Page 197 of A Question of Character

Darcy felt ill.

Wickham’s face lost color. “That is him.”

The innkeeper had heard they meant to change horses again at a village nearer London, but there had been some trouble with a wheel. Delay, perhaps a few hours.

A few hours might be everything.

Darcy paid for fresh horses with no attention to the amount.

As they mounted once more, Wickham said, “Darcy.”

“What?”

“We may reach them.”

“We will.”

“If we do—”

“We will.”

Wickham accepted the correction.

They rode into the lowering light.

Darcy’s mind offered no prayers elegant enough for the moment. Fragments came.

Let me find her.

Let me not be too late.

Let me repair one thing before all is lost.

After some miles, Wickham spoke again, “You have not failed her yet.”

Darcy nearly laughed from sheer misery. “Have I not?”

“No. You are here.”

“I should have been wiser.”

“Yes.”

“I should have listened.”

“Yes.”

“I should have protected her better.”

Wickham did not answer right away. “Perhaps. But if blame alone could retrieve people, I should have been a saint by now.”

The remark was so unexpected that Darcy stared at him.

Wickham’s mouth twitched without humor. “Unfortunately, guilt does very little unless harnessed to action.”

Darcy faced the road again.

“You have become annoyingly sensible.”