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Darcy in Want of a Wife Chapter 35 70%
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Chapter 35

Drawing Room

Longbourn

“What?” Elizabeth repeated blankly.

Mr. Bennet, who was standing near Sir William, walked a few steps forward and took his second daughter’s hands in his own. “Mary walked to Meryton early this morning to collect a book from Mr. Benedict’s shop. She duly received the book and left, and no one has seen her since.”

Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged bewildered, distressed glances.

“When exactly did she go missing?” Darcy demanded.

“We do not entirely know,” Mr. Bennet said, his face drawn with pallor. “Mary always wakes earliest of us all, and Mr. Benedict does not clearly remember when she was there; between ten and half past ten, he thought. We have servants in Meryton trying to find someone who saw her, but something has happened, without a doubt. And she is not the sort of girl to run off, of course; you know how proper, how steady, Mary is!”

“She may be dead!” Mrs. Bennet wailed suddenly. “My poor, dear Mary!”

This provoked Kitty to begin crying profusely, and in the resulting hubbub, Darcy gently grasped Elizabeth’s arm and drew her into the corner of the room farthest away from the wailing woman.

“What is it, Fitzwilliam?” she asked, gazing up at him with a knit brow. “You have thought of something?”

Darcy blew out a breath and said, “I wonder if Wickham has something to do with this.”

Elizabeth stared at him, her dark eyes wide, and then said, “Wickham? Why would he be involved?”

“Because Bingley was responsible for his arrest for indebtedness,” Darcy replied, his eyes as hard as flint. “He has always been vengeful; he might well take profound pleasure in taking your sister and…”

He trailed off and Elizabeth gulped, her eyes filling with tears. “Would he really be so horrible as to…?”

“I do not know,” he said hastily. “Even if he did not harm her directly, if she is away for some time, your family’s reputation will be … damaged.”

“It will be ruined,” Elizabeth murmured and shook her head. “Dear God, I fear that you may be correct; his charm masks the heart of a snake! But surely if he accosted Mary in some way, someone would have seen something?”

She said the words aloud, but her heart sank within her. It was only a mile from Meryton to Longbourn, but there was a bend in the road, and in the morning of a weekday, there were often few people about.

The Bennets’ butler stepped within at this moment, his usual calm displaced by excitement. “Mr. Bennet! We just received word from one of the Longs’ servants; he saw Miss Mary entering an unfamiliar yellow carriage a few minutes before eleven o’clock!”

/

On the Road to Longbourn

Hours Earlier

It was a warm and humid day, and Mary Bennet felt a bead of sweat form in her hair and trickle down her neck. It was uncomfortable, and she would be far cooler if she could take off her hat and let the breeze cool her a trifle. But surely that was ridiculous; no lady would be caught outside without appropriate headwear!

In any case, it would only take her twenty minutes to walk home, and then she could settle by an open window in the drawing room, remove both hat and gloves, and cool down.

Unless, of course, her mother wished to talk to her, which was a distinct possibility. She still found it bizarre that her mother, after years of ignoring her third daughter, had suddenly decided that Mary was a worthy companion.

But then again, perhaps it was not so very odd. With Lydia away at school, Jane well married, and Elizabeth living with Jane in London, there were only two Bennet daughters at home. Kitty was pretty and Mary was not, but Kitty was also vapid, and Mary was confident that she was a far better conversationalist.

Not that she disliked Kitty at all; indeed, the last weeks had resulted in a most surprising friendship between the only pair of Bennet daughters still at Longbourn. Mary had been lonely for as long as she could remember; Jane and Elizabeth were the dearest of friends, and Kitty and Lydia were close as well, leaving her alone in the middle – plain in features and ignored by almost everyone in the neighborhood, in spite of her intense efforts to study and learn the pianoforte and the like. Not that Jane and Elizabeth were ever unkind, but they had far more in common with one another than with poor, ugly Mary.

No one seemed to care about accomplishments compared to a beautiful face.

But when Lydia had been sent away, Kitty had been left uneasy and confused, and Mary had finally realized that Kitty had a gentle temperament and was inclined to be a follower instead of a leader. Lydia, who was both brash and bold, had claimed Kitty’s attention for many years, to the detriment of them both.

Mary was confident that she had benefited Kitty and admitted that Kitty had helped her in return. To have a companion, a sister who wished to spend time with her, had been a great boon. She and Kitty often walked to Meryton in tandem and talked about books together, and Mary found herself giving up some of her rigid views on books and even looks. She did not have a mirror at hand, of course, but Kitty had insisted on helping her beribbon her hat, add knots to some of her clothing, and soften her hairstyle. She would never be pretty, but due to their vigorous walks, and times of sisterly laughter and conversation, and a heartier appetite, she had gained a few precious pounds, and her cheeks were, at the moment, probably charmingly pink.

The basket in her arm bumped against her hip, and she glanced down as she adjusted it. She had purchased two loaves of bread from the baker at the request of Cook; something to do with the bread being improperly prepared by a new kitchen maid, and she had also purchased a copy of Robinson Crusoe , which she was eagerly looking forward to reading.

She could not help but chuckle to herself; she had been so moralistic for so many years, insisting on reading sermons and scholarly treatises only. But Kitty loved novels, and Mary had reluctantly read a few in order to point out their moral failings.

To her considerable surprise, some of the books she and Kitty had read and discussed included powerful lessons about relationships and love and respect and villainy and morality.

She had been a little ridiculous to denigrate such books and was happy to be found in the wrong. Her father had even ordered Robinson Crusoe for her, informing her that it was an enjoyable tale.

She was certain that it was and hoped that she would be permitted to read it when she returned home, though naturally, it was her duty to keep her mother company if Mrs. Bennet desired it.

“Miss?” a feminine voice said suddenly from her left.

The voice startled her, and she spun about to stare wide-eyed at the carriage that had halted next to her, where a lady, wearing a hat with an ostrich feather and an expensive pelisse, was looking out at her. Not for the first time, she had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she had no awareness of what was happening around her.

“I am sorry,” the lady in the window said, smiling apologetically. “I did not mean to startle you.”

Mary’s heartbeat slowed, and she felt her shoulders ease. “That is quite all right. I was woolgathering. May I help you?”

“I hope so,” the woman said with a soft laugh. “It is merely that I am on my way to Syndonvale, and my map has led me astray. Can you tell me the way?”

“Of course,” Mary replied. “If you proceed down this road for half a mile, you will turn right onto the road, which leads toward Larchwood. At the second fork in the road, you will bear left and two miles later, turn left…”

She trailed off at the obvious bewilderment on the lady’s face.

“Shall I repeat that?” she asked.

“I am sorry, I am quite stupid about such things and do not even know where I am now. Could you, perhaps, look at my map and show me exactly where I am?” the woman asked.

Mary nodded, opened the door of the carriage, and stepped up inside. “May I see…?” she began, and then broke off as a strong hand grasped her arm and thrust her against the squabs next to the lady.

“Drive on!” the woman cried out in strident tones, and Mary gasped in alarm as the horses were set into motion.

“What … what are you doing?” she yelped. “You must…”

She trailed off as her eyes fixed on the man sitting across from her, a man who had previously hidden himself in a corner, out of sight of the windows.

“Mr. Wickham?”

“Miss Mary,” Wickham replied with a thoroughly unpleasant smirk. “How lovely to see you after all this time.”

/

Drawing Room

Longbourn

Later

Mrs. Bennet had been helped to a bedchamber with Mrs. Phillips and Kitty to attend to her, and Elizabeth, Darcy, Mr. Bennet, Sir William Lucas, and Mr. Phillips sat down for a counsel of war.

“You have no idea who paid off Wickham’s debts?” Bennet asked grimly.

“None at all,” Darcy replied. “Bingley intended to send a man to Marshalsea to obtain information on the matter, but regrettably we did not realize the importance of Wickham’s release. I suggest that we send an express to Half Moon Street to apprise the Bingleys of the situation and request immediate knowledge about Wickham’s benefactor.”

“That is wise,” Bennet said, and his brow crinkled. “I just realized … in the midst of our concerns about Mary, I did not think to ask why you and Lizzy are here together?”

Elizabeth blushed bright red and turned to Darcy, who was opening his mouth.

“Do not say it,” she ordered. “If Mary is lost or ruined, I will be…”

“It does not matter,” Darcy said flatly. “Nothing will keep us apart. Mr. Bennet, this is an uncomfortable time to make such an announcement, but yesterday Miss Bennet did me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage. I came here with her today to ask for your blessing.”

Bennet looked entirely thunderstruck at these words, and after an awkward ten seconds, Sir William stepped into the conversational breach.

“Although this is a dreadfully difficult time,” he said, stepping forward and smiling at the newly engaged couple, “I do congratulate you, most heartily. Miss Bennet is a diamond of the first order, Mr. Darcy.”

“She is,” Darcy said and continued fiercely, “and I have no intention of allowing Wickham, or anyone else, to part us. But come, we must do our best to find Miss Mary as quickly as possible. Perhaps we could send riders along the road to ask about a carriage matching the description?”

“If you do that, everyone in the area will know that Mary has been abducted,” Phillips said heavily.

“Far better scandal than injury to Miss Mary,” Darcy said flatly.

“Quite,” Bennet agreed faintly.

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