Chapter Twenty-One
Richard stood before Padgett’s desk, hands clasped behind his back, curious whether he would be commended or reprimanded.
They’d apprehended sixteen would-be murderers in Hertfordshire, and safely transported them all to London for trial.
Richard counted that a job well done. On top of which, George Wickham was dead.
As much as Richard knew the scoundrel’s demise hurt his cousins, he couldn’t lament that Wickham would trouble neither them, nor anyone else, again.
He saw no need to tell Darcy, but Richard counted Wickham’s death as saving the trouble of hanging him.
On the other hand…it was not quite November.
They’d meant to keep up their pretense for weeks more and yet here Richard stood in London, the mission essentially over.
True, a few more miscreants might lurk in Hertfordshire, as of yet unaware that Wickham could no longer hope to pay them and ready to be captured by the men who remained behind, but more attempts seemed unlikely now that both the real and decoy Mr. Darcy had departed.
After several long moments of studying Richard, which worried him not at all, Padgett asked, “Do you feel your mission to be successful, Fitzwilliam?”
“I do, sir.”
“You do?” Padgett looked down at his notes, flipping a few pages.
Familiar with Padgett’s games, Richard maintained his silence. If Padgett thought guilt over ending the mission early would cause Richard to retract his words, he was sadly mistaken.
“You have removed a sizable number of criminals from London’s streets, and we might even count Mr. Wickham among them.”
“I would, sir.”
“Is there truly any cause to hold his funeral yet? You, that is, Mr. Darcy, could return to Hertfordshire.”
“I believe the ruse has run its course, sir.”
Padgett’s brow furrowed and Richard resisted the urge to hold his breath. Playing Darcy certainly amused Richard, but his cousins, especially Georgiana, had suffered enough torment. Wickham was gone. The time had come to lay him, and all the unpleasantness he’d reveled in creating, to rest.
And there was something to which Richard wanted to see. A way in which he desired to spend the leave this mission had surely earned him. Something for which he unequivocally needed to be himself.
“Very well,” Padgett finally said, closing the file before him. “Well done, Fitzwilliam. Another successful undertaking. I will arrange for the funeral, post it in all the papers, and have Mrs. Younge spread the word among the less savory among us. You may take some leave.”
As much as Richard liked that idea, he couldn’t help but ask, “You do not want me to make the arrangements? And why Mrs. Younge?”
“Mrs. Younge, because she has skillfully positioned herself between worlds, as it were. She balances the knife’s edge of respectability perfectly.
She will be believed, and yet not out of place speaking with those to whom we wish our gossip about Wickham’s demise to be spread.
If avoidable, we do not want it ever known that this was a military operation.
” Padgett shrugged. “I might also remind you that the yard behind her boarding house was the December first meeting location.”
Richard hadn’t realized that after her failure in Ramsgate, Padgett still thought so highly of Mrs. Younge’s skills. “And the funeral and announcements?”
“Will be handled by this office because I believe you should return to Hertfordshire sooner rather than later.”
Though that was precisely where he meant to go, worry skittered through Richard. What was Padgett up to now? Did he plan to delay Wickham’s funeral and spreading word of his demise in the hope that more attempts would be made on Richard? “Return? Why?”
“The earl left London this morning, his destination Netherfield Park and his goal to ensure that you do not marry a Miss Elizabeth Bennet. You quite possibly passed him on the roadway.” Padgett frowned. “You should be more observant, Fitzwilliam.”
Richard chuckled, relieved. “Well then, my father will be pleased, for I have no intention of wedding Miss Elizabeth.”
“It might also interest you to know that the earl was accompanied by his sister, Lady Catherine, and that she is on a similar mission, though regarding Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley.” Padgett eyed Richard. “You were working, I hope, Fitzwilliam? Not simply consorting in the countryside.”
“I was working, and do you mean to say that my Aunt Catherine is likely even now accosting Miss Bingley over some rumor that she has beguiled Darcy?” Amusement welled in Richard. “Caroline should find that quite entertaining.”
“Caroline, is it?” Padgett asked sharply.
Richard nodded. “It is.”
“Your father will not be pleased.”
“I cannot muster much will to care about the earl’s opinion on the matter.”
“Her uncles were traitors.”
Mirth left Richard. “Yes, her uncles were, and they paid, and then Bingley paid, though he had nothing to do with their treachery. The score is settled. Nor is the incident common knowledge.”
Padgett shrugged. “It was merely an observation.”
Richard continued to glare down at him. “One I trust you will not share with my father, or anyone else, for that matter.”
“Why would I besmirch the reputation of one of the Crown’s most valuable assets?”
“You would not,” Richard ground out, aware that was Padgett’s way of saying that so long as Richard remained useful to him, no one would ever find out about Caroline’s uncles.
“I am pleased we understand one another and happy to extol the lady’s virtues to your father, should he ask.” Padgett frowned. “What are her virtues?”
Easing from under a cloud of anger, for he had no illusions that Padgett would ever be done with him no matter who he married, Richard mustered a lighter tone. “She is intelligent, and quick. Ambitious, driven, and elegant. And a woman well acquainted with the realities of our world.”
“Not a hothouse rose, then,” Padgett surmised.
“Indeed, no.” Richard smiled, conjuring a vision of Caroline, her eyes glinting as tidbits of relevant gossip sped from the corner of her mouth while she smiled at whomever approached them.
She never forgot a name or face, and she had an uncanny knack for knowing what motivated a person.
“She is the sort of woman who could help a man earn a seat in parliament.”
“Parliament, is it?”
Richard offered Padgett a bland look. “Of late, this life has begun to wear on me, and yet I live but to serve my country. Parliament seems a reasonable compromise.”
Padgett drummed his fingers, his features folded into thought. “Yes. Parliament.” His gaze snapped back to Richard. “Well dowered, is she not, your Miss Bingley?”
“Would you expect me to fall for an impoverished woman?”
Suddenly, Padgett chuckled. “You could not have planned this better. The earl would have protested Miss Bingley most strenuously, but after fearing you enamored of a penniless country miss with no connections or social finesse, he will be pleased with Miss Bingley’s wealth and ambition.
Well done, Fitzwilliam. I am impressed.”
Richard shook his head, unwilling to give confirmation to that level of deviousness. “I had no way to know that I would meet such an appealing woman in Bingley’s household, nor that Darcy would arrive and become enamored with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
That earned him a long, scrutinizing look before Padgett finally shrugged.
“Very well. I will have you back to Hertfordshire in a matter of days. I am afraid there is a certain amount of paperwork that requires doing. Statements to write up and have witnessed so they may be presented to a judge, etcetera, etcetera. You are familiar.”
“I am,” Richard agreed.
“You will stay at Matlock House?”
He shook his head. “I believe I will impose on Darcy House, in case my father returns quickly.” He would also like to keep close to Georgiana for the next few days, to see how she bore up under the loss of Wickham, but Padgett did not need to know everything, despite what he thought.
Padgett nodded. “Very well, then. You are dismissed and may begin your reports.”
“Yes, sir.” Despite the hours of reports that lay ahead of him, Richard whistled as he strode through Watson, Hastings, and Vane.
Elizabeth tromped across dormant, furrowed fields, first those rented by Mr. Bingley, and then onward into her father’s estate.
Wind lashed her cloak and snapped at her skirt, but with less agitation than filled her thoughts.
She would likely be in trouble again, for such a lengthy disappearance on the first day she’d been permitted to walk alone since the morning she’d brought Fitzwilliam to Mr. Wickham, but she had been unable to take the quickest route back.
She needed time to sort her thoughts and emotions.
How dare the earl attempt to force her to sign away her right to a future with Fitzwilliam?
And to offer her money in exchange, as if she were some feckless, mercenary miss with no constancy in her heart.
Were Elizabeth a man, she would have challenged him, no matter that he was an earl and duels illegal. He insulted her to the core.
And Miss Bingley, consenting with such alacrity.
Elizabeth shook her head. She did not know the other woman over-well but had thought Miss Bingley possessed more character than she’d shown.
A greater strength of purpose. Did Miss Bingley believe Lady Catherine’s declaration that Mr. Darcy was already engaged?
Elizabeth certainly did not. Besides which, what did a woman who already had twenty thousand pounds even need with two and a half thousand more?
Miss Bingley’s honor could be bought for so low a price?
Not that any price would do. Not for Elizabeth. Even if she and Fitzwilliam had no chance of a union, as Miss Bingley seemed so certain, Elizabeth could not be purchased like a ewe at market.