“And what of your aunt?” he asked. “What did you tell her about your absence?”

“I told her that I would be staying with Georgiana, because you needed to search for the wayward pair but your sister's companion had been called away suddenly.”

“Very creative!” he observed dryly.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. I truly was afraid that you would call Wickham out.”

“Why would you worry? I am far more proficient than he with both sword and pistol.”

“That may well be, but I would not want you harmed in any way."

Darcy's somber mood lifted on hearing her worries about him. However, he wanted to make certain of her stand. “Or is it that you would not want me harming him?”

“That, too.”

His countenance again turned grim. He took a deep breath and asked the inevitable question. “Tell me, did you follow me in order to prevent Wickham’s marriage to your sister?”

“Prevent? What are you talking about?”

“You said you were pleased with the preference of Mr. Wickham. Perhaps you want him for yourself.”

“Are you out of your mind? That was before I knew of his character. Did I not say yesterday that we must have him marry Lydia and send them off to one of the colonies?”

“Then…uhm…You are not in love with him?”

“Never!”

“But you said you would not want me to harm him.”

“Of course not! What if you were sent to prison for life or faced the gallows for murdering him? I could not bear to see any sort of harm come to you!"

The burden in Darcy’s mind was lifted. He wanted to ask her whether her opinion of him had changed so much that she would now be willing to accept his suit…but he did not dare.

He closed his eyes and simply savoured the knowledge that she was, at least, not in love with Wickham, and that she cared for him enough not to want him to face any dangers. She does not want me to be harmed. She cares about me! She has told Georgiana that we are engaged. Her aunt and uncle know of my interest in her. There is still hope that I may win her heart.

Elizabeth did not understand why he had closed his eyes and stopped talking altogether. She looked at him, and saw the throbbing of a vein on his forehead. He looked weary. She longed to move across and smooth his frowning brow… but she did not dare.

He is still so young, and already he shoulders so many responsibilities. He shows a sense of determination and decisiveness that is not present in Mr. Bingley. Just look at the number of people who work for him in his townhouse. As a brother, a landlord, a master, he could bestow much pleasure or pain. He could have done much good or evil. And yet, when I sat next to the coachmen and listened to their conversations, they were a content and sensible lot, much happier than the servants at Netherfield, under Mr. or Miss Bingley’s patronage.

Although the coachmen did not commend their master in front of me, their levelheaded and cheerful outlook on life speaks volumes about their sense of loyalty in serving the Darcy family, and about the character of the master himself.

She stared at the exhausted man. She thought of his love with a deeper sentiment of gratitude than she had ever felt before; she remembered his gentlemanly ways, his warmth, and the caring manner that softened the stiff, reserved way in which he had expressed himself in times past. She was thankful for the strength of his love, a love which defied his own will, persisting against his reason and perhaps even against his character. She was grateful to him, not merely for having once loved her, but for loving her still.

She remembered his word to the little boy on the beach. He did not love any one but Georgiana… and herself. Am I too fickle to respect and esteem a man whom I professed to dislike so much, just a few days ago? I am certain he demanded a reward to taunt or goad me, for saying he was not behaving in a gentlemanlike manner during his proposal at Hunsford. Now I know that he is a truly honourable man. On this reassuring thought, she followed his example and closed her eyes to rest.

* * *

When the coaches arrived in Herne Bay, Elizabeth heard Mr. Darcy instruct his coachmen to take Wickham and Lydia directly to St. Martin Church. He then settled her into a room at the New Dolphin Inn, and followed after them.

She expected him, in company with the Wickhams, to return within an hour, but the hour turned into two. She was tugging nervously at her hair, pacing back and forth, when someone finally knocked upon her door. Opening it, she found Darcy’s head coachman, Wharton, standing there. He hurriedly asked her to take care of his master in the adjacent room for the time being.

Elizabeth did not understand his request, but he was gone before she could utter a word. She ran to the room and found Mr. Darcy lying on the bed, with bandaged wounds on his head and his chest, as still as…

Fearing the worst, she ran to him, but closer inspection showed that, although his eyes were closed, he was still breathing.

“Mr. Darcy, what happened? How were you injured? Where are Lydia and Mr. Wickham?” She shook his shoulder lightly.

Darcy opened his eyes and looked at her, barely able to speak. “Elizabeth, forgive me. I am truly sorry. They are gone.”

“Gone? You mean they have escaped again?”

He shook his head, then groaned in pain.

The sound spurred Elizabeth to action. She summoned warm water and food from a servant. Then she helped him eat a little, but he only wanted some water to drink. She proceeded to gently wash away the bloodstains on his head and chest. One of the bandages was already soaking through. He needed a doctor!

Her eyes widened with the sudden terrible memory of his words…Gone? The blood on his head and his chest. Could they… Had he…

She had to know at once. “Mr. Darcy, do you mean to say that they are both… dead?”

Sadly, he nodded his head.

Had their earlier conversation become a reality? She could not…would not accept that he might be responsible for murder and possibly be sent to prison. In a trembling voice, she asked, “Who…who killed them?”

“Mrs. Younge’s sister.”

Elizabeth released a big sigh, relieved that Darcy had not been the one. “But why?”

“It seems that Wickham had previously seduced the woman, before he went to Hertfordshire, and that he had promised to marry her when he returned. He did not keep in touch with her. But yesterday when he was in the neighbourhood, she happened upon him. They had an argument when she saw your sister with him. That was why Wickham and Miss Lydia fled. She then followed us to the church, but she arrived after the ceremony had finished. She attacked and killed him when we were walking out of the church. My burly servants were not there and I was not quick enough to stop her. Your sister jumped ahead to struggle with the assailant. I am so sorry, but… she was killed during the struggle.”

“Oh, Lord!” As the news of Lydia’s death finally sank in, Elizabeth sat down next to him, speechless, with tears streaming down her face. She could not believe that Lydia, so young, so full of life and laughter, could be gone in the blink of an eye. How very tragic to be married one minute and then to meet her judgment immediately afterwards. “Oh dear, what will Mama and Papa say? They shall be heart-broken.”

Mr. Darcy held her hands, barely able to respond again. He patiently waited, desperately wanting to comfort her in his arms. When she finally composed herself, he whispered, “Elizabeth, I am so very sorry. I should have acted faster and held your sister back.”

Elizabeth shook her head. She was certain that he had done the best he could. Before she could reply to him, however, the doctor arrived to tend to his wounds. She left them together and waited in the hallway, only to hear Mr. Darcy groaning in pain.

She decided to seek out Wharton and ask him to recount how his master had been injured. The man replied that Mr. Darcy had tried to shield the newly wed from the mad woman, and was injured in the process. Afterwards, he had succeeded in subduing the woman. Wharton had helped him hastily bandage up his wounds, and they then saw to the care of the couples' bodies and reported the killings to the authorities. The coachman explained to Elizabeth that his master had insisted on taking care of everything else first, when he should have immediately been attended to by a doctor.

After the doctor finished treating Darcy’s wounds, he informed Elizabeth that Mr. Darcy had lost a great deal of blood, but that he was a strong man and was not in any life-threatening danger. However, he asked Elizabeth to keep an eye on the patient throughout the night, in case he developed a fever. In addition, the doctor told her how to clean and re-dress Darcy’s wounds to prevent infection.

That night, Elizabeth stayed with him as he became somewhat delirious from fever. He tossed and turned violently, murmuring incoherently of his childhood escapades with Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth wiped the sweat from his face, neck and chest throughout the night, keeping cool cloths on his head to help reduce his fever. At one time, when his sleep seemed most disturbed, she sat down on the bed and pulled him over her lap, massaging his head and shoulders. Her calm ministering manner seemed to settle him. Only when he was peaceful again did Elizabeth feel that she could stretch out next to him, to rest a little herself.

* * *

The next morning, Mr. Darcy woke to find Elizabeth on the bed with him once again, only this time she was dressed in gentlemen's clothing. His head had rested again on her bosom as his pillow and, in spite of the pain he felt in other parts of his body, his heart was quite contented by her embrace. Then, abruptly, he remembered the terrible events of the previous day. Wickham, dead! He had been a scoundrel, and had deserved punishment for his deeds, but surely nothing as severe as to meet such a violent death.