The short December day was already reaching its end when they got north of London, and Darcy considered it worthwhile to have his men question the workers at each station intently about whether they had seen anyone matching the description of Georgiana, Wickham, and Mrs. Younge.
At the first two stations there was nothing of use — the road was extremely crowded and a vast number of person’s travelled up and down it.
Darcy was tired.
He wanted to embrace and hold Elizabeth against him again, and not move or think at all.
The endless bouncing, bouncing, and bouncing of the carriage sent jolts of pain jittering up his back and through his legs. Darcy knew he was very fortunate to have alittlecontrol over the muscles in his legs, but at this moment he rather envied those who'd gained a similar infirmity from breaking their back, and who had no sensation at all from below the waist.
Why had Georgiana not considered that he would need to travel north at speed to follow her?
At least, once evening fell, they travelled at a slower pace. There was ice on a section of the road, and the postillions dismounted and with the help of the footmen they carefully led the horses past on foot, before mounting up again once the section was passed to go at a faster pace to the next station.
The cold, freezing weather penetrated into the carriage and into his bones. Go back to Elizabeth — to his wedding.
He was missing his wedding on this chase.
Would there even be a wedding?
There must be. Nothing else mattered but Elizabeth. If she wanted him to abase himself and dine with tradesmen he would, and he would do so happily if that's what she required of him. Anything to keep Elizabeth happy.
The lights of the next station along the road were visible. Darcy had determined earlier to stop there with his party. Even though he could, in principle, sleep in the carriage, the men upon whom his travelling depended could not.
And then — the first positive news.
The previous night a group who matched the desired descriptions precisely had slept there, and to Darcy’s relief, there had been separate rooms for the ladies and for the gentleman who corresponded to Mr. Wickham’s description. Of course two more days of travel would see the couple to Gretna Green, hours and hours ahead of the earliest Darcy could hope to make it.
The news that he was still on the right track comforted him.
There were only four hours between when he settled into the bed and when he was to be woken up to leave.
But Darcy could not sleep. His back and legs hurt. His feet were cold.
And he was missing his wedding.
It was tomorrow that he was supposed to have met Elizabeth’s relations in trade, and that he had promised to be polite to them, but also said he would never invite them to dine at his house.
His dignity and the Darcy name was always so important.
Sixteen. An age when she ought definitely have known better, Georgiana had voluntarily chosen to ride to Gretna Green with a fortune hunter.
Damnation, his back hurt.
Darcy's face was warm, because the room was kept too hot, but his feet were still cold. And he couldn’t just effortlessly roll over onto his side, like he wanted to.
Darcy clawed at the bed linens and pulled himself onto his side, and some of the sheets off the mattress. That felt better.
Why wasn’t he more angry that Georgiana had disgraced them?
He was scared for her safety, scared that she would now be exceedingly unhappy in life, and that her wellbeing had been ruined beyond all recovery — but he had not the slightest desire to yell at her, or tell her that this was all her own fault, or to throw her off from his care, or into a high guarded tower until she was twenty-five and had learned her lesson.
She was throwing away her fortune and future at once. But he just wanted a miracle to happen to protect her from what Darcy was certain would be an unhappy marriage to Mr. Wickham.
In sum: He had none of the angry and offended emotions proper to a male relative at such a time.
He loved his sister all the same as ever.
She was his sister. His family.
