Page 177 of Near Pemberley

Kitty clasped her hands together. “Truly?”

“Quite truly,” Mrs. Bennet declared. “We shall have a wedding!”

Kitty beamed across the table at Darcy.

“Then… does this mean everything will truly be all right?”

“Miss Catherine, your family is going to Ramsgate for a new beginning. You all have a chance to start anew. But you all must understand one thing.”

Even Mrs. Bennet put down her fork and knife.

“What has happened is a private family sorrow, not a public spectacle. Miss Lydia made a youthful mistake; she is neither ruined in my eyes nor, I hope, in yours.”

He looked around the table.

“Society requires very little encouragement to gossip. I ask one thing of all of you. Let no one hear this story from your lips. If anyone asks, your family has gone to Ramsgate for the sea air. Nothing more.”

“No, no. You are completely right.”

“Are you planning to take any of the staff with you? For your information, there is a skeleton staff there already.”

“Oh, Hill must come with us. Mr. Hill is my husband’s valet as well.”

“You are asking if they can be trusted,” Mr. Bennet said.

Darcy nodded.

“We will leave the others here.”

Mr. Bennet, helping himself to another slice of ham, looked thoughtfully at Darcy. “My dear, I do not believe I have yet mentioned how our future son acquired those bruises.”

Darcy groaned.

Mrs. Bennet immediately looked alarmed. “Bruises?”

“He fought Wickham.”

Jane’s eyes widened.

Kitty nearly dropped her fork. “You fought Mr. Wickham?” she exclaimed.

Darcy coloured slightly. “The circumstances left me with very little choice.”

“No, no. That is not entirely accurate. He fought him for Lydia’s honour.” Mr. Bennet’s voice became unexpectedly serious. “And he won,” Mr. Bennet added with unmistakable satisfaction.

Kitty looked at Darcy with open admiration.

“With pistols?”

“Mr. Wickham did not deserve the honour of pistols. We settled the matter with our fists.”

“You actually knocked him down?”

Darcy coughed discreetly. “He found it… difficult to rise afterwards.”

Mr. Bennet took a leisurely sip of his claret.

“That is the modest version.”