Page 9 of The Engagement at Longbourn

The woman stared at his uniform. “Mr. Darcy, sir.”

Richard had one boot back in the stirrup before she finished the name. Longbourn was easy to find. Everyone knew where the Bennets lived. The house appeared modest to Richard’s eye but well kept, set among trees with a sweep of lawn gone russet under November.

A maid opened the door before he had properly dismounted. “I am Colonel Fitzwilliam. Mr. Darcy is my cousin.”

Her expression transformed with relief. “Oh, sir! Mr. Bennet said family must be found. Please come in.”

He was shown into a drawing room full of women.

Mrs. Bennet rose first. “You are Mr. Darcy’s cousin? Oh! Thank heaven. We have been in such anxiety. He has a fever and the doctor says he must not be moved, not an inch, and poor Lizzy—”

“Mama,” said a young woman with dark eyes.

Richard knew immediately which one was Elizabeth. Darcy had never described her. That fact became astonishing the moment Richard saw her. There was intelligence in her face before beauty, though the beauty was considerable. More importantly, there was strain beneath the composure.

Richard bowed. “Miss Bennet?”

“The eldest Miss Bennet,” said the fair-haired woman beside her. “I am Jane. This is my sister Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth curtsied.

“You found him?” Richard asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I owe you more than I can say.”

Her expression softened. “You owe me nothing, Colonel. Anyone would have helped.”

“No. Many people intend to be useful. You were.”

Mr. Bennet entered behind him. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I presume. I am Bennet. Your cousin has caused my household more activity in two days than my five daughters ordinarily manage in a week, which is no small accomplishment.”

Richard liked him immediately. “I apologize on Darcy’s behalf.”

“You may save it. If he survives, I shall charge him rent.”

Mrs. Bennet gasped. “Mr. Bennet!”

“He has ten thousand a year, my dear. We should not neglect an opportunity.” Richard almost laughed, then remembered why he had come.

“How bad is it?”

Mr. Bennet’s humour vanished. “Come upstairs.”

Darcy scarcely looked like himself. His hair was damp with sweat, his face flushed, his lips moving around words that made no sense. The injured leg was elevated and heavily bandaged. Dr. Garrison sat by the fire writing notes.

Richard stopped at the bedside. “Damn you, Darcy.”

Darcy’s eyelids fluttered. “Richard?”

“I have ridden half the way to Scotland looking for you.”

“Wrong direction.”

Richard closed his eyes briefly in relief. “If you can be insulting, you are not dead.”

Darcy frowned. “Elizabeth.”