The Colonel's Ungovernable Governess : A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

Chapter Eighteen

For a few precious seconds, Edward remained as frozen as the others, that is, all but Darcy, who was comforting Victoria while he knelt beside Miss Lambert. “You are well,” his cousin assured Victoria, as he checked Miss Lambert’s condition. “Colonel!” Darcy snapped. “I require you.”

His cousin’s plea brought Edward from his enervation, which had held him in place, and he was immediately at Darcy’s side. “What need have you of me?” he asked, worried whether the woman who haunted his dreams had been snatched away before he could tell her how much he loved and admired her. She was eerily still, and, although she was still breathing, he worried whether the bullet had hit something vital to her survival.

“Carry Miss Lambert inside, while I calm the children. I will follow momentarily. Practice caution. The wound appears to have an entrance and an exit.”

“Is Vincent injured also?” Edward asked as he gently picked up the woman from the ground. “Send for a surgeon.” He glanced to where Jennings had not moved from his spot. Edward wondered whether the man’s expression was of disbelief or pleasure or of a mix thereof.

As he carried the woman who owned his heart through the door, he heard Darcy barking orders for Annabelle and Victoria to shush their hysterics while he was comforting Vincent. “I have you, boy. You are well. The blood comes from . . .”

Edward did not want Miss Lambert to hear Darcy say the blood came from her, so he quick-stepped towards the stairs. “You must set your mind, my girl, to survive this,” he whispered against her temple as he boosted her higher in his arms. Quickly, he was in the guest wing before he realized he had no idea where to house her, so he carried her to his quarters. He would move elsewhere. Supporting her on the edge of the bed, he jerked the blanket and sheets from the way.

“Colonel,” she groaned. “I must . . . tell you . . .”

“There is nothing to say, my girl,” he told her as he situated her on the bed. He grabbed a towel to place under her back and held a second one tightly against her shoulder.

Within seconds, Darcy burst through the still open door. “The children are in my quarters. I sent servants to fetch water and clean cloths. Mr. Jessie is on his way to the village to fetch a surgeon or whatever is available, and I sent Mr. Farrin on my horse to fetch Elizabeth. Miss Lambert will require a proper lady to tend her.”

“You’ve taken care of it all,” Edward said with a scowl.

“Not all. I did not go after the culprit. I thought such should be your domain. After all, the man shot the woman you affect,” his cousin declared.

“Who says I affect Miss Lambert?” Edward argued as he tugged Darcy to the side in case the woman could hear them.

“Your face says it every time you look upon her. You wear the same look you accused me of sporting at Rosings Park when Elizabeth visited with the Collinses.”

“Colonel,” a voice called from the other side of the adjoining door.

Edward reached for the door to expose a bloody and dirtied Vincent. “Could . . . I sit . . . in . . . Miss Lambert’s . . . room? She will . . . not die . . . if we . . . all watch . . . over her.”

He thought to respond in the negative to the boy, but Darcy intervened. “I must clean Miss Lambert’s wound first, but you may return after you permit the housekeeper to clean and bandage your arm. Are you injured elsewhere?”

The boy looked towards the bed and the body of the woman who had changed all their lives. “We need . . . Miss Lambert,” he said emphatically.

“I know, boy,” the colonel said, “and she needs you, but not looking bloody and covered in dirt. It would worry her to see you so. Go change, and then you may return.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy reluctantly reentered the adjoining room.

“Here is the hot water you ordered, Mr. Darcy,” the housekeeper said as she entered the room.

“Thank you, Mrs. Murray. Could you oversee Lord Vincent? The boy has a small wound on his upper arm. I am confident it came from the bullet, and it should be cleaned thoroughly and bandaged. Hopefully, nothing more is required. I believe it a graze.”

“Yes, sir.” The woman looked to Miss Lambert. “Would you not prefer I tended the young lady and you assisted Lord Vincent?”

“I wish to assure myself none of the lady’s cloak or day dress is hidden inside the wound. I could use a magnifier, or burning glass, whichever you call it, if there is one available in the household.” His cousin looked to Edward. “Why are you still here? Go capture Mr. Marksham. I recognized him about the same time he fired upon the boy, and Farrin says he viewed the young man running towards the woods.”

“I despise your calmness,” Edward declared as he retrieved his gun from a nearby drawer.

“You do what comes naturally to you, and I will do the same,” his cousin responded as he took up a pair of scissors that Mrs. Murray had carried in on the tray to delicately cut away part of Miss Lambert’s gown.

“Do not permit her to die, Darcy,” Edward begged as tears rushed to his eyes.

“Not on my watch,” his cousin assured. “Mrs. Murray, I will require laudanum for the lady,” Darcy instructed, completely ignoring Edward’s desire to stay. With a heavy sigh and a silent prayer, Edward crossed to the door. “Do not kill him!” his cousin called without turning around. “We will require his testimony.”

* * *

Jocelyn nearly spit out the foul-tasting liquid placed into her mouth. She had been lying as still as she could praying the soul-snatching burn in her arm would subside, but she could not quite control the scream rattling about in her head.

Someone was lying across her, holding her in place. “Swallow the laudanum,” a male voice she recognized instructed.

With effort, she shifted her tongue to the side so she might swallow the disgusting medication.

“I must cut away part of your gown. I will attempt to preserve your modesty,” the voice instructed. “What was left of the bullet was on the ground beside Lord Vincent. The boy was not harmed beyond a slight flesh wound, which will be a point of admiration when he is off to school. You have done well by the child.”

“Feared for him,” she managed to say, with more effort required to speak than she thought possible.

“I have asked for tweezers, but I have yet to locate a pair,” he said as he folded part of her gown to the side. “I am confident Mrs. Darcy will bring mine, but it will be several hours before she arrives. Therefore, I must count on soap and water for you to know a clean wound. I have sent for a surgeon, but you must tolerate my efforts for the time being.”

“Do your . . . worst . . . sir,” she mumbled and gritted her teeth.

“You should know ‘Miss Romfield,’” he emphasized, “that Elizabeth and I are aware of your true identity. You disclosed more than you thought when my wife rescued you in Cambridgeshire. It was her idea to permit you and Fitzwilliam to learn to care for each other without your parents’ interference. Now that the colonel has come to treasure you, please do not leave him without finally knowing happiness. He deserves more than the hand he has been dealt. He deserves you.”

Jocelyn wished to speak to her affection for the gentleman, but her tongue felt numb, and her arm was again filled with the fires of hell. She was fighting to stay conscious.

“I suppose I should also tell you that when we learned of what occurred with Lady Annabelle and your setting off with the children to save the girl, my wife sent an express to my Aunt Catherine de Bourgh to forward to your parents. At the time, Elizabeth thought it best for your family to come to William’s Wood, for she and I agreed you would know success with Lady Annabelle. If she has not done so previously, I have asked her to send word for them to come to Yorkshire instead. Therefore, you must remain strong. Do not permit your parents to learn of your passing. It would destroy both them and the colonel. They all love you dearly. Moreover, my Elizabeth wishes to claim you as a cousin, and I attempt never to disappoint the lady. Now, permit me to treat the other side of this wound.”

* * *

Bartholomew Marksham proved quite easy to follow, with the fellow going no further than the nearest village. However, when the young man noted Edward entering the inn, Marksham bolted up and darted towards the rear door through the kitchen. Unfortunately for Marksham, the innkeeper was coming out of the kitchen at the exact same time. Marksham attempted to shoulder his way past the man, but the innkeeper was quicker. “Hey, now,” the innkeeper growled. “I’s not permit no one in me kitchen.”

Edward caught Marksham’s arm and brought it up behind the man. “I have him, sir,” he grunted as Marksham attempted to escape.

“And you be?” the innkeeper asked suspiciously.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam of His Majesty’s Army. I have been sent to fetch Mr. Marksham back to the battalion in which he enlisted. I took on the task because I am brother to Lord Lindale, who married the former Lady Babcock. Lord Vincent and his sisters have returned to the manor for a short stay.”

“I did not . . .” Marksham began, but Edward wrenched the man’s arm higher, silencing him.

“You enlisted?” the innkeeper asked. “It’ll be the only decent thing you’ve ever done, boy.”

“You will pardon me then,” Edward said. “I must secure Mr. Marksham and let those at Babbington know all is well.”

“You come back, sir, and I’ll stand you an ale.”

Edward nodded his appreciation and again boosted Marksham’s arm higher to lead him out the front door and around the side to where Edward had left his horse.

“What do you want from me?” Marksham pleaded.

“Personally, I would prefer to see you hanging from the gallows. You harmed two people under my care, but I promised my cousin I would not kill you. At least, not immediately, though I would not mind seeing you bleed in the same manner as did the young earl and his governess.” Edward wrenched Marksham’s other arm behind the man’s back, then caught the end of a long leather strap attached to his saddle and wrapped it around the fellow’s wrists again and again.

“What do you expect me to tell you? I promise I will not say a word.”

“Good,” Edward declared. “I despise those who chat away. The only time a man should speak beyond the minimal use of air is when he is wooing a woman, but I imagine you understand ‘wooing’ a young girl, as you easily manipulated Lady Annabelle.” Edward mounted his horse. “Now, you will require all the air you have to spare, for I plan to ride back to Babbington with you in tow.”

“I cannot run that far!” Marksham protested.

“You ran here,” Edward argued.

“Not all the way,” the man countered.

“Then you must do better this time, for you may run or I will gladly drag your sorry arse. Either way, you will pay the first of your coins to the pauper.”

“My uncle will object,” Marksham called as Edward set his horse into a steady walk.

“Your uncle is the second son of a dead earl, while I am the second son of a very alive and very powerful earl, who has the ear of the Regent and others in Parliament. I raise your bid for freedom and up the ante.” Edward gently nudged his horse’s sides. “It is time to view how far you must run before I decide to set my horse into a full gallop.”

It was nearly an hour later when they entered the circle before Babbington Hall. Marksham was covered in dust and sweat and gasping for air, but he was not dead, which would be the man’s sentence if Miss Lambert died from her wound. Edward would see it done properly and discreetly and personally. He stepped down and circled the horse to release the strap, which was obviously cutting into Marksham’s wrists, from his saddle, but not from Marksham’s hands. “Come along, we must have a conversation, and I will expect the truth.”

Before they could go inside, Mr. Jessie rode in, followed by a gig and a disheveled man on the high seat. “Found the surgeon, sir,” Mr. Jessie declared with a grin, which likely meant the Lindale stable master had overstepped his authority and “insisted” the surgeon come immediately.

Edward held only the rope, but he said, “Thank you for coming so quickly, sir. I must apologize if Mr. Jessie was too insistent, but the young lady means a great deal to the Jennings family and mine as well.”

“And you are?” the man asked as he climbed down.

Edward bowed dutifully. “Colonel Edward Fitzwilliam of His Majesty’s Royal Army. I am son to Lord Matlock of Maitland Manor in Derbyshire. The former Lady Babcock is married to my elder brother, Lord Lindale, making me uncle to Lord Vincent Babcock and his sisters.”

“I see. And the patient?” the man asked as he headed towards the main door. He ignored the dirt-streaked face of Marksham, as well as the raw patches of skin under the straps about Marksham’s wrists, which spoke to what the surgeon already knew.

“Governess to the two younger Babcock children. Lord Vincent also received a wound. The lady knocked the boy to the ground and covered him with her own body.” The image of that scene might never leave Edward’s memory. “The bullet appears to have passed through her shoulder. Such is when Lord Vincent sustained a graze across his arm.”

“Who will show me to the patient?” the man asked. His lack of curiosity about Marksham’s situation fascinated Edward and set him wondering what all the fellow knew of the situation at Babbington Hall.

“I will.” Edward handed the rope off to Mr. Jessie. “Follow us. I wish to speak to Marksham after I look in on Miss Lambert.”

“Aye, sir. We’ll be close behind ye.”

Edward opened the door and again discovered no servants about. He would address the lack of response on the morrow or, better yet, he would allow the Master of Pemberley to do the job. Although, in truth, he would enjoy first dressing them down as if they were new recruits and then permitting Darcy to send them to their knees and to beg for forgiveness. Perhaps he and Darcy could provide young Vincent a new type of lesson on being the earl.

“This way, sir.” He started up the steps with the surgeon. “I apologize, I did not ask your name, sir.”

“Harwell.”

“Have you practiced in this area long?” Edward asked. “My family hails from Derbyshire.”

“Some three years. I’ve family in the area. Trained in Scotland and then apprenticed for two years near Manchester.”

Nothing more could be discussed, for they had reached the room where Darcy watched over Miss Lambert. “Mr. Harwell, Darcy. He will assume Miss Lambert’s care.” Edward noted how Lord Vincent had risen from the chair before the fireplace. The child looked on in concern as Harwell crossed to where Miss Lambert laid perfectly still and with no response.

Darcy had risen quickly from his chair next to the bed to greet Harwell. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Harwell.” His cousin extended his hand to the man.

“Your Mr. Jessie was quite insistent,” Harwell said as he set his bag on the bed and poured water into a bowl and took the sliver of soap to wash his hands.

“We are all quite fond of the lady,” Darcy said evenly. “Are we not, my lord?”

Vincent’s eyes were filled with tears, but the boy said, “Miss Lambert . . . saved my life.”

Harwell turned to look upon the boy’s serious expression, and the man’s features softened in response. “Then I will do my best by the lady.”

“Thank you, sir,” the child said, though his bottom lip trembled. “I will wait . . . over here.”

Harwell nodded as if in deference and turned to Darcy. “What has been executed in the lady’s name?”

“I am assured my cousin has explained that a man thought to prevent Lord Vincent’s entering his lawful home. Miss Lambert was walking beside the young lord. She moved to protect him,” Darcy explained.

Harwell glanced to the child. “I am glad to see a person who elicits such devotion return to Babbington Hall. In my humble opinion, such is what has been missing from this household since your father’s passing. I am pleased to serve you, my lord.”

The child’s shoulders lifted as if his whole self had accepted the man’s words as the boy’s new truth. Harwell returned his attention to Darcy. “Would you assist me, sir?” He opened his bag and set out several items onto a tray. “Are you Pemberley’s master?” he asked as he sat beside Miss Lambert’s passive form and removed the cloth Darcy had placed over the wound to stifle the bleeding.

“Yes,” Darcy responded. “Have we met previously?”

“No . . . not at all. But your father made a substantial donation to the medical school I attended in Scotland. The money presented several dozen students, including me, an easier living situation so we might continue our studies. Later, he found us apprenticeships with well-placed surgeons. I am greatly appreciative.”

“If my father’s generosity provided you the skills to assist in saving Miss Lambert’s life, then every pence donated will be well worth the effort,” Darcy stated humbly.

Meanwhile, Edward knelt beside the boy to whisper, “Darcy’s father taught his son to change the world. Every act of kindness, no matter how insignificant it might seem at the moment it unfolds has ramifications. We each have choices to make a difference in the lives of others. Power can corrupt or it can build a future. As an earl, you must choose to ‘build’ devotion and respect, rather than to ‘lead’ with an iron hand.”

The boy slid one arm about Edward’s neck and moved closer for comfort. “I want to be the earl my father was.”

“You will be that and more. Each small step you take now will create the path you will walk and the legacy you will leave behind for your son and their sons, just as your father did for you. You have nothing to fear, even if you sometimes stumble.”

“Did your father say such things to you?” the boy asked.

Edward considered his sometimes contentious relationship with the Earl of Matlock, a man he truly admired and sometimes greatly disliked, especially when it came to such issues as an engagement to the unknown Miss Romfield and especially when looking upon a woman who would be his true choice. “I believe my father would move mountains to clear a steady path for my future,” he chose to say, for the words were the truth. “His lordship wants only the best for me, as did your late father for you.”