Page 59 of Sweet on Mr Darcy

Georgiana reached him and supported him. “Father! Oh God! Father, he hurt you!”

Mr Darcy thankfully looked more stunned than injured. That was not all. He looked completely humiliated. That was the worst part. Elizabeth felt his mortification and knew it pained him far more than the mark darkening his cheekbone.

Elizabeth heard a noise from behind her and whirled, throwing up her hands in fear that Wickham had returned.

“Peter!” she cried, leaving the doorway and returning to the hall.

The footman that Lady Barry had assigned to her protection looked at her in concern. “Miss Elizabeth. Maisie came into the kitchen and whispered to me that there be trouble.”

“There is trouble, Peter,” she whispered. “Mr Darcy is at the gentleman’s club with Mr Bingley. You must send someone there for him. They must hurry, Peter, as fast as they can. He must understand that it is of the greatest urgency. His father needs him. He must come, immediately!”

Peter nodded in understanding, then returned to the kitchens in haste.

Then followed the longest hour of Elizabeth’s life. Peter returned and watched Elizabeth pace the hallway in anxiety while Mr Darcy insisted to his daughter that he was fine. Georgiana cried. Mr Darcy demanded her silence and forbade her to tell her brother what she had heard.

Elizabeth had not been inside the room. She had not been begged for silence, and she would not allow herself to be. As Georgiana tearfully confessed her plans for elopement to her father, Elizabeth left the house as Peter followed, then paced the garden, waiting.

Peter stood close by and watched her pace in distress, until at last, hoofbeats, hard and fast, approached the cottage. Elizabeth peered through the gate as Darcy dismounted before his horse had properly stopped. Mr Bingley was just behind him.

Darcy saw Elizabeth and went to her. “Elizabeth! Is it my father? Is he–” he broke off, too terrified to voice his worst fear.

“He is well, you must not be too alarmed,” Elizabeth began.

“Of course I am! What am I to find inside, please!” he begged.

“You will think ill of me, I am sure, but I did not intend to eavesdrop,” Elizabeth babbled.

“Whatever do you mean? Of course you would never eavesdrop on purpose.” Darcy was impatient to hear what was wrong. “Elizabeth, tell me.”

Elizabeth began to weep as she rapidly and incoherently told him everything. By the end, Darcy had gone utterly still. He was not calm. Not remotely. His face became unreadable. There was something colder, more dangerous than anger upon it.

Darcy was utterly consumed by fury. “I must go to them.”

Bingley grabbed his arm. “Darcy, before you lose your temper entirely, let me tell you that I will not allow you to engage in a duel. You have every right to challenge him. Any man would. But there must be another way.”

“There will be no duel,” Darcy said coldly. “I cannot indulge in such irresponsibility. That is for foolish boys. I have too many obligations to be killed or flee to the continent for having killed. My father needs me. My sister needs me. There are other ways to manage Wickham. Release me, Bingley.”

Mr Bingley complied and stepped back, and they watched Darcy disappear inside. Elizabeth went to the door and crept in behind him. The young ladies from Priscilla’s room had realised something was happening and were at the top of the stairs, worried. There were servants in a group whispering at the back of the hall.

Darcy spoke to the butler. “Mrs Younge is to be confined to her room immediately. She is not to be released under any circumstances until I order it.”

The butler motioned to a footman, and the two men rushed up the stairs and past the young ladies at the top.

Elizabeth watched Darcy go into his father’s study, which was quiet. She followed him to the door. Georgiana sat by her father’s feet, her face tearstained and pale.

She began to babble as her brother entered. “You must not lose your temper. Father is too weak, he has–”

She broke off as her brother gave her a speaking glance.

His father appeared to have aged more than ten years since the previous evening. “Fitzwilliam, this is a private matter, it is unnecessary for you to–”

“Georgiana is right, Father,” Darcy said gently. “Please, do not upset yourself. We could not bear it if you were to collapse from this terrible shock.”

Darcy made no recriminations, no interrogations, no demands.

He knelt by his father’s chair. “How badly are you hurt?”

“It is nothing, Fitzwilliam. I walked into a door,” Darcy Senior lied.