She relented easily, allowing her head to fall against his shoulder as one of his arms draped gently round her. “Now, then, Mr Darcy,” she sighed against his arm, “are we to talk by rule, or remain silent?”
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “Whichever gives you the most pleasure, my love.”
Chapter fifty-five
Darcyspentmostofthe following day in seemingly useless pursuits. His cousin had departed early, with his protesting captive and four armed footmen. Richard had also carried with him a letter from Elizabeth for her aunt and uncle in London, and Darcy had included a note of his own regarding his intentions toward both of their nieces. All had judged the Gardiners the most sensible individuals to be found when discussing plans for Lydia’s likely future without a husband, as well as Elizabeth’s engagement to a man presumed to be deceased.
Darcy had decided against riding to Rush Hill to apprise Duncan of Jefferson’s suicide. Instead, he sent a note asking the magistrate to come to Pemberley at his earliest convenience so that Elizabeth’s testimony might be heard, for her words were the only remaining evidence of the faulty account books. Another carriage was dispatched to collect Mrs Annesley, dying brother or no, for he would have the woman present to offer her confession when the magistrate arrived.
Next, he spoke with his head stable groom, inquiring how the stolen horses might have been taken and not accounted for until—according to Georgiana—two or three days had gone by. The answer, that Jefferson had personally ordered the use of the horses, left him more puzzled than before.
He had nearly settled with himself that Jefferson had been employed by the yet un-named relation of his, but the stolen horse had been ridden by the very rogue who had helped to capture him, and set him aboard a Portuguese vessel. Had Jefferson, in fact, taken money from both parties? Or perhaps had the mercenaries switched their allegiances? If that were the case—Darcy felt a prickling along the back of his neck—were there yet more individuals in the shadows?
On his way back from the stables, he decided to detour through the pleasure gardens for some time to think. He found it far more peaceful to be out of doors, and the recently returned master of an estate ought to at least appear to take some interest in its management. He spent some while in close contemplation of the tiny beginnings of the rose buds, the promising lavender, the proud spears of lilies. He nodded at the gardener at his work, noting how the man’s gaze lingered on him slightly longer than was usual. It seemed he was to remain a spectacle for some while.
Desiring a few more moments of privacy before he returned to the house, he bent his steps toward the garden maze. He knew its paths intimately, and was well along the direct route out again when he heard quiet sobs. He paused, turning about to discern the direction.
It sounded for all the world like Elizabeth, and his heart beat more quickly. Had he caused her some grief? Did she regret coming to be with him? All manner of doubts raced through his mind, and he hurried to find her out.
His steps carried him round two or three corners, and he drew up in surprise when he found not Elizabeth, but Lydia Wickham among the hedges. She was doubled over as far as her growing belly would allow, her fingers curled round her face and her body trembling with high, keening gasps. Her bonnet lay beside her, granting him a full view of tousled hair and reddened cheeks.
“Mrs Wickham! Have you lost your way in the maze?”
She scrambled to her feet, a task that required some effort, and he was not quite prompt enough to assist her. She gathered her elaborate bonnet and used it to brush self-consciously at her skirts. “No,” she mumbled, looking anywhere but at him. “I know my way out.”
“Are you unwell? May I bring something for your present relief?”
She shook her head, biting her lips together. A tear streaked down her cheek, and she brushed it quickly away, then was required to do the same on the opposite cheek.
“Mrs Wickham, I can see you are in distress. You must allow me to accompany you back to the house.”
She turned away from him, a hand touching her mouth, and her shoulders began to shake once more. Darcy felt utterly helpless. He strayed a few steps in either direction, thinking perhaps that Elizabeth would soon happen upon them, but she was not near at hand, and he did not dare leave the girl crying in the maze. “Mrs Wickham, I—”
“Will you stop calling me that?” she lashed out over her shoulder. “Everywhere I go, it’s ‘Mrs Wickham’ this, ‘Mrs Wickham’ that. Doesn’t anyone know I’m as good as a widow?”
He blew out a steadying breath. “The appellation is one of respect, madam. Even widows retain their husband’s name, but your husband is not deceased.”
“Well, he deserves to be!” the girl shot back. This angry statement was followed by a stifled shriek, and she clapped her hand again over her mouth. She remained turned away from him, but her posture seemed to crumple before his very eyes. “How could he do this to me?” she wailed.
Darcy cast another desperate glance around, hoping against hope that Elizabeth might come to search for her sister. “Madam,” he fumbled, hoping he might say something soothing to the girl, “it will avail us little to wish ill upon another. Mr Wickham may, indeed, pay for his crimes, but you are in no danger for your own future. I assure you, when Miss Bennet and I are wed—”
“I don’twantyour ‘assurances’! I don’t want your money or your fine manners or your pity! I only ever wantedhim!” Lydia gave up trying to hide her face in her hands, and turned to bury herself within the hedge as her bonnet tumbled to the ground.
Darcy groaned silently. What was he to do about such a statement? If the girl still wanted that worthless cad, she was clearly without sense. Had Wickham not sufficiently proved himself undeserving of any lady’s regard?
“Madam, please allow me to escort you to the house. I will ask Miss Elizabeth to attend you.”
“Elizabeth! She knows nothing of it. I cannot talk to her, and Georgiana is just as bad. Leave me be, Mr Darcy.”
“Forgive me, madam, but how can you not think the company of the other ladies might give you comfort? Has not your sister ever brought relief in these months?”
“Oh! She did, but she is too happy, now you have come back. Please, go away!”
Darcy cast his eyes to the heavens and tried to count three long breaths to control his tongue. “Miss Elizabeth is not a stranger to grief, madam. Nor, for that matter, is my own sister.”
Her only response was to clutch the branches and try to wedge herself more deeply into the maze row. “Certainly,” he made another hesitant effort, “if it is a confidante you desire, either of them would prove wise and understanding.”
“You are not listening!” Lydia spun around at last, facing him with streaked visage and blurry eyes. “They got what they wanted! The impossible happened for them, and you came back. What of me? My husband was found at last, and now he is to be hanged!” She wrapped one arm protectively over her stomach and braced the other upon it to shield her face again. “He never even asked about me!” she gasped.
