Page 156 of Mr. Darcy Comes to Town

“I am fine, Mr. Turney. Kindly stay and walk with me to the house,” she said, feeling shakey in spite of her words. “Harry?” Lizzy called. Her dog barked once from the region of the orchard. “Come.” Harry galloped back to her, his tongue lolling out, looking for praise. She patted his heaving sides and said, “Well done.”

“I hear a horse, miss,” Mr. Turney said, looking over her shoulder.

Lizzy turned around and thought she saw the shadow of a horse and rider racing through the gap between paddocks. Her shoulders slumped in relief.

“He is gone,” she told the farm manager. “Thank you for coming so swiftly in answer to Harry’s alarm.”

Mr. Turney tugged on his cap brim again. He nodded toward the orchard. “The others are comin’ back, miss.”

When the grooms and the stable lad reached her, she thanked them profusely.

“Will ‘e be returnin’, miss?” the boy asked.

Lizzy shook her head. “No, I do not think so. I know who he was, and I will tell my father. I will also inform him of how quickly you came to the defence of myself and our home.”

They touched their foreheads. She nodded her dismissal and they left her, except for Mr. Turney, who took one of the lanterns.

“Before we go inside, we must reassure our animals,” Lizzy said. “I can hear Clover snorting and stomping.”

“Aye, miss.”

*

Wickham galloped across the fields until he came to an access point between the hedgerows, his anger and frustration racing along with the speed of his horse’s hooves.

No one will listen to me! I am handsome. I am charming, damn it! It is not normal for people not to listen to me. What is happening here? He had no answer for himself, for he did not have the habit of self-reflection. Whatever mental force controlled that practice had never developed.

With every passing moment, Wickham’s anger increased, instead of subsided. He galloped down the lane into Meryton, swerving around the occasional carriage, pedestrian, and cart, until he drew up in front of the George Inn where he and his fellow officers stayed. He leapt from the lathered horse and threw the reins to an ostler.

Denny and Chamberlayne stood next to a cart where their batmen supervised the loading of their traps into the cart.

“What is my trunk doing on a cart?” Wickham demanded, glaring at the younger men.

Chamberlayne held up a hand. “I can see you are angry—though I do not know why. Try to be calm.”

Wickham’s eyes widened in incredulity. Sweat trickled down his spin and swiped at droplets spotting his upper lip.

“Very well,” Chamberlayne said with forced coolness. “We have been ordered back to our regiment.”

“By whom?” Wickham snapped, taken aback. “We have not finished our assignment.”

“By me,” an authoritative voice said from behind him.

Wickham recognised the voice and swung around to face Colonel Fitzwilliam. “You!”

“Be careful, Lieutenant,” Fitzwilliam cautioned, frowning. “Mind yourself.”

“Wickham,” Chamberlayne said, putting a hand on his arm, “we are packed and ready to leave—your traps, too. I checked over your room myself. Let us depart. We will let our colonel and Colonel Fitzwilliam sort out this situation.”

Wickham yanked his arm away from the tall, younger man and took an angry step toward Fitzwilliam. His eyes burned with fury. Through a clenched jaw, he said, “I will not be ordered about by one of Darcy’s puppets. You are not my idea of a real officer. You disgust me!”

“Wickham!” Denny gasped, taking a hasty step forward. “No!”

“Do not say anything you cannot take back,” Chamberlayne urged. “Let us retire from the field. There is a coach waiting for our arrival. It will not wait long. We must leave now.”

Rage flowed through Wickham at the temperature of burning lava. He shouted back, his hands tight fists. “I will not submit to this…this…”

Colonel Fitzwilliam closed the distance between them and grimly said, “This, what? Can you find no words to describe me? Are you afraid to say what you mean? Have you no control over your temper? But then, you are no gentleman, are you, George Wickham? The son of an estate manager?” His gaze roved over Wickham’s countenance. “You have always been sly. I do not know why anyone believes you to be charming.”