Page 52 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

I was pleasantly surprised to find Colonel Fitzwilliam in the drawing room. “Miss Bennet, I am very pleased to see you recovered.”

I curtsied, though a little clumsily, bending only the one knee. “Colonel, we had not expected you for at least another week.”

“There was little that required my attention in York, where we took Wickham—in chains, of course.”

“He is to be tried for desertion?”

“And horse theft, a capital offence. Perhaps I should not gloat, but a court martial was already in progress when we arrived. Wickham’s offences were so serious, it was decided to try him immediately.”

“Then his fate, sir? I assume he is to be hanged.”

The colonel grimaced, looking away. “Indeed, ma’am. The sentence has already been carried out.”

The room quietened, broken only by the faint whistling of the wind against the shutters. I felt relief mingled with a grim sort of pity—certainly Wickham had danced too close to the cliff’s edge: gambling, seduction, desertion, theft, abduction; and then, fallen off—literally. In that moment, I knew Mr. Darcy would feel no satisfaction at his godson’s demise, only regret that Wickham, who had been given every opportunity, had wasted his life. The thought unsettled me.

Before I could speak again, the door opened and Mr. Darcy himself entered, looking every inch the master of Pemberley, though he paused, perhaps to gauge the tenor of the room. His eyes sought mine, the barest flicker of concern passing over his features before he schooled himself into formality—certainly unwarranted, since I had been in his company for nigh on a month.

“Miss Elizabeth, I trust you are comfortable?” His voice was quieter than usual.

“Thank you, sir—I find myself much improved.” My reply was steadier than I felt.

He nodded, then turned to his nephew. “Richard, you have returned from York sooner than anticipated.”

The colonel inclined his head. “There was little more to be done.”

A meaningful glance passed between the men; they both understood what an early return meant. At that moment, Georgiana entered on Mrs. Bennet’s arm, followed by Darcy.

Dinner was announced, and we proceeded into the family dining room, with Darcy discreetly at my elbow. I could not help but notice his small gestures of consideration—a chair drawn back, a quiet word to the footman to arrange a cushion for my foot.

Mama, as she had done since Ambleside, took her seat at the head of the table, Mr. Darcy at the foot. In consideration of my injury—also known as my anxious ankle—Georgiana sat opposite. She had promised to refrain from letting her evening slippers roam under the table. I was glad of it, for certainly there was no space for either Darcy’s long legs or those of the Colonel.

“I am not sure, Colonel, how you came to Sty Head? Mrs. Bennet said you discovered her and Mr. Darcy attempting to catch two rather spirited ponies, who apparently did not wish to give up their freedom.”

“By chance, Miss Elizabeth. We had tracked Wickham from Lambton to Ambleside, thence to Langdale.”

“Lambton? I do not recall it.”

“Of course, Lizzy, you were asleep,” said Georgiana. “Lambton is five miles from Pemberley, the nearest town. It has a lovely milliner’s, and there is a fancy baker who sells a rich, fruit-filled rout cake.”

“Please, Georgiana, may I finish my tale before you exclaim over the delights of Mrs. Merry’s Bakery?”

Georgiana took on a mock-serious tone—”But surely, Richard, I must speak of the queen cakes—and the seed cake, it is quite divine.”

“Where is my cousin? Whoever has stolen Georgiana away, and replaced her with such a tease? Fitz, whatever have you done with your demure sister?” Colonel Fitzwilliam looked dramatically around the table.

“If you please, Colonel,” I said, smiling at Georgiana, “I do adore seed cake, but would prefer to sample it myself, rather than accept Georgiana’s glowing testimonial—I am exceedingly difficult to please. As the saying goes: one man’s seed cake is another’s pomegranate pie.”

“Shall I continue, or do you wish to explore more culinary metaphors?”

“Continue, sir. I am sure Georgiana and I are well satisfied with Pemberley’s kitchen.”

“At Lambton, Wickham had spread the tale that he had an urgent message for Mr. Darcy, that he had come directly from the War Office in London. In uniform, and riding an army horse, no one doubted his word. Thus he learnt Mr. Darcy was travelling to Kendal, and from there to tour the Lakes.”

“You cannot have been far behind?”

“His horse was worn. Indeed, he was fortunate that it was a trained endurance animal, purchased by Colonel Forster who enjoyed long rides across the country. Wickham was, by chance, less than a day ahead at Lambton. Coming into Kendal, thence to Ambleside, he had been seen just two hours before we arrived.”

“Two hours—you were so close!”