"No?" Fitzwilliam looked faintly interested. "How unfortunate. I was under the impression that my rank, my father's name, and my service with Wellington himself might combine into something approaching authority."
Henderson's eyes flicked towards the packet.
"What is that?"
"Your salvation, should you be wise enough to accept it."
"My salvation?"
"A posting." Fitzwilliam tapped the papers with one finger. "A regiment bound for Canada. You will leave England tomorrow. And my associate, Mr Burke, will be kind enough to accompany you to the docks. So as to prevent any… misunderstandings. "
Henderson stared at him as though he had spoken in Greek. Then he laughed, though the sound cracked in the middle. "You cannot simply send me across the Atlantic because your cousin has taken offence."
"My cousin has taken rather more than offence," said Fitzwilliam. "And I can do a great many things when properly motivated."
Darcy took one step towards him and Henderson flinched so violently that Burke smiled.
"Look at that," Burke murmured. "A little wisdom at last."
Fitzwilliam continued as if neither man had spoken. "You mistake the situation. We are not here to prosecute you. We are here to offer you the opportunity to disappear quietly before prosecution or a more permanent solution becomes necessary. There are officers who dislike you and creditors who despise you. You have lived, Captain Henderson, as a man with no thought to the consequence of your actions. Tonight you have enjoyed the fruits of your labours."
Henderson's throat worked. "You cannot ruin me."
Fitzwilliam's smile was cold. "No. You have made an admirable beginning yourself. I merely offer direction."
Darcy's voice cut through the room, low and rough. "You will sign whatever papers my cousin places before you. You will leave England. You will never speak Miss Bennet's name again. You will not hint at what happened, not in a tavern, not in a mess room, not to a friend, not to a woman you hope to impress with your filthy little stories. If a whisper reaches me that you have caused her further pain, I will find you and I will kill you."
Henderson lifted his chin, though the effect was weakened by the swelling of his nose and a slight shaking of the hands at his side. "Is that a threat?"
"No," said Darcy. "It is a promise."
For several moments no one moved. Rain tapped faintly against the window. Somewhere beyond the door a burst of laughter rose and fell, ordinary life continuing within inches of the room where Henderson's future was being decided.
At last Fitzwilliam pushed the papers across the table. "Sign."
Henderson looked at them, then at Fitzwilliam. "And if I refuse?"
Fitzwilliam leaned forward, his voice soft enough that Henderson was forced to listen. "Then tomorrow morning I begin with your colonel. By luncheon I shall have spoken to two generals, my father and every club secretary willing to receive me. By dinner, your debts, habits and treatment of gentlewomen will be common enough knowledge that even your most disreputable friends will find it inconvenient to acknowledge you. You may refuse, certainly. I would not rob you of the pleasure. But if you do, you had best develop a fondness for exile without uniform, income or introduction." He clapped his hands together and then added as an afterthought. "With so few friends, no one will be too saddened should you suddenly disappear."
Burke folded his arms. "Personally, Captain, I should choose the other side of the world. It’s a big enough place to avoid gentlemen whose patience you have exhausted."
Henderson glared at him.
Burke smiled pleasantly. "And their valets."
A pen lay upon the table. Henderson stared at it for a long time before grabbing at it with an unsteady hand.
Darcy watched every stroke of his signature with a cold satisfaction. When it was done, Fitzwilliam blew on the paper, folded it and placed it safely back inside his coat.
"There," said the colonel. "That was not so very difficult."
Henderson sat back, breathing hard. Hatred burned in his eyes, but beneath it lay fear. Darcy bent until his face was level with the other man's. "If you ever come near her again," he said quietly, "there will be no colonel to hold me back."
Then he turned and left the room.
Chapter Eighteen
Gracechurch Street had settled comfortably into its afternoon quiet. The morning's bustle had given way to that pleasant hour when business still occupied streets beyond the windows whilst the house itself paused before the evening's activity began. Mrs Gardiner sat beside the drawing-room fire with her sewing basket at her feet, her work progressing slowly now that pregnancy made every task a little more tiring than it had once been. Elizabeth occupied the chair opposite, some mending abandoned on her lap as she gazed into the flames.
