Page 44 of Honor Requires

“No,” Elizabeth said. “She wrote only in generalities. Nothing precise.”

He exhaled slowly. “At least we know she lives,” he said. “And that she is…not entirely cut off from correspondence.”

“She is but sixteen,” Elizabeth said. She recalled Mrs. Wickham’s letter informing Elizabeth of the date.

“Yes,” he replied.

They fell into silence once more, the importance of it settling between them.

“I would not have believed it of him,” Elizabeth said at last, her voice low. “Not of Mr. Darcy’s friend. How can a friend act so despicably.”

“One cannot call the miscreant a friend,” the colonel returned. “I know Wickham of old. There is nothing beneath him if it serves his purpose.”

Elizabeth drew her hands together more tightly. “I thought—” She stopped. “I thought I understood something of what had occurred. Now I see I understood nothing at all. Poor Miss Darcy.”

The colonel regarded her steadily.

“You knew them both. That is more than most. And your correspondence with my cousin has given me a great gift. I was her guardian, you see, along with her brother. And the family has worried greatly for her welfare.”

Elizabeth lowered her gaze.

“Then I am pleased to have been of assistance.” She smiled, though it did not reach her eyes.

From the ballroom beyond, the music swelled once more, the sounds of society continuing unabated, indifferent to the revelations that had just altered the course of her understanding.

Elizabeth rose slowly. “I thank you,” she said. “For your kindness—and your candor.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed. “You may command both, Miss Bennet, at any time.”

She inclined her head, her composure returning by degrees, though her heart remained unsteady.

The evening was not done, but it would never again be what it had been when she entered it.

The Bennets’ connection with the Fitzwilliams did not end after that night. Viscount Bramley began courting Jane almost immediately following his mother’s ball. Lord and Lady Matlock welcomed both Bennet sisters into their home. The countess, pleased to have her son and the heir to the earldom finally showing interest in matrimony, did everything she could to push Viscount Bramley in Miss Bennet’s direction.

They were also pleased with Elizabeth’s correspondence with their niece. It was the only news they had of her that could be trusted. They learned some from investigations. Mr. Wickham, it seemed, had fired the staff at Pemberley and replaced them all with servants who were loyal to him. Only two of the original staff remained: Mrs. Reynolds, the estate’s housekeeper of many years, and Brisby, Mr. Darcy’s former valet. It had been Brisby who raised the alarm when he had arrived in Mr. Darcy’s carriage, only to learn his master never appeared.

“I had word from Mrs. Reynolds before she was forbidden to contact us,” the colonel told Elizabeth one afternoon in March while they took tea at Matlock House. “Wickham told her that was the condition of her remaining in his employ. It seems my cousin insisted she stay and help her manage the household. And Brisby? He has ever been loyal to Darcy. I imagine he agreed to be Wickham’s valet so he could keep watch over Georgiana. Mrs. Reynolds said something of the kind.”

“I can try to get more information from Mrs. Wickham,” Elizabeth ventured. “Though if her husband is reading her letters, I imagine it will not be easy.”

“Anything you can tell us is appreciated. Besides, I suspect we shall be family soon.” He looked across the room at Bramley and Jane. Their heads were bent together, and their faces wreathed in smiles. “My brother is completely smitten. I have never seen him so…entranced.”

“Jane’s beauty is not just superficial. She is wholly good, inside and out.”

“She will make a fine countess, then.” Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled. His expression sobered. “I have something for you.” He shifted uneasily. “I likely overstep, but I could not help myself.”

He extended a cloth bundle, and Elizabeth accepted it, puzzled. She unwrapped it and gasped, tears springing to her eyes. It was a miniature. The gilt frame fit in the palm of her hand and staring back at her was the image of Mr. Darcy.

“I cannot accept this. Surely, it belongs to your family. I have no claim.” She tried to hand it back.

“I paid for a copy to be made.” The colonel shook his head. “You have more claim than most, for he gave you his heart.”

Elizabeth struggled to suppress a sob. “Thank you. I shall treasure it. I tried to sketch his face from memory…I am a poor artist.”

The topic turned again to Jane and the viscount’s courtship. “I imagine he will propose before the end of the season. My mother wants to invite half the ton to see her eldest son marry.”

“My father is determined to stay until all is settled. My mother writes from Hertfordshire every week, wishing to know if your brother has yet proposed.”