Page 78 of Courting Elizabeth

I sometimes returned after midnight. She was always in the small drawing room, a lamp burning, an open book she wasn't reading. She rose as soon as she heard me.

“Nothing?” she would ask.

“Not yet.”

She never cried in front of me. She took my coat, called a servant for supper, made me eat and drink. The third night, she placed her fingers on my temple.

“You’re exhausted.”

“I’ll sleep when we’ve found them.”

“You won’t find anyone if you collapse in the street.”

“Such touching confidence in my constitution.”

“Fitzwilliam.”

Her tone forced me to look at her.

“Rest for two hours. I’ll wake you.”

I yielded.

I lay down on the drawing room sofa, too weary to make it to my chamber. Elizabeth sat beside me. I woke before dawn with my head in her lap and her hand in my hair.

She had fallen asleep sitting up.

I lay still, my heart aching with a hope I refused to name.

On the fifth day, we found Wickham.

He was lodging with Lydia in a furnished house in Clerkenwell, under the name of Mr and Mrs Williams. The landlady believed they were married. Lydia herself seemed to believe the marriage was merely a formality delayed by lack of funds.

She opened the door wearing a dress far too showy, a delighted smile on her face.

“Mr Darcy! What a surprise! Is Lizzy with you? Wickham was just saying you’d end up helping us.”

Every word deepened my anger.

“Where is he?”

“In the sitting room. But don’t be harsh. We were going to write as soon as everything was arranged.”

Nothing was arranged.

Wickham rose when I entered. He looked unwell, but his smile still held that easy charm that had deceived so many.

“Darcy. I wondered how long it would take you.”

Mr Gardiner remained near the door. Lydia wanted to follow us; I asked her to return to her room.

“Oh, you’re going to talk about money,” she said. “Wickham assured me that men always prefer to do that without the ladies.”

When she had gone, I closed the door.

“You will marry her.”

Wickham poured himself some wine.