Disclaimer: I did not write Pride and Prejudice.
Chapter Seven
"Good afternoon, Olivia!"
Lizzy offered a confused smile to Mrs. Tanner, who was standing at one end of the kitchen table and kneading a lump of dough. The feebleness of her efforts made it obvious that her arms were growing weary, that perhaps this was a task with which she was unfamiliar, but she smiled happily.
"Olivia?" Lizzy asked uncertainly.
"The gentlemen said that is what we are to call you."
"Ah." She supposed it made sense to remain here under an alias, although she would have liked to choose it herself. "Yes, but please call me Livvy." It sounded close enough to Lizzy that she was more likely to answer to it. "Forgive me for sleeping so long."
"Nonsense! It was obvious last night that you needed as much rest as you could get, poor thing." Mrs. Tanner motioned to the bench across the table. "Please, have a seat. I can get you a cup of tea in a moment, and as soon as this is finished, we can find you a late luncheon."
"Please, do not trouble yourself," Lizzy said, lowering herself gingerly onto the bench, avoiding the far side that was covered in flour. Her muscles were stiff and sore, but her actual wound hurt less this morning. "Tea would be lovely, but I can get my own in a moment if you will tell me where everything is. I do not wish to interrupt."
"'Tis no trouble." Mrs. Tanner kneaded for another minute or two before releasing a dubious sigh and dropping the lump of dough into a large bowl, which she then covered with a cloth and set on a low table near the fireplace. She wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist before bustling toward the cupboards on the far side of the small room.
Lizzy could not help a slight smile as she watched Mrs. Tanner move through the kitchen. She reminded Lizzy vividly of Mrs. Hill, their housekeeper at Longbourn, although on the surface there was no resemblance. Mrs. Hill was short and stout, and her complexion was rather more like a brick than it ought to be, whereas Mrs. Tanner was of average height and quite thin, with a cheerful haze of golden hair around her face and very good skin. But both women moved with impressive purpose and determination, as if a wall betwixt them and their destination would be wise to rethink its position.
An ache of longing for home swept over Lizzy, and she had to bite her lip to prevent herself from growing teary. How she missed everyone! But she was done with crying, she had decided in her room upon awakening. Her eyes were still scratchy and red from the night before, and she had no wish to prove herself any weaker, even if no one else knew of it. No matter what she discovered today, there would be no tears.
The cup of tea Mrs. Tanner placed before her was wonderfully restorative, and it awakened her appetite for the small offering of a biscuit and cheese that appeared soon after.
"I am sorry it isn't much," Mrs. Tanner frowned, wringing her hands. "You see, we weren't planning on guests, and I haven't had time to go to market yet today, but I'll go once the bread has risen and baked."
"It is more than enough, Laura," Lizzy assured her gently. "I find my appetite is always small just after I awaken. This is perfect."
Mrs. Tanner looked relieved, and her smile was wide and genuine. "Well, that's all right then." She returned to the sideboard and retrieved another lump of dough, dumping it into the floured spot on the tabletop and beginning to knead again. Lizzy found herself fascinated by the movements required, her mind comparing Mrs. Tanner's weak pressing to the harsh rolling and slapping performed by the Longbourn servants.
"May I…" Lizzy began a little awkwardly, "That is, would you like some help?"
"Oh, no!" Mrs. Tanner cried, looking rather dismayed again. "Bread-baking is a skill I have never mastered, but you are our guest! Mr. Darcy…er, Mr. Welton, I mean, he says you must rest as much as possible, and since you're in our charge for now, we'll take the best care of you that we can."
Lizzy felt instantly alarmed—she was in their charge?—but she drew in a deliberate deep breath and asked calmly, "Mr. Welton?"
"'Tis the name he wishes to be called for now, until all your troubles can be sorted. Grandfather did not tell Jacob and I much, but he says that some bad men are trying to take you away, and that it's our job to keep you safe here while Mr. Dar— Mr. Welton and his friend Mr… Barker, I think, try to find them first and stop them."
"Ah. So Mr. Welton wishes me to remain here until further notice?"
"Yes, Livvy, and I must say, I am very glad. It will be so nice to have some female company around here. I have three sisters at home, and even though I haven't been away for very long yet, I miss them dreadfully. You are to pretend to be my cousin who has come to stay from Shropshire—that's where my family lives. You are Olivia Beatty. Is that somewhat close to your real name? He would not tell us what it is."
Lizzy gazed out the small kitchen window, where a little of the afternoon light was creeping in between the buildings that formed the alley through which they had entered the previous night. She stared hard at the waves in the panes of glass, willing herself not to cry. "Olivia Beatty. Yes, I suppose that is somewhat like my real name. And I am from Shropshire?"
"Indeed. I shall tell you all about it, if you wish, so that if anyone comes visiting, you'll have some things to say. Although, perhaps I had better wait—you do not look at all well. Perhaps you should return to bed for a few more hours. Oh, maybe you should not have eaten yet! Oh, dear, I wish Jacob were here! He would know what to do."
Lizzy tried to relax, hoping that would allow some color into her cheeks. "I am all right, Laura. Do not worry so. I am just a touch overwhelmed. I think I shall ask Mr. Welton to explain it all to me. Is he in the parlor?" She had some things to say to Mr. Darcy, that was for certain, although how she would manage to say them without her volume drawing the attention of the entire neighborhood, she did not know. He had chosen her a name and a history without any of her input? Clearly many decisions had been made without her! Ugh, she should never have let them force her into sleep the previous night, no matter how ill she had been.
"No, he's gone."
Lizzy stiffened, her eyes fastening on Mrs. Tanner again. "He's gone? Mr… Welton?"
"Yes, he left shortly after breakfast."
"And Mr. Barker? Has he gone as well?"
"Yes. To Kent, I believe, although I was not supposed to overhear that." She beat at the dough uselessly, adding in a mutter, "I cannot see why my knowing the name of the county could be dangerous. I'm not some sort of babbling brook—I can keep a secret better than anyone."
"To Kent?" Lizzy asked, her voice tight and squeaky.
"I think so, yes."
Lizzy suddenly dearly wished she had not eaten the biscuit and cheese, for they and the cup of tea were threatening to abandon her in a very violent and unpleasant manner.
Mr. Darcy had left her! He had found a place to stow her away then run off to solve the problem without her. The sensible part of her mind chided her instantly for that thought—none of her doubted that his highest priority was her safety, and she knew that he would do whatever was required to secure it, even if it meant leaving her behind. But at the moment, the sensible part of her was rather quiet and dispirited, and she was consumed with feelings of abandonment and rejection. Had she truly been such a liability?
Her heart clenched—she probably had been! Had it not been for her presence with the kidnappers, Mr. Darcy would have had a much easier time of it. Had he not been concerned for her virtue, not to mention her well-being, he could have focused on escaping or simply waited out the ransom demand, complied, and returned home in relative health and safety. It was because of her that things had been so difficult.
It made perfect sense for him to leave her behind at the first opportunity. She could not deny it, although she felt even more ill as she tried to force herself to accept it.
Then an even more miserable thought crossed her mind: he had left her somewhere safe, but what if something befell him or Colonel Fitzwilliam? How would she even know of it? Through Mr. Tanner, perhaps, but not for some time after the misfortune had occurred. For all she knew, one of Lord Smythe's compatriots could have already spotted the two men on the road to Kent and be in pursuit of them. A day from now, they could both be lying face-down with bullets in their backs on the side of a roadway in Kent or Sussex, and she would not know it for weeks!
Lizzy had to cover her mouth and draw a few very long breaths in through her nose in order to quell the uneasiness in her stomach. She was being ridiculous. He would be fine—they both would. At least, for a few days. But the danger to them as they began investigating Lord Smythe and his connections would increase with every bit of knowledge they managed to glean in Kent or elsewhere, and trouble would become an increasing possibility. Oh, how would she stand it?
She felt like running from the house in that very moment, chasing Mr. Darcy down on foot, and punching him in the face like some common ruffian. How could he have abandoned her here to such lonesome misery? She could not even contact her family or friends. What would happen as days and then weeks passed without them receiving word from her? Had he considered that? She had no way to know.
And besides that, how would he know if she were to be retaken by Smythe's men? Did Tanner have a way to get word to Mr. Darcy, or had he been so certain of her safety that he had not even considered the possibility? Who would help her if he could not?
Lizzy barely prevented herself from moaning aloud. Only a few days before, she had thought that nothing any gentleman could do to her could be any more unforgiveable than ruining Jane's happiness and harming innocent Mr. Wickham, but she had been terribly naïve. Even the threat to her physical safety that she had endured the past two days did not inspire in her the rage she was feeling right now. What Mr. Darcy had done now was much, much worse. Leaving her here without a say, without information? That was unforgiveable.
He had not even bid her farewell. His sudden cold treatment of her the previous night had rankled, but that was nothing to this pain. Should not a man as violently in love as he claimed to be feel an almost desperate need to take his leave of his beloved before haring off on a dangerous adventure?
Perhaps through all of this, his feelings for her were changing. Perhaps he was coming to regret his hasty affections. He had seen her at her worst, after all, in both behavior and appearance. She had been so weak and frightened, so much the opposite of her usual indomitable self. He had seen the truth of her in the past few days, the fear that she always kept hidden deep beneath the surface. He had seen that, at heart, she was only a vain, selfish, frightened child who liked to pretend to be brave.
He had seen her as she truly was, and he had discovered that his affections had been misplaced. How he must be congratulating himself on his narrow escape from her clutches!
"Livvy? Olivia?"
Lizzy focused on Mrs. Tanner's worried expression, hovering over her from the other side of the table. "Come along, dear. Let's get you back to bed. You seem quite unwell. More rest should help, and I'll have Jacob look in on you as soon as he returns tonight."
"No," Lizzy whispered around the tightness in her throat, brushing away Mrs. Tanner's floury hands as they moved to lift her. "No, I do not wish to sleep more." She would only lie there feeling sorry for herself. She was hovering perilously close to an emotional precipice. "Is there something I can do to help?"
"I think not. You do not look well enough to stand, let alone help."
Lizzy shook herself, trying to ignore the pervasive sadness enveloping her. "I am only stiff and sore. Some movement will help settle me, I promise."
Mrs. Tanner looked doubtful, but after a moment, she sighed and reached for a small bowl of pea pods, sliding it in front of her.
"Thank you, Laura," Lizzy said gratefully. Then she frowned a little into the bowl. "Um… could you just remind me how to do this?"
Mrs. Tanner's eyebrows raised, and Lizzy saw her eyes dart to Lizzy's hands before she looked quite alarmed and started to tug the bowl back away quickly. "Oh! I should have realized! You're a gentlewoman, aren't you? Only a young lady would have hands as fine and delicate as yours. And here I was, about to let you shell our dinner peas! Oh, goodness!"
"Nonsense," Lizzy said, tugging back the bowl. "I am your cousin Olivia Beatty, and as your cousin, it is my right to shell the peas!"
Mrs. Tanner looked shocked for a moment before a smile burst onto her face. "That is perfectly ridiculous!"
Lizzy laughed a little at herself. "Possibly, but I insist nonetheless." Mrs. Tanner looked prepared to deny her, so she added, "Please, Laura. I want to be useful, and if I am to remain here for some time, even some weeks, I would much rather be of help than be treated as a guest."
After a moment, Mrs. Tanner replied, "Well, I suppose I would feel the same. I only hope Mr. Welton is not too angry when he returns. He'll not be happy to find a gentlewoman helping prepare his meals."
"He may consider himself my protector," Lizzy said with an embarrassing amount of bitterness, "but he is neither my father nor my guardian, and I can do as I like, particularly as he will not be returning for some time yet. Today, I would like to help."
After another few sighs, Mrs. Tanner began to show Lizzy how to press the pods open and dump the peas into another small bowl she had provided. It was difficult with only one hand, and she knew she was probably taking ten times as long to do the task as Mrs. Tanner would herself, but she managed to do at least a little bit.
They worked in the kitchen for some time, Mrs. Tanner's cheerful chatter helping to keep Lizzy's mind off her sorrows and off the discomfort of her sore shoulder. The repetitive motion was difficult at first, but it worked out some of her stiffness, and she felt better as time went on. They were just giggling, half-amusedly and half-despairingly, at the sunken bread loaves Mrs. Tanner was pulling from the oven when a commotion at the back door drew their attention.
"Your menfolk are returned!" called out old Mr. Tanner as he limped tiredly through the door, making straight for the bench at the table and dropping onto it with a wince.
He was followed by young Mr. Tanner, who smiled widely at his wife as he hung his hat on a hook near the door. He greeted her with a kiss to her forehead, offering her a sympathetic smile at the sight of the failed bread. He then noticed Lizzy at the table and gave her a grave nod, not entirely friendly, but not hostile either. She nodded in return.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Tanner," Lizzy said to the older man, wiping her own brow.
"And to you, Missy," he said gruffly. "I see you've jumped right in with helping our Laura. That's right kind of you."
She brushed some lingering flour from the apron Mrs. Tanner had leant her. "No, indeed. I wanted a way to clear my mind of my troubles, and it would seem that nothing can do that so effectively as keeping busy. She is the one being kind." She glanced up at the younger man. "And the movement helped with my stiffness."
He nodded again, his expression maybe a little lighter. "I'm glad. I'll check the dressing on your shoulder again this evening, but if you've been able to work all afternoon, that's a very good sign."
"Yes," Lizzy said, lifting her good shoulder a little and wincing, "although now that I have stopped, I think perhaps I did a little too much today."
"I said as much," Mrs. Tanner said, smiling fondly at Lizzy, "but she just kept going. She refused to quit."
"Olivia is not one for admitting defeat," said a low voice from the open kitchen door.
"Mr. Darcy!" Lizzy jumped to her feet, heedless of her soreness and fatigue, and made it most of the way across the kitchen before regaining control and slowing her approach to a slightly more seemly speed. "You have returned!"
She reached out and grasped his hands hard, just barely preventing herself from flouting all propriety and throwing herself into his arms.
"Of course," he said, offering her a bewildered smile. Then he glanced around at the Tanners, who were all watching them closely, and frowned, releasing her hands and taking a step back, closing the kitchen door with his foot. "I told Mrs. Tanner I would return before supper."
Lizzy spun on Mrs. Tanner. "But you said he was gone!"
Mrs. Tanner frowned a little. "Yes—for the day."
"I… oh! Oh, I thought…"
Mr. Darcy stepped around to catch her gaze, his face concerned. "You believed I had left you?"
"I thought—she said the colonel had returned to Kent, and I thought you had gone with him." Lizzy heard the emotion in her voice but was powerless to hide it. She was too relieved, too happy to see him, even if he wished to keep her at a distance. At least he was here!
"No," he said quietly, his look intense. "I will explain all to you, I promise, but for now, just know that while Fitzwilliam returns to learn as much as he can from my aunt and Lord Smythe's agent, I remain here to investigate some other possibilities as well as remain hidden. I, Mr. William Welton, am the Tanner's new upstairs tenant."
It took all of Lizzy's willpower not to close the distance between them and bury her face against his chest. She was just too relieved to do much else, propriety be hanged! She drew in a deep breath and released it in a happy sigh. "I… I am so glad."
"Are you?" he asked seriously, his voice barely loud enough to hear.
His intent gaze unnerved her, seeming to ask something she was unprepared to answer with him standing so stiffly, so far away from her. She tried to laugh breezily but could not quite meet his eyes. "Of course! I was most displeased that I would be left in the dark regarding anything you might learn about our situation. I dislike feeling ignorant."
"Ah. Of course." He was quiet for a moment. "I apologize for any concern you might have felt."
"'Twas my own misunderstanding, sir," she replied awkwardly, wishing she had the courage to look up at his face. "No apology is necessary."
The room was silent, and Lizzy became unpleasantly aware that the Tanners were all watching their exchange.
"Now is as good a time as any for the two of you to discuss your situation," Mrs. Tanner said, a tiny bit of humor evident in her tone. Lizzy looked sharply at her, a blush already creeping over her face as she realized how strangely she had been behaving. "Please use the parlor—none of us will disturb you there."
Lizzy blushed more deeply at Mrs. Tanner's blatant wink. She stepped further back from Mr. Darcy and brushed at her apron. "But I was going to accompany you to the market and help you make supper."
Mrs. Tanner started to shake her head kindly, but Mr. Darcy spoke first. "No—you cannot go out. The risk of your being recognized is far too great."
"Pardon me?" Lizzy scoffed, immediately defensive. "Did you not spend all day out? You are far more recognizable in London than I am."
"I am aware of the risk," he replied, unimpressed, "but it is necessary. It is not required, however, for both of us to be endangered."
"But…" Lizzy wanted to argue, but she remembered all Mr. Darcy had told her before they had left the ship the previous day. If he were caught, the consequences would be far less devastating than if she were recaptured. Her helplessness made her furious, but arguing against his point would only prove her stubborn and foolish as well. She tried to calm herself. "But am I truly to remain inside without reprieve until the situation is resolved? I shall go mad!"
"Is our home so wretched?" young Mr. Tanner asked sourly, putting a protective arm around his wife's shoulders. "Too small for a fine lady such as yourself?"
Lizzy offered an apologetic glance toward Mrs. Tanner, who was rolling her eyes at her husband. At least she had known what Lizzy meant. "Of course not, Mr. Tanner. Your home is very comfortable, and your wife has made me feel perfectly useful and welcome, but I… that is, I am not accustomed to…"
"Remaining indoors for any significant length of time?" Mr. Darcy put in. He explained to the Tanners, "Olivia rarely allows a day to pass without spending a significant portion of it out of doors." He turned back to Lizzy, his expression sympathetic. "I know this will be difficult, and if we go for some days without any hint of danger, perhaps we can discuss an evening excursion or an early morning walk in the park, but for now, Fitzwilliam and I think it wisest to keep you as hidden as possible."
"What about what I think is best?" Lizzy asked, folding her arms across her chest.
Mr. Darcy opened his mouth to speak, his expression fiery, but then he seemed to think better of his reply. He frowned thoughtfully, and after a moment, he said slowly, "Do you have a different proposal? Something that will allow you to feel free while still allowing me some peace of mind?"
She was unprepared for his sensible question. "Well… that is, no. Not particularly. I just… well, I truly will go mad."
"I am certain Mrs. Tanner will do her best to keep you busy," he said, looking to Mrs. Tanner, who nodded enthusiastically. "And Tanner and his grandson will contribute whenever they are available. Tanner is an excellent storyteller—I am sure your evenings will not be dull."
Old Mr. Tanner laughed heartily. "Oh, aye. I'll tell you stories that will curl your toes and the hairs on your head. And my grandson is an excellent singer. He will do his part as well, as Mrs. Tanner loves to hear him sing."
"That I do!" said Mrs. Tanner, smiling widely up at her husband, who reddened slightly but answered her with a shy grin.
"Just pretend it is raining outside," Mr. Darcy said, offering Lizzy a half-smile.
Lizzy was feeling more cheerful, she had to admit. This could have blown into one of hers and Mr. Darcy's usual arguments, but somehow he had averted the escalation without embarrassing her. He had been so respectful.
"And what, sir, will you contribute to my daily entertainment?" she asked saucily. "You cannot be the only one who has nothing to offer."
He looked away and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I had not… that is, I was uncertain whether you would wish for me to be present in the evenings. I have my own lodgings, and I am perfectly able to retire there each night. Now that my company is no longer being forced upon you, I have no wish to make you… discontent."
"I should think, sir," she said, trying not to blush again, "that you know me well enough to assume that if I was displeased by your presence, I would make that abundantly clear. But you are only welcome if you promise to be entertaining. How do you intend to amuse me?"
"Georgiana tells me that I am quite a good reader," he said, his expression still stiff but his tone hopeful. "I could read to you. I passed a quaint little bookshop on the way back here this afternoon, and there were several volumes in which you may have interest."
An image appeared in Lizzy's mind: she and Mr. Darcy sitting in wingback chairs on either side of a lively fire, her hands busy with a needle and his holding a small volume, his smooth baritone voice filling the space between and around them. The intimate peace of the portrait filled her with longing.
"I suppose that will have to do," she replied. He looked up at her words, and she sent him a teasing smile. A tiny answering smile appeared on his face. She deliberately looked away, discomfited by the sense of triumph his expression had inspired in her. She frowned away her pleasure, reminding herself of their present situation. "But for now, sir, I think we should take advantage of Mrs. Tanner's parlor. I would very much like to know what we are going to do."
He nodded, serious again. "Of course. Tanner? Are you available to chaperone us?"
Old Mr. Tanner snorted from his slumped position at the table. Mrs. Tanner had brought him a cup of tea, but he looked almost too tired to drink it. "I have spent the entire day tramping around the seediest taverns in this city, hunting down my useless son as a service to you, and now you expect me to spend my evening watching the two of you conversing privately and making eyes at one another in the parlor? I think not."
Lizzy knew her face had colored—making eyes at one another?—but she ignored the uncomfortable parts of his statement in favor of greater understanding. "Your son, sir? What do you mean?"
"I will explain all to you, Eli… Olivia," Mr. Darcy replied after glaring at Mr. Tanner, "but in general, we think that Mr. Tanner's son, Mr. Roland Tanner, may have connections to men who can help us learn more about Lord Smythe."
"He is an investigator of some kind?" she asked eagerly. "Does he work with the Bow Street Runners?"
Mr. Tanner snorted again.
"No. He is a gambler, a rather experienced and notorious one, and a general ne'er-do-well. He does not frequent the gentlemen's clubs, of course, but he knows his way around a gaming table. We will convince him to help us." Mr. Darcy's eyebrows pinched together, a sure sign of anxiety despite the confidence in his voice.
"How? If he is such a worthless scoundrel, can he be trusted to assist us?"
"I am certain Grandfather already told you," young Mr. Tanner broke in, looking concerned, "but my father can be trusted with absolutely nothing, not unless there is something in it for him."
"Your father?" Mrs. Tanner asked, her voice a little squeaky. She seemed to have paled. "He's not coming here, is he?"
"No," Old Mr. Tanner confirmed, offering her a comforting smile. "No, he knows he is never welcome here again, not after… well, after everything. We've left him messages in every tavern we could reach today telling him to meet us at The Iron Ox any day this week at one o'clock. We'll only ever meet him there, I promise you."
Mrs. Tanner looked relieved, but Lizzy could see that she still leaned heavily into her husband's side, who was, in his turn, obviously deeply concerned as well. What had Mr. Roland Tanner done to make himself so unwelcome amongst his own family?
"Do not worry," Mr. Darcy said, addressing Mrs. Tanner as much as Lizzy. "I will make it well worth his while to help us, enough that it would not be in his interests to betray us, and we will involve him as little as possible. He will never even know you exist, Olivia."
The young couple nodded before turning into one another and beginning a whispered conversation. Lizzy watched them for a moment, surprised at how jealous she was of their closeness, of Mr. Tanner's hands on his wife's arms, her freedom to lay her head against his chest. How was it that something Lizzy had had for less than two days—the ability to be so physically near someone—could already be missed so desperately?
She turned away, attempting to brush the thoughts aside, for they obviously did her no good.
"Well, I suppose I shall explain the rest now." Mr. Darcy motioned for her to precede him into the parlor then turned back. "I am sorry to be a burden, Mrs. Tanner, but would you or your husband be willing to act as chaperone…"
"Young Master," interrupted Old Mr. Tanner gruffly, "neither I nor my grandchildren have time to waste in the parlor with you. I know you gentlefolk have your traditions and rules, but the rest of us have too much to be going on with to bother attending to your silly notions. If you are pretending to be like us, then you can carry it all the way through. You are both intelligent, respectful adults, and I've no worry that you'll seduce one another in the parlor. Now be off with you." He waved a dismissive hand toward the parlor door.
The silence in the room was fraught. Lizzy looked desperately to Mrs. Tanner, but her only response was another heavy wink before turning back to her husband. Young Mr. Tanner was smirking at both of them. Lizzy glanced quickly at Mr. Darcy but could not read his expression.
Seduce one another? Good grief! How very shocking!
"Very well, then," Mr. Darcy finally replied. He would not meet Lizzy's eyes, but he motioned toward the door again, and after a moment, she moved through into the parlor. None of the Tanners bothered to smother their laughter as Mr. Darcy pulled the door shut behind them.
Well, never mind. They were right. After remaining perfectly respectful of her while sharing a bed, it was not as if she feared any inappropriateness from Mr. Darcy in a parlor. Or anywhere else, really. And it was not as if anyone else would ever know they had been alone together.
She shook her head hard once. What foolishness. The entire afternoon had been foolishness, she realized. But it was time to receive her explanation, and she would not miss a moment of it. This was of actual importance. He would tell her everything he knew, everything the colonel had told him, and all their plans, and somehow, she would prove herself strong enough to handle the knowledge and find a way to assist him, even if he did not wish for it.
She would be strong, for him and for herself.
Colonel Fitzwilliam stopped in the middle of the pathway leading to the cheerful front door of Hunsford Parsonage, attempting to brush off some of the dust of the road and gather his scattered thoughts. He really should have gone straight to Rosings upon his arrival—in fact he had intended to do so—but somehow he found himself here, and as tired as his borrowed mount was, it would be kind to let her rest for a few moments at the fence, within reach of a verdant patch of clover. The horse would probably buck him off anyway if he tried to mount again now.
Fitzwilliam tried to laugh at his nervousness—what possible cause had he to be nervous? It was certainly not as if there was any danger of a bloody battle in the parsonage. He could not conceive of a less terrifying figure than Mr. Collins, even imagining him with the sword and rifle of a soldier. Nor was he courting, which was the other predictable source of this sort of anxiety, for truly, a night at Almack's was surprisingly similar to a battlefield, complete with the potential for life-threatening injuries, at least to one's pride.
But oh, he thought, as he noticed the dainty garden gloves lying abandoned next to a small trowel on the front step, how he wished he could be entering that fray in this place. He knew that Mr. Collins was proprietor of the large vegetable garden behind the house, but the flower beds on either side of the front door, filled with spring blooms of various colorful sorts, must belong to Mrs. Collins. They were carefully arranged and maintained, thoroughly organized, and quite cheerful and lovely.
Fitzwilliam almost laughed at what he imagined the difference would be between these beds and some arranged by Darcy's beloved Miss Bennet. Hers would run wild, effortlessly lovely but almost accidental, as if she had just scattered seeds haphazardly. There was certainly beauty in that, but he was drawn to these symmetrical rows of bulbs interspersed evenly with spring herbals and rose bushes just forming their first buds. He had been a soldier long enough that the order of it all appealed to him.
As he stood admiring the bed, the parsonage door slammed open. Fitzwilliam looked up with a grin, anticipating the sight of Mrs. Collins running toward him, eager for news, but the grin became a grimace as he saw Mr. Collins shuffling toward him obsequiously.
"Oh, Colonel! How you honor our home with your visit!" Mr. Collins puffed, trying to catch his breath. He had only come from inside the house, had he not? Why was he panting? "We had heard that you might be away for some time. What a pleasure for me to just now spy your arrival from the corner of my poor garden. I rushed right out to greet you!"
Ah. Thus the breathlessness.
"But you look quite travel-worn, Colonel. Will you not enter our humble abode and accept what meager refreshments we have to offer? You would do us a great honor. Indeed, we have enjoyed so little company of late that you would be doing me a great service, a very great service indeed."
Mr. Collins looked as if he might go on, but before he could, Fitzwilliam broke in with, "I thank you for your kind invitation, Mr. Collins, but I am on my way to Rosings. I only stopped to…" He paused, reorganizing his thoughts. In all honesty, he wanted to speak to Mrs. Collins without her husband present, and not only for his own enjoyment. He was uncertain how much that oily little sycophant knew, but he did not want the man spreading information to Lady Catherine or anyone else before he and Mrs. Collins had an opportunity to decide what should and should not be shared. "I stopped to pay my respects and offer Mrs. Collins what comfort I may in terms of her friend."
"Poor Cousin Elizabeth!" Mr. Collins sighed, his face full of affected pity. "An abduction—I can still hardly believe it. Have you tidings of her?
"Very few," Fitzwilliam lied guiltlessly. "I followed the kidnappers' trail, but discovered little beyond the fact that they appear to have left the country."
"Left the country! Oh, my! Well, then Cousin Elizabeth is truly lost! Oh, it breaks my heart, as both her relation and as a clergyman, to hear of the fall of any innocent young woman. And of course, my greatest sympathies extend to her father, who will take the news very hard. Even should she be recovered now, she will be sullied in the eyes of the world. Poor, poor Elizabeth."
Fitzwilliam could not prevent his lip curling in disgust at the cheerfulness with which Mr. Collins expressed such dire pronouncements. What a disgusting little toady! Fitzwilliam had just opened his mouth to tell him exactly how disgusting he was when he was forced to pause and draw in a surprised breath.
Mrs. Collins was standing on the front step, her attire modest and becoming and her hands folded primly before her, but although the sight of her was welcome, it was the expression of abject desolation on her face that sucked the breath from his lungs.
He automatically stepped around Mr. Collins, coming to stand at the base of the steps. "Mrs. Collins."
"Lizzy is truly lost?" she choked out, her eyes brimming with tears.
"So it would seem, my dear," Mr. Collins said, practically singing the words. "Her reputation will be…"
"I care not about her reputation, Mr. Collins," Mrs. Collins snapped, glaring at him balefully. His mouth snapped shut. She turned her gaze back to Fitzwilliam. "I care about her safety, her well-being, and that of Mr. Darcy. Know you anything of that?"
He held her eyes and gave a single sharp nod before saying, "No, nothing."
She stared at him. "So all you found," she continued slowly, watching his face, "was their trail? Leading out of the country?"
He gave a miniscule shake of his head before replying, "Yes, that was all. There is no more hope of recovery until we receive a ransom."
"Poor Lizzy," she said quietly, but the hope in her eyes belied her words.
Mr. Collins took that opportunity to add, "Indeed. Of course, we shall pray for her, shall we not, my love?" He looked up at his wife like a puppy dog waiting to be patted on the head, but she did not acknowledge him.
"Colonel, would you care to come into the parlor and rest for a few moments?" she asked politely, not betraying a farthing of the eagerness he knew she must be feeling. "You look weary, and I am certain you are hungry. Mrs. Locken just finished a batch of the spiced biscuits you like so much."
He did not want to stop here. He had even less desire than before to spend time in Mr. Collins' presence. But he found himself unable to refuse the sincerity in her manner. "How could a gentleman resist such an offer? I will accept, Mrs. Collins, but just for a moment or two. I must be on my way quickly."
He followed Mrs. Collins inside, taking a distinctly inappropriate pleasure in moving quickly enough that Mr. Collins was forced to bring up the rear instead of escorting his wife through the door as he seemed intent upon doing. Then upon entering, Mrs. Collins quickly reminded her husband that he was still dressed in his gardening attire and ought to change before receiving company. He retreated at once, yelling agreements and apologies all the way up the stairs.
The moment his footsteps reached the top landing, Mrs. Collins crossed to where Fitzwilliam had seated himself and stopped before him, wringing her hands.
"You do not wish my husband to hear your news. Tell me what you know, Colonel, as quickly as you can manage."
He stood and faced her, bending forward to keep his voice as low as possible. "They are found. Miss Bennet is safe and whole, as is Darcy. They were, indeed, abducted, and they were within moments of being carried across the channel from Dover, but through their own wisdom and only a moment of assistance from myself, they managed to escape the vessel without their captors' immediate knowledge and take refuge in an inn. Miss Bennet was injured in the escape, but it is a small wound, and she is otherwise perfectly well. Darcy took a prodigious deal of care of her, I believe, but she did no less for him."
"Oh, Lizzy!" Mrs. Collins looked ready to faint with relief. Fitzwilliam reached out and grasped her upper arms to keep her upright. "Oh, I am so glad! But why did they not return with you? Is she on her way home?"
"Not yet. We have judged it best to learn more about Lord Smythe and his methods before we assume that returning to their homes and families is safe. She and Darcy are hiding out in London."
"Together?" Her eyebrows disappeared under the stray curls at her hairline.
"In a manner of speaking," Fitzwilliam answered wryly. "She is staying with a family friend of Darcy's, and he is renting the rooms above-stairs. He is quite conscious of salvaging her reputation as much as he is able, despite spending rather more time together in the past few days than Society would consider appropriate."
"And if the secret is not kept? If the circumstances are discovered? All of this secrecy will be for naught if they are discovered keeping company in Town."
"If that occurs, Darcy will act the part of gentleman, I have no doubt. Heavens knows, he would be happy enough to do it. I am not as certain of her, but I am almost positive she would have no objection either."
"Lizzy? Three days ago, she would have sworn she hated him."
"Much has changed since then, as I am certain you can imagine."
She raised her eyebrows, and he could see that she wished to ask more, but she impressed him once again by remaining focused on more important issues. "What can I do to help? Besides keep these facts to myself. Obviously neither my husband nor Lady Catherine ought to know all of this until more can be discovered. Neither one has much discretion."
"My thoughts exactly," Fitzwilliam said, appreciating her intelligence even more than before. "But there is nothing else I can ask of you. My task here in Kent is to discover all I can from my aunt and Lord Smythe's agent in Coxton, as well as from the other members of this gambling circle, but as you cannot help with that…"
"But I can," she argued instantly. "I will… I must do all I can to aid you."
"There is nothing else you can do from here. Lady Catherine, I assume, has not returned you to her confidence, and beyond providing me with the welcome respite of sensible conversation whilst I am at Rosings, there is little else you can contribute. I am sorry."
Mrs. Collins shook her head, stepping back and breaking his hold on her arms. "No, sir. I am the one who is sorry that you do not see the value of what I can offer. I have had much time to consider these past few days whilst you have been running all over the country. It became clear to me that knowing more about Lord Smythe would become relatively important if Lizzy and Mr. Darcy were not found. It is quite obvious that I am the person most capable of gleaning information from his connections in Coxton."
"How can that possibly be so?" Fitzwilliam asked, entirely flummoxed by such a ridiculous assertion from a normally-sensible lady.
"I am in possession of nearly every bit of knowledge Mr. Collins has about the situation," she replied, ticking off a count on her fingers. "I am familiar with blending into country society. I am a quick thinker and am quite skilled at making rational decisions without emotion clouding my judgment. I am unknown to the members of the gambling circle in the town. In short, I am quite well-qualified to glean information."
"You cannot be serious!" Fitzwilliam blustered, his fists clenching at his sides.
"I am perfectly serious," she replied, a picture of calm rationality. "Have I said something incorrect?"
He suddenly hated the very coolness of temper that he had so recently admired in her. It left him all too aware of the disproportionate violence of his reaction to her suggestion. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, a tactic he had often used on the battlefield to overcome his anxiety and return himself to composure.
"No," he answered, proud of how sensible he sounded. "Your statements are all correct, but I believe you are not accounting for the dangers of the situation. The members of the circle are not, I suspect, the sort of people with whom you associated in Hertfordshire society, or at least, they will not behave the same way in the gambling room of a tavern as they do while dancing in an assembly room. Your experience with the one will not guarantee your ability to understand and assess the other. Also, while I agree that you are quick-witted and logical, you do not know that you possess every piece of knowledge Mr. Collins has. There may be things he has not told you that could result in revealing yourself and thereby putting yourself in danger."
"I am not afraid of danger," she argued. Fitzwilliam was pleased to see a bit of her emotion leak through—she seemed both frightened and determined.
He approached her again, this time clasping her hands gently. "I do not doubt your bravery or your abilities. I only doubt your ability to handle a physical threat, something we shall be quite likely to face."
"But you are already known to them, are you not? Did you not stop there on the night you left here and attempt to gain information from them?"
Fitzwilliam frowned. Yes, he had reached Darcy and Miss Bennet in time to rescue them solely because of what he had gleaned from Lord Smythe's agent in Coxton, but it was a shame that that exposure would make it harder to explain his return to Coxton now. "They saw me once, but I do not believe they were suspicious of me, and I should be able to convince them that, having reached Lord Smythe in time before he left for France, I am now on my way home to the north."
"What if Lord Smythe has already gotten word to his agents to be on watch for his lost captives? Would not Kent be one of the first places to receive such a message?"
"There is hope that Smythe will have been unable to turn back for some time. It might be days before a message could reach them here. And there is not any reason for them to know of my involvement…" His voice trailed off. If Cardon had not managed to contain the one of Smythe's henchmen who had caught Miss Bennet outside the inn, and if that one had managed to get a message to Kent so quickly, there was a miniscule chance that they might have a description of him in connection with Darcy.
"You are not certain of that, are you?" she said, shaking her head and squeezing his hands. "Would it not be wiser to send me in, entirely unknown to them, than to risk your being recognized and associated with your cousin? Then not only would your ability to learn anything from them be ended, but you would become another target."
"But what would you do if you were threatened? How would you protect yourself?"
She broke eye contact. "I would… think of something."
He barked a derisive laugh.
"How would you live with yourself," she volleyed back, dropping his hands like hot coals, "if it was because you were recognized that we were unable to learn anything from Smythe's man? And what danger would you then face?"
They stared at one another, neither one willing to back down. His eyes roamed her countenance, looking for signs of capitulation, but he found none. She was a worthy opponent, a woman with backbone and intelligence and determination who did not fear him in the least. He noticed that her hair had loosened from its tight knot, probably while she was gardening earlier. Her cheeks were pink with vigor and heightened emotion, and her eyes were flashing with passionate defiance.
Heaven help him, she was so beautiful! How had he ever thought her plain?
His eyes dropped to her mouth. What he would not give to close the gap between them, to show her for just a moment how much he admired her, how much he wished that there could be more for both of them.
But even if he did not prize his honor too highly to allow such a lapse of judgment, he knew what her response would be if he tried to kiss her. Or at least, he thought he did, and that outcome he could not bear.
He stepped back, increasing the distance between them and shaking his head to clear it. "I recognize the legitimacy of your claims, Mrs. Collins, and I appreciate the depth of your desire to help your friend, but I cannot accept your assistance. I could never live with myself if I knowingly acquiesced to your putting yourself into a situation where you were threatened or hurt or where your reputation was damaged because of your involvement. I am sorry."
"You would risk their safety to protect my so-called reputation?" she scoffed. "I am a married woman! There is little to no danger for me on that score, and I do not believe…"
"I am coming, my love!" called a voice from the hallway. Heavy steps pounded on the stairway. "Forgive me, forgive me, for my tardiness. Molly seems to have hung my best jacket somewhere unfortunate, silly, absentminded girl... Ah! Here I am!"
By the time Mr. Collins crossed the threshold into the parlor, Mrs. Collins was seated on a chaise near the fireplace and Fitzwilliam was leaning next to the window that looked out on the front walk, the very spot where Darcy had spent many an awkward visit in previous weeks.
"But dearest!" cried Mr. Collins, dramatically aghast. "Where is our tea? Is Mrs. Locken being derelict in her duties? It is so very difficult to find good help these days, as Lady Catherine has so often lamented and as I'm certain you'll agree, Colonel. Mr. and Mrs. Locken have only been with me a few months, since I was offered this living by your most gracious relation, and while their services have not been entirely inadequate, I have found that they are sometimes a tad remiss in treating guests with the respect and immediacy which they deserve. Why, I often think…"
As he spoke, Mr. Collins reached out for the bell that would call the housekeeper, but Mrs. Collins jumped to her feet before he could. "I shall go and see what is taking so long," she offered, not sounding at all urgent. She was an impressive actress, Fitzwilliam acknowledged—Mr. Collins would never guess she had not ordered tea at all yet. "After all, as Lady Catherine always says, a lady must always be ready to take care of a household problem herself."
"Oh, my dearest, you are a paragon of wisdom!" Mr. Collins cried, reaching out to grasp Mrs. Collins's hand as she passed by. She stopped where she was and allowed him to kiss her hand obsequiously, but she did not meet his eye as he did so nor try to smile, as Fitzwilliam had seen her do in the past. Mr. Collins looked up at her hopefully, but her expression was blank, and his eagerness wilted as he released her and she moved toward the door again.
"Forgive me, Mrs. Collins, Mr. Collins," Fitzwilliam said, "but it is later than I had imagined when I stopped." No one noticed that he had not actually opened the pocket watch he held out to show them. "Tell Mrs. Locken that I shall be delighted to enjoy her wonderful biscuits another time."
Mrs. Collins turned to face him, her eyes narrowing. "How unfortunate."
He did not need a translator to help him read her expression. We are not finished.
"If I learn anything of Miss Bennet's whereabouts," Fitzwilliam offered, "you shall know of it immediately." He hoped Mr. Collins could not detect the plea inside those words. Stay out of this.
"You are too kind." This is not over.
He wanted to stay, to take Mrs. Collins by the arms again and shake her until she saw sense, but as that was neither wise nor possible, he bowed, mostly ignored Mr. Collins, who had begun rambling again, and strode out without a look back.
He comforted himself, as he mounted his grumpy mare and rode down the lane toward Rosings, with the idea that he had been firm, that Mrs. Collins had known he was serious in his refusal of her help. She might not like his decision, but what could she do about it? There were certainly benefits to being a man, one of which was getting the final word in such circumstances. Perhaps when they met again, when he returned to the parsonage in three or four days' time, he would have enough information to appease her.
He might not be able to further any real connection with Mrs. Collins, but he could at least do all he could to help her friend, and he could make sure that upon leaving Rosings this time, they were parting as friends themselves. That was really all for which he might hope.