Miss Bingley placed a hand on her arm, meeting Elizabeth’s gaze squarely. “I give you my word, you have no hope of receiving a proposal from Colonel Fitzwilliam. Accept the earl’s offer.”
Elizabeth yanked away, stung. “No. Even if what you say is true, I will not sell my hope, nor my honor.”
The earl drew in a huge breath.
Before he could release it in a bellow of command, Elizabeth spun back to face him. “Nor will I remain here to be yowled at. Please give my regrets to Miss Darcy. I am leaving.” Chin high, Elizabeth skirted the two menacing members of the peerage and strode from the drawing room.
“You will return this instant,” the earl’s voice bellowed.
His continued injunctions following her, Elizabeth kept walking, circling back deeper into the house to depart through one of the servants’ doors, half afraid the earl would have her restrained if she attempted to leave out the front. Her strides almost manic, she hurried away. Indignation drove her, but a sharp pain in her heart threatened to slow her pace.
Could Miss Bingley be correct? Did Elizabeth have no hope of winning an offer from Fitzwilliam?
Chapter Twenty-One
Richard stood before Padgett’s desk, hands clasped behind his back, curious whether he would be commended or reprimanded. They’d apprehended sixteen would-be murderers in Hertfordshire, and safely transported them all to London for trial. Richard counted that a job well done. On top of which, George Wickham was dead. As much as Richard knew the scoundrel’s demise hurt his cousins, he couldn’t lament that Wickham would trouble neither them, nor anyone else, again. He saw no need to tell Darcy, but Richard counted Wickham’s death as saving the trouble of hanging him.
On the other hand…it was not quite November. They’d meant to keep up their pretense for weeks more and yet here Richard stood in London, the mission essentially over. True, a few more miscreants might lurk in Hertfordshire, as of yet unaware that Wickham could no longer hope to pay them and ready to be captured by the men who remained behind, but more attempts seemed unlikely now that both the real and decoy Mr. Darcy had departed.
After several long moments of studying Richard, which worried him not at all, Padgett asked, “Do you feel your mission to be successful, Fitzwilliam?”
“I do, sir.”
“You do?” Padgett looked down at his notes, flipping a few pages.
Familiar with Padgett’s games, Richard maintained his silence. If Padgett thought guilt over ending the mission early would cause Richard to retract his words, he was sadly mistaken.
“You have removed a sizable number of criminals from London’s streets, and we might even count Mr. Wickham among them.”
“I would, sir.”
“Is there truly any cause to hold his funeral yet? You, that is,Mr. Darcy, could return to Hertfordshire.”
“I believe the ruse has run its course, sir.”
Padgett’s brow furrowed and Richard resisted the urge to hold his breath. Playing Darcy certainly amused Richard, but his cousins, especially Georgiana, had suffered enough torment. Wickham was gone. The time had come to lay him, and all the unpleasantness he’d reveled in creating, to rest.
And there was something to which Richard wanted to see. A way in which he desired to spend the leave this mission had surely earned him. Something for which he unequivocally needed to be himself.
“Very well,” Padgett finally said, closing the file before him. “Well done, Fitzwilliam. Another successful undertaking. I will arrange for the funeral, post it in all the papers, and have Mrs. Younge spread the word among the less savory among us. You may take some leave.”
As much as Richard liked that idea, he couldn’t help but ask, “You do not want me to make the arrangements? And why Mrs. Younge?”
“Mrs. Younge, because she has skillfully positioned herself between worlds, as it were. She balances the knife’s edge of respectability perfectly. She will be believed, and yet not out of place speaking with those to whom we wish our gossip about Wickham’s demise to be spread. If avoidable, we do not want it ever known that this was a military operation.” Padgett shrugged. “I might also remind you that the yard behind her boarding house was the December first meeting location.”
Richard hadn’t realized that after her failure in Ramsgate, Padgett still thought so highly of Mrs. Younge’s skills. “And the funeral and announcements?”
“Will be handled by this office because I believe you should return to Hertfordshire sooner rather than later.”
Though that was precisely where he meant to go, worry skittered through Richard. What was Padgett up to now? Did he plan to delay Wickham’s funeral and spreading word of his demise in the hope that more attempts would be made on Richard? “Return? Why?”
“The earl left London this morning, his destination Netherfield Park and his goal to ensure that you do not marry a Miss Elizabeth Bennet. You quite possibly passed him on the roadway.” Padgett frowned. “You should be more observant, Fitzwilliam.”
Richard chuckled, relieved. “Well then, my father will be pleased, for I have no intention of wedding Miss Elizabeth.”
“It might also interest you to know that the earl was accompanied by his sister, Lady Catherine, and that she is on a similar mission, though regarding Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley.” Padgett eyed Richard. “You were working, I hope, Fitzwilliam? Not simply consorting in the countryside.”
“I was working, and do you mean to say that my Aunt Catherine is likely even now accosting Miss Bingley over some rumor that she has beguiled Darcy?” Amusement welled in Richard. “Caroline should find that quite entertaining.”
