“A misunderstanding?” Forster marched down the steps. “My wife is in hysterics. Miss Lydia is in hysterics. Miss Elizabeth is demanding a court-martial. I demand an explanation!”
Darcy stepped out of the shadows.
“I believe I can provide the necessary context, Colonel.” Darcy’s voice was calm, but carried the weight of authority.
Forster jumped slightly. “Mr Darcy! Colonel Fitzwilliam! What are you doing here?”
“We were watching a tactical withdrawal.” Richard gestured to the miserable figure on the carriage bench. “It appears Wickham attempted a covert operation and encountered unexpected resistance.”
Darcy approached the commanding officer, but kept his eyes firmly fixed upon Wickham.
“Wickham’s creditors are pressing him, Colonel.” Darcy spoke with cold, precise clarity. “He sought a rapid financial solution. We believe he intended to lure a young lady from your household into this carriage, travel a sufficient distance to compromise her reputation, and then demand extortion money from her family to preserve their honour.”
Colonel Forster stared at Wickham.
“You attempted to extort a guest in my house?” Forster’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “The ladies told me, but I could not believe it. Wickham, did you attempt to abduct a sixteen-year-old girl?”
“It was a mistake!” Wickham scrambled backward on the bench, his voice pitching high with panic. “I swear it! I merely offered the old woman a ride!”
“You offered the old woman a ride to Scotland.” Winslow corrected helpfully.
Colonel Forster did not hesitate. He lunged forward and grabbed the lapels of Wickham’s red coat with both hands, hauling the younger man bodily down from the driver’s bench with a shocking display of physical strength.
“You are a disgrace to the uniform.” Forster shook Wickham. “You are returning to the camp. You will be placed under guard. By God, I shall see you stripped of your commission by morning.”
Forster did not wait for a response. He shoved Wickham to the hands of Richard, and marched inside to change his nightclothes. Not five minutes later, he was dragging the scoundrel down the street by the collar. Wickham stumbled behind him, offering no resistance, a thoroughly broken man.
The street fell silent.
Darcy turned his attention back to the townhouse.
The front door opened wider.
Miss Elizabeth stepped out onto the threshold, fully dressed, radiant and exhausted.
Miss Lydia stood behind her, bouncing on her toes with feverish excitement. Harriet Forster hovered behind Lydia,clutching a shawl and looking bewildered by the entire sequence of events.
Miss Elizabeth met Darcy’s gaze, and the shared relief passing between them was a physical, tangible force.
“Mr Darcy. Colonel.” Miss Elizabeth offered a polite curtsy, though her eyes danced with unabashed joy. “I believe we owe you our thanks. The streets of Brighton appear significantly safer this evening.”
“The victory belongs to your command, Miss Elizabeth.” Richard bowed deeply. “I have never witnessed a more flawless ambush.”
“Please, come inside.” She stepped back, holding the door open. “It is late, but Mrs Forster has requested tea, and I believe we all require a moment to recover our equilibrium.”
They entered the small, cluttered parlour.
“Please, sit with us, Winslow.” Miss Elizabeth guided the elderly woman to the most comfortable armchair in the room. “You are the heroine of the hour.”
Winslow settled into the chair with a contented sigh. “It was fine, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Tell us what happened!” Lydia knelt and held the maid’s hands in her own. “What did his face look like when he opened the door?”
Miss Lydia did not seem distressed at all. She seemed vindicated, Darcy noted.
“As if he’d swallowed a lemon!” Winslow chuckled, shaking her head. “And then he sat in the dirt and wept. It was a pitiful sight.”
Lydia let out a shriek of laughter. “He wept! The great Mr Wickham sat in the dirt and cried like a baby!”
