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  “Of—of course, Mr. Bennet,” Mr. Collins stammered.

  “Very good. Mrs. Bennet, did you have something else to say?”

  Elizabeth’s mother stared at her, and for the first time it occurred to Elizabeth that Mrs. Bennet truly did not like her second-eldest daughter. “If I am thrown out of my house because of this,” Mrs. Bennet said at last, “then I shall never forgive you, Lizzy.” She turned on her heel and marched out of the room, Mr. Collins hurrying out behind her.

  “Well,” Mr. Bennet said once the door had banged shut behind the pair, “I hope you are not overly distressed, Lizzy. I never would have forgiven you if you had married him.”

  Elizabeth made a short noise and hoped it came out sounding like a laugh rather than a sob.

  Chapter Two

  Darcy

  We women are not all built on Caroline Bingley’s model... So wholly unconnected… You would find yourself quite lonely… Tolerable, I suppose, but not enough to tempt me... Tolerable!

  Darcy turned on his heel—just like she had, as she strode away from him in front of everyone—and started back across his room, the pattern well established. Turn, pace, turn, pace, repeat. He had excused himself from the ball hours ago, claiming a headache, but unless he could rip her words from his mind there would be no sleeping tonight.

  Tolerable!

  The statement was familiar, and she had delivered it with a viscous twist to her mouth, an emphasis on the words that had caught his attention even in the moment. Was it a line from a book? Tolerable, I suppose, but not enough to tempt me. Why would Elizabeth Bennet think—

  Darcy stopped halfway through a stride, the memory crashing into him. Pivoting, he dropped into a nearby chair and buried his head in his hands. So she’d heard him, the night of that first assembly in Meryton, when he really had suffered from a headache and Bingley simply refused to leave him alone.

  It made sense. At last he understood. All of the conversations since then, when she had seemed ready to spar with him, had disagreed as if on principle, had refused to dance with him both at Lucas Lodge and when she stayed at Netherfield—he should have realized something was wrong.

  Good God, he had thought she preferred him to Bingley, since she treated his friend with easy manners instead of teasing jests. What did she think of his friend? Perhaps she liked him—everyone liked Bingley—and only stepped back for her sister? Of course, Bingley hadn’t shown her much attention. No, it was he who had singled her out, and while he fought back his growing affection, she had struggled instead with disdain.

  And Wickham—of course Elizabeth believed him! He would have found an eager audience, a young lady ready to believe the worst. Darcy had wondered why she did not think to question Wickham’s tales, but decided even the most intelligent of women would be at a loss against his old friend’s practiced charm and deception. Recalling her words at the beginning of their dance, Darcy forced himself to consider the appalling idea that she fancied herself in love not with Bingley, but with the lieutenant. She couldn’t truly be in love with Wickham, for Elizabeth had far too much sense to love a man like that if she actually knew his faults. Still. He should have dealt with Wickham properly last summer, but he’d been too focused on Georgiana. Now another woman might pay the price, helped along by a rude comment that he himself had made.

  That thought decided his course of action. Darcy had no intention of offering for Elizabeth Bennet—he was a Darcy, after all, and there were the mother and younger sisters to consider—but his conscience would not allow him to simply walk away. He owed it to her to warn her, to make her aware of the dangers that Wickham presented. Then he would leave Hertfordshire and put Elizabeth from his mind.

  *

  Bleary eyed and exhausted, Darcy nevertheless drug himself from bed early the next morning. Bingley had left for London to attend to business and all the other occupants were late risers, so he was unsurprised to find the breakfast room empty. Looking forward to a few hours of quiet, Darcy had just settled into his usual chair with the newspaper and a cup of coffee when Caroline Bingley bustled into the room.

  “Oh, Mr. Darcy, I am so glad to have caught you alone,” she said, ignoring the sideboard of food and sitting down directly across from him.

  Darcy looked swiftly at the door to ensure it was still open. She hadn’t tried to trap him in a compromising situation yet, but her words—

  “We absolutely must do something about my brother and Miss Bennet,” Caroline continued, apparently unfazed by his lack of response.

  Stifling a sigh, Darcy folded his newspaper and put it aside. “In what way?”

  She leaned forward, eager. “Why, separate them, of course! He is in far too much danger, and you must agree with me that she is unacceptable.”

  “I thought you were fostering a friendship with Miss Bennet,” Darcy commented neutrally, picking up his coffee cup as an excuse to not keep watching her. “Have you discovered something about her that is not apparent?”

  Caroline laughed, as if she found the question preposterous. “Did you not see her mother and sisters last night? Even Miss Eliza just disappeared halfway through the evening. They said she felt ill and left, but she looked perfectly well to me. Perhaps someone else was admiring her fine eyes, although she never reappeared.”

  Darcy clenched his jaw, schooling his features to not display the shock he felt. Elizabeth had left? When had that occurred? Surely not after their dance. She had been upset, true, but Elizabeth was not the type to take anything too seriously. Had she not teased him without care—

  No. She had not, and he was an idiot of the highest degree to have forgotten that revelation already. Going forward, if he intended to actually remain in Meryton and warn Elizabeth about the dangers that Wickham presented, it would be wise to assume he knew nothing of what the lady thought or did.

  Caroline took a sip of her tea, watching him with one raised eyebrow. What had she asked? He took a bite of his previously-ignored toast and chewed while reining his thoughts back into some semblance of order.

  “Perhaps Miss Elizabeth truly did feel ill. Yes, I observed the rest of the family, but she and Miss Bennet have never given me reason to doubt their characters.”

  Damnation! That was true as well. What did he really know of Jane Bennet and her feelings for Bingley?

  “Well, regardless of what Miss Elizabeth did or didn’t do, I still do not feel that it is wise to remain here. My brother is in danger of making a horrible mistake, and as his friend I am sure you are as worried for his wellbeing as I am. We must act.”

  We women are not all built on Caroline Bingley’s model. Darcy looked at the door again, still not convinced it was safe to be alone with her. If Miss Bennet did intend to trap Bingley into marriage, at least he seemed to be a willing participant. It was a sharp contrast from the entrapment he feared. Darcy tolerated Miss Bingley for her brother’s sake, but the more she tried to insinuate herself, the more his patience thinned.

  Caroline continued, blissfully unaware of his thoughts. “It would be a kindness to Charles, and I’m sure he will see it that way in time—if he does not find a new distraction in London before we even arrive, of course! It is unthinkable to be tied to the Bennet family. The mother is an embarrassment to fine society, not that she qualifies as such, and did you see the cousin! Is it true he approached you last night?”

  Darcy clenched his teeth. He had not enjoyed that encounter, and did not appreciate being reminded of it. “Mr. Collins is my aunt’s rector and was excessively excited to acquaint me with the fact.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, how very droll to meet a clergyman. You must have been riveted. In any case, there was a rumor that he intended to propose to one of his cousins. Perhaps we shall be spared the effort of separating Charles from Miss Bennet.”

  Darcy stifled an eye roll of his own. “I highly doubt that Mrs. Bennet would encourage Mr. Collins’ attentions towards Miss Bennet when Bingley is a far more desirable match.”
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  “Perhaps, but the estate is entailed away from the female line, and Mr. Collins is to inherit. If Mr. Collins asked for Jane’s hand, would Mrs. Bennet deny him for fear of losing her home?”

  Had he known about the entail? Darcy wasn’t sure. “The middle daughter seems better suited to be a parson’s wife.”

  Caroline snorted. “Yes, Miss Mary is certainly enough of a sanctimonious bore to do the job. Would you offer for her, though? Miss Bennet might be unsuitable for Charles, but I won’t deny that she is beautiful. Certainly more tempting than her younger sisters.”

  Not enough to tempt me. Darcy scowled. Were her words destined to haunt him for life? He finished off his toast and drained his coffee cup, then stood, no longer in the mood for conversation and uncaring that her request for help remained unanswered. “Excuse me, Miss Bingley, my horse is in need of exercise and I do not like to leave his care to the hostlers. I expect to return this afternoon.”

  He ignored the flash of annoyance that crossed her face and stalked out of the room. Had she truly expected his assistance with keeping Bingley from Netherfield? Darcy sighed as he strode down the hall. He had determined a long time ago that Miss Bingley would never be his wife. Perhaps it was time to make sure she knew that as well.

  *

  Used to the harsh Derbyshire winters, Darcy found Hertfordshire in November pleasant, if lacking the breathtaking views that surrounded his home. With a change of company—say, Georgiana and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam rather than Miss Bingley and the Hursts—he might have enjoyed exploring the area. Since that was impossible, he decided that the blustery weather would keep unwanted company at bay, and the solitude would give him a chance to regain his equilibrium. It was nothing compared to the relief of returning home, but it would suffice.

  At first, it was enough to simply let his horse run. Only when Boreas slowed to a trot of his own accord, huffing, did Darcy pick up the reins to direct the stallion. His fingers were cold within their gloves, but he didn’t turn back towards Netherfield. Instead, he nudged Boreas in the opposite direction, riding onto Longbourn land.

  He was not going towards Elizabeth Bennet, Darcy told himself sternly, but simply away from the undesirable interactions awaiting him in Netherfield’s sitting room. He did not want to see Elizabeth Bennet, not while he was confused and thoroughly off-kilter. A Darcy was always in control of his thoughts and actions. A Darcy did not feel such horrid things as off-kilter. Elizabeth Bennet and her flashing eyes were anathema to his composed mental state, and therefore it was unthinkable that he should feel drawn to her.

  You did want to warn her about Wickham, he thought. Well, now is your chance. Warn her, and you can change your mind about leaving. You could be back in London by this time tomorrow, away from Caroline Bingley’s scheming and the drama that will come when you tell her to leave you alone.

  It sounded uncomfortably like running away. A Darcy also did not run away, certainly not because of an impertinent country miss beneath his notice. However, he did feel honor-bound to consider what that country miss had said about her sister’s feelings.

  Could he leave for his own selfish reasons, knowing it might ruin Bingley’s chance at happiness? Despite Caroline’s aspirations, Darcy knew the ton. They would not readily hand over one of their purebred daughters to a jumped-up tradesman. Jane Bennet was a gentleman’s daughter and a beauty. She would improve Bingley’s standing in society by the facts of her birth alone. Remove her from her atrocious family, and she could be a very proper wife for his friend. Of course, he would have to persuade Bingley that purchasing Netherfield was unthinkable, since it would be impossible to escape Mrs. Bennet at such close quarters, but that could be done with minimal effort.

  For a moment, Darcy forgot himself and whole-heartedly envied his friend. To succeed in the eyes of society, Bingley needed to marry a gentlewoman, no more. He did not have to consider his ancestors’ legacy, a frail sister in need of guidance, or how his hundreds of tenants and staff would react to their new mistress. Within a simple set of boundaries, Bingley was free to follow his heart.

  Lost in his thoughts, Darcy failed to see the change in his surroundings until it was almost too late. Luckily, Boreas had no such distractions and threw up his head, snorting as he noticed their company.

  Elizabeth. Darcy instinctively yanked on the reins, bringing the stallion to a halt. Many young ladies would be happy to curl up in the sitting room, given the excuse of a ball the previous evening or howling winds outside. It did not surprise him that Elizabeth succumbed to neither and chosen to brave the elements instead. And how fortuitous that he had ridden this way!

  She walked on, head bowed to the wind and oblivious to his presence. Darcy dismounted, wanting to meet her face to face rather than from Boreas’ towering back. He would warn her, put this behind him, and then be free to consider Bingley’s situation without bias. If he did choose to return to London, or perhaps to Pemberley—which was not running away—then she would be safe. Even if she hated him, surely she would understand once he explained. She was an intelligent young lady, after all.

  He tied Boreas’ reins to a sturdy limb and made his way through a patch of trees and brush towards her. In securing the horse, Darcy had lost sight of her, but that did not concern him overmuch. No matter how fast Elizabeth walked, her legs were still much shorter than his. He would catch her.

  Darcy stepped around a particularly large tree and froze. He had envisioned several different scenarios when he decided to approach Elizabeth with a warning. Would she face him with icy silence, anger, a front of perfect manners that hid her true thoughts? All of these were possibilities he had embraced. He had never once considered the sight before him.

  She was crying. Seated on a fallen log and facing away from him, Elizabeth hugged her knees to her chest and sobbed. Her entire frame shook, and while he couldn’t see her face, Darcy could imagine the anguish that was surely written there. The scene reminded him vividly of Georgiana, huddled on the stairs of the house she had stayed at in Ramsgate that summer, crying in just such a way.

  A horrible through struck him. Surely the reasons for their tears could not be one and the same. Elizabeth was not wealthy, and if Caroline had been able to learn of the entail on Longbourn, then it was guaranteed that George Wickham knew as well. He would not have tried to elope with her.

  But what if she had formed an attachment, and then found out just how shallow the lieutenant truly was? Were these tears her outlet for disappointed hopes? Or worse, if he had tried to take her as a mistress—

  Rough tree bark bit into Darcy’s clenching hand and he flinched, attention deflected momentarily. He would not—could not—believe that Wickham had ruined Elizabeth Bennet. There were many things he did not know about the lady, and therefore many reasons for her tears that he could not guess. And, he thought as he continued to watch her, he could not intrude on her sorrow. Whatever the reason for her tears, she would not welcome his presence. Already he had lingered too long, when he ought to have considered her privacy, and Darcy knew his social limitations well. If he tried to speak up, to offer comfort, he would only make the situation worse. Elizabeth deserved better than his clumsy attempts at sympathy.

  He eased backwards, giving her one last look before returning to his waiting mount. Darcy untied the horse with swift movements and led Boreas further away from Elizabeth’s grove before he mounted. Then he swung efficiently into the saddle and leaned forward, kicking the stallion into a run. He could not, however, outrun his thoughts.

  If only his cousin had been there, to offer his assistance in a way that would be welcomed. If only Wickham’s wickedness was not so well concealed. If only Darcy had parted from Elizabeth on better terms at the ball. If only he could twist fate so that his presence might have eased Elizabeth’s pain rather than adding to it.

  If only.

  Darcy rode on without hope that even a single wish might come to fruition.

  Chapter Three
r />   Elizabeth

  Elizabeth could not remember the last time she had felt so wretched. Of course, she had been mortified by her relations’ behavior at the Netherfield ball, scandalized by her mother and younger sisters, and embarrassed to be seen with Mr. Collins for the set of dances he had insisted they share. Even her father and Mary had caused her pain at the ball, but all of that she had endured before.

  This was different; this was something she could not laugh off. For the first time since her coming out, Elizabeth had acted in a way she could not condone. In the past, her one consolation had always been that no one could find fault with herself or Jane. That had been their promise to each other, when they were girls no older than Kitty and Lydia, and she had failed. No matter what Mr. Darcy said or did, no matter how rude he was, her actions were her own responsibility, and she had let herself down. She had behaved just as horribly as the gentleman, and Elizabeth was thoroughly ashamed of herself.

  Of course, there were other concerns that added to her distress. Her words might have had the opposite effect of what she intended. Rather than convincing Mr. Darcy of Jane’s regard, she might have ensured that he pushed Mr. Bingley to leave the neighborhood for good. Elizabeth could not bear the thought of Jane’s pain and disappointment if that were to occur. Her mother surely hated her, both for refusing Mr. Collins and because Mr. Bennet had taken his daughter’s side instead of his wife’s. She did not relish dealing with Mrs. Bennet’s annoyance, even if Elizabeth understood it, at least on principle. After all, she too worried that Mr. Collins would hate all of them for her decision and banish the family from Longbourn the moment that the estate passed to him.

  And, to top everything off, she was exhausted. Dancing until past midnight, walking three miles home, and refusing a proposal from a man who would not hear the word “no” did not lead to a well-rested person.

  Elizabeth knew she would survive, rally her strength and laugh herself back into good spirits. She understood her own temperament, and it was not of a gloomy, brooding nature. Still, that did not mean she was averse to a good cry, so when Mr. Collins had finally been made to understand her refusal, she slipped from the house and set off for her favorite private spot at the base of Oakham Mount.