The Secrets of Darcy and Elizabeth

“Thank you.” Elizabeth said simply – watching both Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. “But how did you find this house?”

“Once we knew Wickham had kidnapped you, it was simply a matter of finding his friends and prying information out of them with money or threats,” Darcy explained. “We discovered a Mr. Easton who related that Wickham had borrowed his townhouse for the night in lieu of repaying a debt. He told Easton he would be throwing an exclusive party.”

To Elizabeth’s surprise, another man climbed through the window. “Goodness! How many men did you bring?” Darcy shifted Elizabeth to a more comfortable spot by his side, but kept a protective arm around her shoulders.

“Ten in all,” answered Darcy, “between some Bow Street Runners and Richard’s army friends.” Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

Elizabeth recognized the Colonel’s friend Lieutenant Preston and thanked him for his part in the rescue while Fitzwilliam set about picking the worn lock on the bedroom door.

“My, what useful skills one picks up in the King’s service,” Darcy observed wryly as he watched.

“I learned to pick locks because a certain cousin was forever locking me in unused rooms at Pemberley when we were children.” Fitzwilliam’s voice was acerbic.

“I am so happy I helped you acquire new skills,” Darcy said with a laugh.

The lock clicked and Fitzwilliam tested the knob by carefully turning it without opening the door. “How many men does Wickham have in the house?” He asked Elizabeth.

“There are only three, including Wickham. I do not know where they are in the house, but I believe one has been stationed by the front door to prevent me from attempting to escape again.”

“Again?” Darcy squeezed her shoulders with pride. “You have been busy.” Fitzwilliam gave him a quizzical look. “She also kicked Wickham in the groin,” Darcy said by way of explanation.

“Good for you!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed. But his eyes flickered to Darcy’s apprehensively. Elizabeth understood the question he feared to ask.

“He thought he could seduce me—”

“I will kill him!” Growled Darcy. Elizabeth put her hand on his arm to calm him down.

“No harm was done – at least not to me.”

Fitzwilliam shook his head. “I must remember never to tangle with you.” Pride and relief warred on Darcy’s face. Fitzwilliam opened the room’s door a crack. They were all silent for a minute as he listened; hearing nothing, he shut the door softly again. “Do the men have pistols?” He asked Elizabeth.

Elizabeth nodded. “Wickham has two and each of the other men has one apiece.”

“It turns out your wife is an excellent advance scout,” Fitzwilliam said to Darcy with a smile. “I think we should attack now.” Darcy nodded curtly in agreement and Fitzwilliam waved his hand at Preston. “Give the signal. We will descend the stairs from here. The others can enter through the front door. No need to knock.” Preston leaned out the window and made some hand gestures. Darcy and Fitzwilliam both pulled pistols out of their coats.

Elizabeth caught her breath; she had only seen Darcy with a gun once before. Part of her wanted to beg him to remain with her so he would be safe, but she knew he must confront Wickham. It was a matter of honor. The relief she had experienced when he appeared at the window washed away in a new flood of anxiety. I wish I could go with him and help, but I wou

ld be of no use. She caught his arm. “William, please be careful.” He pulled her to him roughly with one arm and kissed her fiercely.

“I will,” he promised. Fitzwilliam opened the door just as Darcy released Elizabeth. He turned to Preston, “Will you stay here and guard Elizabeth? If one of those blackguards gets away—”

Preston nodded. “No one will get past me.” With one last glance at Elizabeth, Darcy was gone and Fitzwilliam was close on his heels. She felt bereft immediately. Pulling out his pistol, Preston positioned himself in the doorway.

Down below, Elizabeth heard shouts and bumps. A shot rang out and she started. She sank onto the rickety, narrow bed. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

As Darcy stepped onto the tiny third floor landing, he reminded himself it was best not to enter a fight in a white hot rage. He tried to temper his anger at Wickham with relief that Elizabeth was unharmed. Still, he had seen that haunted expression in her eyes and knew that, despite her attempt at good spirits, the experience had been terrifying. She had been roughly handled, he had no doubt. Her clothing was wrinkled and torn in places -- and her hair was half undone. A lesser woman would have been hysterical in his arms.

Thinking of the hands that were responsible for her disheveled state renewed Darcy’s rage. He charged down the stairs, his pistol held at the ready and Fitzwilliam at his heals. Once on the second floor, he opened the door to the first bedroom he came to. It was empty. Fitzwilliam did the same with the next door. The noises from below told Darcy that the rest of their men had begun their assault on the first floor.

Then the two men came to a door that was locked. It took Fitzwilliam mere seconds to pick the lock and Darcy kicked the door open. Inside the room was small and dark, but they could see Wickham at the open window in his nightshirt – framed by the gray moonlit sky.

Darcy and Fitzwilliam pushed through the doorway and into the room. Whirling at the sound of the door opening, Wickham raised his pistol and shot at Darcy. Darcy’s own shot was one second behind. Wickham’s bullet flew past Darcy’s head and buried itself in the doorframe. Darcy’s bullet lodged itself in Wickham’s shoulder – the impact knocked Wickham up against the window frame.

Before Darcy had time to react, Wickham pulled out his other pistol, although his hands were shaking with the effort. Darcy tried to shoot, but his gun only fizzed and popped. A misfire! He dove to the floor as he heard Wickham’s pistol go off. The shot went wild and buried in the wall. “Damn you, Darcy!” Wickham shouted as he staggered upright and threw one leg over the sill of the open window.

He must not escape! Darcy thought, but Wickham, dividing his attention between the window and Darcy, had lost track of Fitzwilliam. Prowling around the edge of the room, the Colonel pounced, knocking Wickham’s gun to the floor. Darcy crossed the room in two strides and grabbed hold of the front of Wickham’s shirt, dragging him back into the room. Once Wickham was leaning back on the window frame, Fitzwilliam slammed the window closed – only then did Darcy indulge himself by landing a resounding punch on Wickham’s jaw. He folded to the floor.

Darcy took an extra pistol that Colonel Fitzwilliam offered and pointed down at Wickham’s head. His whole body was shaking with rage. “I would love to have a reason to shoot you.”