Chapter 26 #2
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said quickly, rising as they entered, “I must beg pardon for not being present when you arrived. I was up the entirety of the night keeping watch, and when I learned Mr. Wickham had not yet returned, I thought it safe enough to lie down for a few hours.”
“Quite understandable, Mrs. Reynolds,” he said gently.
“You have no need to fear reprisal. You have been with Pemberley since long before my cousin was born, and I know you only have the estate’s best interests at heart.
In fact, I am here to enlist you for our council of war—we could use your expertise and good sense. ”
“Mine, sir?” she asked in astonishment.
“Indeed. My cousin may soon be a mother, but she is still little more than a child in many ways. A woman of experience and sound judgment will be invaluable.”
Mrs. Reynolds’s eyes filled with earnest purpose. “Then I am at your service, Colonel.”
The colonel inclined his head. “Excellent. Let us begin.”
He motioned for them to take their seats.
Elizabeth sat on a comfortable settee, and Darcy eagerly took the place next to her.
He knew that it was not entirely appropriate, even for a married couple such as themselves, but he could not resist being near her.
The hours spent in fear for her safety made him wish for nothing than to continually reassure himself of her well-being.
He brushed his knee against hers, felt her warmth through the worn fabric of his breeches, and the tightness in his chest eased at last.
“I know we are all quite exhausted—myself and William here especially—but we do not know when Wickham will return,” the colonel began, his voice steady despite the bandage around his brow—though Darcy had no idea where it had even come from.
“I should like to have a plan in place. Once that is finalized, we should all follow Mrs. Reynolds’s good example and rest as long as we can. ”
“We should also eat,” Mrs. Reynolds said, “as none of us has broken our fast.”
“That,” he agreed, “is the most sensible suggestion I have heard all night.”
Arrangements were quickly made for a tray to be brought.
As Mrs. Reynolds busied herself giving orders, Darcy leaned back and closed his eyes.
He still held Elizabeth’s hand, their fingers loosely entwined between them.
The faint scent of lavender clung to her hair, and he breathed it in as if it were the only thing anchoring him to this uncertain world.
Her thumb brushed across his knuckles in a small, unconscious motion—so gentle it might have been imagined.
For the first time since that terrible evening began, his body surrendered to fatigue. His head tipped back against the cushions, and he dozed lightly until the sound of clinking china roused him again.
The tray was set before them—a modest breakfast of bread, cheese, and strong tea. The early light brightened the drawing room windows. After the first few grateful bites, Elizabeth spoke, her tone thoughtful.
“The law is against us, I fear. Legally, Mr. Wickham is the master of Pemberley, and Georgiana is his wife—pregnant with his child. She might flee, of course, but he could compel her return through the courts. Besides, she would not wish to abandon her family home.”
Mrs. Reynolds nodded, adding, “She is perhaps two months from her confinement, and travel would be not only uncomfortable, but it would also be dangerous.”
The colonel frowned. “Then we must think beyond the law. A man like Wickham makes enemies wherever he goes. It would not surprise me if one of them were to shorten his career—permanently.”
Elizabeth sighed, though a small, reluctant smile curved her lips. “My husband has been of the same mindset, though he tends to prefer a duel—or even a brawl.”
Darcy turned toward her, his eyes glinting with mischief that only she would recognize. “A man must meet his talents where they lie, Mrs. Smith,” he said softly. “Though I admit, I have been told my aim is rather good.”
His chest swelled when he saw her cheeks pinken, and she shook her head in silent reproach.
The colonel’s laughter rang out, hearty and genuine for the first time that morning.
“I think I like you, William,” he declared, clapping Darcy on the shoulder.
“Any man who can jest after a night like ours is welcome in my company.”
Darcy only smiled, though his hand lingered at Elizabeth’s side beneath the folds of her gown. Instead of pulling hers away, she intertwined her fingers with his, and he silently sighed in contentment.
The colonel leaned forward, elbows braced upon his knees. “We must assume Wickham will return before nightfall. He will expect the household to be as he left it—obedient and silent. Our advantage lies in that expectation.”
“He will be very angry,” Elizabeth said. “His pride was quite wounded when William bested him and no one responded to his orders to summon the magistrate.”
“I am surprised he has not returned by now,” Darcy added. “I was certain last night that he would arrive long before I even reached Matlock.”
Elizabeth’s hand squeezed his at this reminder of the danger. “As was I,” she whispered.
“Perhaps we could use his anger and pride to our advantage,” Mrs. Reynolds suggested.
“It would certainly make him careless,” the colonel replied.
“But whatever we do will not be a long-term solution,” Darcy said. “We need something that will prevent him from causing any more damage… and my wife will not allow murder to be an option.”
This last was said with a wicked grin and a small wink towards Elizabeth, causing the colonel to laugh perhaps a bit more than the jest warranted.
He is as exhausted as I am.
“What about prison?” Elizabeth said once the humor had subsided.
“He has not broken any laws,” Darcy reminded her. “Even with his attempts with you, that would not be enough to put him in the gaol—not for long, at least.”
“If what I remember about Mr. Wickham is correct”—she gave Darcy a significant look—“then he must have quite a few debts. Could they be purchased and combined, then used to put him in debtor’s prison?”
Darcy gaped. The woman is a genius, he thought, just as Colonel Fitzwilliam exclaimed, “My dear, that is brilliant!”
“I know it will take time to gather his vowels, and it would mean a significant amount of money to be able to purchase them all…” Elizabeth’s voice trailed off.
“That would be no trouble for my father,” Richard said, waving a hand. “The only issue will be what to do in the meantime until enough evidence can be gathered.”
The room fell silent as everyone contemplated the situation. Elizabeth suddenly grinned and said, “Perhaps I could hit him over the head with a bottle of wine, and then we lock him in the stables or the cellar for a month or two?”
Darcy was not entirely certain if she was serious or not, but there was no time to ask her. As she finished speaking, the faint but unmistakable sound of hooves coming up the long drive drifted through the still air.
Four heads turned towards the window, frozen, listening—the rhythmic beat grew louder, approaching the front of the house.
Mrs. Reynolds was on her feet in an instant, moving swiftly to the window where she had been keeping watch. She pulled back the curtain just enough to peer out, her posture rigid.
A breathless pause followed before her shoulders relaxed. “It is not Mr. Wickham,” she said, relief flooding her voice. “The man is too scrawny by half.”
The others exhaled as one. The colonel rose nevertheless, his hand resting on the butt of his pistol. “Best see who it is, Mrs. Reynolds. We can take no chances.”
She gave a brisk nod and hurried from the room. The muffled sound of a door opening, followed by low voices, reached them. A moment later, Mrs. Reynolds reappeared, ushering in a man Darcy recognized at once—the innkeeper from Lambton, Mr. Whitlow.
“Colonel, sir,” Mrs. Reynolds said, her face pale, “you are going to want to hear this.”