Page 69 of Penned By Mr Darcy
From somewhere behind him, Elizabeth snatched the gun from his hand. He did not see what she did with it, but she was soon between them, shoving Darcy off Wickham.
“You must stop, Mr Darcy.”
“Yes, Mr Darcy,” Wickham parroted in an impression of Elizabeth’s voice. “Do stop.”
Elizabeth turned to face him, her shoulders set.
“You are a disgrace.”
“Am I?”
“You want this?”
She held up the diary; Wickham must have dropped it at some point, or placed it down – Darcy could not think. Wickham’s eyes glinted as he reached for it. Elizabeth slipped away, quick and nimble, and ran towards the fireplace. Without a second glance, she threw the diary into the flames.
“You have nothing, Mr Wickham. You are nothing!”
“You bitch.”
Darcy felt only the stinging of his knuckles as he recoiled backwards. It was only as he looked down that he realised he had punched Wickham in the face. Wickham’s nose was crooked, blood dribbling down towards his lip as he howled in pain.
Darcy stumbled backwards, finding the embrace of someone behind him keeping him steady.
“Are you well, Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth asked softly.
“I am sorry,” he panted, his chest burning. “I did not…I…”
“Hush, it is alright. I promise, all will be well.”
He turned to see her, her sweet smile as she stared up at him instantly calming. Logic told him that there was still a gun hidden somewhere in the room, and Wickham was still groaning pitifully behind them, but he cared about nothing save for the courageous woman before him.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I thought, for a moment…”
“What is going on in here?!” Caroline Bingely’s voice cut in. “We were taking a walk in the garden with Miss Bennet whilst we waited for tea, and I am sure we heard shouting!”
Her expression turned to one of horror as she took in the scene before her. Eyes wide, for a moment at least, she fell away into a perfectly executed swoon.
Chapter Twenty
Elizabeth
The events immediately after the confrontation were something of a blur. Elizabeth remembered Jane taking her arm and leading her to sit down, and a glass of brandy being placed in her hand. She had not been sure why her sister had been so concerned, but when Elizabeth tried to raise the glass to her lips, her arm was trembling so violently the brandy sloshed over the side.
The constable had been called and Wickham taken away. Elizabeth had glimpsed a large purse being handed to the constable by Mr Darcy, no doubt the payment to keep what had occurred here silent. If word escaped Netherfield, it would do far worse things for her reputation than the rumour of a clandestine embrace in the woods.
Without another word from Mr Darcy, Mr Bingley saw them home in his carriage. He sat outside with the driver, leaving Elizabeth and Jane alone inside the cab.
“I do not understand what has happened,” Jane said for the tenth time, utterly shocked. “Lizzy, you must tell me something.”
“It is over now,” Elizabeth said simply, sagging back against her chair. “Promise me that you will not breathe a word of this to our family. Nobody can know what has happened.”
“I swear it.”
They returned to the house, bidding Mr Bingley to stay where he was lest their mother waylay him. Elizabeth wanted nothing more than silence and peace, for her muscles ached and her mind would not settle. Jane saw that she had both, tucking her into bed with claims of a cold.
“You are very brave, Lizzy,” Jane whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Mr Darcy told us what you did.”
“I did nothing. Mr Darcy took the gun from him.”
