Darcy smiled faintly, though there was little humor in it. “And what happens now?”
“A court-martial,” Fitzwilliam replied, growing more serious. “For an officer to commit such an act—even off duty—it must be handled by military tribunal.”
Darcy frowned. “I confess, I have no clear idea how such things are done.”
Fitzwilliam set his cup down with a sigh and leaned back. “Under normal circumstances, it would be a general court-martial—formal, deliberate, and conducted with a full board of officers at a fixed military station. That sort might take weeks to assemble and longer still to conclude.”
“But this is not a normal circumstance?”
“No.” Fitzwilliam shook his head. “It is wartime, and the army has leeway in such cases. What Wickham will face is a field court-martial. Far swifter. Convened near the place of the offense, using available officers. Forster will preside, of course.”
Darcy was silent a moment, absorbing it all. Then, quietly: “How long will it take?”
Fitzwilliam blew out a breath and glanced toward the window. “That depends. A field court-martial is designed for speed. Wartime allows for it. Once Forster submits his official report, a board of officers will be assembled—three, at minimum, to make it legal, though more if they can be spared. It could be convened within days.”
“Days?” Darcy leaned forward. “Just like that?”
“Yes. No jury, no public gallery. Just a summary hearing, statements, and judgment. It may all be decided in a single day.” Fitzwilliam tilted his head slightly. “That is what happens when war makes monsters out of men. The army cannot afford to linger over one disgraced lieutenant when battalions must march and ships need men.”
“Will you be one of the board?”
“No,” Fitzwilliam replied through a mouthful of toast. “I am too close to it. The board must be impartial, or as near to it as possible. I have known Wickham too long, and I will be husband to the lady he attacked.”
Darcy sat back, absorbing this. “So we are witnesses only.”
“Precisely. You and Miss Elizabeth will give written statements. Forster and the magistrate will provide theirs. If needed, witnesses can testify in person—yourself, Miss Elizabeth, even the servants. But in truth, I doubt it will come to that. The case is clear. There is no defense for what he did.”
Darcy’s fingers curled around the porcelain of his cup.
“And the sentence?” he asked again, his voice low. “There is no leniency?”
Fitzwilliam’s tone remained firm. “If he were anyone else—an enlisted man, a boy caught in a tavern fight—perhaps. But he is an officer. A gentleman, by commission. He swore to uphold the honor of the army and protect civilians. Instead, he lured a gentlewoman to a secluded room and attempted violence against her. Whether it ends in a firing squad or a sentence of transportation, I can all but guarantee you this: George Wickham will never wear the uniform again. And he will never walk freely among society.”
Darcy nodded once, slowly. “Good.”
Then, after a pause, more quietly: “It is strange. I once feared him. Or rather—what he represented. The memory of our past. The way he lingered behind me like a shadow. But now… he is only a man. And a broken one.”
Fitzwilliam’s gaze met his across the breakfast table. “Aye. And it wasyourfuture wife who broke him.”
Darcy smiled, just slightly.
“And thank God for that.”
∞∞∞
Elizabeth knocked softly on the half-open door to her father’s study, peeking in to find him at his desk, spectacles perched on his nose, a pen resting idle in one hand.
“Papa?” she asked gently. “May I speak with you?”
He looked up, brows lifting with a faint smile. “Ah. That tone. It soundsveryimportant.”
There was teasing in his voice, but warmth too. He set the pen aside and gestured for her to come in.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
His smile faded slightly as he studied her. “How are you, Lizzy?” he asked, more seriously. “Truly. After last night.”
She shook her head, sitting across from him. “I am well, Papa. Truly. Shaken, of course, but not… wounded. I daresay it will trouble me more later than it does now.”
