The Heir and Spare (Jane Austen Adaptations)

10. Arthur Darcy

Chapter 10

Arthur Darcy

D arcy’s heart sank as Miss Elizabeth hurried from him, acting as though he was the last person she wanted to witness her pain. Her circumstances were dire indeed. Women rarely recovered from such a scandal were it to ever be known. Well did he know, having just saved his own sister from an almost scandal. The evil smirk on Mr. Wickham’s face, her would-be elopement fiancé, came to his mind and brought such distaste he could scarce hide his expression.

Lord Perceval stepped closer. “They’ll not be welcome in most circles as soon as this gets out. It’s a shame we’re at the same party; perhaps tarnished ourselves.” Lord Perceval sneered.

Darcy whipped around to face him. “Do not mistake my silence for any lack of support for the Bennet sisters. You would do best to never repeat a word of Miss Elizabeth’s plight to another soul.” He stared at the pompous lord until he nodded, once.

“It is not our business, nor should it be the topic of anyone else’s.” He waited until Lord Perceval nodded again. “With any luck this will blow over with no one the wiser.”

The man snorted, but when Darcy paused again, he shrugged. “You can be certain I won’t forget. Miss Mary and her smiles will have to find company elsewhere.”

“Then you will miss the company of one of the truly special ladies of our acquaintance.”

Lord Perceval sniffed but drifted away slowly until Darcy heard him call out to one of the other ladies of the party.

Darcy himself had no desire to linger any more at this house party. His mind was whirling with thoughts and his heart was in anguish for Miss Elizabeth’s situation. How could he be of assistance? What was being done? These things were handled with money and influence—both of which he had. And if he could do something, anything to erase the anguish from Miss Elizabeth’s face or the nervous clenching of her hands, he would do it, without question.

He hung his head as he made his way back to the house. A part of him feared, dreaded, that his involvement would distance him so far from Miss Elizabeth’s good graces, that the feeling of being beholden to him would negate any chances he could ever have to further a romance with the woman. By assisting her and aiding her reputation, he would be sealing his fate to never be in her life.

Her expression as she hurried from him, her distaste in his presence, her reluctance to explain all or to accept his help were all evidence that Darcy could well have lost her forever. Her words replayed themselves. And the part about him destroying the happiness of her sister made no sense to him. He could not imagine their source, but assumed them to be spoken in a jumble, perhaps in error. He would have to explore that issue later.

His instructions to the valet were clipped but the good servant moved forward, packing his things without question. His explanations to Lord Shackley were also vague.

He clapped Darcy on the back. “We will miss you, old friend. But perhaps the assistance has been made? I understand the Misses Bennet have also left this afternoon.” He watched Darcy’s face, but he kept a blank expression.

“Your party has been a lovely opportunity to meet so many wonderful new faces, the people from the country who I have long wanted to know. I thank you for that.”

Lord Shackley nodded, clapped him on the back again, but his eyes took on a hint of sorrow. “I did so hope that you and Miss Elizabeth would be able to come to some kind of arrangement.” He shook his head. “Two finer people I have never met.” He leaned back against his desk. “When I see you together, there is such a?—”

“Yes, thank you. You have given us an excellent start, certainly. I have greatly enjoyed her attention.”

Lord Shackley hesitated and then simply nodded in response.

Back in his room, Darcy regretted his abrupt tone to a good friend of his father, but there was no sense in raising the man’s hopes or in encouraging his chatter to others about he and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Without much further delay, he was packed into his carriage and heading away from Lord Shackley’s estate.

His time with Miss Elizabeth was enlightening, certainly, and heartbreakingly enticing. She had beguiled him, heart and soul, in the short time he’d known her. Even her confusing moods, even her frowns, her uncertainty about him. She had been so increasingly important to him, such a goal for him to reach, a conquest of sorts that he wasn’t certain what to do when not in her presence. She had lit in him an intensity he’d not felt before. He could not leave her to this fate. He had resources. He had experience. And he was going to at least make certain Miss Elizabeth’s situation was improved.

With very little further thought, he rapped on the ceiling. When the driver opened up the small hatch so that he could see the man’s eyes, Darcy hesitated one moment only and then called out to him. “Change direction, man. We are off to London.”

As soon as his trunk entered the London townhome, he sent a servant after the Bow Street Runner who had helped him with his sister. If something was amiss in London with le bon ton , this man would know or discover it. Hopefully he would be as aware of the gentry typically outside of London. He could only try.

Only after he was situated in his study, waiting for news with the first bit of comfortable quiet since the news Miss Elizabeth blurted out to him, did he recall her words, “You who have been the means of destroying the happiness of a much beloved sister…”

He rubbed his forehead with thumb and forefinger. How had he ruined her happiness? She mentioned Jane, but he didn’t know Miss Jane. Miss Mary’s? He could not imagine to what she was referring. But it seemed as though she believed her own words and that her anger over his ruining of happiness was clouding all other thoughts about him. He tapped his fingers on the desk. How could he have done such a thing? He’d stood closer to Miss Mary than was probably expected of his relationship to the family, but he’d been encouraging. He’d been helpful even. Or so he assumed. Perhaps he’d been too accommodating? Did Miss Elizabeth not want Lord Perceval in her sister’s life? No, those thoughts were nonsensical. He had done nothing wrong and certainly nothing to ruin a life. He didn’t know what to make of it. But perhaps it also explained her thoughts about him, her seeming predisposition to dislike him. She was of the opinion that he had ruined her sister’s life.

A servant knocked and then stepped in when called for. “A Mr. Hopper to see you.”

If possible, the man looked darker than the last time Darcy had seen him. But underneath the low-lying hat and the shaggy hair, his eyes twinkled with an intelligence and goodness that remained the same. Darcy trusted him implicitly. And he was the best in his trade. If anyone could find Lydia Bennet, it was Mr. Earl Hopper.

Many hours passed, during which Darcy did little besides pace the floors and ponder words he could never say to Miss Elizabeth before Mr. Hopper returned to his study with a name. “I know who the man is. None other than George Wickham.”

Darcy shot to his feet with a litany of instructions, but Mr. Hopper just nodded. “Remember sir, I’ve been down this road before too. I suspect we will have the cad in hand before the sun is up.” He straightened his hat. “But I also expect we’ll be needing to move ourselves to Brighton.”