Darcy’s smile softened. “I am proud that she found me worthy.”
Richard nodded, then leaned forward, his expression turning serious. “But meanwhile, if you are not in too much pain, I would very much like to speak of what happened with Wickham.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed, his memory still foggy. “I might not recall all the details correctly,” he admitted.
Richard waved a hand dismissively. “Mr Bennet’s letter did most of that, but have you heard? Wickham is in gaol.”
Darcy’s eyes widened in surprise, and Richard continued, “Furthermore, ‘Sir Anthony’ was really a steward for Lord Wexfield up until about a year ago when he suddenly began living the life of a gentleman. I understand he properly goes by the name of Henry Billings, and he is also in gaol.”
Darcy managed a faint nod. “Georgiana will be interested to hear that.”
“Eh? What’s this about Georgie?”
Darcy closed his eyes in an approximation of a head shake. “It can wait. What else? I do not suppose you have spoken with your father?”
“Not in person, no, but the moment I got Mr Bennet’s letter, I sent off an express to him about everything Bennet said. I’ve no doubt that he will make sure Lord Wexfield is now under investigation for fraud in the House of Lords. He has wanted proof for a long while, and now he ought to have it.”
Darcy let his head fall back against the pillow, a deep sigh of relief escaping him. “That is all good news. Not because I sought revenge on Wickham but because I am glad to know that the people of Meryton are safe. Now, all I care about is recovering in time to marry Elizabeth.”
Richard grinned. “I think that is a worthy goal, cousin. And with your stubbornness, I have no doubt you will achieve it.”
Chapter Forty-One
Afortnight had passed,and the carriage wheels creaked softly as they rolled over the frozen Hertfordshire roads, the gentle sway almost lulling Darcy back to sleep. He sat back against the padded seat, a walking stick resting against his knee, his fingers drumming lightly on the handle. The return journey to Hertfordshire had been cold but uneventful, and for that, he was grateful. He was still weak, his body recovering slowly, but he was upright, his faculties clear, and his mind keen once more. The familiar countryside stretched out before him, and he felt a sense of calm settle over him.
Elizabeth sat beside him, her hand twined over his arm and her body keeping him warm. He had struggled almost constantly with feeling chilled during his recovery, but fortunately, the remedy for that particular ailment was a pleasant one. She glanced up at him every so often, her eyes filled with concern and something more tender, more personal.
Darcy met her gaze with a soft smile, feeling a new kind of warmth spread through his chest that had little to do with the winter sun streaming through the carriage window. Opposite them, Mr Bennet sat with Richard, both men engaged in a low conversation that Darcy only half-heard. His focus was entirely on the woman beside him—her touch,her nearness.
As they approached Longbourn, Darcy felt a flicker of anxiety in his chest. He had not set foot in the house since his engagement to Elizabeth, and though he knew the Bennet family had welcomed him with open arms, he could not shake the feeling of stepping into the unknown. Particularly where the mother and younger sisters were concerned.
The carriage drew up to the house, and Darcy’s hand tightened on his walking stick as he prepared to disembark. His equilibrium had suffered somewhat since the surgery, but the nausea and unsteadiness were receding a little more each day. Still, he used that walking stick wherever he went, for he had discovered a rather curious benefit to carrying it—with it in his right hand and Elizabeth holding his left elbow, it created a natural barrier to overly convivial and familiar greetings… a thing he would probably always abhor.
Inside, the drawing room was warm and bright, a fire crackling in the hearth. Bingley was already there, waiting eagerly, his face breaking into a broad smile as they entered. “Darcy!” he exclaimed, hurrying forward. “You are looking well! Or, at least, better than I feared.”
Darcy chuckled softly, leaning on his stick for support. “I am on the mend, Bingley. Slowly but surely.” He exchanged a tender look with Elizabeth, who squeezed his arm gently before stepping away to join her sisters.
Mrs Bennet must have been hovering in the entryway, and she approached now with a look of barely contained excitement. Her greeting, however, was tempered with uncharacteristic restraint. Her voice, usually as sharp and lively as a sparrow’s, was unusually gentle. “Mr Darcy,” she said, her words deliberate and measured, “how very good it is to see you looking so well. We were all so worried—well, of course, I was worried sick! My poor nerves, you know. But you did not die, after all—Lady Lucas said she was sure you would. I shall be sure to tell her that you are here now, still as wealthy and handsome as ever and looking better than we could have hoped!”
Darcy inclined his head politely. She was still very much as she had always been, but perhaps a muted version of her usual self. Elizabeth or Mr Bennet must have written to impress upon her the importance of maintaining calm for the sake of his recovering head. Across the room, Elizabeth stood near the window, her face bright with relief, and the sight of her eased the lingering tension in his chest.
Lydia and Kitty, however, could hardly contain their excitement at the sight of Colonel Fitzwilliam in his red uniform. Lydia whispered loudly to Kitty, “Look at him! So handsome in his regimentals! I did not know Mr Darcy’s cousin was an officer. I should love to hear about his battles and the scarlet-coated soldiers!”
Kitty nodded eagerly, her eyes wide with fascination. “Do you think he might tell us some stories?”
Mr Bennet, observing the scene with his usual air of detached amusement, cleared his throat. “Girls,” he said in a tone that allowed no argument, “we are all pleased to have such distinguished guests, and surely you will get to know them soon enough. However. as of this moment, you are not to be considered ‘out.’ You are not permitted to be in company as if you were.”
Achorus of protests erupted from the younger girls. Lydia’s face twisted in dismay. “But Papa! That is most unfair! I am nearly sixteen, and Kitty is a year older! Why should we be sent away like children?”
Kitty pouted, her lip trembling with frustration. “Yes, Papa, why should we be banished upstairs when there is such company?”
“Oh, Mr Bennet, must you be so harsh?” his wife pleaded. “The girls are simply delighted by the presence of their future brothers-in-law… not to mention that of a fine, brave officer. Surely, there can be no harm in their hearing a tale or two of gallantry.”
Mr Bennet’s expression remained unchanged. “I am afraid, Mrs Bennet, that your indulgence has made them forget their manners. As they are not yet ‘out,’ they have no business being in the company of gentlemen.”
Lydia stamped her foot, her frustration boiling over. “But Papa—”
“No,” Mr Bennet said more sharply. “Upstairs with you, now. I have had a long journey with far too many people touching me as it is. No offence, Colonel.”
