Chapter 24 #2
Richard collapsed against the back of his chair. Whatever was he to do now? Because something vital and fundamental had changed within him.
You cannot be in love with her! He scolded himself again and again, during his breakfast, whilst he toiled at his papers, as he sparred with the fencing master, and over late-night brandies with Darcy. She is your friend, only your friend, as you are hers. You cannot be in love with her!
And yet his body and his heart betrayed him. He now was struck, almost physically, with the truth.
He had loved her, he now realised, almost from the first moment he saw her, when he was still bleeding from Miss Ingalls’ betrayal.
He had loved her all that time in Bermuda, when he walked with her on the fort’s walls and when she confessed to him about the attack she had suffered so many years before, and when he kissed her after Weekes’ foiled assault.
How could he not have seen it?
All those dreams had been his soul telling his brain what it ought already to know, and he had refused to hear the lesson.
He had been so insistent upon his decision never to fall victim to romance and never to marry that he had not realised until now that such matters were beyond the best plans a man could make.
He had fallen in love and had not known it until now.
How strange that something so simple, so ordinary, as the motion of her hands over bread could have caused his eyes to open!
He could not explain it. Perhaps it was akin to the tale of the final grain of sand—that inconsequential matter, all but negligible—that finally tipped the scale.
This river of emotion had been building up within him for so long, dammed behind the wall of his denial, until that tiny droplet overflowed the top.
The onrush, then, had been inexorable. He loved her with every ounce of his being, and nothing he could do would ever change that.
But what, under the Almighty’s heaven, was he to do about it?
He was a soldier, a man of action, one given to decisiveness! But somehow, he could not bring himself to act upon this realisation. Emily was his friend, and whilst he might suffer with the pangs of unrequited love for all his days, he would not bring pain upon her for anything.
For she had been as insistent as he on her decision never to marry.
She had been given ample evidence, through the hands of her former betrothed as well as those of Major Weekes, that a man’s attentions were not always to be wished for.
If she had decided to have nothing to do with passion and romance, he could scarcely blame her for it.
And he would not ever insult her by pressing his own attentions upon her, no matter how his intentions might differ from those of these other men.
No. She was above all his friend, and he would give her the greatest gift he could envisage—his respect. Until he saw any indication from her—if ever—that she might welcome his affections, he would remain silent on the matter. She deserved no less.
With a heavy and sore heart, he resigned himself to his fate.
For the next week, he made the effort to continue as he had before with respect to Emily.
He sent the invitation to dine, which was gratefully accepted.
It was no degradation for Darcy to entertain the Barrows.
He was a colonel, a most laudable rank, and she was the daughter of a baronet.
It was to Darcy’s own honour that he welcomed the Barrows into his home as his guests.
It could only be to Georgiana’s benefit as well, to know such fine people, and Darcy made certain that his sister was welcomed at the table.
And all the while that they dined, Richard sat in his chair, making every effort to be garrulous and unaffected, despite desiring nothing more than to drag Emily to a quiet room and kiss her senseless.
Afterwards, Darcy pronounced himself very pleased with his new acquaintances.
He had put out a great effort to be friendly, and only a short while passed before Richard could see his cousin’s demeanour change into genuine delight at the company.
He declared he must invite them back the very next time he was in town, a grand gesture from a rather insular man.
It was an unexpected relief to find his own admiration for the Barrows confirmed in his cousin’s eyes.
On other days, as had been the established routine, Emily came by to visit, or Richard would stop by the Barrows’ apartments, all in the name of pure friendship. He would delight in Emily’s company, no matter the grounds on which it was offered.
Soon enough, however, Richard’s time in London was coming to an end, and he was needed back at the camp.
Darcy, too, was readying to depart town for the remainder of the summer.
He was set to travel to Pemberley at last in the company of Georgie and Mrs Annesley, the three of them having spent longer in London than they had initially intended.
Bingley and his sisters were to join them.
To Richard’s relief, the Bingleys had been at Margate for much of the summer so far, thus relieving him of Miss Bingley’s unwelcome company, and he was pleased to be abandoning London before these guests made their appearance.
He said his goodbyes to the Barrows, inviting them to visit him at the camp should they be in the neighbourhood and promising to call on them when next he was in town.
Further, he procured a promise from Emily to write often, to which she agreed, with every assurance that nothing would turn her mind against him this time.
Then, with some misgivings and the dull ache of unrequited love weighing down his spirits, he took his leave from Darcy and Georgie and settled into the carriage for the short drive back south to his camp.
August was now almost upon them. Richard was back at his command, overseeing the training of yet another influx of recruits and tending to the endless towers of forms and documents that never seemed to abate.
There was a new master at arms, a young sergeant tasked with training the green privates in the use of the sword, and Richard found the young man’s skill was such that he had to improve his own technique when they sparred.
The remainder of the summer stretched on lazily ahead, with little promising to break the routine.
A week after his return, there arrived on his desk a note from Lyons, the private investigator.
Weekes had given up his rooms near Covent Garden in London and was reported to be seeking alternate accommodations to establish a permanent place for his gaming tables.
As soon as he had settled in one location, Lyons would know it at once and would inform the colonel immediately.
This was excellent news. Such a permanent table would certainly use stacked decks and weighted dice, and it was merely a matter of time before Weekes made a great error, one which would end his venture forthwith!
Richard replied to Lyons, commending him on this work and anticipating more news as it was available.
It was nearly two weeks later when once more the thunder of hooves sounded on the drive at the perimeter of the camp.
Richard had been up for a while, overseeing the troops’ morning manoeuvres, and he had just recently completed his own set of exercises in an effort to remain as fit as his men.
He was in his rooms, still wet from his quick bath and quite undressed, and thus was surprised at the insistent knock at his door.
Could it be another message from Lyons? Richard could hardly imagine anything so dire that it required the use of an express rider, but who knew what trouble Weekes might be causing.
“What is it, Thomas?” he called. His batman would never disturb him at such a time were it not urgent.
“Begging your pardon, sir. A visitor. He says it’s most vital. Gives his name as Mr Darcy.”
That stopped Richard still, his bare body covered only by the thin towel he held, his clothing still in a pile on his bed.
“Darcy? What in blazes is he doing here? The man should be in Derbyshire.” He hurriedly pulled on his trousers. “Send him in.”
The door opened and Richard gaped in shock.
Darcy looked terrible. There were circles beneath his eyes, and his hair was dishevelled as Richard had never seen on his punctilious cousin. Such was Darcy’s clear distress that he did not even comment on Richard’s shirtless state.
“Good heavens! What is it?” he asked by way of a greeting. It must truly be something dire.
“I need you. I need your help!” Darcy’s voice was rough. He must have torn down from London at first light. By all appearances, he had hardly slept the previous night.
Tamping down the panic rising within his breast, Richard allowed the trained soldier to take over, commanding where he otherwise might shrivel at the sight of his desperate cousin.
“Sit, let me call for something to drink. Thomas!” he gave his orders. Then, “what has happened? Is it Georgie? Is she well?”
To his relief, Darcy sighed and relaxed an inch. “Georgie is well. Or, she was when I left Pemberley a week ago.”
The dread that had held Richard upright eased a touch with this news and he allowed himself to breathe. But wait…
“A week ago? You look like you have been riding hard all that time!”
“I was in Brighton. It took me three days to get there, and I spent two days trying to… to…” He stopped, mid-sentence, his mouth loose, his hands flung wide in surrender. What was this about? “I left there this morning. There was nothing more to learn.”
To learn? What was going on? And what in Heaven’s name had Darcy been doing in Brighton?
Furthermore, how fast had he made that journey?
Three days was an unthinkably short time to ride there from Pemberley.
He must have sprouted wings and flown. Richard grimaced to think of how many horses he had run into the ground on the ride.
“Then you have been down to the coast? To the training grounds?” What else was there in Brighton?
“Aye. She had calamitous news. I must help. I cannot do it alone. You must assist me.”
Never had Richard seen his staid cousin so affected, so disconcerted.
“Breathe, Darcy. Here is some cold water. Coffee will come in a moment. I am thoroughly confused. Drink and then explain to me: if not Georgiana, then who? Who is ‘she?’ What help does she need?”
When next his cousin spoke, all started to become clear.
“Elizabeth! Miss Bennet, that is. It is most serious. Her sister was at Brighton with the militia. She has vanished from the camp. Lydia Bennet has eloped with none other than George Wickham!”