Chapter Ten #5
“My men have him out in the stables, Lizzy,” Francis said, taking her hand and kissing it. “Darcy asked me back to dine, and I have indeed worked up a bit of an appetite. You do not mind, I hope?”
“Of course I do, Francis,” she replied pertly. “You always eat more than your share.”
He grinned at her. “You had better get the food on your plate expeditiously tonight, cousin—I am not the only hungry gentleman who dines with you tonight.” He offered her his arm, and she took it, unhappy that he had anticipated Mr. Darcy. She huffed at his self-satisfied grin.
“I made sure to request another of Mrs. Thistlewaite’s dishes tonight, Mr. Darcy,” she said as they all sat, using his formal name in deference to their company. “I know you and Mr. Fitzwilliam both enjoyed the roasted partridge you had at Netherfield.”
Richard’s eyes lit up. “A meal fit for royalty,” he told Francis.
The meal continued without conversation other than the sounds of gratification that occasionally erupted from one man or another.
Elizabeth ate the food on her plate without tasting it.
She tried to wait until one of the men introduced the subject, but they were more interested in filling their stomachs than satisfying her curiosity.
Finally, she put her utensils down and called them to attention.
“I should like to know what happened after I left, Mr. Darcy,” she said plainly. He gazed at her, reluctant, and she said, exasperated, “I do not need the… details. I simply wish to discuss the plans for Mr. Wickham’s removal.”
“Before we get to that,” Francis interrupted, swallowing a final bite of partridge and reaching for another piece of bread, “I should like a further accounting of how the man was caught.” He tossed the bread on his plate and raised his eyebrows at Elizabeth.
“I know about your part in this. But how did you know he would be in the stables?”
“Wickham somehow believed that his confederates could not be used against him,” her betrothed said, his expression impassive.
“But Elizabeth made a friend of the boy this morning and he agreed to put a word in Wickham’s ear.
” He grinned. “For a price, of course.” He toyed with his fork.
“We were fairly sure Wickham was listening to our argument about Elizabeth riding without me today.” He shook his head.
“We had hoped to catch him out then, but he did not reveal himself.”
“He is best cowering somewhere on his belly,” Richard interjected.
“So,” her intended continued, “we were forced to continue with the second plan, which was to draw him into the stables. Not long before Elizabeth came outside again, the grooms made themselves busy elsewhere and Billy waved Wickham inside.” He stabbed at his food with his fork.
“I wish we had thought to check the greenhouses last night.”
Richard shook his head. “Staying in the greenhouse was due more to his leg wound than any cunning on his part. He thought to use Elizabeth’s horse when he took her—without the horse, he was stranded. He got away from Taylor, but it took everything out of him.”
“Not quite,” Francis murmured, “but it has now.” Richard grinned.
“I believe we mentioned the letter purporting to be from Georgiana,” Fitzwilliam said. “Richard and I left the house earlier, appearing to be heading for Matlock House, and then doubled back.”
“You left Elizabeth standing alone outside?” Francis asked sharply.
“No,” he said with a shake of his dark head. “I waited until she was inside.”
Francis grunted and reached for more partridge.
Richard picked up the story. “Once we knew Wickham was near, we snuck into the stables from the other end but had to duck into our stalls more quickly than we had hoped.” He addressed Elizabeth.
“Wickham popped up to have a look right before you entered.” He reached for his wine.
“The…” he bit off what he was about to say.
“The man was only too happy to boast about his crimes once he thought he had her alone.”
“It is just like him to play one hand too many,” Fitzwilliam said grimly.
“He was wounded far worse than Taylor. At the least he ought to have dropped from sight until he healed.” He addressed Elizabeth directly.
“But he had drawn too much attention to linger in London and was too close to his goal.” His eyes burned into hers.
“He admitted he meant to take you for ransom.” Francis uttered a surprised protest that they had broached this topic before his cousin, but Elizabeth rewarded her betrothed with a smile. He respects me enough to be honest.
“I promised I would tell you these things,” he told Elizabeth. “You must promise to tell me if they are too much to bear.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “You mentioned this possibility earlier, and I had already concluded that he meant to take me. It is good to know that at least my judgment has not failed me.” She gave him a half-hearted smile.
He nodded. “Tavistock will take Wickham to Bedford tonight. I cannot imagine His Grace will be lenient.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Elizabeth said, suspecting that she had not been told all but willing, now, to let it drop. She addressed Francis. “I have a suggestion to make.”
Darcy and Richard saw Tavistock off, the carriage rumbling away in the dark with six outriders.
Wickham had been tossed onto the carriage floor as limp as a dish rag, bound hand and foot.
Four men, including Tavistock, climbed into the carriage and sat on the benches.
Darcy caught a glimpse of Tavistock placing his boot on Wickham’s head just before the door closed.
Once the coach was gone and it grew quiet, Richard grasped Darcy’s shoulder. “Well done today, Darce,” he said.
Darcy said nothing, just turned and plowed his fist straight into Richard’s gut. His cousin bent over double with a “whoosh,” and sank to his knees in the dirt.
“Do not ever use Elizabeth in one of your schemes again, cousin,“ he said menacingly.
Richard coughed and put one palm on the ground. “You hit like a woman.”
Darcy wheeled around to return to the house. Behind him, he heard Richard forcing himself to his feet, and an admiring voice say, “A large woman.”
Darcy searched the drawing room, the parlor, and the dining room before he saw Mr. Perry in the hall. The butler acknowledged him and said, “I believe Miss Russell is in the library, sir.”
“Thank you,” he said, already walking to the room.
There was a fire in the hearth and the candles in the sconces were all lit, but Elizabeth was sitting in the coldest, darkest part of the room near the back window.
She was leaning against one large wing of a leather armchair, likely to keep the worst of the pressure off her back. Her legs were drawn up beneath her.
“Elizabeth,” he said with a sigh. She appeared so small, so miserable. One punch was not enough, he thought, and began to contemplate other ways to get Richard alone.
She sat up at the sound of his voice, dabbing at her cheeks with the corner of a handkerchief. He took a dozen long strides to reach her, then gently took the cloth to wipe her tears himself.
“I am so sorry, Elizabeth,” he told her, his chest tight with remorse. “Good God, I am so sorry.”
But it was not her confrontation with Wickham that was causing her grief.
“Fitzwilliam,” she said between half-disguised sobs. “I am not ready to say goodbye.”