“And you have sent her on to Pemberley?” Bennet asked again.
“I did.” He laughed, thinking of what she would find when she arrived there.
“I understood from my daughter and new son that they were to remain in London for some time after the wedding,” Bennet said, catching Fitzwilliam’s eye before adding, “or so they would have everyone believe. My wife and youngest daughter were particularly disappointed not to be invited to accompany them to the Capital.”
“What man wishes to have his mother-in-law or a sister with him on his wedding trip?” Fitzwilliam returned, refusing to be drawn into revealing more thanhe ought.
Bennet harrumphed and, after a moment’s pause—during which Fitzwilliam suspected he waited for a different sort of response—gave the matter up and retreated to his study.
With a small smile at having frustrated his host’s curiosity, Fitzwilliam stepped outside to speak with the coachman who had arrived that day from London in Darcy’s carriage. It was the same carriage intended to convey Mr Bennet and Miss Lydia to Staffordshire, though it would not depart until Monday morning.
He himself had arrived on horseback two nights earlier and was now lodged at the inn in Meryton, his cousin being newly married. Having undertaken to escort Georgiana, her companion, and Miss Mary to Pemberley, he had been obliged to wait for a suitable carriage to be secured; yet the ladies would not delay their departure and were to set out the following morning. Still, he wished to assure himself that Darcy’s carriage was in proper order.
To his great surprise, he found something amiss with the carriage. A trunk had already been fastened to the boot. Upon closer inspection, he observed that it was not properly latched, and that the seams in the leather bore signs of having been tampered with—almost as though someone had sought to force air through them. Worse still, it had been so carelessly secured that it would have been jolted loose at the first rut in the road.
Not knowing why any trunk should have been attached to a carriage not scheduled to depart for several days, he set himself to investigate the matter. Examining it more closely, he noticed the initials L.B. stamped upon the lid, and was immediately put in mind of the youngest Miss Bennet, whom he had met only briefly at the wedding breakfast. It occurred to him that she might be attempting some ill-conceived scheme of escape.
Slowly and with care, he loosened the straps and lifted the lid, taking pains to avoid any sudden movement. He was not entirely surprised to find a young lady within, and could not help but wonder how she had contrived not only to drag the trunk into the yard, but to have it fastened to the carriage besides. There was, he allowed, a certainingenuity in the attempt—though it was wholly outweighed by its imprudence.
“Miss Lydia,” he said, and watched as she started violently at the sound of his voice so near at hand.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, raising herself only a little within the trunk, her bonnet askew and her hair already in some disarray. “You have no business peeping at me so! I shall go to Pemberley if I choose, and no one can prevent me from doing so. I will not go to that odious school—I hate the very thought of it. Miss Darcy would much rather havemewith her than Mary, I am certain, for I am vastly more diverting and far more fun.”
“Your certainty does you little credit,” Fitzwilliam returned coolly. “And I suspect Miss Darcy’s preferences differ rather widely from your own imagination. She has quite enjoyed Miss Mary’s company, and the two of them get along quite well. Which is whyshehas been invited to Pemberley, andyouhave not.”
“They do not!” Lydia insisted, attempting to push past him. “Miss Darcy would be only too glad to have lively company, and I am determined to go instead. You cannot mean to stop me from doing as I wish.”
“On the contrary,” he said, reaching in and taking hold of her arm with steady firmness, “I mean to do exactly that. You may depend upon it, Miss Lydia, that concealing yourself in a trunk is not a strategy likely to recommend you to any party concerned. Of greater import, you have attached yourself to the wrong carriage, for this one is not likely to go where you wish.”
She kicked and struck at him in protest, but he was accustomed to rougher encounters, and it required little effort to lift her from her hiding place. “Pray be still,” he added, with a hint of impatience. “You will accomplish nothing but your own discomfort if you keep thrashing about.”
Although she struggled and protested, he secured her with little difficulty, and felt no particular concern if she acquired a bruise ortwo in the process; had she exercised the smallest degree of judgement, she might have been spared both the attempt and its consequences.
A moment later, the shrill voice of Mrs Bennet cut sharply across the yard.
“What are you doing with Lydia?” she cried as she moved quickly towards the pair.
Fitzwilliam turned, the girl still firmly restrained in his arms, and watched as Mrs Bennet’s expression shifted—first to indignation, and then, with astonishing rapidity, to something very like triumph.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “You and Lydia will make such a delightful match! You must mean to marry her, if you are holding her in your arms. Have you already proposed?”
The absurdity of the declaration drew others from the house and yard alike, until a small audience had gathered.
Fitzwilliam stared at her for the space of a heartbeat—then, unable to prevent himself, laughed outright. The sound broke whatever composure remained in the scene, and in that moment of distraction he released his hold. Lydia darted free at once and fled to her mother’s side.
“Mama, you must make him marry me,” she said, stamping her foot. “I will be a colonel’s wife, and he is the son of a peer. He can take me to London—to balls and assemblies—and I shall have everything I like. Can you imagine the gowns and all the parties I will attend as a peeress?”
Fitzwilliam laughed still harder at this, until the sharp voice of Mr Bennet cut through the commotion.
“What the devil is the meaning of this?” he demanded, striding into the yard. “And what nonsense is this about Lydia being forced upon the colonel?”
Composing himself with some effort, Fitzwilliam stepped forward. “Sir, I discovered your daughter concealed in that trunk”—he gestured towards the half-fastened lid, now hanging askew from the carriage—“with the apparent intention of conveying herself to Pemberley withMiss Darcy and myself, rather than submit to her journey north. It seems she thought that carriage would be going to Pemberley, not Staffordshire.”
Mr Bennet raised an eyebrow, though whether in disbelief or resignation Fitzwilliam could not immediately determine. Mrs Bennet gasped loudly—whether at the danger, the impropriety, or the lost opportunity, he could not have said—while Lydia, released from her mother’s grasp, began once more to protest that she had been perfectly justified in her actions and beginning again the refrain that she would not go to school.
“Silence!” Mr Bennet said sharply, raising his hand.
The command was obeyed at once, even though Miss Lydia’s expression made it plain she did not consider the matter settled. Around them, the gathered company—Miss Mary, Georgiana, and Mrs Annesley, along with several curious servants—remained fixed in place, anxious to hear the outcome.
