Friends and Enemies Read online

  She sighed, closing her lovely eyes. Then she smiled, a slight movement of her lips, a look of peace and contentment on her face.

  “You will speak to my uncle?”

  Emeralds paled to the gleam in her expression. She was glorious and she was his.

  “Yes, I will do so immediately.” He started to step back when her hands tightened on his.

  “Before you do, you must know, William.” He heard his own sharp intake of air at her use of the name only his closest relatives called him. “Like you, I will not play false. My feelings towards you are not yet love. Nevertheless,” she held her fingers to his lips when he started to speak. “I see evidence of the thorns which have stood between us being cleared away. With the words we have exchanged, seeds of affection are bearing fruit. A stalk has pressed through the harsh, weathered surface and is growing strong and tall. With tender nurturing, with both of us attending to its care, I see a bud blossoming into a divinely beautiful flower, deeply rooted to withstand adversity. Is this your vision as well?”

  He had no words. The miniscule fears which had lingered in the deep recesses of his brain melted away. His conviction became iron.

  “Yes, my dearest.” He knew they stood too close. He was aware their actions, their gestures, were beyond the boundaries of decorum. He perceived the two of them would be bound by gossip at this moment. He doubted his ability to keep from failing and to always keep her happy. But he did not doubt his love was enough for the both of them until they stood as emotional equals. “I love you, Elizabeth.”

  She smiled.

  CHAPTER 22

  Darcy’s Aunt Helen had long been a favourite. He loved her dearly. He loved her even more by the end of the ball. Her choice for the last dance was a waltz. With the candles burning low, the atmosphere was delicious for romance. Whispers of the final dance had traversed the gathering the whole of the evening, so the matrons, who typically left after the supper was over, stayed to see who partnered whom.

  While Richard twirled his intended around the room, Darcy did the same with Elizabeth. It was a first time for them both, yet they fit and moved together like they were born for the dance. With his hand at her waist, his longing to pull her closer into his embrace was overwhelming. They had broken so many rules during the ball, he would not risk her reputation any further.

  She had danced with others as he stood sentinel along the wall. His aunt had kept him company each time she had come upon him when she circled the room.

  “Will you have a double wedding with Richard?” had been her first question.

  “I would love nothing more, Aunt. With that said, if they have a long engagement, I will pass on the privilege.”

  “Yours will be short, then?” his aunt enquired.

  “I have yet to speak with her uncle. As a matter of fact, she has not actually told me ‘yes.’”

  “Have you asked?” Richard’s mother was direct out of necessity. With two sons and a husband used to being in control, she had forged her own way into a position of authority and, since the death of his father, had treated Darcy as her third, and youngest, son.

  “I have,” he quickly assured her.

  “Tonight?” Her brow lifted, a skill females must learn soon after their birth.

  “No, I have not.”

  “Why not?” By then, her fists were on her hips and he knew not to hesitate.

  “I will ask during the waltz.”

  He could not believe his eyes. Helen Fitzwilliam, one of the most articulate, composed women of his entire acquaintance, sighed with such pleasure that he speculated everyone in the room could hear.

  “You are quite the romantic, William.” Did she have to sound shocked?

  “She is worth the effort, Aunt.”

  Lady Matlock nodded her head once and smiled as she strolled to the next person to need her attention.

  Yes, he would ask.

  The music floated around them as he silently counted the beats of three. Mar-ry-me. Mar-ry-me. Mar-ry-me, he repeated to himself as they carefully moved around and away from the other couples.

  “Elizabeth,” he whispered. “I have a confession I am compelled to make.”

  She chuckled. “Recall, sir, I am not a priest.”

  “No, I am well aware.” She delighted him. “In a conversation with Miss Bingley while in Hertfordshire, I had complimented the beauty of your eyes.”

  “You had? I cannot imagine.” Now, she frowned.

  “It is true. Despite our rough beginning, I have long thought you the handsomest woman of my acquaintance.” He huffed. “But, this is neither here nor there. Dear lady, her response was to wish us joy and I flippantly replied how a lady’s imagination is very rapid, jumping from admiration to love and from love to matrimony.”

  “I see. And what was her response?” Her question was cautious.

  “She claimed we would often have your mother at Pemberley with us.” He was frustrated. This was not the direction he intended to pursue when he started the conversation. “You are too quick, Elizabeth, and I need to regain my thought, I pray you.”

  “What are you attempting to say, William?” Her tone was not sharp, but kindly.

  “I am loathe to admit it, but I believe Caroline Bingley was correct, and I was not. I do not want a courtship. I do not want a lengthy engagement. I want you as my bride.”

  “Are you angry at me? I hear your frustration.” The music did not slow, but their steps did until they were almost at a standstill.

  “No!” He wanted to run his fingers through his hair. “I want to be romantic. I want to use winsome words to sweep you off your feet. I want you to want me, to want to be Mrs. Darcy. However, my tongue has failed me. You are standing too close, Elizabeth.” He pulled her to him before she could retreat. “The fragrance you wear has filled my nostrils and flooded my brain until I cannot think—I can only feel. The smallness of your waist draws my hand to pull you closer, and the tilt of your head begs me to lean down and…” He huffed again. “You, my dear woman, are taxing my self-control and, in spite of the fact we are in a ballroom at my uncle’s home, I want to…” Wisely, he stopped.

  “Are you asking me to marry you?”

  What a woman! She did not cringe away from his turbulent emotions. Rather, she sifted through them to reach the crux of the matter. She was worthy of admiration.

  “Yes, I am!” He was done with the music, done with the dance. Done with the crowded room and done with decorum. Kneeling on his right knee, he kept her hand in his. “Will you, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?”

  Vaguely he became aware the musicians stopped playing and a hush fell over the crowd. He cared not.

  “I will.”

  With those two simple words, he knew his joy was assured. No matter Georgiana’s future or any opposition from his peers for marrying a country lass, he finally had the foundation for happiness.

  Standing, he brought her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over the white glove. Later, when they had privacy, he would finally be able to express his sentiments properly.

  “Does your cousin love you?”

  At first, he did not understand why she asked. “Of course,” he answered.

  “I am glad of it, William, because the gossip columns will certainly be filled with shocking news of Mr. F. D. from Derbyshire rather than the announcement of the engagement of the earl’s second son to a worthy woman.”

  “I refuse to feel embarrassment for my actions, dearest.” He smiled down at her as he contemplated where her head would fit the first time she rested it on his shoulder. “Richard does not have his older brother’s desire for attention. Whether Miss Knowlton feels the same, I do not know. Nonetheless, the furore surrounding our engagement will deflect interest from Georgiana should there be a hint of gossip about her ‘illness.’ Also, I want it known that I am officially off the market. If my public display makes me look foolish in the eyes of the ton, then so be it.
I care not for their opinion.”

  Her face was relaxed and at peace.

  Mr. Gardiner stood at the side of the dance floor, waiting. Darcy had learnt the man was protective of his own. He lost no time asking for his niece’s hand. When their goodbyes had been said to their hosts, Darcy escorted Elizabeth to the Gardiner carriage, grateful for the biting chill that cooled his ardor. He loved her.

  “Thank you for agreeing to become my wife.” Thin snowflakes, few in number, drifted from the darkness of the heavens. One landed on her cheek. The longing to kiss it away was powerful. When he bent his head to do so, the forceful clearing of Mr. Gardiner’s throat stopped him. Soon!

  Handing her into the carriage, he bowed. “Until tomorrow,” he whispered for her hearing only. Hearing a distant clock chime three times, he only had to wait another eight hours before he could justify showing up at Gracechurch Street. It was easy to imagine Elizabeth and Georgiana sitting close, heads together, reviewing the ball in all its magnificent details. Aunt Helen had entertaining down to a fine art. She could help both his wife and sister make their way once they started hosting social evenings.

  His wife. He could not keep the smile from his face as he made the short walk home. Despite Georgiana’s circumstances, for the first time since his youth, he was happy.

  ***

  The express arrived while he was searching the newspaper for the gossip column, a portion of the daily news he routinely overlooked. He chuckled to himself. Elizabeth had been correct. His proposal had made the first paragraph. Richard’s engagement was in the second.

  “Sir.” His butler approached him with a note, the haphazard folds incongruous next to the elegant salver. “The messenger did not wait for a reply.”

  Both men looked towards the hallway at the immediate heavy banging on the front door. The sound of a fist pounding on the wood rather than the metal clang of the knocker gave rise to the suspicion the messenger had changed his mind.

  Glancing at the outside of the missive, chills shot down Darcy’s spine. He knew that handwriting intimately. Wickham!

  Pushing aside the servant, he rushed to the door, throwing it open and hurling himself at the man standing in front of him. Only, it was not an unknown messenger he could interrogate as to the location of George Wickham, it was a frantic-looking Mr. Gardiner.

  “Lizzy is gone.” The first words uttered by Elizabeth’s uncle intensified the chills. “She woke early as is her wont and went for a stroll in the park across from our home. The maid accompanying her reported they were approached by a gentleman who apparently was known to my niece. A short argument ensued whereupon the man roughly grabbed Lizzy and threw her over his shoulder. Within seconds, he had tossed her, kicking and screaming, into a waiting hackney, and they were gone.” He added, “We heard her clear inside the house.”

  Only then did Darcy note the man had no coat or outer wear. He must have come immediately.

  Sick to his stomach, he looked at the paper in his hand, inherently knowing the explanation would be contained within. Hurriedly breaking the seal on the note, he skimmed the contents as fear and trepidation filled him.

  Darcy,

  I am ruined. You have finally succeeded in taking everything from me, so now it is time to take something you prize from you.

  I have been watching you, Darcy. Curiously, I noted your repeated jaunts to Gracechurch Street. Why would the vainglorious Fitzwilliam Darcy visit an inferior area of town? Had you hidden Georgiana within the house in an effort to keep her from me? Was your aborted trip to America and her illness something you wanted to hide from knowing eyes, especially mine? Such was my thinking until I watched Miss Elizabeth Bennet depart from the house for the park. Yes, I know what you find attractive in her, but what could she possibly see in you? She had openly proclaimed her disdain for you in Hertfordshire. What changed now that she is in London? Oh, I know. Your wealth, your name, Darcy House, and Pemberley. Smart girl!

  I watched you outside Matlock House. Who would have thought you would be captured by a country miss? It just so happens that I feel the same about her as you do, and I find certain joy knowing I will be taking all the liberties you can only dream about. You can keep your insipid sister. I will keep the love of your life.

  How does it feel, knowing I have something you desperately want? This is how I have felt from my youth on, as I watched you taking for granted all you possess, knowing I would have been a far better master. You are undeserving, Fitzy. I am the man your father loved, not you.

  Be that as it may, I have a bargain to propose. Give me the value of Georgiana’s dowry, and I will give you back a slightly rumpled version of the woman you adore. A fair trade, do you not think?

  Money can buy my silence so sweet, no-longer-innocent, Georgie can have a future. Money will give you a future as well. You have four and twenty hours. If you do not provide the blunt, I will sell Miss Elizabeth as soon as I am done with her. Your choice! I will be in contact on the morrow.

  G.W.

  CHAPTER 23

  Instantaneous panic turned into an anger so cold it shook him physically. Thrusting the letter towards Mr. Gardiner, he yelled for his butler to contact Richard and for a carriage to be prepared as he ran upstairs, leaving Elizabeth’s uncle in the entrance hall. His staff would see to him.

  “Parker!” He demanded immediate action. As he swept into his chambers, his valet had already removed the painting of Pemberley from the wall to the right of his wardrobe. Darcy inserted the key to the safe, counting the small stack of one-thousand pound notes when the door sprung open. There were ten. Georgiana’s dowry was thirty-thousand. He would need to contact Mr. Henry Hase at the Bank of England for the rest.

  It was the habit of gentlemen to store their valuables in their study. Darcy House had a safe nestled in the wall behind his desk. However, his grandfather had, after a spate of robberies, installed two other locations where the treasures could be divided equally, thus guaranteeing there would never be a complete loss to the Darcy assets.

  Returning downstairs, he met his cousin running from Matlock House as Mr. Gardiner’s horse was being tied behind the carriage. Climbing inside, the two men apprised Richard of what they knew.

  “What is your plan?” the colonel enquired. Strategy was his specialty. “We have searched the area around Mrs. Younge’s and found no evidence of him. His letter places him close to Grosvenor Square and to the docks, apparently, since leaving Hertfordshire. My assumption that he was in the seedier part of town was wrong.”

  “As was mine,” Darcy admitted to his chagrin. “You know him, Richard. You know as well as I what he is capable of.”

  “Gentlemen,” Mr. Gardiner interrupted. “This man’s interference with Miss Darcy was your problem alone. Now that he has my Lizzy, he is mine.” This was a new side to Elizabeth’s uncle. Formerly, he had been a warm family man, who generously had opened his home to a stranger, offering a safe haven and hospitality on the basis of his niece’s acquaintance. Before Darcy now sat a man capable of inciting followers to action, of commanding attention. This was Mrs. Bennet’s brother?

  Richard spoke. “What are you thinking, sir?”

  “Though Elizabeth is betrothed, she is still under the protection of my house. Before I left Gracechurch…”

  They were interrupted.

  “Mr. Gardiner!” The voice outside their transport was gasping for air. “Mr. Gardiner, sir.”

  Darcy pounded on the roof to stop the vehicle as Elizabeth’s uncle leaned towards the window.

  Throwing open the door, Mr. Gardiner jumped from the carriage before it came to a complete standstill. Darcy and the colonel followed.

  “Samuel! What news?” The servant was bent over grasping his knee with one hand while he held out a note with the other—panting. Darcy recognized him as one of the Gardiner footmen.

  “I ran…as fast as I could…too much time…to get a horse.” He stood, clutching his side. “Mrs. Gardiner wanted…you to know…ri
ght away, sir. Miss Lizzy…,” Samuel puffed, “…is home.”