Wickham’s eyes narrowed as he considered the proposal, his gaze flicking between Darcy and the carriage. Wickham’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying him, searching for any sign of hesitation. “You are a curious fellow, Darcy. But I have no interest in your carriage. Very well, but I cannot have your men running off to alert anyone.” He flicked a glance at one of the workmen, who lifted his axe with a not-so-subtle threat.
“My carriage and my men will stay where they are.”
Wickham frowned, tapping his fingers against his leg as if weighing his options. Finally, he nodded to one of his men. “Fetch the workhorse. Best huntsman in Derbyshire, eh Darcy? You ought to have no trouble backing this one.”
The workman disappeared into the trees for a moment, returning with a raw-boned, heavy-built nag, its coat slick with rain. Wickham’s smirk grew as the horse was led up to Darcy, clearly expecting him to baulk at the sight of the lumbering, unsaddled beast.
Darcy met Wickham’s gaze with an unflinching stare, refusing to be needled. He straightened his shoulders, grasped the horse’s lead and a hunk of its coarse mane, and swung aboard with a practised ease that belied the pain searing through his skull. He dared not look back at the carriage where Elizabeth remained hidden, the curtains drawn.
He could only hope that his driver and valet understood and were ready to defend their future mistress if it came to that. Steeling himself, Darcy tightened his grip on the horse’s mane and prepared to follow Wickham.
Wickham watched him with a mixture of amusement and curiosity, clearly expecting some sign of weakness. But Darcy kept his expression impassive, his grip on the reinssteady despite the pounding in his head. The rain continued to fall, soaking through his clothing, but he ignored it.
With a final glance at the blocked road and the workmen who stood guard over the carriage, Darcy urged the horse forward. The animal moved reluctantly, its hooves slipping in the mud, but Darcy pressed on, his jaw set with grim determination. He had no intention of letting Wickham win. Not this time.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Elizabeth crouched low inthe dim confines of the carriage, her breath shallow as she strained to catch every word of the conversation outside. Her heart pounded with fear as she heard Darcy volunteering himself to go with Wickham. The impulse to fling open the door and protest surged through her, but before she could act, her father’s firm hand gripped her wrist.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered urgently, his voice barely audible over the rain pattering against the carriage roof. “Darcy knows what he is doing. He is trying to protect you. Do not waste his efforts.”
Tears of frustration pricked at her eyes, but she nodded, swallowing the protest that threatened to escape her lips. She watched helplessly as Darcy rode off with Wickham, her heart clenching with terror for him. The carriage remained still, both of them holding their breaths and praying on the loyalty and nerve of Darcy’s men, knowing the workmen were standing guard nearby.
Through a narrow slit in the curtains and the small window just beneath the driver’s seat, Elizabeth could catch occasional glimpses of Giles, Darcy’s valet, and the coachman. They sat with an air of casual indifference as though nothing was amiss, but Elizabeth noticed the subtle shift in the coachman’s posture. Her breath hitched when she caught the glint of a pistol lying by his side, clearly visible to the workmen. It was a silent but unmistakable warning: Stay away from the gentleman’s carriage.
At first, the workmen kept their distance, but as time passed, their respect gave way to insolence. One of them began heckling the coachman and the valet. Elizabeth strained her ears to catch the crude words of the workmen as they grew bolder.
“Oi, what do you reckon a fancy gent like him keeps in that strongbox, eh?” one of the workmen speculated. “Bet it’s full of gold, jewels... mayhap even some fancy trinkets from London, eh?”
The second workman chuckled. “Aye, and more than just a few coins, I’d wager. Rich buggars like him always carry more than they need. Probably enough in there to set us both up for life.”
“Think they’d notice if we took a peek, eh? Wouldn’t take much. Just a quick look inside. Maybe a few coins for our trouble.”
The second workman laughed again, his voice dripping with contempt. “You think these soft-handed gents could stop us? Look at ‘em. They wouldn’t stand a chance if we decided to help ourselves. ‘Sides, what’s the worst they could do? Wave a handkerchief at us?”
The coachman’s voice cut through the workmen’s laughter, steady and low. “I’d think carefully before you try anything, lads. There’s more than a handkerchief waiting for you if you do.”
The first workman scoffed, though there was an edge of uncertainty in his voice. “What’s that supposed to mean, eh? You threatening us now?”
The coachman shifted slightly in his seat, the movement drawing Elizabeth’s eye back to the glint of the pistol. “I am only advising you,” the coachman replied calmly, “some things are not worth the risk. A few coins will do you little good if you are not around to spend them.”
There was a brief silence as if the workmen were weighing the threat, their earlier bravado faltering. But the second workman was not ready to give up so easily.
“Big talk for a man sitting up there on a box,” he jeered, though his voice lacked the confidence it had before. “But I reckon you’re all bluff. Gents like you don’t know how to handle real trouble.”
“Last warning,” the coachman said, his voice colder now, more dangerous. “Keep to yourselves, lads. You’ll find nothing here worth losing your lives over.”
The workmen laughed, but there was a hint of unease in their voices now. They did not take the warning seriously, but neither did they approach.
Mr Bennet leaned closer to Elizabeth, his voice a mere breath in her ear. “Elizabeth, shift beside me. Quietly, now.”
Puzzled, Elizabeth obeyed, moving as stealthily as she could manage. Her heart raced with the fear that any movement might betray their presence. As she shifted, the carriage rocked ever so slightly, but just then, one of the horses stamped its foot and sneezed, providing the perfect cover for her movement.
Once she was beside him, her father reached down and lifted the seat she had just vacated. Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she saw the brace of loaded pistols hidden there beside Darcy’s strongbox. Her father took one in each hand, his expression grim and determined.
“Keep watch through the curtain,” he whispered. “Let me know if the workman on your side of the coach approaches.”
Elizabeth nodded, her throat tight. She could feel every second dragging on as she kept her eyes fixed on the workmen, her heart galloping wildly. They were standing too close to the carriage now, their earlier bravado returning as they exchanged glances with each other, growing more insolent with each passing minute.
