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Charles moved to hold her, and she calmed somewhat. “We would have left Meryton long ago, but I feared Lizzy would make her way back, and I would not be here to help her!”

Trying to gain control of his temper, William walked over to stare into the gardens. The set of his shoulders, the clenching and unclenching of his fists, were the only evidence of his barely contained fury.

Charles took up the tale. “I returned to Netherfield just after Lizzy disappeared. We were married shortly thereafter, and I immediately hired a man to help in the search. After a year, he had found no trace of Lizzy or the count. Then about four months ago, a young man came to Netherfield, saying he was the nephew of the housekeeper of an estate in Sheffield. His aunt, a Mrs. Browning, asked him to deliver a letter to Elizabeth’s sister, Jane. He asked a few questions in Meryton and was directed here.”

Charles held up the missive. “The letter was precise. We were to come straightaway to retrieve Lizzy, but cautioned not to inform anyone, especially Mrs. Bennet. We did as she asked and found Lizzy being cared for by a relative of Mrs. Browning. She, her husband and a few other servants were living in a fire-ravaged mansion. Though the damage was extensive, it was confined to one wing.”

“And the cause of the fire?”

“A maid told Mrs. Browning that she had heard the count shouting and then a gunshot before she saw the smoke. She assumed that he had set it. Mrs. Browning said the maid found Elizabeth on the floor, just inside the door to the burning room, still alive but with a wound to her head.

Lizzy’s personal maid and a child appeared to have been killed instantly by other shots. They had time only to remove Lizzy to safety before the flames spread. Had a thunderstorm not been raging that night, the entire mansion would probably have been consumed by the blaze.”

William’s brow furrowed as he turned to face Charles. “A child? Whose child?”

“It seems the maid had a child who lived in the servants’ quarters with her.”

“I see.” He relaxed his stance a little. “Does the estate where Elizabeth was found belong to the count?”

“The estate is owned by the count’s father. Apparently, the count was only in residence sporadically before the fire and has not been heard from often since then.

William eyes narrowed. “Who is the father?”

“Frederick Warren Stanton, Earl of Essex. Do you know of him?”

“I have heard the name.” William considered for a moment. “And the son goes by an Italian surname?”

“Evidently he chooses to go by the title he inherited from his mother’s father, who was an Italian count.” William’s eyebrows rose in question.

Bingley nodded, his thoughts taking the same direction. “Yes, I had wondered about it myself. As he is so difficult to find, he may use various names to confuse those whom he knows to be looking for him.”

“Tell me about Elizabeth’s injuries. Has she been seen by a physician?”

“A private surgeon from London, Mr. Callahan, examined her. In his opinion, she was grazed by a gunshot, and he says that could explain why she does not talk and could also account for her odd behaviour. He assumed that it was an accident, and I did not correct him.”

“Martin Callahan?” William enquired and Charles nodded. “He is a colleague of my own surgeon, Farnsworth Towson, is he not?”

“Yes. I learned that he and Towson are versed in head injuries, and that is why I sent for him. They were commissioned by the Crown to do research on soldiers returning from battle with such injuries. Most of them have been shuffled to Bedlam, but he believes that they could have been helped, given time and patience.”

“Time and patience,” William murmured. “One I cannot control and the other I lack.”

~~~*~~~

William was thankful that Charles had sent a servant ahead to arrange for fresh horses along the way and that Jane had packed a basket of food and drink, as it allowed William and his party to arrive at Darcy House just after dark in spite of the thick fog that slowed their coach. Elizabeth was still sleeping, probably because of the draughts. He was relieved to think he would be able to get her into his home without contending with the prying eyes of his neighbours. He vowed to leave the same way when they removed to Pemberley.

As the coach came to an abrupt stop, a footman appeared seemingly out of nowhere to open the door. Gently lifting Elizabeth from Mrs. Drury’s lap and clutching her tightly to his body, William stepped out on the walk in front of his home. He glanced up at the three-story façade as he always did when he came back to his London home. The front door’s immediate opening brought his attention back to the situation at hand.

“Good evening, Mr. Darcy! A pleasure to see you again, sir!” Mr. Barnes exclaimed as he stepped back for them to enter.

Mr. Barnes had been the butler, and his wife the housekeeper, at Darcy House for the last five and twenty years, and William knew he could rely completely on the man’s discretion.

The butler averted his eyes to keep them on the young man. “Mrs. Barnes has your rooms prepared, and supper is waiting.”

The smell of roast beef and fresh bread filled the foyer as William moved towards the staircase—his eyes still fixed on the butler. “Thank you, Mr. Barnes. Please remember not to put the knocker on the door tomorrow. I do not wish for anyone to know I am in Town.”

Mrs. Barnes was at the foot of the stairs as he turned. “Mr. Darcy, would you like Perkins,” she motioned to a footman, “to assist the young lady to her room?”

Eyeing the tall young man with caution, William replied. “I will carry her myself. Just show Mrs. Drury to the rooms you have prepared, and I will follow.”