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Panic blazed through him like a lightning bolt. Writing a letter to an unmarried woman was highly improper, but Elizabeth had never seemed overly concerned about propriety. Had he shown a casual disregard for her reputation? Had he further provoked her rage? Perhaps she had never opened the letter. Perhaps she had thrown it into the fire.
He bit his tongue to stifle a cry of dismay.
I should not have quitted Kent without ensuring she would read the letter. His account of Georgiana’s experience would have armed Elizabeth against Wickham, but why should she deign to read a letter from a man who had so thoroughly insulted her and her family? In all probability she had assumed the letter contained self-justifications or pleas for her to reconsider his proposal—and it had immediately been consigned to the fire.
Now she was in Brighton, believing that Wickham was a trustworthy man who had been wronged by Darcy.
Darcy rested his hand on the trunk of a nearby tree to keep his balance. “What have I done?” he whispered to himself.
“Mr. Darcy?” Kitty Bennet’s face was screwed up with anxiety. “Are you about to be ill? You look so strange.”
Good Lord, he had entirely forgotten her presence. “I believe something I ate may not have agreed with me.” He touched his stomach briefly.
She backed away, saying in alarm, “My slippers are new.”
“Perhaps we should return to the house,” he said.
She nodded in fervent agreement. Darcy straightened his jacket and turned toward Longbourn. He needed to get to Brighton.
***
“Darcy, sit down. Simply watching you makes me restless!” Bingley complained as Darcy made his seventh or eighth lap across the drawing room floor, seemingly attempting to wear a path in Netherfield’s carpet.
Darcy threw himself into a chair. “I should have departed tonight. Waiting was a mistake.”
Bingley rolled his eyes. “Once again I remind you: the journey to Brighton is long—and dangerous on a moonless night.”
“Imagine if Jane were in Brighton with that blackguard!” Darcy growled.
Bingley pressed his lips together until they turned white.
“He could compromise her—make her marry him. Or force himself upon her!” Unable to contain his energy, Darcy launched himself from the chair and resumed pacing.
“She is with Colonel Forster and his wife,” Bingley pointed out for at least the third time. “They will protect her.”
“Have you met the colonel’s wife?” Darcy asked. “She may be all of eighteen years, and a strong wind would carry her away. She could not be trusted to protect Elizabeth from a sparrow.”
“Well, the colonel is a level-headed man,” Bingley said.
“He has other duties; he cannot watch her all the time.” Darcy’s hands clenched into fists as if preparing to fight.
Bingley shifted on the settee. “Have you considered your actions upon arriving in Brighton? You must have a plan. You did not part on the best of terms with Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy ran both hands through his hair. He had done nothing but think on that question in the past few hours but had discovered no satisfactory answer. “I will reason with her.”
Bingley’s brow furrowed. “She may not be disposed to heed your reasoning. If she refused to read your letter, she may refuse to listen to your words.”
Darcy ground his teeth. Naturally this had occurred to him. “I will make her listen!” He could hear the desperation in his own voice. “She will not be able to ignore me.”
“An auspicious beginning to a courtship,” Bingley remarked dryly.
“Knowing the truth about George Wickham is more important,” Darcy bit out. “More important than her feelings for me. Her safety is paramount.”
“But surely you will agree it would be best if she were not further disaffected from you.”
Darcy sighed. What a muddle! “Yes, of course.”
“Have you considered that she might be in love with Wickham?” Bingley spoke slowly and carefully. “People in love can be blind.”
