As they made their way towards the door, Hurst could see the earl’s mind remained engaged with the matter. After a moment, Granfield spoke again.
“If need be, I will supplement the young ladies’ dowries to ensure no shadow clings to their names—particularly as the villain’s target was my granddaughter. Whatever else may transpire, there will be whispers.”
He paused briefly, looking away as though considering his next words.
“Fortunes have a way of silencing speculation. Elizabeth would not wish to see her cousin condemned to marriage with a fool,and if I can prevent such a match, I shall. Once she is married to Darcy, we may take the Bennet girls to London and introduce them to eligible gentlemen there. A change of circumstances may improve their prospects.”
His jaw tightened further. “I will do what I can to amend the situation, but the scheme was Wickham’s. Had Bennet shown better judgement, however, his daughters might now be in a far stronger position should they be required to marry. Still, I had hoped to see Wickham neutralised long before now; I shall have to write to the War Office again.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jane did not know what to think. Since the carriage had been stopped not long after departing from Millwood Cottage, she had been in a constant state of confusion—and fear. Although she strove to remain calm for Mary’s sake, her thoughts would not settle, but circled endlessly around what might yet befall them. She did not know who this Miss Grant was, of whom the man had spoken, but supposed he had somehow mistaken her for her cousin Elizabeth, who was also Miss Bennet.
At first, Jane had not recognised the voice that spoke, but Mary had. Mary had whispered his name to her when he opened the door. Jane’s heart had given a painful start at the remembrance.
She did not know what he would do when he realised that neither lady in the coach was the one he sought; both she and her sister possessed only a thousand pounds each. The knowledge offered little comfort. A desperate man might not trouble himself over particulars once his purpose had been thwarted.
Still, she wondered what he intended when next he stopped. He travelled alone—there was no servant to assist him, no companion to manage the horses or attend to the carriage. How did he mean to guard them when he must eat, or rest, or see to the team? Would he expect them to remain within the coach while he conducted his business? Or would he attempt to secure them elsewhere?
Where were they to pass the night? The thought of some obscure inn, of being obliged to remain under his watch without relief or intervention, unsettled her more than she cared to admit. One man could not be everywhere at once; yet desperation might render him careless—or rash. Escape seemed unlikely, yet she could not comprehend how he meant to maintain authority over them for long without assistance, particularly having taken two ladies against their will. What measures might he adopt to keep them compliant? It was the uncertainty that troubled her most.
Drawing a slow breath, she leant slightly towards her sister, keeping her voice scarcely above a whisper. It was unlikely that the man seated upon the box could hear them, yet it seemed advisable to speak as little as possible—and to do so softly.
“He did not recognise us, did he?” she asked softly. “I cannot imagine what he intends to do once he discovers his mistake.”
A slight inclination of Mary’s head answered her first, followed by the tightening of her fingers upon Jane’s sleeve.
“I am quite certain. He did not recognise us—I doubt he ever truly noticed us at all. When he visited Longbourn, his attention was fixed almost entirely upon Kitty and Lydia, and we were never introduced. After the warning we received, I made a point of observing him closely. I would know his voice anywhere—and I suspect he would scarcely recognise me now.”
At that, composure threatened to desert Jane. “Then we must remain very still and give him no cause for alarm. If he believes us to be another, then surely he will discover his error before?—”
The words would not form. Before he does what? Before desperation overtakes him? Before he determines that silence would better serve his purpose? Should he learn who they were, might he still attempt to compel one of them into marriage? The thought sent a chill through her. Whatever uncertainty she had once felt regarding Mr Bingley, particularly after his departure from the area with scarcely a word to anyone, she knew she could never willingly bind herself to a man reputed to be both rake and wastrel.
“If he discovers it, we must trust that he will release us—he may even return us nearer to home. He cannot profit by detaining the wrong persons. It would be best, I think, to reveal ourselves to him as soon as we are able.”
Such confidence was enviable. He had already taken them against their will; this was no man likely to relinquish advantage lightly. If his mistake were revealed, would he not resent it?
“Whatever we do, he must not perceive our fear,” Jane murmured. “If we disclose who we are, it must be done calmly. We may assure him that, should he release us at once, we will not expose him.”
A faint nod acknowledged the suggestion. “And if he is angered by his error and directs that anger towards us?”
Jane took another steadying breath, but she felt her pulse beat heavily in her throat. “Then we must offer him no provocation—no cause to increase his displeasure. We must comply with whatever he demands, unless he intends to harm us.”
Forcing herself to meet her sister’s gaze, she added quietly, “Whatever occurs, we shall face it together, Mary.”
The answering pressure upon her hand gave her strength, while her heart continued its restless beating.
Some minutes later, a sharp oath from the box startled them. The carriage lurched as Wickham slipped and jerked one of the reins too sharply, causing the horses to veer before he dragged them back into line. The jolt sent both sisters instinctively towards the window.
Across the fields to their right, two men on horseback were riding hard, cutting at an angle away from the main road.
For one fleeting instant, hope rose so swiftly it left her breathless. The foremost rider bore himself with what Jane thought was unmistakable command—upright, controlled, with something almost military in his seat. Could it be Colonel Fitzwilliam? If so—might the other be Mr Darcy?
She dared not lean too far forward, yet she prayed Wickham’s attention remained wholly upon the horses. From the window she could see the set of his shoulders as he bent over the reins, muttering under his breath, intent upon mastering their uneven pace. He did not once turn his head towards the fields.
Doubt followed as quickly as hope had. Surely their absence could not already have been discovered. The distance from Millwood Cottage was not so great, and they had been expected at Netherfield. Had the alarm been raised so soon? Or did she merely see what she longed to see?
Leaning close, she whispered her suspicions to Mary, taking particular care that they should not be overheard. Together theywatched in tense silence as the riders pressed forward—then vanished beyond a hedgerow, leaving only uncertainty behind.
