More from ‘A Timely Elopement’

Good morning! Thanks for stopping by last Monday for a peek at my upcoming book. If you missed that post, you can find it here. But in a nutshell, this is the premise:

“What if Mr Darcy’s first proposal was interrupted by a bearer of ill tidings? The worst tidings: an elopement! Ah, but whose elopement would allow Elizabeth and Mr Darcy to spend quite so much time together and overcome their prejudices and his stubborn pride?

Yet again, our dear colonel comes to the rescue (even when he’s not even trying to) and has just stopped his cousin from blurting out a number of insults masquerading as a marriage proposal. He has followed Mr Darcy to Hunsford to impart grave tidings:

“We have reason to fear that Anne has eloped. To own the truth, with Wickham!”

Please read on if you’d like to find out what happens next:

A TIMELY ELOPEMENT

(continued)

“What?” Darcy hissed, his voice deathly quiet – so much so that, by comparison, Elizabeth’s exclamation was almost shrill:

“Mr Wickham? Mr George Wickham?”

“The very one,” Fitzwilliam confirmed, a grim set to his jaw. “You know of him, then. I could not ascertain whether my cousin told you—”

“I have not,” Darcy intervened, but the terse warning was for naught. Elizabeth’s wary glance was already darting from one to the other.

“Told me what?”

Fitzwilliam held his peace. ‘As well he should,’ Darcy inwardly grumbled with a fresh flare of vexation. It was not his cousin’s place to answer. It was his, and both of them knew it. So he squared his shoulders and gave her the unvarnished truth:

“Last summer Wickham had made the same designs upon my sister – or rather, upon her substantial dowry. He had worked to persuade her to consent to an elopement. He was foiled, thank goodness, but…”

Darcy broke off, concerned in no small measure by the host of unreadable emotions that played on Elizabeth’s countenance as she slumped back in her chair with a quiet, “Oh.”

He frowned. He had no way of knowing what it was that she was thinking, but she could not be allowed to form an ill opinion of his sister!

“Georgiana was but fifteen at the time, which must be a fair excuse for her imprudence,” he added swiftly. “She had no notion of his mercenary and deceitful nature, nor could she guess the full extent of his depravity. Her tender heart had kept fond recollections of him from her girlhood, so she believed herself in love,” Darcy elaborated, and was about to defend his sister further by disclosing that the dear girl had confessed the scheme to him of her own accord, when Fitzwilliam cut in, his fists clenched and his eyes shooting daggers.

“You should have let me run him through and pay him back for all the grief he caused us!” the colonel spat through gritted teeth, and much as he understood that the reminder of Georgiana’s heartbreak was sufficient provocation for his cousin’s outburst, Darcy gave a gesture of impatience.

“Do cease bringing that up, will you?” he said with uncompromising firmness. “You saw sense and agreed that it was for the best. Had you been harmed, it would have destroyed her.”

Fitzwilliam’s jaw tightened.

“The wretch would not have stood a chance. And he would not be alive today to injure us again.”

“Yes, well, that is as may be, but dwelling on ‘if only’ is not helping matters,” Darcy pointed out, insensitive as it might have been to say so. His pragmatic nature coming to the fore in times of crisis, just as it always did, he pressed on with the salient question: “What do you know of Anne?”

Fitzwilliam rubbed his jaw and took a deep breath as if to calm himself, then proceeded to relate with as much coherence as he could muster:

“She was not missed until the time when we were meant to congregate for dinner. When she was tardy in making an appearance, our aunt grew impatient and sent up for tidings. Anne’s lady’s maid must have been acting on express instructions, for she prevaricated to the best of her abilities, but the woman is no match for Lady Catherine. When it could no longer be concealed that Anne was not in her chambers, the lady’s maid had to come down and face the inquisition. Needless to say, she crumbled, and in due course confessed everything. Namely, that for the best part of two months, Anne had been exchanging illicit correspondence with a man who, judging from her description, bears an uncannily close resemblance to Wickham. Also, that a case crammed full with essential apparel as well as sundry jewels and personal possessions was tucked into the phaeton at Anne’s feet when she and Mrs Jenkinson left the house for their daily outing.”

Darcy pressed his lips together upon the oath that threatened to burst out.

“And what has been done, what has been attempted to recover her?” he forcefully asked instead.

“The phaeton is ill-suited to carry her over any great distance, so I dispatched riders towards the nearest turnpike inns to trace her. I know not what their success has been. I left the house at the same time in search of you.”

Darcy grimaced.

“You had better go back to make preparations for departure and let Lady Catherine know I shall return directly. That is to say, as soon as possible,” he amended, settling a long look upon his cousin, which would hopefully convey his meaning.

Never obtuse, the other nodded in understanding and acceptance, yet still cautioned:

“Do not tarry long. As you can imagine, our aunt is frantic. Besides, once she recovers from the shock, she might begin to wonder what is keeping you.”

Darcy rolled his eyes and shrugged. At this point in time, the risk of rousing Lady Catherine’s suspicions as to his motives and intentions was the least of his concerns.

“I trust you will pacify her as best you can,” he muttered, then urged, “Go, Cousin. I will see you shortly.”

With a bow to Elizabeth and a solemn glance encompassing them both, as if to wordlessly beg pardon for bursting in to bring grave tidings at the worst of times, the colonel finally complied.

* * * *

The sound of the closing door drew Elizabeth from her musings with a start. She glanced up with belated contrition when it occurred to her that she had not even acknowledged the colonel’s leave-taking. Oh, well. He deserved better, but he would not mind. Today of all days, he had far more pressing matters vying for his attention.

And so did she – which was the reason why she had barely attended to the gentlemen as they had spoken of the staggering developments at Rosings. Truth be told, she had registered less than one word in ten, while she had endeavoured to come to terms with a fair number of shocking revelations. Namely that Mr Wickham – the amiable and charming Mr Wickham – was a cad. That he had worked his wiles upon an innocent and trusting girl – his benefactor’s daughter – Mr Darcy’s sister. That, once foiled, he had been quick to make designs upon another dowry – Miss King’s – only to abandon that quest in favour of a better catch and elope with the heiress of Rosings. Moreover, that he had made a fool of her. He had stood before her, looked her in the eye, and kept a straight face as he had told her that the only reason for the manifest bad blood between him and Mr Darcy was the latter’s jealousy and his own unguarded temper.

‘I may perhaps have spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse,’ he had declared. Nothing worse! He had brazenly claimed he could recall nothing worse, yet mere months prior he had sought to ruin the man’s sister!

And she had believed him implicitly – had commiserated with him – had credited his deceit – had indulged him like the veriest of simpletons! That rankled the most. It ought not, Elizabeth knew full well. His trespasses against his benefactor’s kin were a vast deal worse – they were despicable. Spinning a falsehood or two was trifling in comparison. Yet her anger swelled; she could not help it. Mr Wickham had made a fool of her – and she had suffered him to do so. Nay, she had aided and abetted him!

Elizabeth cringed when another galling notion struck her: had Colonel Fitzwilliam not burst into Charlotte’s parlour with his shocking tidings, by now she might have told Mr Darcy that she had not lost her senses to the point of consenting to marry a man who would treat his boyhood companion with no humanity. She might have taken him to task in defence of the vile rogue and reproached him for withholding the living stipulated in his father’s will. That fragment of Mr Wickham’s tales of woe might well be true – and why not? In the light of the day’s disclosures, Mr Darcy was more than justified in his resentment. Mr Wickham should count himself fortunate that a more severe punishment had not been meted out to him. The blackguard! Had he sought to harm one of her sisters—!

Elizabeth took a deep breath to subdue the anger that surged at the mere thought. She had to own that she was of the same mind as Colonel Fitzwilliam: the repulsive creature deserved to be run through. Nay, worse – he deserved to be drawn and quartered!

“I need not tell you how distraught I am that everything has gone so dreadfully awry,” Mr Darcy suddenly said from across the room, and in a flash Elizabeth’s murderous intentions vanished, leaving her to the realisation that she had given precious little thought to his singular avowal. Nor had she reflected on the fact that he had professed his love and ardent admiration, yet he had dissuaded Mr Bingley from offering for Jane on account of ‘strong objections against the lady,’ as Colonel Fitzwilliam had inadvertently disclosed that very morning on their walk.

Elizabeth pursed her lips. Had she not been so incensed by Wickham’s treachery, she might have dwelt with bemused indignation on how little Mr Darcy understood the bonds of sisterly affection, and likewise wondered how he could reconcile advocating one course of action to his friend, while for himself he chose the very opposite.

She was not afforded the leisure to dwell upon such considerations. In a few long strides, Mr Darcy crossed the expanse of floor between them and resumed with fierce determination:

“You have my word that I will work to bring this to the speediest conclusion – to the least damaging conclusion that could be reached under the circumstances. I stayed behind to assure you of this. There is nothing else for me to say. Not now. I—” He bit his lip and after the briefest pause he solemnly spoke again, “You must be in no doubt of my hopes and wishes, but there is nothing I can ask of you at present. It would be ungentlemanly and moreover unfair to expect you to connect yourself with a family tainted by a scandalous elopement. Good God, this is beyond everything!” he burst out, his voice laden with the acutest bitterness, and spun on his heel to pace away from her. “I would have offered for you within weeks of our acquaintance, were it not for the inferiority of your connections – and now I am thwarted by one of my relations! Farcical, I would call it, had this happened to any other man.”

Elizabeth arched a brow at the last remark. Inconsiderate and instinctively self-centred, it promptly did away with the stirrings of compassion that had crept upon her at the thought of his unrequited love and the severe blow of Miss de Bourgh’s disgrace at the hands of his foe.

“Remarkable – is it not? – how the difference between farce and tragedy is but a matter of perspective,” Elizabeth observed but, to her consternation, her reproachful sarcasm was entirely lost on him.

An ardent glow stole upon Mr Darcy’s countenance as he earnestly replied, “Have faith, my love. Believe me, tragedy is not to be our lot.”

Elizabeth opened her lips to speak, but before she could retract or clarify her flippant comment, he strode to her side and, instead of towering over her as he had done of late, he pulled up a chair and sat, then reached to clasp her hand and spoke again with a staggering depth of feeling:

“There is nothing that I will not do to bring about our union, Elizabeth, you must know that! Anne’s misjudgement and Wickham’s scheming shall not keep us apart a moment longer than strictly necessary. He will be apprehended and banished, and Anne’s false step will be hushed up. This business will be set to rights one way or another. And I will follow you to Longbourn as soon as the deed is done,” he vowed and brought her hand to his lips. Not a faint brush over the back of her fingers, but a burning kiss pressed into her palm.

Breath caught in her throat at the unaccountably heady sensation that quickened her pulse and sent a thrill coursing through her veins. The missish response shocked and vexed her in equal measure. She had no business to sit there quivering like a witless damsel – nor he to take such liberties. She had not accepted his offer of marriage, and had no intention of doing so.

With a quiet sigh, Elizabeth drew her hand away, uncomfortably aware that she must tell him that. It would be cruel to let him labour under a misconception. She flinched. It would also be unconscionably cruel to deal a fresh blow to one who had already been pained by bad tidings from another quarter. The prospect sat ill with her – it was not her way to deliberately injure anyone. But it must be done. There were no two ways about it.

“Mr Darcy, I—” Elizabeth haltingly began, only to see him pushing his chair back and rising to his feet with an exasperated, “Oh, for goodness’ sake! A few moments’ peace – is that so much to ask for?”

She stared, at a loss to grasp the reason for his display of temper, until her cousin’s voice reached her through the open window:

“Come along, my dear Charlotte – come, Maria, do make haste! Let us go within. I can scarce breathe. This is in every way dreadful! Do make haste. We must sit… talk… find a way out of this calamity! This is not to be borne. Disgrace, woeful disgrace, and undeserved to boot. No malice on my part, I acted in the best of faiths, and yet I reap nothing but ruin. Who could have possibly imagined…! Gracious, they do say that the road to perdition is paved with good intentions, and truer words were never spoken. May the good Lord have mercy and deliver us from this predicament!”

The front door was slammed shut, soon followed by another one somewhere in the house. With a steadying breath, Elizabeth stood from her seat and braced herself for the pandemonium which, she could scarce doubt, would burst into the parlour in no time at all.

* * * *

There’s no stopping Mr Collins when he’s having a hissy fit, is there? But fear not, in the next excerpt you won’t have to put up with his ramblings. I’m thinking you’d rather read about a late-night conversation between Elizabeth and Mr Darcy in his sister’s sitting room 😉 . If you’d like to tune in for that (and for the cover reveal), please stop by at Austenesque Reviews this coming Thursday (28 May).

If all goes well, the Kindle version will be released on Friday 5 June 2020, with the paperback and the audiobook to follow.