“Fitzwilliam.” As always, heat bloomed in her cheeks when she said his surname sans any honorific. “Or must I now refer to you more properly, knowing as I do that your father is an earl?”
“Had I my way, you would call me Fitzwilliam always.”
She smiled, but then thoughts of Mr. Fox intruded. “Thank you for meeting me.”
“You said you require my advice.”
“Yes, on…well, perhaps I may show you?”
Twin lines appeared on Fitzwilliam’s brow, but he nodded.
“It is not far. I daresay you can leave your horse.” Elizabeth led the way back up the hill. As she walked, she said, “This isFarmer Grason’s land. He is one of Netherfield’s tenants, and he is not fond of finding people on his property.”
“Then why do we trespass?”
They crested the hill and started down the other side. “Because I took a short cut across his land yesterday, and found something.”
She could all but feel the unease radiating off Fitzwilliam, but she kept walking. The sun had not inched much higher by the time the cottage came into view.
Elizabeth pointed. “In there. It is a gentleman. He has been shot in the leg.”
“Shot?” Fitzwilliam reiterated sharply.
“I came across him yesterday. He refused any offer of help. He says he was abducted and escaped, but was wounded in the process. He fears going to town will help his attackers locate him, but I worry he is delirious and not in his right mind and that his wishes should be ignored.”
“And you seek my opinion,” Fitzwilliam said with clear understanding.
Elizabeth nodded. “I believe he will die if he is not moved, but I would not want to move him and hasten him into the hands of those who shot him. I hope, with your experience, you might be a better judge than I of what must be done.”
They reached the door to the hut and Fitzwilliam leaned in.
He reared back, a single, sharp, angry word leaving his mouth, “Wickham.”
Elizabeth turned to Fitzwilliam, startled by his recognition and his anger. “You know him?”
“He is the man who ru…who broke my s… He is the source of Georgiana’s sorrow.” Fitzwilliam clamped his teeth closed with an audible click.
Elizabeth stared at the prone figure, stunned.
Mr. Fox…rather, Wickham, opened his eyes. “Fitz?” he breathed. He struggled, trying to sit up. “Fitz, I didn’t do it. I swear I did not. Not that. Not what you must believe I have done.”
“You did,” Fitzwilliam grated out.
“No. Not that. I would not do that. I love her too much to do that.” Tears built in Mr. Wickham’s bloodshot eyes.
Fitzwilliam stared down in disgust. “Would that were true.”
“Maybe he did not leave her,” Elizabeth whispered, the anger radiating from Colonel Fitzwilliam making her fear he would simply turn and leave. “Maybe he was abducted? It could all be a misunderstanding.”
“I was there when he left her. His parting words were that she was a fool for ever believing he could love her.”
Fresh shock went through Elizabeth. “How horrible.”
“Yes,” Fitzwilliam agreed.
“I’m sorry, Fitz.” A sob shook Mr. Wickham. “I did not mean for any of this. I did not think. I didn’t mean it.”
Fitzwilliam studied Mr. Wickham with cold disdain. “You never do.”
