“She is well, sir,” Bates said quickly, anticipating the question. “She and her family are staying at Stoke Estate. The fire destroyed most of Longbourn, I regret to say.”
“And the child?” Darcy asked hoarsely.
“The babe is safe as well, sir.” Bates hesitated at Darcy’s skeptical glance. “Well, all three of you have had rough coughs, but they are improving steadily—thanks to Miss Elizabeth’s herbal blend. Mr. Jones is rather astonished at the recovery. They are being kept upright as much as possible, though, to prevent a buildup of fluid in the lungs. And though none of you should speak more than necessary, there is every reason to believe they will continue to improve.”
Darcy leaned back slowly, letting the words settle over him. The ache in his ribs still pulsed with every breath, but the tight fear in his chest began to ease.
The door banged open.
“Well, well,” came a familiar voice, brimming with amusement. “The great Mr. Darcy has finally deigned to wake up.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam strode into the room, his coat thrown over one shoulder, his cravat askew. His face was streaked with soot that looked like it had been smudged off in a hurry, and his eyes gleamed with exhausted relief.
“You lazy dog,” he continued. “Lying about like a Roman emperor. Another day or two and I might have stolen Elizabeth out from under you.”
Darcy’s smile was faint, but real. “You would have had to carry her over my dead body.”
The colonel flopped into a nearby chair and propped his boots on a stool. “It would not have been that hard, considering you were almost a corpse yourself.”
Darcy’s eyes sharpened. “Is she truly safe now? All of them?”
The colonel’s grin faded. “Yes. The danger is over.”
Darcy narrowed his gaze. “The twins are in custody, I am assuming. What if they escape?”
“They will not.”
Darcy frowned. “You sound too certain.”
The colonel’s expression grew grim. “They are both dead.”
A sharp breath escaped Darcy’s lips. “What?”
“Apparently,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, with a grimace of distaste, “each brother had a pair of vials hidden on their persons. We did a full search after capture—believe me, more thorough than I ever wanted to conduct—but they must have concealed them in places best not spoken of in polite company.”
Darcy’s face twisted. “I think I can imagine.”
“The vials were harmless on their own,” the colonel continued. “But together—when their contacts were mixed—they formed some sort of fast-acting poison. It killed them both in their cells before we could stop it.”
Darcy let out a long, shuddering breath and pressed a hand to his chest. “Then it is truly over.”
The colonel stood and stretched with a grunt. “It is. You can finally stop worrying.”
Darcy looked skeptical.
“Come now,” the colonel added with a smirk. “You have a wedding to look forward to. Once I submit my report, I suspect word will spread like fire in London. You will be more popular than ever at every soirée.”
Darcy groaned softly and dropped his head back against the pillows. “Spare me.”
The colonel chuckled. “Cheer up. At least you will have Elizabeth to shield you from the matchmaking horde. That woman would sooner bite than let a matron paw you.”
Darcy’s answering smile was slow and full of affection. “Yes,” he murmured. “I believe she would.”
And for the first time in many weeks, he allowed himself to rest—knowing the woman he loved was safe, the danger hadpassed, and the future—uncertain though it might be—belonged to them.
∞∞∞
Two days later, however, Darcy was sick of resting. The light streaming through the windows felt too bright, his limbs ached, and his throat was raw from coughing. Worse still was the stifling frustration of being confined to his bed like a child with a winter cold.
