In the next instant, Darcy threw open the French doors and strode out onto the terrace, where he found Elizabeth doubled over near the hedge, emptying the contents of her stomach. He looked at her in horror as he took in her tear-stained cheeks and swollen lips. She raised her handkerchief to her mouth, and he gasped at the angry bruises beginning to encircle both wrists.

Elizabeth found she could not meet his eyes, which held just as much pain and anguish as she suspected her own did, and felt herself sway as another wave of nausea washed over her, fear of her husband’s reaction to what had just occurred gripping her.

Darcy shut the door and, closing the distance between them, enfolded Elizabeth in his arms, where she finally collapsed, a few unshed tears escaping from her eyes. She clung to him, terrified to release him for fear of what she would see in his eyes when she pulled away.

He held her just as tightly, whispering endearments and stroking her back, all the while struggling to keep his alarm at bay, lest he add to Elizabeth’s distress. There was no doubt in his mind her discomposure had something to do with George Wickham, who Darcy noticed was conspicuously absent from the drawing room only moments earlier.

Elizabeth soon calmed, though Darcy continued to soothe her with his touch and gentle words for many minutes to follow. He was afraid to ask what she had been forced to endure at the hands of that… man and remained silent on the subject for as long as he dared before his fear for her well-being finally got the better of him. Pulling her from his breast, he said, in a tight voice, “Elizabeth, dearest, you must tell me what he has done.”

She glanced at him before averting her gaze and, placing a shaking hand over her eyes, said, “I… he has not done the absolute worst. At least not to me.”

He stared at her, his eyes fearful as he brushed a stray curl from her face with a trembling hand. “Are you certain?” he whispered.

She nodded. “Forgive me, but I cannot be concerned solely with myself right now.” She took a deep breath and told him of how she had discovered Lydia in an amorous encounter with Wickham only moments before. “After all that has occurred in the last several months, I cannot believe she is blind to the true nature of such a man! He told me our paths are not likely to cross again after tonight, but he alluded to the eventuality of… something, though I hardly know what. I cannot fathom what might be in his mind, but I am concerned. And what of Lydia? She cannot possibly marry someone like him, yet Lord only knows the liberties she has allowed him. It is in every way horrible!”

Darcy took her hands in his, his anger rising as he traced his finger along her bruised wrists. “I must speak with your father and Colonel Forster immediately, and you must come into the house. You are freezing with only a shawl.” He looked at her, his steady gaze boring into her. “Are you certain you are not… injured any more than what I can see, Elizabeth?” He nearly choked on the words.

Elizabeth noticed then that his eyes were glistening. She offered him a weak smile and cradled his face in her hands. “I am not injured,” she said softly, “I am only feeling unbelievably foolish for having gotten myself into such a dangerous predicament in the first place; though, if I had not come out for some air, I never would have discovered Lydia’s partiality to him, and God knows what would have happened to her, that is, if it has not already taken place.”

Darcy drew her against him and placed a kiss upon her hair, thanking God she had not been seriously hurt or worse. He reluctantly released her, and lacing his fingers with hers, he bestowed another gentle kiss upon her temple before leading her around to the other side of the house, where they entered through another set of French doors. To Darcy’s relief, they found themselves ensconced in a comfortable parlor, mercilessly devoid of any members of the Lucas family or their guests. He settled Elizabeth in a chair by the low-burning fire and removed his tailcoat, wrapping it around her shoulders.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, inhaling his scent as it lingered on the fibers of the fabric, allowing its soothing effects to wash over her senses. After a few moments, she felt some of her agitation fade, and she was able to relax, if only a little.

Darcy added several logs to the fire, and very soon the entire room was bathed in a glowing warmth. He walked to where Elizabeth sat and knelt before her, taking both her chilled hands between his. Rather than raising them to his lips, however, he lowered his head and laid it to rest upon her lap, closing his eyes and willing himself to rein in the powerful emotions churning in his breast.

Elizabeth kissed his curls and laid her cheek against their softness. Both gave and received comfort in equal measure. They remained thus for some time before they were intruded upon.

Mr. Bennet had roamed the house in search of his favorite daughter, only to find her hidden away in the small parlor and engaged in an intimate embrace of sort with her husband. The elder gentleman could easily see all was not well between them, and after hesitating a minute, he cleared his throat. Elizabeth raised her head, and Darcy rose to his feet, but rather than turning to face the intruder, he strode to the window, where he remained for several minutes with his back to the room, his hand passing repeatedly over his eyes. Elizabeth, her father noted, wiped at tears that were glistening upon her cheeks.

“Lizzy, my child,” he asked with concern as he approached her, “what is wrong? Have you quarreled?”

Elizabeth shook her head, not yet trusting herself enough to speak, and glanced at Darcy, who was still staring out into the darkness.

Mr. Bennet turned to his son-in-law. “Darcy, what has happened? If it involves my Lizzy, I will not rest until I know.”

Without so much as a backward glance, Darcy spoke in a controlled voice punctuated by ill-concealed anger. “Then perhaps you should invite your youngest daughter and Colonel Forster to join us. I am certain they would be most interested to hear what has taken place tonight.”

Mr. Bennet gaped at him. He was just about to demand Darcy reveal all, but upon seeing the pained, pleading look from his daughter, he simply nodded and left them. He returned moments later, leading Lydia by the arm with Colonel Forster close behind. Darcy strode to the door and closed it firmly, a scowl upon his face as he returned to his place near the window. From there, he glared at Lydia with distaste.

“Lord, Lizzy!” she exclaimed. “You look positively wretched! It is no wonder your husband looks so cross.” Then, looking around her, she asked, “Where has Wickham got to? Lord! He is not still waiting for me on the terrace, is he?”

Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows shot skyward.

Elizabeth turned aside her head at her sister’s lack of shame.

It was all Darcy could do not to throttle the ignorant girl. “Lydia,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “Mr. Wickham has left, perhaps forever, and you would do well to forget you ever had any dealings with him.”

Lydia gasped. “What? Why?” She rounded on Elizabeth. “Lizzy! You did not send Wickham away, did you?”

Elizabeth rose from her chair, walked to where Darcy stood, and took up her own vigil at the window.

“Why could you not simply allow me to be with the man I love?” Lydia whined. “It is so unfair, Lizzy! You and Jane always get to have all the fun, and I have none!” she exclaimed and ended with a pout.

One glance at his son-in-law made Mr. Bennet see how perilously close that gentleman was to unleashing his temper. He knew he had better act, and he had better do it quickly. “Lydia!” he admonished, and rather more harshly than he was accustomed to doing, “Is this true? Have you been meeting with Mr. Wickham?”

Lydia lifted her chin. “Of course, I have, Papa, for we are in love, and Wickham says when he has enough money saved up we are to go away together.”

Mr. Bennet’s face paled. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice deadly.

Lydia huffed. “Lord, does not anyone listen to what I say?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, enough!” he hollered. “You will go out of this room now and return to the drawing room, where you will await me with your mother and sisters!”

She made to protest, but her father, who very rarely ever raised his voice to any of his daughters, did so again. Lydia retreated with haste, slamming the door behind her.

With a grim expression, Darcy regaled the two gentlemen with the events that had taken place that evening. To say Mr. Bennet’s anger upon hearing of the disgraceful and willful antics of his youngest daughter was severe would have been a gross understatement, but it was almost nothing in comparison to the deep distress he received when he learned of that same gentleman having forcefully taken similar liberties with his favorite daughter.

As far as Lydia was concerned, Darcy wanted very much to believe she would be properly chagrined by the exposure of her thoughtless actions. He would also have liked to believe she would feel a deep and abiding concern for the disgraceful treatment Elizabeth had been forced to endure at the hands of her lover, but, judging from her petulant and selfish attitude, he dared not even hope for such an outcome.

Colonel Forster’s countenance was fierce. He immediately took the blame for Wickham’s nefarious actions upon himself, proclaiming he had failed in his duty as a commanding officer, which should have included his keeping a close watch upon the unscrupulous lieutenant—especially after the incident with Darcy in Meryton several months prior. Shortly after Darcy finished relating the disturbing particulars, the colonel departed Lucas Lodge with his officers, hoping to catch Wickham before he could flee Hertfordshire, where he would very likely leave behind numerous unpaid bills with his creditors and, no doubt, several debts of honor involving their daughters.