy?"

"I... I could..." Elizabeth's voice trembled, and pain-filled tears were stinging her eyes, but she forced herself to speak. "I c-could say I w-was out here. W-with Captain Darcy."

A stream of fresh tears coursed down her cheeks as the lieutenant gave her scalp another vicious yank. "You'll have to be more specific."

She gulped. "A-alone. In a… l-liaison."

Both men stared at her, their eyes locking on her with different expressions. The lieutenant looked quite satisfied, but Harry's face paled with shock. "Elizabeth, no! You'll be ruined."

He was right. Her hair was now a snarled mess, her face streaked. Moreover, Harry's lips were swollen, his brow sweating, and both of them had rumpled clothing. No one could look at them and believe they had been innocently taking the air. She wouldn't have to say anything. All the worst things would be assumed.

But what other option had she? There was a knife at her throat—a knife that could well fly into the captain's chest next.

The lieutenant's smile widened. "Oh, how perfect," he sneered, his grip tightening. "A tradesman's daughter, aren't you? I'm sure Fitzwilliam will love that."

Before she could make sense of his words, the lieutenant yanked her brutally forward, ripping at the neckline of her gown with his fist and then making a quick slice downwards through chemise, stays… everything until it bit lightly into her skin. The fabric tore with a sharp, sickening sound, and Elizabeth's world spun.

Her chest was exposed—all of it—to the cool night air, and her skin burned with shame. Elizabeth was too shocked, too humiliated to even scream. Her breasts were bare, her modesty completely stripped away in an instant. She tried to cover herself, her arms trembling as she attempted to cross them over her chest, but the lieutenant spun her like a rag doll, throwing her directly into Harry's arms.

"Do enjoy your evening, Captain," the lieutenant hissed. He shoved them both into the glass doors of the ballroom, the noise of the party just beyond.

Elizabeth stumbled, her body colliding with Harry's as he caught her in his arms. The earth tilted, the cold glass of the ballroom doors pressing against her back. Inside, she could hear the music, the chatter... and the voices growing closer. No one could have missed hearing the crash of their bodies colliding with that glass door.

Elizabeth barely registered the lieutenant's escape as he vaulted over the railing and disappeared into the night. All she knew was the cold weight of Harry's red coat suddenly around her shoulders, the way his hands—usually so sure and steady—trembled as he pulled the fabric around her, trying to shield her from the world. She was still shaking, still panting in horror, her mind struggling to make sense of what had just happened.

"Brave Elizabeth! Are you hurt?"

"I—" she stammered. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have— I didn't mean to—"

"Shh." Harry's voice was soft, soothing, as he smoothed her hair back from her face, his eyes filled with a sorrow that Elizabeth could not understand. "You probably saved my life tonight. Do not apologise."

She could barely comprehend his words. Saved his life? How? She was the one ruined, her gown torn open, her body bared for all to see.

Harry cupped her cheeks in his hands, his breath warm against her skin as he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I will make this right," he promised. "I'll not see you suffer for—"

And that was when the door behind them opened.

Elizabeth's uncle stood in the doorway, his eyes widening in shock as the entire ballroom seemed to fall silent. All around them, guests stared—at Elizabeth's torn gown, at the way she stood pressed against Harry, his coat around her bare shoulders. The scandal, the ruin, the destruction of her reputation was complete.

Elizabeth didn't hear the gasps or the whispers that followed. The only covering she had was the thin veil of Harry's promise as he stood before the stunned crowd, shielding her from their judgment.

But even with that—whatever he proposed to do—nothing could ever make this right.

D arcy's stomach was queasy after Elizabeth's confession. He sat quietly for a moment, staring at her across the room as the firelight flickered against the walls. The idea of his brother, who had always carried himself with honour, being drawn into something so dark, sat ill with him. Harry had always been something of a golden child, kissed by good fortune, never touched by scandal or corruption, even when the army called him away.

And yet, Elizabeth's account rang with truth—apart from a chillingly accurate description of her attacker, there was no falsehood in her eyes, no trace of manipulation. Only pain.

"Were you injured?" he asked in a tight voice.

Elizabeth's eyes wavered and fell. "The… ah… when he cut my gown…" She lifted a shoulder. "It is not quite healed. Nearly— it was not deep, but it was long, and a tender place to…" She cleared her throat and kept her eyes on the floor, her cheeks scalding red.

"Wickham," Darcy growled. "That lieutenant... I know who he was."

Elizabeth looked up, her brow furrowing slightly. "Who?"

"George Wickham," he said, the name bitter on his tongue. "A man who grew up alongside us. My father treated him like a son. Harry viewed him very much like a brother—the only time I ever knew him to misjudge anyone. Sentiment, I suppose. But Wickham... he never cared for honour or loyalty. His resentment toward Harry and me festered for years, and he has always sought what was not his."

Elizabeth frowned. "Why would he threaten Harry? What could he gain from it?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. They were always ‘friendly' as far as I knew. Too friendly for my taste." Darcy let out a slow breath, his fingers tapping lightly on the arm of his chair as he considered the question. "Wickham is the sort of man who seizes every opportunity, no matter how vile. He must have seen Harry as a threat—someone who might expose him, though Heaven only knows what for."

Her lips parted slightly, and she looked down again, her fingers tracing the spine of the book in her lap. "After that night, I asked Harry who the man was, what they had been arguing about. But he would never tell me. He said it did not matter."

Darcy's gaze narrowed, his mind piecing together the puzzle with increasing clarity. "Harry was protecting you. Wickham had already used you as leverage once, and would not hesitate to come after you again. Harry knew it. He kept you in the dark because it was safer for you not to know."

Elizabeth's hands tightened around the book. "I see that now," she said, her voice soft. "But I should not have been involved at all. I should have returned to the ball at once, but I thought I was helping. Instead, I put myself at the centre of it. I made it worse."

Darcy leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he studied her closely. "You were not to blame. You made a decision in the moment, as anyone would. And you did not know what was truly at stake. How could you have?"

Elizabeth's head bowed slightly. "I am no child of fourteen! I heard what the lieutenant said. I should have realised that it was not just a quarrel between gentlemen over some female but something far more dangerous."

Darcy's jaw tightened. "You could not have known the depths to which Wickham would stoop. He has always found ways to destroy what others hold dear. And you were—" he stopped himself, the words catching in his throat.

Whatever she claimed about the supposedly platonic relationship she shared with Harry, Darcy would have been very shocked, indeed, if Harry did not feel something beyond friendship for her. A fond affection, at the very least, but Darcy suspected Harry's feelings had tended somewhat deeper than that. Had not Harry even claimed that much to him the day he died? Elizabeth was exactly the sort of woman Harry had always fancied, and Wickham was not blind.

Elizabeth looked up at him, a shadow passing over her face. "What?"

Darcy shook his head, leaning back in his chair. "It does not matter now. What matters is that Harry acted with honour. Even to the last conversation he and I had—he spoke of protecting you."

A heavy silence settled between them. Elizabeth diverted herself by thumbing the edge of a page, and Darcy stared absently at her fingers as she did so, his mind twisting on one pertinent question. What the devil had finally ruptured between Harry and Wickham? Whatever it was, it seemed that the girl formerly known as Elizabeth Bennet had been caught in something far beyond her control.

And, so, she did need him. Just as sorely as she would have if there had been a child.

Elizabeth broke the silence. "I still do not understand why Harry never explained. I asked him... I begged him to tell me what had instigated that, but he refused. It was as if he feared I might expose something, even unintentionally."

Darcy met her eyes, the firelight reflecting in their depths. "Harry must have had his reasons. He likely believed that the less you knew, the safer you would be."

Elizabeth gave a small nod, though she still seemed lost in her thoughts. Her voice was quiet when she spoke again. "And now, it is all too late."

Darcy felt a pang of sympathy, though he kept his expression guarded. "Harry did what he could. But I will not let Wickham's actions go unanswered."

Elizabeth's gaze snapped up, her eyes widening. "What will you do?"

He swallowed and shifted in his chair. "I wish I knew. I would like to assure you that I will find out what Harry discovered, what Wickham was hiding. I would like to say that I shall ensure that justice is done. But I… I've no idea where to begin."

For a moment, Elizabeth looked as though she might say something else, but she remained silent. Darcy studied her carefully. She had been through much more than he had realised, and her obvious honesty now made him… respect her. Yes, that was the word. His anger toward her had not fully dissipated—more because of the tangled web of his own feelings than any actual wrongdoing on her part. He could no longer deny that she had been trying, at least, to act with integrity.

Still, he hesitated. The conversation had softened, but it had not erased the distance between them. She was still holding herself aloof, and he was not yet ready to let down his guard entirely.

Elizabeth's voice broke the silence again, softer this time. "What about that letter?"

He stirred, his attention refocusing on her face. "To which are you referring? The one I received today or the one I showed you yesterday?"

She pursed her lips in thought. "What did you receive today?"

"Someone—and it seems painfully obvious who—broke into Harry's flat. Tossed the furniture, broke things. I cannot think what there might have been left to find, but he was looking for something."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. She caught her breath and looked quickly back to her lap.

Darcy's curiosity spiked. "What do you know?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. But you recall—I told you, I think—Harry did say he had proofs of… something."

"Then I suppose I begin searching through his effects once more." He ran a hand through his hair. "Though Lord knows what there is left to find."

"And what of the other letter? There is a… a need to answer there, as well."

Darcy set his teeth. "What do you want me to do? Shall I find that woman and marry her , too?"

Her features blanched, but this time, she did not drop her eyes. A sort of fire sparked in them, and she sat somewhat taller. "If you chose to, you could. But that would not be my business."

He snorted. "How so? The last I checked, I was bound in the eyes of the law and God to someone else."

"Not… in all ways," she reminded him.

Darcy's gaze met hers, and for a moment, he considered. What were they to do now? Should he carry her upstairs this very moment, seal the uneasy pact they had made with a union of the flesh? As… appealing as that notion suddenly sounded, he could not, just yet.

"What do you wish?" he asked her instead. "I will not bind you unwillingly, but you would have no alternatives at all if we…" He swallowed.

She drew a long breath, her shoulders lifting as her gaze studied him. "I do not know. I… I wish for a miracle, I suppose."

He grunted as his legs uncrossed. "I am no miracle, madam. But I am a man of my word, and I gave mine to you." He pushed out of the chair and began to leave the room, but before he passed her, he stopped.

Elizabeth was looking up at him now, her expression unreadable. Darcy could feel the tension still lingering between them, though something had shifted. It was not trust—certainly not—but there was a flicker of understanding, of shared purpose, however tenuous.

"And I gave mine to you," she whispered.

Darcy looked away, his thoughts still tangled with anger, regret, and confusion. "I will ensure this is resolved."