Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“How did you even know to look for her, then?” Darcy inquired, attempting to sort through it all. If Mr. Bennet had believed that the king and queen had sent Sir Reginald to escort Elizabeth, he ought not have been concerned for her safety. “You could not have received her letter in time.”
Mrs. Hobart looked away, and Darcy thought of the letters in her reticule—unsent, most likely. No matter now; it was fortunate he had pocketed Fitzwilliam’s letter and posted it himself.
Mr. Bennet sighed. “Sir Reginald came to Longbourn four years ago with a message from the King and Queen, and therefore when he returned, I did not doubt his veracity. But five days after they carried Elizabeth off, another Thurnian envoy arrived with a letter from the palace.” He looked at Elizabeth.
“It was an invitation for you to join them in the spring, when travel is easier. It was this envoy who told me that Sir Reginald was no longer a member of the royal household.”
“Bennet was at my door promptly,” Sir William said proudly. “For he required a magistrate’s assurance of Miss Elizabeth’s identity and his own guardianship—an office which, I need not say, I am pleased to discharge.”
“I am clearly myself, Sir William,” Elizabeth said. “So your office is complete.”
“I had thought them already too far north to catch,” Mr. Bennet went on as Sir William beamed.
“We rushed to London to inform the ambassador, only to learn he was away on the crown’s business.
Since we were there, I fetched my brother Gardiner, who actually understands English roads, and we met you at Baldock. ”
Darcy’s mind flashed back through everything with painful clarity.
Adrian declaring with easy confidence that there were no princesses at court in Thurnia—only princes, a nursery forever expanding with boys.
Mrs. Hobart’s proud, careful attentions that he had dismissed as mere social climbing.
Elizabeth’s own insistence repeated more than once, which he had dismissed as either an outright deception or a stubborn desire to believe a pretty lie.
She had told him who she was, multiple times, in different ways, and he had not believed her.
“You did tell me,” Darcy said, his voice rough with the realization. “You told me, and I—”
“Thought me either a liar or thoroughly deluded,” Elizabeth finished quietly, and there was a thread of something like gentle amusement beneath the words. “Or perhaps both.”
Fitzwilliam wiped at his eyes. “This may be the finest thing that has ever happened to me.”
“Is he always such a sceptic, Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked.
“Always,” Fitzwilliam confirmed with delight. “It is his chief occupation.”
Darcy dragged a hand over his face and addressed Mr. Gardiner. “How long have you known?”
The man’s eyes twinkled. “Bennet told me when Elizabeth came to them as a babe. A man does not invent a royal infant merely for his amusement.”
Mr. Bennet huffed a laugh. “Untrue. I have invented far worse things for my amusement.”
Darcy looked at Elizabeth again, this woman who had charmed an entire inn, argued with him incessantly, tried to talk highwaymen out of their business, given a maid a handful of dried peas, had jumped from a window into a frozen night.
She was a princess.
Sir Reginald watched with open bitterness. “Yes. A princess. Worth more than enough gold to buy our freedom.”
“Where were you taking her?” Darcy demanded, returning them all to Mr. Gardiner’s question.
Sir Reginald hesitated. “I leased a house in Edinburgh and meant to send word to the palace from there. Once we had the funds, we would book passage for the princess to Thurnia as we boarded another for the continent. But the storm turned us back. Once we were reunited and you showed such interest in what we were doing, I knew we would not make it north without being overtaken. This house was the only safe place I knew between here and London.”
“How did you know of this house?” Elizabeth’s eyes strayed to the window and then returned to Sir Reginald. “It is so out of the way.”
“I have lived many places over the past two years. This was one of them.”
“What of the highwaymen?” Darcy inquired.
Mr. Bennet’s head snapped toward Sir Reginald. “Highwaymen?”
Fitzwilliam and Mr. Gardiner frowned. Sir William’s head moved back and forth between those speaking as though watching a game of battledore and shuttlecock.
Sir Reginald flinched. “That was not my doing. My father’s creditors grew impatient. Clearly they meant to cut us out and take the entire ransom themselves. They would not listen, and then I was stranded—”
“Is that why you left us so early the day of the storm? Were you meeting with them?” Elizabeth had the same expression on her face that Georgiana did when solving a difficult problem on the pianoforte. “I did wonder.”
The former envoy said nothing, but his face told them all that Elizabeth was correct.
“You left my niece unprotected on the road with criminals pursuing her?” Mr. Gardiner’s voice was hard as flint.
“I was not unprotected,” Elizabeth told them. “Mr. Darcy was with us.”
Darcy’s heart beat a little harder at that defence of him.
“There is one more thing I wish to know,” Elizabeth said quietly. “How did you find us? Mrs. Hobart and I had been completely separated from you.”
Sir Reginald sighed. “It took some time for the northern roads to be cleared, but then I rode hard, checked every likely inn along the road. It did not take long to find one where a young woman claiming to be a princess had made herself exceedingly popular. The innkeeper told me that a Mr. Darcy, a proud gentleman in a fine carriage, had agreed to escort you to London.”
“And I,” Mrs. Hobart added triumphantly, “made certain everyone knew you were a princess. I spoke of it at every inn, every coaching house. I left a trail Reginald could follow. It was an excellent plan.”
Darcy could not be quiet. “A plan that alerted everyone where Miss . . . Princess Elizabeth was, not only Sir Reginald.”
Mrs. Hobart looked away.
“Is there anything else you wish to tell us?” Sir William asked. Darcy suspected he was feeling a bit left out.
Sir Reginald’s shoulders slumped. “That is all of it. We planned. We failed. You have us. The men my father owed will likely kill us when they discover we cannot pay.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Hobart squeaked.
Mr. Bennet stepped forward. “I would call you out myself, but Elizabeth’s grandfather might protest. Prince Adrian will no doubt have you sent to Thurnia to face him.”
“Take them back to the pantry,” Darcy said to Anders and Johnson.
“What of the Gregorys?” Anders asked.
“Anyone who aided in Elizabeth’s abduction will be made to answer for it,” Mr. Gardiner said, staring at Sir Reginald.
Fitzwilliam nodded. “Including your father’s creditors. You will need to relay everything you know of them.”
As Anders and Johnson herded the prisoners back, Mrs. Hobart managed one last protestation. “This is not over!”
“Lucy,” Sir Reginald groaned. “It is over. It is as over as it can be.”
The pantry door shut with a decisive thud.
Silence fell.
Mr. Bennet turned to Elizabeth, his expression softening. “My dear, are you truly well?”
Elizabeth nodded, though exhaustion pulled at her. “I am, Papa. Thanks to Mr. Darcy.”
Her father looked at Darcy for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and extended his hand.
Darcy took it.
“Thank you,” Mr. Bennet said simply. “You kept her safe.” He paused, then added with the faintest hint of dry humour, “Even if you did not believe she was a princess.”
“It was complicated,” Darcy said defensively.
“Actually,” Elizabeth said with a little smile, “it was not complicated at all. You had been told there were only princes in Thurnia, and so you chose to disbelieve me. But there are only princes in Thurnia because I was raised in England.” She eyed him with amusement. “I rather suspect you thought me mad.”
“I thought you remarkable,” Darcy said firmly. “I simply did not think you were a princess.”
“Well,” Elizabeth said with a little sigh, “now you know.”
“Now I know,” Darcy agreed, knowing that his cheeks must be aflame and pretending that it did not bother him.
“Well!” Fitzwilliam declared. “This has been the most entertaining rescue I have ever participated in.”
“You did not participate,” Darcy pointed out. “You arrived after everything was finished.”
“Yes,” Fitzwilliam said, piqued. “I am aware. There I was, prepared to charge into the house and save the princess. Quite spoiled my moment, Darcy.”
Elizabeth took a step towards Darcy. “Thank you for coming to find me even when you did not think I was anyone of importance,” she whispered.
“You are important to me,” Darcy replied, equally quiet.
Her smile lightened his guilt.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said evenly, “I believe I can take it from here. We shall return to the inn for the night and then travel back to London tomorrow.”
Darcy nodded and relinquished Elizabeth to her father’s care. “Is Adrian back in London?” he asked his cousin.
“Yes. We should carry on to town with your miscreants.”
Darcy nodded.
As Mr. Bennet held out Elizabeth’s pelisse and she slipped into it, Mr. Gardiner addressed the others in the room. “I think we can all agree not to speak of any improprieties observed during this unpleasant visit.”
Mr. Bennet handed Darcy a card. “You and I may need to speak further.”
Darcy fingered the card for a moment and tucked it away.
A few moments later, Fitzwilliam stood with Darcy as they watched Mr. Bennet’s carriage depart. “So,” he said conversationally, “you rescued a princess.”
“So it would seem.”
“Generally, in such stories, that ends rather significantly.”
“This is not a story.”
“No,” Fitzwilliam agreed cheerfully. “It is a terrible anticlimax. I was hoping for declarations of love and a quick marriage. Adrian is going to fall over when I tell him.”
Darcy sighed. “Please do not tell Adrian.”
“I am absolutely telling Adrian. And everyone else.” Fitzwilliam clapped him on the shoulder. “Come. We have prisoners to deliver and explanations to make.”
Darcy remained a moment longer, watching the carriage that held Elizabeth trundle down the approach and turn onto the lane. Much to his surprise, he realised that a quick marriage to Elizabeth would have answered all his desires.
But she was a princess.
A real princess, granddaughter to a king.
And he? He was merely a gentleman. A wealthy one, certainly. An important one, perhaps. But he had no title, no rank that would make him remotely suitable for a woman of royal blood.
He had duties. Pemberley required his attention.
Though he had an excellent steward, the estate did not run itself, and his tenants depended upon him for their livelihoods.
Georgiana needed him, particularly now, when she was so fragile and uncertain.
And who was he to ask Elizabeth to give up her birthright for his sake?
A man who had doubted her at every turn, who had accused her of fraud, who had been too stubborn and proud to see the truth until it struck him in the face?
And yet, he was in love with her.