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Bennet leveled a gaze at him. “Forgive me if I do not believe your word is worth much.”
Gardiner gasped. It was quite an insult, but Darcy managed to conceal his flinch. The man was justified in his anger. Bennet continued, his voice trembling, “I understood you gave your word to your cousin to marry her.”
How had that rumor reached Hertfordshire? “I have no understanding or engagement with my cousin. My aunt wishes such an alliance and speaks of it as a settled matter, but neither Anne nor I wish to marry.” He allowed his disdain for the idea to show on his face.
Bennet was holding himself very still, one hand clutching the arm of the sofa. “So I am to believe that you would actually marry Elizabeth?”
Darcy took a deep breath through his nose; he always struggled to control his temper when his honor was impugned. “I have said that I would.” He flashed a glance at Elizabeth’s stony face. “If she will have me.”
Bennet stiffened. “You have not accepted his hand?” he said to his daughter.
“No,” she responded. Darcy had to admire her sangfroid. In the face of her father’s disdain, most other women would have felt the need to justify such a decision and pleaded their right to delay an answer. But if she had been any other woman, Darcy would not have wanted her with an almost physical ache.
Bennet’s countenance showed no surprise at her response; he must know his daughter well. However, he continued to glare at her. Many fathers would blame their daughters for what had occurred in the garden, although the wrongdoing had been on Darcy’s part. It was the way of the world to blame the woman in such situations. Hopefully Bennet was not of that ilk. Unease prickled along Darcy’s spine. What if her father berated and belittled her? How could Darcy protect her from her own father?
“She must marry him,” Gardiner said to Bennet. “Surely you see that.”
Bennet gave his brother a venomous look. “I do not see that. I would prefer to risk scandal than have my daughter marry this blackguard.”
Darcy’s hands clenched at the insult, although he admired Bennet’s insistence on ensuring his daughter’s happiness. Bennet directed his glare at Darcy. “You have proven how unworthy you are of Lizzy. Fortunately, she has shown superior judgment in refusing to bow to your attempts to force the matter.” He stood, addressing the room at large. “Well, this may be easily arranged. I shall pay off the servants and take Lizzy home to Hertfordshire with me. Then we may forget the whole, sorry business.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Darcy. “And you, sir, will never come near Longbourn or Lizzy again.”
A fist squeezed Darcy’s heart, making it hard to breathe. His encounter with Elizabeth in the park had helped to lift some of his black despair, but now her father threatened to separate them forever. Darcy’s eyes flickered to Elizabeth, who was frowning at her father. Was it because she did not believe his plan was feasible or because she did not wish to leave London—and Darcy? How he longed for it to be the latter, but her expression revealed nothing.
The Gardiners both stood as well; their nervous, jerky movements betrayed doubts that the matter was as easily solved as Bennet believed.
Darcy remained seated. “There is the matter of Wickham,” he drawled.
The Gardiners immediately sat, but Bennet slowly turned his head to Darcy, fixing him with a baleful stare. “Ah yes, Wickham. The man to whom Lizzy would be engaged if not for your interference.”
“That would be a grave mistake,” Darcy said, struggling to keep his voice level. “I would do anything to prevent Eliz—Miss Bennet from an alliance with Wickham. He cannot be trusted.”
Bennet’s eyes narrowed further, and he folded his arms over his chest. “And why is that?”
Darcy was not about to reveal Georgiana’s shame to a group of near strangers. “The matter is private, although Miss Bennet knows the story.”
Bennet snorted. “So we are to take your word that the man is a reprobate, although the evidence suggests you are the one who cannot be trusted?” Darcy flinched at the accusation.
“I believe his story; Mr. Wickham is not to be trusted,” Elizabeth said quietly.
All eyes turned to her. “What lies has he been telling you, Lizzy?” her father asked.
She lifted her chin. “I know the story, and I find it credible, but I am not at liberty to discuss the particulars.”
The back of Darcy’s neck was moist with sweat. The Gardiners knew Georgiana had visited Elizabeth; would they make the connection that she was the one who had changed Elizabeth’s mind about Wickham? Would they guess why? He had not foreseen that consequence of allowing Georgiana to visit Gracechurch Street.
Bennet threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “So I simply must accept your word for it?”
“Do you have any reason to believe my word is suspect, sir?” Elizabeth asked with an arched brow. Only at that moment did Darcy realize she was trembling in anger.
Bennet sat, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. “He has turned your head somehow, Lizzy. Is it his fortune? I would not see you wed to a man you could not respect—no matter how many carriages he can buy you.”
Elizabeth shot to her feet. “I did not realize you held such a low opinion of my judgment!”
Father and daughter glared at each other for a moment. “Are you saying you wish to marry the man who has treated you so abominably?” Bennet asked, standing to look his daughter in the eye.
“I am saying,” she said slowly and precisely, “that I w
ould like to know Mr. Darcy better to ascertain whether I would like to accept the offer of his hand.”
