“They are decent men.” Which she now knew the man before her was not. “They will help you.”
“That Darcy pride,” Mr. Wickham said, snideness in his tone.
“Yes, well, at least Mr. Darcy’s pride might see you well again, rather than dead from a gunshot and a fever.”
He shrugged, slumping low against the wall, and squeezed his eyes closed. “I do not deserve to live.” Tears slid from under his lids.
Disgusted, Elizabeth backed from the shed. What a monster, to break a young woman’s heart so, and then wallow in pity. She could not blame Fitzwilliam for his hatred.
He would return soon with his cousin, and while Elizabeth did not fear their discretion, she doubted Mr. Collins would afford her any. She must depart while she still had time to sneak back in and appear at breakfast as usual. Mr. Wickham would be well enough. He had already survived several nights hidden in the shed. He would last an hour more.
She slipped the necklace into her pocket, then, grimacing at the need to go near Mr. Wickham again, inched into the shed to collect her mother’s teapot and cup. Fortunately, Mr. Wickham didn’t move. His eyes remained closed, tears leaking out. Elizabeth had no notion if he was even awake any longer. Nor did she care.
She breathed out in relief as soon as she was once again in the fresh autumn air. Deeming the horse blanket a loss, she clutched the teapot and cup close, and started for Longbourn. She could enter through the scullery and leave the pot and cup there. No one in her family would realize she’d set foot outside their home, and the staff wouldn’t consider it their place to tell on her, unless she ran into Mrs. Hill.
By the time the back of the manor house loomed before her, the hour remained reassuringly early. Her father would be awake, and likely Jane, but if Elizabeth joined them at breakfast now, Papa would never know that she hadn’t come from her room. Not unless Jane said as much, which she would not. She would, however, certainly demand an explanation from Elizabeth later.
Juggling both pot and cup, Elizabeth pulled open the scullery door.
To the grim faces of Mary and Mr. Collins.
With a sigh, Elizabeth turned to deposit the teapot and cup, so she could remove her cloak.
“I have no notion why she has a teapot, but I told you she would sneak back in this way.” Mary’s voice was smug enough to hurt.
“You are very wise, Cousin Mary,” Mr. Collins said. “Wiser by far than your sister, who has doomed herself and besmirched your entire family.”
Untying her bonnet with as much nonchalance as she could muster, Elizabeth said lightly, “By taking a morning walk?”
“By fraternizing with the Honorable Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam,” Mr. Collins said stiffly.
Mary’s eyes went wide. “Is that who you were with? Mr. Collins would not elaborate on his suspicions.” She gasped then, a hand going to her mouth. “Mr. F. Not a fox. Fitzwilliam.”
“Precisely.” Mr. Collins’ eyes glowed with self-righteous condemnation as he looked down from his scarecrow height at Elizabeth.
“But you said Mr. F had been shot.” Mary cast a quick look at Mr. Collins. “Elizabeth does not usually lie.”
“I did not lie.”
“To be certain you did not.” Mr. Collins shook his large, ponderous head. “The colonel is a military man. Likely he has been wounded in his time.”
“But Elizabeth said she must tend him,” Mary protested, a frown of confusion creasing her brow. “If he has been shot, it was not recently. He appears perfectly hale and in no need of tending.”
“I will not sully your pure soul with an explanation for how your sister must havetendedthe colonel.”
Anger sparked in Elizabeth, scorching off any guilt. “You go too far, sir. I have had no assignations. If, and I repeatif, I spoke with anyone on my walk, it would have been for good reason and without a hint of scandalous behavior.”
Mr. Collins let out a long, sad sigh. “I cannot accept the word of a fallen woman. I can only be pleased that your unsuitability came to light before I asked for your hand.”
“For Elizabeth’s hand?” Mary cut in angrily.
Mr. Collins turned to her. “Yes. Your mother made it clear that I may not offer for Cousin Jane, so I shifted the honor.”
Elizabeth let out a harsh laugh. “I would sooner be the fallen woman you accuse me of being than ever accept an offer from you.”
“I will not add such words to your tally of offenses, cousin, as I know you utter them merely to soothe your wounded pride, now that you know my offer will not be forthcoming.”
Elizabeth could only be relieved that she’d already set down her mother’s teapot, or she would have thrown it at his condescending, pitying face.
