Page 159 of Honor Requires

Darcy watched. There was no surge of triumph, no sharp satisfaction as he had once imagined. Instead, he felt a curious stillness—the culmination of all he had endured had arrived not with a blaze of emotion, but with an inevitability.

So, it ends.

The crates, abandoned in the confusion, were now examined under the watchful eyes of the soldiers. Lids were pried open, their contents revealed in the harsh glow of lanterns. Muskets, carefully packed and concealed, lay within, their purpose unmistakable. They were loaded once more, though not in the manner originally intended.

Wagons were brought forward, the cargo transferred under guard, each movement deliberate, controlled. The men who had worked so diligently to unload them now stood aside, their involvement reduced to that of spectators.

Hargrave and Langford were placed within another conveyance, their protests growing fainter as the doors were secured.

Darcy remained where he was, his hand resting lightly against the edge of the carriage door, his gaze fixed upon the scene before him.

Years, he thought. Years of loss, of silence, of endurance. And now, it is done.

The activity began to settle, the sharp edge of action giving way to the more methodical work of securing the scene. Orders were given, acknowledged, carried out. The machinery of authority moved with military efficiency, leaving little room for uncertainty.

A figure detached itself from the group and approached the carriage. Richard. He came without hesitation, his expression composed, though there was a faint trace of something lighter beneath it—a recognition, perhaps, of the presence he had foreseen and had not entirely anticipated.

Darcy opened the door fully.

Richard stepped inside. “You could not stay away,” he said, settling opposite with an ease that belied the gravity of what had just occurred.

“No,” Darcy replied. “I could not.”

Richard studied him in understanding, then inclined his head. “I thought as much.” There was no reproach in his tone.

“I needed to see it,” Darcy said. “The end of it.”

“And now you have,” Richard replied.

Darcy leaned back, though his posture remained composed. “It appears so.”

Richard allowed himself the faintest of smiles. “Their conviction is certain. There is no doubt on that score.”

“And their punishment?”

“Less predictable,” Richard admitted. “Transportation, perhaps. Possibly imprisonment of a more permanent nature. In any case, they will not walk free again.”

Darcy inclined his head.

“The Crown will seize their assets,” Richard informed them. “There is little chance of anything being recovered by those who once benefited from their dealings.”

Darcy’s thoughts moved briefly to Pemberley, to what might be restored, though he did not speak of it.

“Mr. Gardiner played his part admirably,” Richard said.

Darcy’s expression relaxed. “I am not surprised.”

“He conducted himself with discretion and intelligence,” Richard went on. “The Crown intends to reward him for his assistance.”

“He deserves it,” Darcy said. “More than most.”

Richard nodded. “That he does.”

A brief silence followed. “I must return,” Richard said at last. “There is a great deal of paperwork awaiting me, and I suspect it will not diminish in the next few hours.”

Darcy allowed the faintest hint of amusement to touch his expression. “I do not envy you.”

“You are not meant to,” Richard replied wryly. “But I shall accept your sympathy all the same.” He moved to leave the carriage.