Darcy in Want of a Wife

Chapter 37

Drawing Room

Longbourn

Later

The door burst open and Sir William Lucas rushed in, his cheeks flushed, his eyes flared with excitement.

“Miss Mary has been found safe!” he exclaimed.

Elizabeth lifted her head from her paper and leaped to her feet. “Are you certain, Sir William? Entirely certain?”

“I am,” the man replied, his plump face creased wide in a smile. “One of my servants just arrived with news that she is staying with a gentlewoman in Scofield.”

Elizabeth swayed in relief, and suddenly she was in Darcy’s arms. “Thank God,” she cried out, sobbing into his chest. “Thank God!”

/

Hired Carriage

En Route to Hunting Lodge

“I still think we should have continued to look for her,” Wickham said sullenly.

Mrs. Younge glared at him, her eyes flashing with fire. “If you had not been so stupid as to let her escape…”

“She bit me!” Wickham whined, lifting up his right arm, which did, indeed, show a charming bite mark, now partially scabbed over, partially oozing blood. “I might get a blood poisoning!”

“You may be fortunate if you do,” his conspirator said viciously. “Miss Mary Bennet knows both our names, and since she has escaped our grasp, Darcy and his myriad servants will doubtless comb England for us. As Miss Bennet said, abduction is a hanging matter! Indeed, it was idiotic of us to take Miss Mary at all. Based on what you told me about the family, she is the daughter least likely to run off with you, after all. If Miss Kitty or Miss Lydia had been available…”

Wickham scowled in the waning light of sunset and made an abortive movement toward his swollen nose, only to hiss in pain and lower his right arm onto his lap again. “This hurts! I must see a doctor!”

“A doctor,” Mrs. Younge demanded, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Are you mad? Did you hear what I just said?”

Wickham tightened his lips and huffed. “It is not my fault!”

“It is your fault,” Mrs. Younge said grimly. “But there is no point in further recriminations, I suppose. We will reach the hunting lodge within an hour and can hide there for the night, but you know that we cannot remain there forever. Darcy is no fool; he will learn of my brother’s employment with Mr. Quinton, and given that we headed in this direction and that our former captive knew that we were heading for a lodge, he will find us soon enough.”

“You were the one who mentioned the lodge,” Wickham pointed out.

The woman tossed her head and said, “Yes, I made a mistake as well. I confess it. But what are we to do, Wickham? We have some money, but not sufficient to escape to Ireland or the Americas to make a new life for ourselves. You know Darcy; it was bad when we attempted to steal away with Miss Darcy. Now that we actually kidnapped Mary Bennet, the man will be out for blood!”

Wickham blew out a breath, leaned back against the squabs, and thought hard.

“I have an idea,” he said.

“I hope it is better than your last one,” Mrs. Younge said resentfully.

/

The Bradstowe House

Scofield

The Next Morning

Mary Bennet woke up with a cry of terror. The remnants of her nightmares caused her to look around frantically, her breath coming in deep gasps, and her fear deepened at the sight of an unfamiliar bedchamber.

Where was she?

For a moment, her mind was filled with the images of her dream … of a harsh hand on her arm, of George Wickham baring his gleaming white teeth at her, his eyes an odd shade of green…

Reality returned, and along with it, a rush of relief. She was safe, having hit Wickham with a book, bitten him, and then run for her life.

It had been an unpleasant feeling to bite him, but it had been remarkably effective. She was still amazed that she had taken such a violent step, but the thought of being in the clutches of three evil people, two of them men, had spurred her on to new heights of courage.

There was a soft tap at the door, and a moment later, it opened to reveal the face of Beatrice, who stepped inside with a full tray in her hands.

“You are awake, Miss Bennet,” she remarked, placing the tray on a convenient side table. “Did you sleep well?”

“I fear not,” Mary said, sitting up and throwing the covers back. “I had bad dreams.”

“I am not surprised in the least,” the older woman said sympathetically. “It will take time to recover from such an ordeal. Now, I washed your dress last night, though there are some rips in the hem, probably from when you were running away from those villains.”

Mary stood up, a trifle awkwardly, as the nightdress she had borrowed from her hostess was too long for her; Mrs. Bradstowe was a tall woman.

“Thank you so very much,” she said. “I know I have said it before, but you saved my reputation, along with my family’s, and possibly my life as well.”

“You are very welcome,” Beatrice said sincerely. “Now, my mistress eats breakfast in her room, but if you would care to come down at noon, she would enjoy speaking with you more.”

“I will,” Mary promised and then looked out the window. “I hope that my family will arrive soon.”

“I am certain they left as early as possible this morning, but we are some four hours from Meryton when the weather is good, and unfortunately, it is raining today. But you are safe here, Miss Bennet. I promise you.”

It was, indeed, raining hard, and the carriages would move slowly, which made Mary’s stomach twist oddly. She knew that she was safe from Wickham and his conspirators, but she wanted to see her father and to see Kitty again. She wanted to go home.

“Thank you,” she said aloud.

“Of course, Miss Bennet.”

/

Drawing Room

The Bradstowe House

Noon

Mrs. Bradstowe was some sixty years of age, with iron gray hair. She was a tall and formidable woman with a straight back, and must have been beautiful in her youth. Mary found her a comforting, motherly woman, far more so than her own mother.

She wondered how Mrs. Bennet had reacted to her disappearance. Had she been worried? Alarmed? Or indifferent?

There was a knock at the door, followed seconds later by the sound of the door opening.

“Is this the Bradstowe residence?” a familiar male voice asked.

Mary was on her feet in seconds. She hurried out of the drawing room into the main corridor, and in a few moments more, she was weeping into her father’s coat.

“Mary!” the man said, and his voice was roughened with tears.

“Father!” she replied, drawing closer still, relishing the smell of wood smoke and fine paper.

“Come in, please,” Beatrice said in a hospitable tone, and Mary lifted her head to observe Elizabeth and, incredibly enough, Mr. Darcy step further into the small vestibule, which allowed Beatrice to close the door behind them.

“Lizzy!” she exclaimed, releasing her father and plunging into her older sister’s embrace.

“Mary,” Elizabeth said, her voice slightly muffled because her face was pressed against Mary’s shoulder. “Oh, Mary, I was so worried.”

“I was also,” Mary replied, lifting a happy, if tear-stained, face to her sister. “But all is well now. May I inquire as to why Mr. Darcy is here?”

Elizabeth took a step back and reached out boldly to take Darcy’s hand in her own. “Fitzwilliam and I are engaged to be married.”

“So Wickham was right about that!” Mary exclaimed in return, and then blushed. “I am sorry … many congratulations…”

“So it was Wickham,” Darcy said, and his expression was so fierce, so furious, that Mary was shocked and, yes, comforted. This was not the sort of man one crossed, and Wickham had obviously done so.

She did not think that Wickham’s future would be a good one. And she certainly hoped it would not.

“Mrs. Bradstowe? I am Mr. Bennet,” the master of Longbourn said. “May I express my immense gratitude for your assistance?”

Mary turned toward her hostess, who was standing ramrod straight, with a welcoming smile on her face. “It was my maid, Beatrice, who was the real heroine, along with your own daughter, of course. I must say that, while I consider myself a brave and formidable woman, I am not certain I would have had the courage to hit a man in the nose with a book, and then bite him in the arm.”

“You bit Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth replied, turning round eyes on her sister. Mary turned pink in her discomfort and said, “I … I needed to get away, and…”

“You are incredible, Sister!” Elizabeth interrupted, and her expression was, without a doubt, one of genuine awe. “I am so proud of you, to take your rescue into your own hands. I am certain Wickham had no idea that you were willing to cause such trouble!”

Mary looking about, noted that the looks were entirely of admiration, and managed a slight smile. “He was surprised. But I could not bear to remain …”

She trailed off, suddenly short of breath, and Elizabeth put her arms around her and said, “It was a dreadful experience, without a doubt. But it is over now, and you will sleep safely in your own bed tonight.”

“Please, will you not come within and have some tea before you return home?” Mrs. Bradstowe suggested.

Mary was eager to return to Longbourn, to her mother and to Kitty, but she knew her family and Mr. Darcy would enjoy a time of refreshment with the women who had kept Mary safe.

“Thank you,” she said boldly. “We are most grateful, Mrs. Bradstowe.”

Hostess and visitors sat down in the drawing room, with Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth on either side of Mary, who felt much better sitting between two loved ones. Beatrice and a young maid provided tea and scones, and after a few minutes of general discussion, Mrs. Bradstowe said, “Mr. Bennet, as painful as it is, I think it would be best for you to learn exactly what happened to your daughter here in Scofield. Beatrice can tell you what this Mr. Wickham said, which might be advantageous if you take legal steps against the man.”

Bennet looked at Darcy, who was sitting on a chair a few feet away, and said, “We have not quite determined what we will do about Mr. Wickham, but yes, the more we know, the better. Thank you, Madame.”