“No! Forgive me. I meant Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, his cousin. It was he who was called upon to identify the body, for he is the executor of Darcy’s estate and guardian to Miss Darcy.”
“Oh, how dreadful!” Jane groaned in sympathy. “I am glad it is not the lot of ladies to perform such a task. Was the colonel very close to him?”
“I think I answer with all humility when I say that Fitzwilliam was the only man closer to Darcy than I was. I understand he had been beaten, almost beyond recognition, and his purse was empty. Fancy that! The finest man I have ever known, brutally struck down for the thirty coins he always carried. There can be no justice in a world where such things occur!”
“Surely there was an investigation?”
Bingley shrugged helplessly. “Naturally. A man such as Darcy commands the top inspectors, but there was little to find. Footpads, that is their assumption. A… girl… claimed to have seen him, and she produced a gold coin that had likely been his, so the inspectors considered that explanation enough for his presence in that part of town. It does not suit with the character I knew, however.”
“How shocking for his family! They have not only the death, but the disgrace of the circumstances. Poor Miss Darcy!”
“Yes, the poor child. I understand she is taking it very hard. I have known her a long time, of course, and I can but think that this has quite broken her. I believe Fitzwilliam is sheltering her from the more shameful details, and, of course, he runs the whole affair like a military deployment, but it is inevitable, I suppose, that one day she will hear all. I must ask your secrecy, my dear, for I ought not to have repeated what Fitzwilliam shared with me in confidence.”
“I would never dream of speaking such things—particularly to my sisters!”
Bingley raised thoughtful eyes to the door, behind which now approached hurried footsteps that could only belong to Mrs Bennet. They came to a stop, then there was a faint creak against the door as a hand cupped against it. Jane groaned softly.
Bingley smiled tightly and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I have confidence in Miss Elizabeth’s secrecy. I know how close you are to her, and I would not share such griefs with you so soon while denying you the comfort of relief. She seemed quite distraught when I first gave her the news, which I credit to her as sincerity. She has a faithful heart, I believe, and it comforts me to know that others may also share in my sorrow over a good man.”
Jane cast a doubtful look toward the door. “Elizabeth abhors disguise, so I have no doubt that her shock was genuine. However, she was never fond of Mr Darcy, so I would not depend upon her for empathy over his loss, but I know she will respect your grief.”
“That is all one may ask of a friend,” Bingley smiled sadly, then squeezed her hand as his voice took on its usual volume once more. “I believe you were right, my darling. My heart does feel somewhat lighter after speaking of my sorrow, and I find myself most eager to turn to that other feeling now. Did you say your father is to return this very afternoon?”
Jane was unable to answer before the door burst open. Mrs Bennet, flushed with the triumph of a second daughter well engaged, raised both hands in praise. “Lord bless us, I thought it would never happen!”
Matlock House,
London
“Oh,Aunt,hasitall really happened? I still feel I am in a nightmare, and unable to wake from it!” Georgiana Darcy burrowed her golden head tightly within her folded arms, collapsing once more on the side of her chair.
“Come, my dear, you will feel better after a hot bath and a rest. ‘Tis hard, I confess, but you are a Darcy, you know. It will not do to set up such a scene! What will your uncle and your aunt Catherine think?”
Georgiana dared to raise a scandalised glare to her aunt. Regina Fitzwilliam, the Countess of Matlock, was her favourite female relative, but the woman was not known for her compassion. A rebellious spark of anguish flared, and she choked on the lump swelling in her breast. “I do notcarewhat they think!” she sobbed afresh. “Fitzwilliam wasmybrother, not theirs!”
Lady Matlock rolled her eyes. “You must not carry on so, my dear, for you shall only excite yourself and bring on a fit of apoplexy. Young ladies must look very carefully to their constitutions!”
Georgiana had retreated once more to her hollow of safety, the black crepe of her new gown scratching unpleasantly against her cheeks, when the only welcome voice in the house sounded in her defence.
“Mother,” Richard Fitzwilliam entered the room, his features haggard and his uniform limp, “may I speak with Georgiana?”
Lady Matlock sighed and waved a hand in surrender. “See that she retires to her room, Richard! I’ll not have her exhausting herself and falling ill.”
“Of course, Mother.” He waited until the door fell softly closed, then gently called his cousin’s name. “Georgie?”
Georgiana’s jaw and neck tightened, but she relented from her self-imposed silence. She lifted her head and blinked swollen eyes.
“Oh, dear one!” he murmured in sympathy. He searched his breast pocket and withdrew a handkerchief to offer her, but paused after looking at it. “Oh… forgive me, this one is spoilt.”
Georgiana followed his gaze. “It is bloody! Richard, were you hurt?”
“No, my dear. It is nothing with which to trouble yourself. Are you feeling a little better tonight?”
She shook her head, still gazing at the handkerchief. “I shall never feel better,” she declared resolutely.
“I know, Georgie. Have you thought more about what I said yesterday?”
“I have done nothing but think. Richard, you and my aunt and uncle are kind, but I cannot be happy here. I wish to go home!”
