“She came here because ofyou, you pompous ass! How could you just leave her out there, after you made a point of searching for her?”
Darcy turned, his expression ice. “Get. Out.”
Richardspurredhishorsemercilessly. Oh, yes, he would leave, and never look back! The fool could have his mansion, throw out all the servants and lock every door for all he cared. He was well rid of the ingrate!
But there was still the matter of Elizabeth Bennet. No matter how he tried, Richard could not escape the knowledge that he was the one who had made the promise to Mr Bennet of his daughter’s safety. She ought to be Darcy’s problem by now, but Miss Bennet did not deserve to fall into the care of a madman. No, he would have to find her and see her safely delivered again to Hertfordshire.
It was not difficult. The rider from the stables had gone round the pleasure paths, where Miss Bennet had told the footman she intended to walk. Richard naturally rode in the opposite direction. He did not see her at first, but once he had left behind the noises of the house and the bubble of the trout creek, her faint cries were clear enough to reach him from across the fields.
She was postured as if she had been walking away from the house toward the road, but her legs had failed her. Her thick dark cloak fell around her shoulders and her bonnet was missing, shrouding her in black and rendering her figure almost invisible where she huddled in the wet grass. He cantered quickly to her side. The woman must be drenched! She would be lucky if she did not take a fever.
“Miss Bennet! Are you unwell?”
Her head remained bowed, her shoulders quivering with sharp, ragged cries. She was speaking—gasping, really—but not in response to him. “I didn’t know… William… no! Please, believe me!”
Richard nearly fell from the saddle and bent to draw her up by her shoulders. “Miss Bennet, what is the matter? Why did you not come back to the house? You are going to catch your death!”
She was shaking her head, pulling away from him and curling to hold her stomach. “Please, please believe me!” she was repeating hoarsely, her small frame shivering violently.
“Miss Bennet, what has happened? Why are you out here? Come, mount my horse, I will take you back to the house.”
“No! No, I am not welcome! He never wishes to see me again.What have I done?” The last words were barely coherent, more of a sob than speech.
“Miss Bennet you make no sense. I am afraid you will take a chill, you must return to the house!”
She doubled over, pulling away from him, and he could hear her heaving and gasping. Small white hands covered her head in the darkness, as though trying to make herself invisible.
“Miss Bennet, please!”
“I cannot face him!” she gasped. “Never, ever again. Oh, William, what must you think of me? What have I done? Please, I beg you, please believe me….”
Miss Bennet,” he turned her unwilling form, “have you seen Darcy? Did he find you out here?”
She nodded her head miserably, her hands still over her face.
“And you quarreled? Fear not that I cast any blame to you, Miss Bennet, for I have seen him as well, and he is not in his senses. What did he say to you?”
She sniffled, struggled for a few ragged breaths, and a raspy voice answered, “There was nothing he needed to say. He saw enough. I am such a fool!”
“Miss Bennet, I still do not understand, but we are getting wetter by the minute. There is a farm near here, I think I can persuade them to let us dry you. Come.” He dragged her reluctant form closer to his horse, but when he bent to gather her to place her in the saddle, she recoiled.
“I do not ride,” she protested. “Please, I can walk!”
He set his mouth grimly and fell into step beside her. Her strides were slow and mincing, not at all like he remembered her from Rosings. She was still shivering, her arms wrapped tightly about her middle, but it seemed to be more than the wet chill that troubled her. The longer she walked without speaking, the slower her strides and the more uncontrollable her tremours. Richard watched her carefully, then decided she ought to try to speak, for her own good if not for the relief of his concerns.
“Miss Bennet, pray, start from the beginning. Why are you out here? What were you doing when Darcy came upon you that upset him so?”
Several deep gasps preceded her answer. “I was doing the most foolish thing of my life—looking for the truth from a liar!”
“You were speaking to someone? To whom?”
She sniffled and squeezed her eyes closed. “Mr Wickham. Now do you see? I am the most wretched woman alive!”
“Wickham! So, that is why Darcy thinks I have schemed with that rogue. I thought him vanished! What is he doing here?”
Another sob shook her, and she wedged her clenched fingers over her mouth. “He—said—he—knew….” She halted, battled for breath, and tried again in a wavering pitch. “He had information, he claimed. I did not want to hear him, but Lady Catherine was going to take Georgiana away! I had to do something. Oh, what a fool I am!”
“Information?” The back of Richard’s neck prickled. “He claims to know who attacked Darcy?”
