Jane continued to gaze after them until they were entirely out of sight. Only then did she realise how tightly she held Mary’s hand.
After that, she lost all sense of time. The rhythm of the wheels upon the road continued unbroken, the steady clatter almost oppressive in its sameness. Jane could not have said whether ten minutes had gone by or thirty; each moment seemed to stretch and fold in upon the next, marked only by the beating of her own pulse and the faint sway of the carriage. She thought maybe the horses had slowed, but even that she could not determine.
More than once she and Mary leant quietly towards the window, listening for any sound that might suggest pursuit, the thunder of hooves drawing nearer or a call carried on the wind. Nothing reached them beyond the ordinary noises of the road. Once or twice she thought she glimpsed riders in the distance, and several riders passed along the road in the opposite direction, yet none turned his horse nor did any alter his pace or pay them undue attention.
Neither she nor Mary recognised any of the riders. Still, the distance and the motion of the carriage rendered everything uncertain. Was it merely wishful thinking to imagine that any of them might be riding out in search of the sisters?
If those riders had intended to stop the carriage, why had they not done so? They might be waiting until Wickham halted of his own accord, following at a distance and unwilling to alarm him before reaching a more public place. The thought steadied her somewhat, yet she scarcely dared trust it.
At length, she could not tell how much time had truly elapsed, but the motion of the carriage began to alter. The pace slackened gradually, the horses’ strides shortening. Jane felt the change before she fully registered it, and her fingers tightened instinctively around Mary’s.
Through the window she glimpsed scattered buildings set back from the road, cottages at first, then larger structures, clear signs of a more inhabited place. They were entering a village somewhat larger than Meryton. The carriage continued to slow as they passed between the first houses, the sounds of ordinary life drifting faintly towards them.
There wereseveral inns in Luton, but Darcy and the colonel were agreed that Wickham would avoid the principal establishments in the centre of the town, preferring one less frequented. Wickham had always preferred display when it suited him, yet he was not without calculation when necessary.
In his present situation, his need for privacy would outweigh any thought of comfort or ostentation. He would favour a cheaper, quieter establishment where his arrival might pass unnoticed; a crowded coaching inn would prove far too conspicuous for a man attempting to guard two young ladies.
It was equally unlikely that he possessed sufficient funds to linger long in a more reputable house. Nor could he afford to absent himself for hours in pursuit of cards or dice while the ladies remained in the carriage. He might attempt to secure them within, yet he would still be obliged to keep watch somehow.
On the northern outskirts stood The Black Horse, little more than an alehouse with a modest yard and a few horses for hire. It was not crowded, yet not so deserted as to invite remark. The yard was sufficiently spacious that a carriage might stand there for some time without drawing attention, and the ale was expected to be inexpensive.
As he could not be certain that Wickham would stop there, Darcy and Richard had gone swiftly about the town, paying stable lads at several inns to watch for the Bennet carriage and describing both it and its occupants as precisely as possible. To his relief, four men he recognised as having been engaged by the earl had arrived in Luton not long after they had. He inclined his head in acknowledgment and drew them aside, outlining their plan in low, measured tones.
“No heroics,” Darcy said quietly. “Our first concern is to assure the safety of the ladies. They are to be secured and sent home without delay. We will deal with Wickham after.”
One of the men inclined his head. “If he resists, sir, or does not behave as we anticipate?”
“He will act in his own interest,” Richard replied, his jaw tightening slightly. “That is his habit. Nevertheless, the moment an opportunity presents itself, do what you can to protect Miss Bennet, even if it means she must be removed from the carriage and kept under guard until we can arrange matters to convey her home.”
Darcy did not look towards him, yet the strain beneath Richard’s composure did not escape notice. The colonel had spoken of the elder Miss Bennet more than once during their ride, and though he maintained an outward calm, his particular concern was evident. Darcy knew Richard admired her and wonderedwhat this ordeal might mean for that growing attachment. Each time Richard and Miss Jane Bennet had been in company, they had spoken, and Darcy had noticed that the young lady appeared more at ease with Richard than she had with Bingley.
“Both of the Misses Bennet have endured enough already,” Darcy said evenly, feeling the need to remind his cousin that there were two ladies inside the stolen carriage. “As I said before, your chief concern is their safety. Wickham can be dealt with once that is accomplished.”
After this, two of the men were stationed discreetly within the yard of The Black Horse, appearing to busy themselves near the stables. The remaining two waited nearer the entrance to the town; should Wickham pass them, they were to follow at a distance and report his movements, particularly if he did not proceed towards The Black Horse as expected.
If Wickham entered the alehouse alone, the two men in the yard would confer with the ladies within the carriage, assuring them of the rescue, before driving the carriage quietly to another inn. There the fresh horses Darcy had already engaged would be harnessed without delay. Under the escort of two of Darcy’s men, the Bennet carriage would be sent immediately back towards Longbourn.
The two men posted at the edge of town would then enter behind Wickham. Only once the ladies were safely removed and on their way home would Darcy and Richard turn their full attention to him.
Darcy and Richard secured a secluded table by the opened window of the taproom, from which they could observe the yard without attracting notice. Darcy removed his gloves and setthem carefully beside his untouched tankard; he did not allow himself the ease of sitting back.
Richard’s gaze remained fixed upon the road. “If he stops in Luton as we believe he will, this is the inn he will choose,” he said quietly.
Darcy did not answer at once. Elizabeth’s face rose unbidden in his thoughts—her composure, her loyalty to her cousins. Should harm come to either of them, it would wound her deeply. That alone was enough to steady his resolve.
“He will choose whatever best serves his own convenience,” Darcy replied at last. “He has never been inclined to act otherwise.”
“If he surprises us?”
“Then we will adjust our plans somewhat, but even that will not alter them significantly,” Darcy said. “We shall not lose him now. We have him vastly outnumbered, and we know him well enough to suspect what he will do. Not only that, but I believe he is still entirely unaware that we have been in the neighbourhood this entire time.”
For a moment, Richard did not respond, but he finally nodded his agreement, his eyes firmly fixed on the door.
From their vantage point, Darcy kept careful watch upon every carriage that approached, his attention sharpening at each turn of wheels upon the road, while Richard’s gaze seldom strayed far from the entrance.
As he waited, Darcy’s fingers tightened briefly upon the edge of the table before he forced them to relax.
For Elizabeth’s sake, nothing must go amiss.
