Page 39 of Not Without Me, Miss Elizabeth

"And what was that, Mr. Darcy?" She asked teasing, as was her way.

"You treated me as a man, Elizabeth. Everyone else treats me as Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. You treated me only as a man."

"I suppose I simply did not flatter your vanity. Your pride vexed me, and I was not afraid to tell you so, to your own face."

He laughed. "You were not, and I do not doubt you never shall be. And I have come to love you the more for it. You are kind, and generous; you look after those you love, and strangers besides. You are brave. You are a great walker, and fond of the outdoors, and a considerable reader. You speak with your whole self, your hands, your countenance, and your expressions want for nothing in liveliness. You are clever, and you hold to your principles of justice and fairness more firmly than any person I have known."

His speech, cheeky and unexpectedly tender, struck her deeply. She could never have imagined the cold, proud Mr. Darcy harboured so warm a heart beneath his reserve. She had never before been the subject of such a speech from any admirer, and felt her own feelings deepening rapidly in answer to his.

"That is the finest speech I have ever heard, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth replied teasingly.

"I am happy to offer you a great many more such speeches, for the whole of our life together, Elizabeth."

She laughed at that pert remark, "I believe I should like that very well, sir."

He smiled at her from across the room, regarding his bride-to-be with real tenderness, though his mind would not entirely leave off its worry. He hoped his cousin might receive the express by the morrow, and be on the road soon after. Much as he treasured this time with her, thoughts of Wickham would not be silenced. A great sum of money stood to be lost, and men grewreckless where money was concerned; he had seen it often enough at the gaming tables of his clubs, and in the wilder pursuits of the ton besides. He had seen it in Wickham long before this, and knew better than to underestimate him now.

"What is Pemberley like?" she asked, of a sudden.

"To me, it is the finest place in England. Some ten acres of park and garden and water, with ample ground for walking or riding, and a great deal to discover besides. My favourite room is the library, built up over seven generations of Darcys. We have a good many tenants, and I take care to see each family treated fairly. The house itself has rather more bedrooms than we could ever want for, and you may arrange any of them entirely as you please."

She looked at the ceiling above the four-poster bed. "It sounds very grand indeed."

"It is. But I have every confidence you will manage it beautifully, and you shall not be alone in it. Mrs. Reynolds, my housekeeper, will stand by you at every turn, and so, of course, shall I."

"I shall be glad of whatever help is offered me," she said, smiling.

***

They fell quiet again, each turning over some private vision of life together at Pemberley. It struck Elizabeth still as strange, that she should be marrying the very man so much of Meryton regarded with disdain. She resolved she would help him in society, and would show the neighbourhood that he was not the stern, proud creature they took him for. He was honest, and shy, she had come to believe, but a good man nonetheless.

Her thoughts shifted again, this time drifting toward Meryton as they so often did in quiet moments now, turned inevitably to Jenny Woodson, and the small, persistent worry she had carried for her these past two weeks like a stone in her pocket.

"Mr. Darcy, do you," she started, before he cut her off.

"Fitzwilliam, if you please."

"It will take some little practice, sir," she said, smiling despite the gravity of what she meant to ask. "Fitzwilliam, have you any knowledge of a kitchen maid at Netherfield Park, a Miss Woodson?"

"The name is not known to me." He said it plainly, without apology, though he watched her face carefully, sensing already that the question carried more weight than its phrasing suggested.

"No matter, I hardly expected it would be." She drew a breath before continuing. "The maid at Netherfield is the eldest of the Woodson children. Her younger sister, Jenny, is the third eldest, no more than fifteen, I think. She went missing a fortnight past, and I have been greatly troubled by it ever since. It is not at all like her to vanish so, not without a word to her family." She hesitated only a moment before voicing the fear that had lodged itself in her since the thought first occurred to her. "Do you suppose it might have been Wickham's doing?"

He turned his gaze toward the fire at once, something shuttering briefly behind his eyes, and rose to cross the room, adding a loose log to the flames with more attention than the small task strictly required before returning to his seat. "I am sorry to hear of her disappearance." He spoke carefully, weighing each word. "But I should be very surprised indeed if Wickham were the cause. He is not, to my knowledge, in the habit of abducting poor young women outright. He is fond enough of them, in his own fashion, but I would not lay this particular crime at his door."

"Fond of them?" Something in his phrasing caught at her, some careful evasion she could not quite name.

"Wickham is, I am sorry to say, dishonourable in a great many respects. Pemberley presently supports two of his natural children, born to two tenant daughters he persuaded of his affection; the first before he went up to university, the second upon his return to the neighbourhood, in the hope, I think, of securing a place with us. That was the spring before Ramsgate."

"Those poor women! He has ruined their prospects entirely, and never meant to marry either of them, I suppose," she cried in alarm.

"Never. Wickham will marry only for money, and nothing less will ever tempt him. He is a blackguard through and through, and I intend to see he does not remain in England much longer."

"What do you mean to do with him?" She wondered out loud.

"I mean to deliver him to the courts, where I expect he will be tried and transported to the colonies,” Darcy started, his voice growing deeper, “Between our own complaint and others besides, I have little doubt his banishment will be secured."

She hoped with all her heart he was right. Since their escape, a persistent dread had lingered, that at any moment their captors might yet find them, and drag them back to their prison. Improper as their present circumstance undoubtedly was, she found herself grateful, all the same, to share so comfortable a room with him.