Elizabeth’s hand pushed against his chest as she took a stumbling step back. He ignored Lydia Bennet in the doorway, focussing on Elizabeth, her breathing heavy, her brow furrowed as if she could not quite believe what they had done.
An unearthly hush fell over the assembly room, the likes of which had never happened before nor would likely be repeated. As the music stopped, dancers turned in the direction of Lydia Bennet’s vociferous exclamation.
“You rake!” MrBennet roared, his face flushed with rage as he hurtled himself at Darcy. Before he could react, he found himself in an undignified heap on the floor as MrBennet pulled a stupefied Elizabeth behind him.
Reeling from being bested by a man twice his age and half his stature, Darcy pulled himself to his feet, taking in the gaping faces of the Netherfield party and the indignant stares from the rest, straightened his coat, and cleared his throat. “MrBennet, sir, it would be my honour to marry Miss Elizabeth.”
“No!” Miss Bingley cried out.
“Papa,” Elizabeth interjected.
“Aye!” cried Lady Lucas. “It is that dastardly kidnapper, come to claim his next victim in our very own Eliza!”
“What nonsense!” exclaimed Bingley.
“Seize him!” MrLong’s voice joined the cacophony.
“MrBennet shall have to fight the Hertfordshire Hound and will be killed! Oh, my poor girls! To be without a father!” wailed MrsBennet.
MrsGoulding declared, “MrBennet is the best shot in the county, why I—”
“Silence! MrDarcy is not the Hound!” thundered MrBennet. “But I would like to know, what have you got to say for yourself, sir?”
“I love your daughter—”
“Papa.” Elizabeth shot Darcy another panicked look. “You cannot make me marry him.”
“Elizabeth, please, I—”
“I have not given you leave to address me in such a familiar way, sir.”
Darcy lowered his voice, barely audible. “But we kissed—”
Bennet placed a reassuring hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Indeed not, Daughter. I would never see you bound in such an unhappy situation. This cad has besmirched your honour, and I would defend it. I demand satisfaction.”
Sir William stepped forward, his usually jovial countenance spoilt with disgust as he glowered at Darcy. “Bennet, my friend. As the magistrate, you know I cannot condone duelling.”
The murmurs of the crowd increased, though Miss Bingley still managed to make her voice heard above them all. “You cannot be serious!” she screeched. “How can you do this?”
“I can do this,” protested MrBennet, “because MrDarcy here remains unchanged, spending all of his time disdaining everyone and everything, filled with conceited pride! The man has never been denied in his life. He expects us all to fall at his feet. I am glad, at last, to see that there is something in this world the vaunted master of Pemberley cannot have.”
A riotous cheer of support came over the crowd.
“Why should we make Bennet deal with him alone! This fiend has wronged us all,” shouted a voice from the throng.
This statement finally jolted Bingley out of his shock. “Wait! I implore you! My friend is not the Hertfordshire Hound. His character, you have surely sketched on his previous visit in the Autumn. You must know that it is impossible for him to commit such heinous crimes.”
“La! He fits the description in the newspaper,” cried Lydia.
“It matters not if he is or is not the kidnapper. The salient point here is that he has wronged one of our own.” Charlotte Lucas pointed a finger accusingly at Bingley.
Bingley spluttered as MrBennet looked at him, smiling in grim satisfaction. “I guess we have our answer as to who shall serve as MrDarcy’s second!”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened in horror. “Papa, please! MrDarcy’s conduct was wrong but does not necessitate such violence. You heard Sir William. Dueling is illegal.”
“Stay out of this, Miss Elizabeth,” MrsGoulding broke in. “Such matters are better dealt with by the men.”
Elizabeth locked eyes with Darcy, fear and anxiety writ on her expression. “I kissed him back,” she whispered, her expression changing to one of determination. She spoke again, louder. “Wait. I will marry him.”
