New chapter! An important confrontation. Enjoy :)

Chapter 28

Mrs. Darcy and Rose carried the conversation in the carriage to Lambton. Elizabeth was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to talk much. She worried about confronting Lavinia's brother and wondered at Mr. Darcy's asking her to dance.

He had called her remarkable. It might not be a declaration, but it meant something. Had Elizabeth any sense, she would turn her attentions to Col. Richard Fitzwilliam. He was honorable, kind, and caused no discomfiture. No churning. No wondering.

Mr. Darcy's moods shifted like a summer storm. Col. Fitzwilliam was a sensible choice.

But if Elizabeth was inclined toward sensible choices, she would have stayed in Longbourn. She would have entertained the proposal of her ridiculous cousin to ensure her family remained in their home. Instead, her irrational, insensible nature had led her here. To Pemberley.

And Mr. Darcy stirred passion in her. Passion was not love, but it was exciting. And there was much about Mr. Darcy to admire. He cared for his family, his lands, his servants, and without asking for accolades, did all in his power to ensure their comfort and happiness. He insisted Mrs. Darcy, for whom he did not have amicable feelings, remain at Pemberley instead of forcing her into a dowager home. He took his little sister riding and revealed his own weakness to assuage Elizabeth's fears and comfort her. He offered his housekeeper, whom society would deem beneath his notice, use of his own carriage. Elizabeth had not heard a negative word about Mr. Darcy from the servants or villagers. Mrs. Darcy, who had reason to be resentful, spoke kindly of him.

It was as though Mr. Darcy strove to show his worst aspects to Elizabeth so she might find fault with him.

If they danced again, would he offer the same disregard?

Or was it even disregard? He had called her remarkable. He had admitted fondness. And she could not ignore his poem.

Did a lack of ability to express one's admiration imply a lack of it?

They drove first to the Stewarts' tenant farm. Mrs. Darcy had wanted to spend a part of the afternoon with Mrs. Gibbs, and if Lavinia wished to join them, it would be better to deliver the tarts and pick up a child at the same time.

Lavinia's family was not well off. The stone sections around the farm were pocked and stained with moss. Much of the enclosure was hammered-in posts with branches piled high and tied to them, creating a fence of sorts. Inside, on a patch of land, a herd of sheep grazed.

Though meager, the grounds were clean and ordered. In another corner, fenced off from the sheep, they grew hay. Hens pecked at the rocky ground beside the chicken coop, which stood next to their small, wooden house.

In front, Lavinia and another, younger girl of about nine years of age, hung clothing out to dry on lines. They looked up as the carriage and horses approached. The young girl, with limp brown hair, ran out to see the carriage. She had tied her skirt in a knot above her knees, and her feet were bare.

Lavinia shouted at the girl, but Elizabeth could not make out her words over the carriage wheels. Out in the field, within calling distance of the house, father and son walked along the side of the hay. The carriage slowed and stopped. The footman opened the door, and Elizabeth, holding a cloth covered box of tarts, stepped out. Rose followed, cutting in front of Elizabeth as she shouted, "We brought the strawberry tarts!"

Elizabeth glanced out to the field. Lavinia's father was speaking, but his son fixed his gaze on the carriage and two men, Mr. Darcy and Col. Fitzwilliam, on horseback. Elizabeth waved them over. The father started towards them, but John stayed in place. "John!" he shouted and waved his son forward. The boy hesitated before following his father.

Col. Fitzwilliam's horse stamped the ground. The colonel and Mr. Darcy dismounted. Elizabeth noted, with surprise, both men carried rifles. Of course, they carried guns. They had insisted upon accompanying the carriage for their protection. A group of bandits would not run fleeing from Mr. Darcy's sharp tones alone.

The door to the farmhouse opened, and a middle-aged woman who shared Lavinia's frame, stepped out with a toddler on her skirts. "We have company?"

Rose said, "Mrs. Stewart, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She curtsied, sweeping out her skirts with a flourish. "As a gift from our house to yours, we have brought Cook's famous strawberry tarts."

Lavinia glanced at her mother and then back at Rose. "I— What with what happened with your housekeeper, I did not think you would remember."

"Strawberry tarts?" Mrs. Stewart return the curtsy, and the child on her skirts inched closer to her mother. "We were not prepared for company, but, Lavinia dear, do you mind getting refreshments for our guests?"

Mrs. Stewart's smile was strange and both her husband and son kept a watchful, in to Elizabeth's judgment, wary eye upon Mr. Darcy and Col. Fitzwilliam. "This is a fine treat. I cannot thank you enough.

Col. Fitzwilliam asked where to tie their horses, and Mr. Stewart said, "John, take care of their mounts."

John nodded. He wore a homespun shirt and rough trousers. In the heat, he had rolled his shirtsleeves above his elbow. A bruise stained his collarbone, yellow and green rimmed with purple. He winced as he took the reins of Mr. Darcy's horse.

Col. Fitzwilliam asked, "Are you hurt, son?" He held fast to his horse's reins.

"Accident," John said. Elizabeth, tarts in hand, slowed to hear more of the conversation.

"On the farm?" Col. Fitzwilliam asked. His tone was mild, but he kept pace with John, putting himself between John and the path from the farm.

In response to Col. Fitzwilliam's question, the boy averted his gaze, nodding as he looked at the ground.

"Take the colonel's horse, John," Mr. Stewart shouted. "Mr. Darcy. Colonel. You need not concern yourself. My boy can handle it."

Mr. Darcy said, "I was hoping we might have a minute or two of your son's time. He was a friend of Mr. Phillips—"

Mr. Stewart spat on the ground. "I know who Mr. Phillips is. That ne'er-do-well. My John was having nothing more to do with him."

Elizabeth said, "Mr. Darcy did not mean to imply a close relationship."

Mr. Darcy gave Elizabeth a sharp glare.

Elizabeth handed the box of tarts to Rose. "Can you take these inside and help Lavinia arrange them? We will be just behind you." Elizabeth smiled at Mr. Darcy. "Strawberry tarts would sweeten this conversation, would they not?"

Having the conversation between four walls would also make it harder for John to run, which, as the boy glanced at the field, Elizabeth suspected he might try.

Mr. Darcy said, "Miss Bennet, I would appreciate it if you were to join Rose inside."

Rose asked, "Are you going to ask him about the Highwaymen? What did Luke tell you about his crimes?"

The color drained from John's face. "Nothing." The boy's hands shook. His lower lip quivered.

"Rose!" Elizabeth pushed the box of tarts into her hand. "Go. Now."

"Did you ask about the handkerchief yet?"

At the word handkerchief, John dropped Mr. Darcy's horse's reins. Behind John stood Mr. Darcy, and at either side stood a horse. Col. Fitzwilliam grabbed at him, catching the edge of his shirt. But John's panic gave him strength. He tore from the colonel's grasp. Eyes wide with panic, John dashed at Elizabeth and Rose.

Elizabeth held out her leg, and John tripped, hands flailing. Rose, not to be outdone, jumped on the boy's back, shouting as he tried to get up from beneath her rain of blows.

John threw his arms over his head. "Stop! Please!"

His cheek was cut, and he cried. "I never meant'a hurt no one. Luke told me it was just to scare 'em, and they was rich, so they wouldn't miss a few jewels. I knew it was wrong, but—!" He sobbed again. "I was only the lookout. Then they made me go t'the carriage, and they hit the old lady. I tried to make 'em stop." John was blubbering now.

Rose yelped as Col. Fitzwilliam grabbed and lifted her off the sobbing boy.

Mr. Stewart dropped to the ground in front of Mr. Darcy and the colonel. "Please. My son is a fool, but he is young. He repents. Do not hang him. Please!"

Mr. Darcy, his face implacable, stood up to his full height, hooking his fingers behind his back. "Whether he receives the brand or the noose depends upon what your son tells us about the others."

Rose slipped her hand into Elizabeth's. "I want to go to Sarah's now," she said.

On the ground, strawberry tarts had tumbled from a half-open box onto a pool of smudged cloth trembling in the breeze.

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Thank you for reading! Next chapter tomorrow!

Best,

V