Chapter Twenty-One #2
About to grab her friend’s hand and drag her from the crowded tap-room, the heavy oak door burst open on iron hinges.
A giant of a man filled the doorway, broad-shouldered, clad in a dark riding coat that strained across his chest, boots caked with dust from the road.
In an instant, Charlotte’s rigid features melted into a look of utter relief, and Lydia realised that she had sent her husband to fetch the gentleman.
Why he was here, and who he was, remained a mystery.
Only one thing was clear: Charlotte trusted him implicitly, and so would Lydia.
“My dear Mrs. Collins,” the man said in a booming voice, “I understand you are in disagreement with an officer of the militia.”
“You understand correctly, Mr. Fitzwilliam,” Charlotte replied calmly.
“You there,” the big man called out, his attention firmly fixed on Carter. “Why are you not at your camp in Brighton? If you have leave to travel, Captain, present your papers.”
“I answer to no one but my commanding officer,” Captain Carter snapped. “Who are you to demand such things?”
A slow smile curved the gentleman’s lips.
In no way was it inviting, but strangely sinister.
“I am the Honourable Richard Fitzwilliam, former Colonel, retired from His Majesty’s Royal Dragoons.
I retain many allies in the Home Office and the utmost respect of my peers.
If I demand to see your papers, you will produce them, or I will have you arrested as a deserter in a time of war.
The choice is yours, Captain. Compliance or arrest? ”
Carter swallowed hard. “My papers, they are in my room upstairs.”
“Then, I suggest you find them and bring them to me. Immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
Carter snapped a hasty salute, boots clipping on the floorboards as he bolted up the stairs. Lydia arched a dark brow at Charlotte. “Do you think he will bother to retrieve his belongings before making his escape back to Brighton?”
“Escape?” Miss Watting whispered.
Lydia looked at her friend with amazement. “You do not believe for one minute he intends to return when it is painfully obvious that he has no papers giving him permission to be away from camp, and he is the deserter Mr. Fitzwilliam declared him to be.”
“No, you are wrong.” Miss Watting insisted. “You… you must be mistaken.”
“My dear Miss Watting,” Charlotte said softly, guiding the confused young girl to a trestle table by the hearth, “let us behave like sensible ladies. My husband and Mr. Fitzwilliam will sort out Captain Carter’s conduct.”
They settled on stiff benches under the glow of a single oil lamp, and spoke in hushed tones over the tea the innkeeper’s wife brought.
In the quiet conversation that followed, Miss Watting’s hopes unravelled.
The man she believed devoted to her had slipped away, leaving behind a small, threadbare valise containing come clothing and little else of value.
His fleeting attention, it seemed, had been tied solely to her fortune.
When their cups were nearly empty, Lydia ventured, “Mrs. Collins, how did you, Mr. Collins, and Mr. Fitzwilliam happen upon us here in Bromley?”
“Mr. Fitzwilliam is married to Lady Catherine’s daughter, formerly Miss Anne de Bourgh.
We were bound for London, invited to your sister’s wedding.
Lady Catherine and Mrs. Fitzwilliam went ahead for family entertainment, while Mr. Fitzwilliam stayed at Rosings to resolve a tenant’s cottage dispute.
Once that was settled, Mr. Collins and I were delighted that he could join us.
Lydia glanced out a nearby window where early afternoon light brightened the busy courtyard.
“In all the excitement, I nearly forgot, Papa is sending a carriage for me today. I only hope Mrs. Graham received my letter; I would hate for her to think I encouraged Miss Watting to elope with a scoundrel.”
“What would you have done if we had not chanced upon you?”
“Exactly as I said. I would have slipped laudanum into one of their drinks, and dispatched an express to my father the minute I had secured one of them into the care of Morpheus.”
Charlotte laughed, shaking her head at the same time.
“You are still the irrepressible Lydia I remember from Meryton.” She covered one of Lydia’s hands with her own. “You remind me so much of your next eldest sister that I find myself longing for her sharp wit all over again.”
“I thank you for the compliment, Mrs. Collins. There was a time when I had no intention of being like my sisters in any way, shape, or form. However, time and distance have taught me otherwise. I cannot wait to see them, and rejoice in their future felicity.”
“If it gives you comfort, they are just as eager as you to reconnect and share their joy.”
“May I ask,” Miss Watting said in a soft voice, “who your sisters are, and whom they are marrying?”
“My eldest sister, Jane, will wed Mr. Joshua Morgan,” Lydia replied, “and my next eldest sister, Elizabeth, is to marry Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“Mr. Darcy?” Miss Watting said with a gasp, her eyes widening. “He is almost as good as lord, with all his properties and wealth.”
Lydia exchanged a knowing look with Charlotte and smiled.
“It seems my future brother-in-law’s wealth always travels faster than he does.”
“Aye,” Charlotte agreed, “he and Mr. Bingley were at the top of every matchmaking list as soon as word spread that they would attend the Meryton Assembly.”
“Until Mr. Darcy's icy scowl and cutting remarks at Lizzy cooled everyone’s ardour.”
“He has since apologised — many times — to your sister. Their acquaintance is quite amiable now, as you can imagine.”
“I can imagine very well, although I suspect Lizzy outwits him in every exchange, and he wonders why he cannot win an argument.”
“I dare say, we shall find out at the breakfast.”
Just then, Mr. Fitzwilliam and Mr. Collins joined the table.
“Miss Watting,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said, “you are most welcome to travel with us to London. I have dispatched a message to your father, requesting he meet us at my parents’ home in Mayfair.”
Miss Watting blanched upon hearing her father would soon learn of her foolish escapade, but nodded her acceptance.
“I also sent an express to your father, Lady Lydia, explaining your absence at school, and a note to the headmistress assuring her that you are under my protection.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fitzwilliam. As I said earlier, I also left a note, but it was written in such haste that I may not have chosen my words as carefully as I should.”
“Then, she will be glad I clarified matters on your behalf.”
St. George’s was filled to near to capacity the morning of 15 October 1812.
Family members took up most of the pews, but there were a fair number of guests who had no business being there, other than to earn bragging rights of attending one of the premiere events of the new season.
That, and rubbing shoulders with powerful members of the peerage.
But, to Elizabeth and Jane, it was simply their wedding day and both were impatient, and excited, to marry the men they loved beyond reason.
“Lord Joshua Morgan and Lady Jane Morgan, Viscount and Viscountess Waring,” Earl Rumley’s butler announced to the wedding breakfast guests, followed by, “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Lady Elizabeth Darcy.”
Morgan had reluctantly accepted his title, knowing it would make his and Jane’s life easier when moving amongst the ton.
He fully intended to maintain his business contacts, and defied anyone cutting him directly if they objected to how he added to his family’s substantial income.
In this, he had full support of, not only his father-in-law, but also Mr. Darcy, who diversified his income by investing with their new uncle by marriage, Mr. Gardiner.
Morgan and Jane joined his family and friends, while Darcy and Elizabeth made their way to a corner where all the Fitzwilliams had gathered, among them, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
“Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth said, greeting her new aunt with a respectful curtsey.
“Lady Elizabeth,” she acknowledged back with a regal nod of the head. “I still think of you as Miss Bennet.” Her tone was one of disdain. “I find it difficult to think of you as an earl’s daughter, on par with me.”
“Your father came by his title when a cousin died without an heir. How is that so different from my father?”
“Impudent girl. I am of a mind—”
“Mother,” Anne Fitzwilliam warned. “Need I remind you that Lady Elizabeth is now a cherished member of our family, and that we rejoice with Darcy in his choice of bride?”
Lady Catherine’s mouth twisted with discontent, but she gathered her dignity and gave Elizabeth what could, at best, be described as a smiling grimace.
“Much better,” Anne said, giving Elizabeth a wide smile. “Is it not refreshing to know my mother is delighted to welcome such a vivacious lady, who managed to capture Darcy’s heart while visiting Mrs. Collins in Kent?”
“Kent! This… this nobody trapped my nephew while she was in Kent!”