“Fitzwilliam!” she cried at his entry. “Oh, I am so relieved, we feared someone else had got to you! Where have you been?”
“Another time, Georgie. What happened here?”
Georgiana proceeded to tell of the attack on the house, not failing to mention that she herself had been barred in her room, and did not see all. “But Lydia!” she cried and grasped Elizabeth’s hand. “Oh, she was so brave! Elizabeth, you must go to her, she was asking for you earlier.”
“Georgiana, how badly is she hurt?”
“Oh, well, that I do not know. She was asleep when I last looked in on her. The doctor operated on her, but he said very little to me. He feared using laudanum because of her child, but Mr Wickham suggested that she take a little brandy—“
“Wickham!” Darcy interrupted. “I should have thought he would escape in the mêlée.”
“Why, no,” Georgiana sighed impatiently. “Mr Wickham tried to defend us. He is sitting with Lydia now.”
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth. “He is? Who granted permission for him to be out of his chamber?”
“You did, of course, that was why he was out earlier. Permitting him to remain with Lydia,” she crossed her arms and stared at her brother, “that was my idea.”
Darcy arched his brows at the mild scolding by his younger sister. “Indeed. Elizabeth, I believe I will attend you. Georgie…” he glanced about the orderly arrangements she had set into motion. “You look to have matters well in hand.”
She beamed softly, smiling at the confidence he placed in her. “I am glad you are returned, Brother.”
He stepped near to caress her cheek briefly, as their father had done so many times, and then followed Elizabeth as she raced up the stairs to her own sister.
Lydia Wickham may have suffered for wound and drink, but there was a dazed sort of contentment gracing her youthful features. Her eyes slitted at Elizabeth’s entry, and she groggily lifted her head from the pillow to extend her right hand. Her left, with its bandaged shoulder, remained firmly twined with her husband’s. Darcy noted that Wickham was looking anywhere but at him as he fetched another chair for Elizabeth.
Lydia slurred a cheery greeting to her sister. “Lizzy, I think I shall need a red coat now! George promised to teach me to shoot back. What do you think, shall I not be an excellent officer?”
“The very bravest,” Elizabeth assured her with a chuckle.
“Mrs Wickham,” Darcy interrupted quietly, “how do you feel?”
“I wish I could sit up,” she confessed, “but I have been forbidden to move, for I’ve the most abominable ache in my shoulder, and my head is throbbing something fierce. I am hungry as well, but George says I’m not to have more soup just yet,” she pouted.
“That is wise,” he concurred. “Madam, I must borrow Mr Wickham for a moment. I trust you will be comfortable?”
A drunken alarm widened the girl’s eyes, and she tightened her hand in her husband’s.
“Never fear, my dear,” Wickham soothed, “I shall return to you as swiftly as ever I may.”
She relented, after a few words from Elizabeth, as Darcy locked eyes with Wickham. Without another word, he turned and walked to his study. A few paces behind, Wickham followed. The last time they had sat thus—Darcy behind the desk, Wickham just before it—was the day Darcy had given him a bank note to sever their acquaintance. Much good it had done.
Darcy laced his hands before him and tapped his thumbs together. “I understand you attempted to shield my sister,” he began.
“You needn’t sound so stunned. You used me as a decoy,” muttered Wickham.
“If you mean to imply that I expected a full invasion of my house and departed, leaving two ladies defenceless, your assumption is incorrect. I did have twice the footmen on duty as a precaution, but I had not foreseen tonight’s events.”
“Then why place me in gentleman’s attire in the study?”
“I had intended that you and Colonel Fitzwilliam and I would pay a call on the Earl of Matlock after learning what we could from Senhor Vasconcelos. His testimony and yours would have provided sufficient evidence against my cousin the viscount to compel my uncle to take some action. I did not anticipate that I would be delayed in my return.”
“So, the wine was merely to loosen my tongue?”
Darcy smiled.
Wickham stirred with agitation, straightening his jacket front with a jerk. “You nearly got me killed, Darcy.”
“A pity,” Darcy commented drily, leaving Wickham to wonder what was the pity—his accidental endangerment, or the fact that he had survived. “I would have a full account of the night’s events, if you please. Were there any faces you recognised?”
