A/N: Thanks for all the response to this story. Here are a few quick issues to address from the comments. Yes, I misspelled a name before. Again. It's corrected now. Some of you think Charlotte is acting out of character here. Perhaps we just see her differently. She's showing more guts here than normal, as well as far less concern for society's opinion, but if you think about it, she has always been courageous as long as she thought she was doing what was necessary. She had never balked from doing what she MUST (how much nerve would it take to marry a toady like Collins?), and in this circumstance, I believe she is still doing what she believes MUST be done. And finally, I'm sorry to those of you who were hoping for that missing scene with D&E in the parlor at the end of chapter seven. I thought it seemed clear that he would just be telling her things he had already told Tanner and things Fitzwilliam had already told him, so although she didn't know them, we did. And sad to say, but at this point, we've missed several D&E private interactions-they are practically living in the same house, for Heaven's sake! But Darcy is so concerned with maintaining all the proprieties after those days of breaking every rule in existence that nearly all of their dealings since arriving in Islington are excessively polite and proprietous. And fairly tedious. Can you blame either of them for how stilted things are? Everything between them has been in constant upheaval since the moment he began his proposal-it makes perfect sense to me that it would take a few days of quiet for them to get everything sorted out.
There. Justifications complete. And now begins the ramp up to the ending. Shout out to my new longest chapter ever.
Disclaimer: I am not Jane Austen, although I can mimic a pretty good British accent (at least after listening to Jim Dale read an entire Harry Potter book).
Chapter Nine
"Slow down, Miss Beatty!" Mr. Darcy called out from a few paces behind Lizzy, his boots squelching noisily on the muddy path.
"Go faster, Mr. Welton!" Lizzy replied over her shoulder, her feet still running forward. "Or I shall beat you to the end!"
Lizzy rounded a particularly large trunk and came within sight of the final few trees in the small, artfully-planted grove. The sun was rising in a mostly-clear sky for the first time in days, and for the first time in as many days, she was outside to enjoy it. The air felt crisp and fresh and still a little wet from the rain, and her lungs expanded joyfully as she slowed to catch her breath. There were scattered patches of crocus and narcissus peeking joyfully up through the loamy soil, the shade of the grove having kept them from blooming as early as their fellows out in the sun, and Lizzy felt almost as if they had appeared there only that morning in response to her jubilant freedom.
She bent to caress one of the blossoms but stopped, entranced by a glistening drop of rain still caught on a tiny petal. Had there ever been a more effervescent morning? She turned back to the path and picked up her skirts, leaning forward to break into another run.
Her movement was arrested, however, by Mr. Darcy's hand on her elbow. She spun in surprise then found herself laughing at his dour expression.
"Miss Beatty, this is a public park, you know," he said quietly and far more gravely than Lizzy thought the situation merited. "It would not do to draw unwanted attention."
"Yes, it is a public park, sir, but it is barely late enough in the morning for the milkmaids to be about their business, let alone anyone likely to recognize either of us. And besides, it is a lovely morning, the loveliest I have seen in weeks and weeks! Am I not allowed to enjoy it fully for just a few moments?"
"It is not so early as that, Miss Beatty," Mr. Darcy replied, still frowning, although the intensity had diminished somewhat. "And yes, of course I wish you to enjoy it as fully as possible. I would, however, prefer you to do so a bit less flamboyantly."
"Am I embarrassing you, sir?" Lizzy asked, putting her hands on her hips defiantly. If he was unable to accept her running for a few yards in the secluded corner of an empty park, how had he expected to survive her being impertinent to someone influential at a ball or evening party had they been married?
The haughty disapproval left his face immediately, replaced by obvious confusion. "What do you mean? Why would I be embarrassed?"
"Because I was running and laughing?" she asked, her frustration disarmed by his earnest questions.
He shook his head, clearly uncertain whether to be annoyed at her or amused. "Miss Beatty, in other circumstances, you can run all you like and laugh as loudly as you wish. I rather enjoy running myself on occasion, particularly through Pemberley's woods, and as I believe I have pointed out to you in the past, there are few sounds I relish more than your laughter. This morning, I am simply concerned for your safety. I would prefer for us not to be noticed."
Lizzy hoped that the early sunlight had not yet filtered enough through the trees to reveal her red cheeks. Why must she always assume the worst of him? Had he not yet done enough to prove himself to her? Had the previous week taught her nothing?
"Ah. Forgive me for making such an assumption," she apologized humbly. She colored more deeply but pressed on, determined to keep to her other recent resolution, which was to be as honest in her communications with him as he always was with her. Of all his good qualities, most of which she had only recently noticed, she thought perhaps her favorite was the way he sought so earnestly for her pure understanding. "I am afraid that I fear embarrassing you, either by my personal circumstances or, much worse, through my behaviors. I am a country girl, just as Miss Bingley always said, and I despise the thought of justifying your deepest concerns about my suitability as a… friend."
Mr. Darcy opened his mouth to speak, looking deeply dismayed, but much agony of expression passed over his face before he was able to form words. "Miss Ben… Beatty, I have many regrets, too many to name, but one of the greatest is that in the moment in which I wished to confess my deepest respect and affection to you, instead I gave you cause to question my regard for you as well as your own value. I am endlessly sorry."
She found herself touched once again by his absolute sincerity. "You were right to fear as you did. My family, my connections, my own upbringing—everything about me makes any true connection between us rather repugnant." She smiled a little, trying to look amused. "It makes one wonder whether you were quite right in the head, sir. Perhaps we ought to hope that our adventures this past week have cured you of your madness."
Mr. Darcy stared at her feelingly, yet Lizzy was unable to interpret his expression. What had she hoped he would say? Any agreement with her sentiments would only bring her pain: "Yes, my dear, you are perfectly right. Thank Heavens my foolish inclination has faded now!" Yet she could not be hoping for a denial, for such could only lead to one conclusion: "'Twas no foolishness at all! I loved you fiercely, and I love you still, regardless of the disparity between us!" That idea caused a traitorous pang in her heart before she squelched it mercilessly.
Suddenly she could not bear awaiting his response. She spun and darted forward again. "But forgive me, sir, for nearly ruining this gorgeous day with difficult conversations! No more. I am determined to enjoy the sun as it rises."
"Please, wait, Miss Beatty," he said, hard on her heels. "I beg you to remain near me, for safety's sake."
She slowed just long enough for him to move beside her before grasping his arm loosely and hurrying on along the park's path, out from under the trees with their sparse new growth and past the beds of spring blooms. "Are there many flowerbeds around your home, sir? A fortnight ago, I would have concluded differently, but now I will admit that it is difficult for me to picture you in a home surrounded by ornamental hedges and symmetrical plantings like Rosings. Though I suppose all great houses are alike in that way."
"Many are," he replied thoughtfully, "and certainly Pemberley has some formal gardens. But much of Pemberley's great beauty comes from its cultivated wildness. There have been many generations of Darcy's, and D'Arcy's before that, but the one thing we have so far all agreed upon is that regardless of any changes we make or improvements we plan, the goal is always to make it feel as if the house, the gardens, the outbuildings, and all else had sprung up from the verdant wilderness almost spontaneously. Pemberley's splendor is neither its grandeur nor its wealth but its harmony."
Lizzy saw an opportunity then, one she had been afraid to take for days but was finally before her at a moment when she had the courage to take it. "Mr. Wickham told me once that of all the things he regretted about the past, one of the greatest was that he would never see Pemberley again. He said it was the most beautiful place on earth and the only real home he had ever had."
It took several seconds before Lizzy had the courage to look up at Mr. Darcy's face. She was unsurprised by the stony expression she discovered. Was he angry at her mention of his old friend? That would have been her first conclusion, but she brushed it aside this time and simply watched him, waiting for a signal of his honest reaction.
When he finally answered, his words were measured and cold. "If that were so, his case would indeed be a sad one."
He was angry, that was certain, but Lizzy pushed aside the assumption that he was angry at her and ask cautiously, "You think he was lying?"
"Nothing Wickham says can ever be taken as wholly truthful. There is always an angle somewhere, a shadowy spot in each statement where not all is as it seems."
Lizzy frowned, feeling her budding appreciation for the man before her warring with her formerly-staunch loyalty toward Mr. Wickham. "You often assert that Mr. Wickham is untrustworthy, sir. Might I know the cause of your belief? Perhaps there has been some misunderstanding."
"If only that were so," Mr. Darcy responded bleakly.
Lizzy waited for more words, but Mr. Darcy seemed to have gotten lost in his thoughts. "Sir?"
"Forgive me, Miss Beatty. I was attempting to decide… that is, in the moments before our abduction, I had decided to lay before you the whole of my connection to Mr. Wickham in the letter I had offered to you. Now, however, I find that my anger regarding his imposition back into my life has waned—your absolute belief in his trustworthiness is as much my fault as it is his—and I have lost interest in a long recitation that involves dredging up much unpleasantness."
"I admit, sir, to great curiosity regarding your account of your dealings with him. Would it help if I were to explain his version of the past?"
"I should like to know what he told you, yes."
"In essence, he claimed that although you were once close friends and he was much beloved of your father, you managed to keep from him the inheritance of a living that had been intended for him."
"I did."
Lizzy stopped walking again near a cluster of shrubbery, surprised into stillness. "You do not deny it? But you must have had a good reason!"
Mr. Darcy looked down at her, his aloofness replaced by an expression of wonder. "I cannot tell you how much it means to me, madam, that you believe that."
"What else could I believe, sir? As amiable and charming as Mr. Wickham is, I know beyond any doubt that you are a good man. He, I have come to realize since we last spoke of him, is not at all known to me, not really. Except, of course, for the fact that we had not been acquainted for more than a few hours before he proceeded to lampoon your character. And that although he claimed to have no desire to besmirch your reputation in society, he set about sharing his story of misfortune with the entire county as soon as you had quit it. Those are not, I think, points in his favor."
Mr. Darcy was still looking at her rather more intently than she found comfortable. She could not meet his gaze, and she could not ignore the disturbing bubbling sensation in her middle, but she did her best to appear unaffected.
Lizzy focused hard on the stones at her feet and began walking again, her forearm linked lightly around his. Perhaps he would not explain himself after all. Oh, how would she bear the questions in her mind for any longer?
"Wickham and I were friends as boys," he began abruptly. "By the time we were young men, however, we were too dissimilar to remain close, his interests tending toward too many of the vices I had been taught to avoid. He was always charming, and through those years he maintained a warm relationship with my father, but Father was not blind. He saw Wickham's dissipation, the way he wasted his education and opportunities. To the end of his life he held out hope that Wickham would see his errors and choose to lead a more sober life, but he was realistic enough to know that such hopes often failed. That was why Father's will left the living Wickham had been promised in my hands to distribute, with only the suggestion that it go to Wickham if he proved worthy of it."
"And he did not? Is he truly so bad?"
"Do you wish your community's spiritual leader to be a man who has fathered a child by at least three separate women in the congregation?"
Lizzy gasped and covered her mouth. Mr. Wickham? But he had always seemed so gentlemanly! So trustworthy and open!
"Forgive me, Miss Beatty," Mr. Darcy said, looking down at her regretfully. "I have shocked you. I have rather strong feelings on this subject, and I was reluctant to explain the truth to you for fear of offending you with more openness than is polite. I truly am better on paper."
"No, indeed," Lizzy assured him, squeezing his arm. "I am not offended, sir, only horrified that I could have been so deceived in a gentleman I considered a good, honest friend. How horrible!"
"Do you wish me to continue?"
"Please."
"Very well. Less than a year after my father's death, Wickham came to see me. He claimed to have decided to study the law and wished to give up all rights to the church living promised him. I was only too happy to oblige, though I doubted his sincerity regarding his future pursuits, and I gave him three thousand pounds in exchange. He left, and I hoped to never see him again, although I could not entirely avoid hearing of him given that we shared a limited mutual acquaintance, especially in Lambton. Needless to say, the tidings only further convinced me that I had done well to be rid of him."
"He would have been a very popular pastor, I think," Lizzy mused, her thoughts racing as she sifted back through her memories of all their interactions. "He is good at listening sincerely, and no one would have ever doubted his genuine interest in them." She paused then frowned. "At least not until his indiscretions began coming to light as time passed. I would not imagine that a man so given to vice would have been cured simply by wearing a church collar."
"Indeed not," Mr. Darcy chuckled darkly. "Did… that is to say, Miss Beatty, did he ever show an apparently-genuine interest… in you?"
"I am certain, sir," Lizzy reprimanded more sharply than she intended, "that is none of your business."
"Of course not," he said quickly. "Again, please forgive me. 'Twas only that I wished to be certain that this revelation of his character had not injured you."
"If there is any injury, it is only to my pride. I dislike being deceived, but even more, I dislike being responsible for the deception. I should have detected his duplicitousness, or at least been more cautious in granting my approbation and trust. I suppose it is just one more way in which I have allowed my surface impressions to cloud my judgment of late."
"We are all susceptible to deception when caught unawares. Do not judge yourself too harshly. You are not the first person Wickham managed to charm, and nor, unfortunately, will you be the last. But I am relieved that he did you no real harm. He already has enough unforgiveable sins for which he must answer someday."
"Unforgiveable?" Lizzy asked, surprised by the passion in his tone. "Has he injured you particularly, Mr. Welton?"
Lizzy's gaze was dancing quickly between his face and the path before them, and she wished again for someone to translate his expression. Anger? Perhaps frustration? Uncertainty?
"He found himself in desperate straits some months ago and attempted to steal something precious to me in order to pay his debts."
"No!" Lizzy cried, profoundly shocked. "You mean like a common thief? What did he try to take?"
"My sister."
Lizzy stared at him open-mouthed.
"I was away from her for some weeks, and he attempted to swoop in like a foul bird of prey and abscond with her to Gretna Green before I could stop them, his goal being her dowry. He convinced her that she was in love with him—she is young and easily persuaded. Only a trick of timing and my sister's candid nature saved her from his clutches."
He continued moving forward, and his expression remained untouched, but Lizzy could feel the fiery tension in his arm and see it in his tightened jaw.
"Forgive me," he said after a few moments, sounding slightly breathless. "There is much more to the story, but I find… that is, I am unable to continue without…" He trailed off, pressing his lips together tightly.
"You need say no more," Lizzy answered, her own chest swelling with righteous anger. "I am perfectly convinced of the man's despicable nature, and I promise that myself and my family will have as little to do with him as possible in the future, for all our sakes. But your poor sister! How my heart goes out to her! I hope her suffering has eased as time has passed, for I am certain it has not been easy for her."
"It has not," he answered tightly. Again, Lizzy might have thought he was angry, but it was not too difficult to look past his face and sense the churning emotions beneath it. "Her heart is still broken, but I think it is finally beginning to mend."
"Oh, I am so relieved. Poor girl." Lizzy hugged Mr. Darcy's arm slightly to herself. "How lucky she is to have an older brother who loves her and cares so deeply for her well-being."
He reddened slightly at her compliment, and his hand flicked as if to brush it aside. "Being as the entire episode was my fault in the first place, I believe it is quite obvious that any attempts to heal her deserve no more credit than any other fulfillment of duty."
Lizzy pursed her lips. It should not have surprised her that he carried a disproportionate burden of guilt regarding the entire matter.
"That is true," she replied gravely. "Clearly you are entirely responsible. You ought to have been a more conscientious guardian."
Mr. Darcy blinked at her, taken aback by her agreement. "Yes, I should have been."
"In fact, a truly diligent protector would have never left her on her own. She was alone, was she not?"
"She was attended by a companion, of course, although it turned out that I had been greatly deceived in her, that the woman was in fact in league with Wickham."
"Well, you ought to have at least checked the woman's references," Lizzy scoffed harshly.
"I did!" Mr. Darcy answered defensively. "Quite diligently, as a matter of fact. Everything appeared to be in order. No former employer would have known to mention her connection to Wickham, or even known of it at all."
"Ah. Then you should have told your sister about Mr. Wickham's reputation that she might be better prepared, especially the part about fathering children out of wedlock. In fact, it would have been safer if you had explained to her that she ought never to trust any gentleman who claimed to like her because he was probably only pursuing her dowry."
Mr. Darcy frowned. "I… yes, I should have warned her, or at least provided some general information regarding Wickham's duplicity… although I never imagined I would see him again. And as much as I respect your opinion generally, Miss Beatty, I am not certain it would be wise to tell a young lady that she ought never to trust any gentleman who liked her. How then could she ever form an earnest, affectionate attachment with a future suitor?"
"You make a convincing argument, sir," Lizzy replied thoughtfully. "You lead me back to the most important factor of her being deceived by Mr. Wickham: you were not there. Only your constant presence could have averted such a disaster, at least until she is of an age to make exceptionally wise decisions. That ability comes… when, exactly? Age twenty-five? Thirty? Yes, your responsibility is clearly to make certain that your sister is never without you until she is thirty."
Finally, Mr. Darcy released a low chuckle. "You are mocking me, are you not?"
"Of course not, sir," Lizzy snapped, as if offended. Then she tossed him a quick smile. "I am simply making the point that you assign yourself far too much of the blame, more than you deserve, for your sister's unfortunate experience. I would think it healthier to accept that the blame lies almost entirely with Mr. Wickham."
"I was not, perhaps, complicit in any wrong-doing, and I see that I have been unnecessarily fastidious in assigning responsibility to myself, but… well, I ought at least to have taught her to better guard her heart."
"Perhaps so. Now, I suspect, that is a lesson you will not need to teach, for she will have learned it quite well for herself, and much more effectively than your words could ever have managed. You see, sir, being not so far removed from your sister's age and circumstance, I remember quite well what it is like to feel the first throes of affection blossoming in a young girl's heart. No sense or advice would have swayed me had my early affections been recognized and returned. It was only after the object had been gone from the county for some weeks that I realized how flaccid and juvenile my longings truly were."
"You were in love once?" Mr. Darcy asked in an overly casual manner. "Might I ask with whom?"
Lizzy smirked at how simple it had been to fully distract him from his self-recriminations with her chosen topic. "I was not in love, sir, no. I felt a girlish fancy for Charlotte's younger brother, John, who had been my favorite playmate in childhood. Luckily, he went away to school just at the time my regard was becoming obvious to everyone. By the time he returned to visit at Christmas, I had practically forgotten him."
Mr. Darcy chuckled. "This is John of the knot-tying, swashbuckling, pirate games?"
"Yes," Lizzy grinned. "He is still excellent fun, even grown, and I despise his visits because while he spends his days gallivanting through the countryside hunting and exploring, I am a 'lady' now and am expected to behave as one. It is terribly vexing."
"I would imagine so."
"Did you ever have that sort of childish affinity for anyone, sir?"
"There was a pretty housemaid my fourteen-year-old self found quite arresting, but as soon as my father discovered it, we had a long discussion about the responsibilities of an estate owner as well as the consequences of entanglements we were unwilling to legitimize, and I was never truly tempted again.
"There were always pretty, flirtatious young ladies in society, but my mother was an incredible woman in my memory, intelligent, kind, unpretentious, and eminently capable, and my parents' relationship was so affectionate and equal that I had never found a lady I considered the similar kind of match that I sought for myself." He looked up from his absent study of the path before them and met Lizzy's gaze. "Never until seven months ago, in a little town in Hertfordshire."
The swoop in Lizzy's insides stole her breath, and she knew she was blushing violently, but somehow she was unable to look away from him. It took all her effort simply to keep her feet moving forward, for every other bit of her attention was focused on her reaction.
There was no longer any confusion, no revulsion or anger. All she felt was that now-familiar warmth in her chest coupled with relieved jubilation. Her delight was so stark, so new and shining, that she could only fall back on her old habits of distraction.
"Sir," Lizzy smirked, "I knew you admired my sister Mary from afar, but I am truly astonished that you would afford her such accolades after knowing her so little!"
Mr. Darcy watched her uncertainly for a moment before a small smile began lifting one side of his mouth. "How did you so easily discover the object of my affections? I thought I had been so discreet."
"I am a very experienced observer, sir, and thankfully, my assumptions regarding others' characters, motivations, and intentions are never incorrect."
"You are remarkably astute."
They walked on, approaching the narrow gated entrance to the small park. Lizzy was gazing straight ahead and trying to appear bland, but she could not contain a bewildered smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Mr. Darcy's expression was quite similar to her own.
"Miss Beatty..." He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "Elizabeth. I cannot…"
"Well, well," said a tenor voice from the shadow of a narrow alley they were passing, "what have we here? An early morning rendezvous, Miss Beatty? With your dear cousin's new tenant, of all people. My, you are a quick study, aren't you?"
Lizzy spun sharply toward the voice, her hand clamping down on Mr. Darcy's arm. "Mr. Tanner!"
"What are you doing here, Tanner?" Mr. Darcy growled. 'We made it quite clear that you were to meet us at The Blue Hound from now on."
Mr. Roland Tanner, looking relatively disheveled with red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks, waved his words away dismissively. "I am doing a favor for you, sir, but I am not your servant, and you cannot order me about. I shall do as I like."
"I am paying you very handsomely for this favor," Mr. Darcy retorted, "but only if you keep your end of our bargain, one element of which required you to remain entirely away from your father's house."
"And so I am!" Mr. Tanner laughed, motioning toward the Tanner's home, which could just be glimpsed at the far end of the block. "But I will admit, I had hoped to catch you this morning on your way out, as I have had some success overnight in the endeavor we discussed. I thought you may not want to wait until this afternoon to hear of it."
Mr. Darcy eyed Mr. Tanner dangerously, but he finally nodded. "Very well. Allow me to escort Miss Beatty home, and I will meet you back here to talk."
"You needn't trouble yourself, Mr. Welton," Lizzy said, trying to appear confused and empty-headed. "I can easily walk back on my own. 'Tis just down the street."
"I insist," Mr. Darcy returned gravely. He pulled her away without allowing her time for any further acknowledgment of Mr. Tanner's presence than a wave. The man returned the gesture with a bow and an openly lascivious glance that made Lizzy feel as if spiders were climbing her limbs.
"Honestly," she said and Mr. Darcy hurried her across the street, nearly dragging her, "I can walk myself home."
"I am not truly comfortable leaving you alone anywhere, let alone sending you down a quiet, early morning street where men such as Roland Tanner can lurk in alleyways. But even were it not for that, I would prefer to return home because I intend to retrieve Old Tanner and Jacob to return with me. I do not trust that man not to attempt something nefarious if I am alone with him."
"You've no idea how relieved I am to hear you thinking about your own safety," Lizzy replied, hugging his arm against her. "By all means, take as many reinforcements as you can."
One corner of Mr. Darcy's mouth quirked up. "Would you appreciate knowing that the only reason I am showing any concern for myself is because my being robbed or incapacitated would render me significantly less able to aid you? Or shall I keep that thought to myself?"
They were making their way up the Tanner's back stairs just then, but Lizzy jerked him to a stop and climbed another stair before turning to face him, assuring that she could meet his eye with as much force as possible. "Your sense of humor is hopelessly lacking, sir, if you believe I could find the idea of your being endangered for my sake even remotely funny."
"There is some humor in the predictability of your reaction."
She stabbed his chest with her pointed finger, looking as fierce as she possibly could. "Promise me that in any further conversation or negotiation with that man or any other, you will be as protective of your own safety as you are of mine."
"I can make no such promise. For the reasons we have discussed already, guarding you from all this is my paramount objective, far above the importance of my own protection."
"How would I live with myself if you were to come to some great harm for my sake?"
"More easily than I could live with myself if I had not done everything I could to safeguard you."
They stood on the stairs glaring at each other for barely five seconds before Lizzy found her eyes fixed much more intently on his mouth than they ought to be. The teasing smirk he wore suited him surprisingly well, as did the twinkle in his eye, and she felt a sudden and intense burst of warmth inside her as she pictured herself leaning the short distance between them and pressing her mouth against his. Oh, how she wanted to kiss him again, this stubborn, frustrating, confusing, wonderful man!
It was only the surprise of that thought and the embarrassment riding hard on its heels that drew her back. Her humiliation increased when she realized that, having never removed her finger from its threatening placement against his chest, her hand had moved down and hooked itself onto the edge of his waistcoat, poised as if to pull him forward. She released him instantly, clasping her hands together primly.
"I… I…" She stumbled over her words, trying to recall their argument with clarity. "Please, at least promise me you will be exceptionally careful."
She was unable to raise her eyes to his, but she saw that he swallowed hard before answering gruffly, "Of course. On my honor, I shall be cautious." Then she saw his mouth quirk up again mischievously before he added, "For your sake."
Lizzy threw her hands in the air and spun away, stomping up the final stairs and bursting in through the kitchen door, much to the Tanner's surprise. Mr. Darcy followed her with a quiet, self-satisfied chuckle. It was not until he had explained his need for both the Mr. Tanners' presence and the two men were rising from their nearly-finished breakfasts that Lizzy was able to turn from hanging the coat Mrs. Tanner had allowed her to borrow and face the group with equanimity.
She found herself glaring at Mr. Darcy again, however, as Mrs. Tanner reminded them to "Be careful, please!"
He crossed the room to Lizzy as the men were donning their outerwear. He reached for her hand and bowed over it formally before kissing it. "It is no wonder, Olivia, that you take such pleasure in teasing me, although I suspect that my reactions are rarely as charming as yours was just now."
She blushed a little, but the gentleness of his manner allowed her to smile. "Just because they are quieter does not mean they are not equally worthwhile. The way you redden and stammer when I offer you a sincere compliment is particularly enjoyable."
"I do not think that counts as teasing," he answered uncomfortably.
"It does if I am doing it especially to provoke you into an entertaining reaction."
He grimaced at her and was about to speak again when Jacob said from the doorway, "We are ready to leave whenever the two of you have finished flirting, Mr. Welton."
Mr. Darcy dropped her hand as if it were made of ice and spun away, his Master of Pemberley mask in place despite his reddened ears. He led the men out the door without a backward glance. The Tanner men followed him, both chuckling. Mrs. Tanner was laughing as well, despite Lizzy glaring at her meaningfully.
"I hope he stole a kiss or two this morning," Mrs. Tanner said as she brought a full plate to the table and motioned for Lizzy to sit in front of it.
"Laura!" Lizzy gasped, blushing all the way to the tips of her hair. "How very shocking!"
"So he's not yet managed it?" Mrs. Tanner giggled.
"Kissing is barely tolerated, Laura, even during an engagement," Lizzy chided as she sat, "and even then it is strongly discouraged. It is simply not done. And besides, I have no assurance that he has any interest in such an activity anyway."
"How very ridiculous you gentlefolk are," Mrs. Tanner said, shaking her head as if sorry for Lizzy. "How are two people to know if they should like to lay together as husband and wife if they've never even stolen a kiss?"
Lizzy opened her mouth to protest further shock, but no sound escaped. After a moment, during which she imagined no appropriate answer, she closed it again instead and tucked into her eggs and porridge.
"And as for your concern about his interest in 'such an activity,'" Mrs. Tanner went on, "I believe I can assure you that it is only his sense of gentlemanly honor, as well as his doubts about your feelings toward him, that prevents him from attempting such an enjoyable theft."
"How could you possibly know such a thing?" Lizzy asked, equal parts scandalized and delighted.
"Because while you are busy blushing and averting your eyes when the two of you accidentally brush hands when passing the milk pitcher at breakfast or when you prepare his afternoon tea just the way he likes it without him having to ask, I am watching the open longing on his face, the way his eyes catch and hold you as if he would rather die than look away."
There were footsteps on the stairs outside and low voices.
"I wish I could be certain you are correct," Lizzy whispered hurriedly. "I am so wretchedly confused."
"I believe that you will not ever be confident of his feelings for you," Mrs. Tanner advised, her eyes on the door, "until you are confident enough of your own feelings to show them to him."
Lizzy held her hands up to her cheeks, which she could already feel burning. "It has all just happened so fast! A week ago, I despised him, but now… oh, I do not know!"
But she did know, in a way. His words that morning, his flirtation, had brought her nothing but pleasure. It was obvious that she liked him more than she had wanted to admit, that she cared more for him than she had realized, but how deep did the feelings run?
The gentlemen entered, speaking in low voices, but Mr. Darcy's eyes immediately fell on Lizzy, and he broke off mid-sentence. "Olivia, are you unwell?"
Lizzy could not understand his question until she realized that her hands were still pressed against her face. "Oh!" she cried, straightening in her seat. "No, I am perfectly well. I am only… we were just…" She swallowed hard. "What did Mr. Roland Tanner have to say?"
Old Mr. Tanner answered grimly. "He has come across some information in a tavern down in Whitechapel. Word is traveling through the London underground of a gentleman willing to pay a large reward to anyone who sights a tall, fine gentleman and dark-haired lady attempting to blend into a working-class neighborhood, possibly as brother and sister or a married couple. No names were mentioned, at least not in Whitechapel, but there is a location named for the collecting of such information, a seedy pleasure house Roland knows near Covent Garden."
Lizzy felt winded by the news. "They needn't necessarily mean us."
"Possibly not, but it would be quite coincidental," Mr. Darcy replied, his expression heavy. He crossed the room and dropped onto the bench across the table from Lizzy. "In any case, it is the only lead we have at this moment regarding Smythe's influence in London. Therefore, Roland is going to find himself in need of companionship in Covent Garden tonight and see what more he can learn for us."
Lizzy nodded, relieved that Mr. Darcy had not said he would be going himself. "Is there still no word from Kent?"
"None."
"What else can be done then?" she asked. "We must simply wait until tomorrow."
"Indeed."
"And you must be even more careful about going out," she advised Mr. Darcy seriously. "If our descriptions are circulating, our names and faces may be known also. And no matter whether you wear a solicitor's coat or not," she said, gesturing toward his ready-made suit, "it would be difficult to mistake you for anything but a 'tall, fine gentleman.' Perhaps you should begin bending with a pronounced hunch and leaning on a cane as you walk."
Mr. Darcy watched her expressionlessly for a moment before finally revealing a small smile. "It is an idea I shall consider."
"I am worried," young Mr. Tanner said, leaning against the mantle and staring into the fire. "Father seemed to be enjoying himself rather more than he ought to be regarding all of this. Certainly, he will be filling his purse if his information is discovered to be helpful, but I do not believe that accounts for all of his good cheer."
"He was drunk," old Mr. Tanner harrumphed. "It is difficult to trust any man so deep into his cups."
"Father was sober for very little of my life," the grandson answered. "He is usually a rather morose drunk. And a violent one." He glanced toward his wife, and an expression of pain flashed across his face, no doubt as he remembered the moment the previous evening when he had discovered the finger-shaped bruises on her arm. Lizzy had feared, as she had watched him, that the poor young man would combust from sheer rage.
"I agree that we cannot trust him," Mr. Darcy said, "but there is still no better option. An entire week has passed since we were removed from Kent. Miss Beatty's family is certain to be wondering why they have heard nothing from her in all that time, and they are expecting her to be returning to her relations in London in three days. Any possibility of not raising an alarm will end at that time. We must learn as much as we can about Lord Smythe's operation before then because if he is unlikely to make another attempt on her, we could return her home with no one the wiser."
"You must be missing your family very much," Mrs. Tanner said sympathetically.
"My father, yes, and my elder sister. And the others, too, I suppose," Lizzy said thoughtfully. Honestly, she had not had much time to think about them, having kept herself quite busy with Mrs. Tanner and her worries over Mr. Darcy and Lord Smythe's men. "And I fear the friend from whom we were abducted must be suffering acutely. I should like to be able to reassure her."
"Very well then," old Mr. Tanner sighed. "We will simply wait to speak to Roland tomorrow."
Young Mr. Tanner still looked upset, but he attempted to shrug it away and prepare himself to leave for the day.
"All will be well," Lizzy said to Mr. Darcy across the table, holding out her hand. She had meant it to sound reassuring, but it came out more like a question.
"All will be well," he agreed, covering her hand with his own.
Moving yet again through the common room of The Blue Hound, Fitzwilliam had to bite back a groan. How he had come to despise this place in such a short amount of time! Even upon entering last night, it had only given him a vague sense of disquiet, but this evening he felt a violent dislike as the mistress of the inn nodded to him from behind the bar, handed him a tankard of ale, and opened the locked side door, all without uttering a word.
Of course, that likely had to do with the person he knew would shortly be appearing in the back room, dressed in yet another one of Miss Bennet's altered gowns.
Fitzwilliam scanned the room quickly as he entered, surprised to see only five or six others besides Simon Monsdale, Smythe's agent. Fitzwilliam was earlier tonight than he had been on his two previous visits, but he had not expected to arrive before so many. The conversation was quiet and apprehensive, the others obviously spending as much energy eyeing their opponents as they did pretending to be polite and friendly acquaintances. He wondered how these gamblers met in society, what level of association they allowed between one another in public.
Monsdale was seated at the end of the table, as usual, and writing out the official recording document he always used to track the bets, the debts, the winners, and the losers of each evening. He was barely listening to the excited chatter of the woman beside him, the wanton-eyed woman Fitzwilliam had noticed on both other occasions. She was doing her best to draw the agent's attention with both her conversation and her physical charms, but Monsdale seemed to find her more irritating than engaging. It was possible that she was interested in him, but the desperate light in her eye implied that she was simply attempting to talk herself out of a debt, or offer some payment other than money in which Monsdale had little interest.
As disgusting as the entire enterprise was, at least, according to Mrs. Collins, Monsdale was scrupulously honest about the exchanging of money and I.O.U.'s. He wrote down every transaction, kept careful tally of credit given, and only asked for the previously agreed-upon fifteen-percent interest on top of the original amount borrowed. He was regularly offered payment in other forms, particularly female company, but he never accepted anything but money or goods of obvious value. He prized this job too highly and even had some vague guiding sense of fairness about the enterprise.
Monsdale looked up at Fitzwilliam's entrance, offered a genial nod, and returned to his document. Fitzwilliam decided to take the opportunity to greet some of the others he had come to recognize. It occurred to him suddenly that he was very lucky none of those in Rosings' direct neighborhood patronized this establishment, especially those he had visited recently. If they had, he would have been recognized immediately. He wondered whether these were all gentry from nearer Coxton, but if so, how had Lady Catherine come to hear of this game originally?
Monsdale had just announced the opening game of the night, Vingt-et-un, when the back door opened with a squeak and a form slipped into the shadows. Monsdale glanced back for a moment, then turned back and finished his business with a slightly hurried air. The game began, Fitzwilliam as only a spectator for the first round, and Monsdale moved swiftly across the room, greeting Mrs. Collins with a rough kiss. Fitzwilliam kept his back to the couple, hoping those near him could not hear the grinding of his teeth.
It was several minutes before Monsdale returned to the table, Mrs. Collins once again perched on his knee. They were both pink cheeked and a bit breathless, a sight that made Fitzwilliam's blood boil far more hotly than was healthy for only the beginning of this evening. How would he bear it?
The fact that she was present at all went against everything he had declared the previous night, but after spending the entire morning and most of the afternoon surreptitiously searching through Lady Catherine's documents and records, even the private accounts he had discovered stowed in a hidden drawer of her desk, he had found no evidence whatsoever of anything besides general mismanagement. Still, even according to her personal records, the only large expense not obviously connected to the running of the estate was the regular payment made to Doctor Spencer for Anne's medicines.
Finally, in the early evening, he had returned to Hunsford defeated. He knew of no more reliable way to get information from Monsdale than through his association with Mrs. Collins, and given the urgency of the situation, he had been forced to admit that he needed her help. To her credit, she had not crowed over him. She had simply nodded with determination and promised to arrive at her usual time, around nine o'clock.
Now, as he watched the man's hands crawling all over her, his lips pressed against her collarbone, Fitzwilliam realized what a fool he had been. It was one thing to put a lady in a difficult circumstance for the purpose of rescuing friends—it was another to risk the reputation, wellbeing, and morality of the woman he loved for any reason, no matter how worthwhile it seemed.
And yes, he did love her, even if she could never be his. He realized it as more than raging jealousy swept through him at the sight of her in another man's arms. He was not simply envious of her attentions—he admired her courage, and he respected her enough to trust her even in this untenable situation. His love for her was true and far more real than it had any right to be.
It required all of his army training to keep his countenance light and his focus on the game, to push aside his emotions and behave calmly. He would not ruin her assistance by playing the jealous lover. Indeed, she was doing a remarkable job of ignoring him completely, and the least he could do was return the favor.
However, after only an hour or so of rotating in and out at the table, his resolve to leave Mrs. Collins to her version of information-gathering was crumbling. Her efforts had begun with apparent success—the two of them had been whispering together since nearly the moment of her arrival—but already Monsdale had almost entirely lost interest in talking, and Fitzwilliam highly doubted that it would be possible to regain it. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Mrs. Collins again speak low into his ear, but Monsdale merely grunted and returned to sliding his hand up under her skirt.
The only way she would get him talking again, Fitzwilliam feared, would be after his physical desires had been sated, and although she had claimed that she would never allow him any real liberties, Fitzwilliam was there to enforce her resolution just in case.
All at once, Mrs. Collins seemed to come to the same conclusion, for he suddenly found her staring at him, her eyes wide and full of anxiety. Yes, he needed to extricate her somehow, but they had neither of them thought to agree upon a method. How could she remove herself without raising suspicion?
Before Fitzwilliam had time to settle upon any solution, the back door of the dim room crashed open and a small figure wearing a fur-lined, hooded cloak darted inside before slamming the door closed with equal force. "Simon!" she laughed, drawing the attention of any in the room who were not already staring at her. "How good it is to be back!"
She threw back her hood and flounced toward the table. Her fair hair was pulled into a haphazard style that poorly matched her overly-fine silk gown. Her smile was wide, but it began to dim as she looked around, apparently surprised at the lack of warm greetings from those gathered, most of whom were staring at her with either confusion or dislike.
"Anne," Simon said unenthusiastically. "What could you possibly be doing here?"
It was not until Monsdale spoke her name that Fitzwilliam was able to thaw from the shock her entrance had occasioned and duck his head. He was seated across the table from Monsdale and could only hope that she would not make an earnest search of the faces in the room. What was his cousin doing here?
And honestly, how was she here at all? It was no surprise that he had barely recognized the drab, lifeless creature he knew as his relation in this vivacious, outlandish young woman who was glowing with health and energy.
"Oh, do not be such an old fuss, Simon. You are glad to see me, even if you refuse to acknowledge it. This table is always less exciting without me."
"Your version of excitement grew tiresome, Anne, if you will recall," Simon sighed. "You know you are not welcome here until your debt is paid."
"Oh, I shall take care of all that," Anne answered with a careless wave of her hand. Then she offered a pouty frown that Fitzwilliam had seen other young women employ with far more success than she managed. "Has Francis not arrived yet?"
"Parkinson?" Simon asked, his hand running absently along Mrs. Collins forearm. "He left for Dover a week ago."
"No. He has returned. He is to come for me tonight."
"For what purpose?"
She smiled then, looking dreamy and swaying back and forth to an imaginary melody. "We are to run away together to Gretna Green. I am free of this dreadful place, and I am never coming back!"
Fitzwilliam exchanged a look with Mrs. Collins. Who was this girl he ought to know, and what was going on?
Monsdale stood then, gently sliding Mrs. Collins down onto his chair and kissing her neck once more with a resigned sigh before turning to face Anne. "I cannot allow you to leave the country, Anne, not until your debts to Lord Smythe are paid. And in case you think I cannot keep you here by myself, I believe that Mr. Wellington, Mr. Teller, and Mrs. Hyde, among others, will be most willing to help me, given that your personal debts to them are also quite excessive."
Fitzwilliam watched in shock as the older man, one of the very first ones who had spoken to him, cracked his knuckles and rose to his feet, flanked by several others. "We care not who you are, Miss de Bourgh. You owe us money, and we will collect before you disappear."
Anne remained undaunted. "Oh, pish-tosh all of you! I have your money, I do. You will all be paid in full before I leave. But I will not pay anyone until Francis arrives, so how about one more game for old times' sake?"
No one moved to allow her room, not even when she offered another pouty frown. "No one will play with me? I thought you were my friends!" She looked desperately around the table, staring pleadingly at each face. It was too late to hide by the time Fitzwilliam realized how dangerous her action might be for him.
Anne's pale eyes went perfectly round with shock when her gaze landed on him. "Cousin?"
Fitzwilliam stood from the table and stepped back, sweeping her a low bow. "Anne. You are looking remarkably healthy this evening."
She paled, but her expression of concern shifted to determination. "You shall not ruin this for me, Richard. What are you doing here?"
"Enjoying an evening out."
She snorted indelicately. "Hardly. I suppose Mr. Collins revealed this little secret after our cousin disappeared. All these months Collins has kept my confidence, and now he reveals it, when I am so close to my freedom. I should never have trusted him! Is this why you have been sneaking through the house these past few days? You are here trying to gather information to help you find our cousin!"
Monsdale had turned on Fitzwilliam now and was watching him warily. "You said your name was Barker, that you hailed from the north and were an old friend of Lord Smythe's."
"Ha!" Anne giggled. "He is my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam! He believes he is a great military strategist and terribly observant, but he has never even suspected the game I have been playing all these years!"
"How long have you been well?" Fitzwilliam asked gravely.
"Years. At least since I was thirteen or fourteen and old enough to begin wanting to escape badly enough to find my way outdoors. To think—all that time everyone thought me so ill, and all I really needed was a chance to stretch my legs! I tried to convince mother at first, but she was so determined that I was a sickly child that she would not see reason, so I gave up. Instead I continued appearing as sickly as possible when at home and began adventuring on the grounds while I was supposed to be resting."
"But your doctors… Mrs. Jenkinson…"
"They are paid very handsomely for their silence."
Fitzwilliam thought of the obscene amounts of money being paid for Doctor Spencer's medicines and wondered how much went to him and how much went to Mrs. Jenkinson, the one who always received and administered the tonics.
"But why? Why all the deception?"
She shrugged like a careless child. "Because it was fun. How I would laugh each day when I escaped into the forest and ran about like a heathen! And how I crowed the day I met a man in the wood, a nice man who told me I was beautiful and kissed me and invited me here where I could finally greet the world."
"This is Francis?"
"Oh, no. That was years ago. I have been playing cards here several evenings a week for over six years. Until a few months ago, that is," she said, making a rude gesture toward Monsdale, "when I had a run of bad luck and was banned until my debts were paid. Before I had always made up the amounts by selling my jewelry—as if Mother would have ever let me wear it anywhere that mattered! That was when Francis and I began planning."
"Planning what?" Monsdale asked, uncertain whether he ought to be monitoring Anne more closely or Fitzwilliam. His hand was hovering over the sword on his belt.
"Oh, 'tis all so devious! I am prodigiously proud of myself, I must admit." Then she attempted a contrite frown, although her twinkling eyes made it rather unbelievable. "I truly never meant for our cousin to get himself abducted, but really, I cannot feel too bad given that he was off visiting Mr. Collins' tart of a relation at the time."
"What should you care for his behaviors, considering your own!"
"Well, it all would have worked out much better had he simply given in to Mother's hounding and married me. He would have had to take care of all my debts, and then Francis and I were planning to run away together as soon after the wedding as I could manage to collect enough funds. I was quite determined to catch him this year, but he was entirely distracted through this visit, and we had to use mother's money instead."
"What do you mean, use Lady Catherine's money? Have you stolen from her?"
"How can I steal what will legitimately be mine eventually?" Anne asked, all injured innocence. "I simply told Mother that the debt I owed to Lord Smythe was slightly larger than the actual amount, and now Francis and I will have enough to begin our life together comfortably."
Fitzwilliam turned to Monsdale. "How much does Anne owe to your master?"
"Twenty-thousand pounds, plus another five thousand in debts to others at the table."
Fitzwilliam glared at Anne in accusation. "You told Lady Catherine that your debt was ninety-thousand pounds."
Monsdale released an impressed guffaw, as did a few others. Anne grinned mischievously. "Well, Francis and I are determined to be quite comfortable together."
"But how did you get it?" Fitzwilliam asked, deeply horrified.
"It was not so difficult. As soon as our cousin was taken, Mother became aware of much of the truth about my life these past years, and she took it into her head that if she could just clear this debt and get him back, that she would force him to marry me at once, which would hopefully balance out Rosings' coffers and return me to my senses. So she contacted a rather unscrupulous man of business who has helped her mortgage all of Rosings to gather the sum. Why did you imagine she has been unavailable all week for you to question?"
There were a few gasps around the table, but none to rival Fitzwilliam's disgusted groan. "You would ruin your own mother just for the sake of your own comfort?"
"Of course not!" Anne protested, trying to look shocked. Then her grin returned. "This is revenge, Richard. She has made my life a nightmare. The only daughter she wanted was a docile, sickly one who would never stand up for herself, who would never argue or attempt to make her own decisions. So she got what she wanted—I played the role for twenty-five years. And now it is my turn, and she can be the one with nothing."
Fitzwilliam stared at her for several seconds, his mouth agape. He was shocked and horrified, but at the same time, he was a little sympathetic to her situation. Still, to have stolen such an unimaginable amount, and from her own mother!
"You must return the money, Anne," Fitzwilliam finally said, shaking his head. "What you have done is terribly wrong."
"And keeping captive one's own daughter for over two decades is not?"
"Repaying one evil with another will bring good to no one."
"Ha!" she laughed again, her face flushed and her eyes so wide as to appear half-crazed. "I believe you are most incorrect, Richard. It will bring great happiness to Francis and myself!"
"I cannot let you use that money in such a way, Anne. Return the money to Lady Catherine."
Fitzwilliam heard the unmistakable tang of a sword being drawn from a scabbard, and his own was drawn instantly, hovering in the air toward Monsdale, whose own sword was out now but pointed to the ground. The group around the table backed away. A few more had entered through the previous hour, so although four of them disappeared through the side door into the inn's common room, three gentlemen and two ladies remained.
"I will not argue about what happens to the rest of the money," Monsdale said soothingly, despite the weapon in his hand, "but Anne's debts to Lord Smythe must be paid. Your cousin was the gentleman removed from Mr. Collins's house? He will not be returned until the debt is cleared. Lord Smythe is quite a capable jailor."
Fitzwilliam considered pointing out that Lord Smythe's jailing was not as proficient as he thought, but instead he replied, "The money ought to be returned and the mortgage paid off on the property. Other, less valuable properties can be sold to recover twenty-thousand pounds, if given a few weeks."
"Lady Catherine can take care of that after those in this room get the money owed to them."
"They can wait. The bankruptcy of a property such as Rosings would harm the entire surrounding county." Fitzwilliam addressed the group on the far side of the room, hoping to appeal to their good sense, but he somehow doubted this particular collection of gentry would be patient when the prospect of being paid soon was dangled before them like a carrot.
He was right. "If she can pay us tonight," one of the women said, "she ought to do so."
"We'll not allow her to leave until she has!" a man agreed.
Fitzwilliam swung his sword toward them, and they stepped back further, but then Monsdale shifted closer, holding his weapon more threateningly. "Men to whom money is owed are not easily intimidated, Colonel. You cannot incapacitate all of us."
Fitzwilliam smirked. "Actually, I believe I could. I would rather not, but I will if it is required to return what is rightfully my aunt's property. Do not doubt my determination."
Suddenly the side door swung open, and a young man rushed into the room. He paused at the sight of the drawn swords then staggered against the wall under the weight of Anne flying into his arms.
"Francis! My darling!"
She tried to kiss him, but he pulled her back behind him, facing the men with weapons. "What is going on here, Monsdale?"
"This is Lady Catherine's nephew, who has just been informed of your and Anne's plot to defraud the unsuspecting old woman. Sixty-five-thousand pounds extra is rather overly ambitious, Parkinson."
Parkinson's face had shifted from surprise into alarm as Fitzwilliam had adjusted his stance to threaten both men while still keeping the group from the table in his view. "Sixty-five-thousand, Anne?"
She shrugged, looking entirely unconcerned. "I told her the debt was even larger than we planned, and she believed me! Who was I to say nay to such an amount?" She swung her arms behind her back under her cloak and after a moment's struggle, swung a shoulder bag into view. She rifled through a stack of notes just visible under the flap and, after counting and adjusting, tugged out a small handful. "Here, Simon. There is an order for twenty-thousand for Lord Smythe, and here are some smaller notes for the others, a few thousands and five-thousands. I trust you to hand it out fairly." She skipped across and pressed the haphazard stack of papers into his hand.
Then she skipped back to Parkinson and flung her arms around his waist. "Now let us go. I am ready to begin our life together, Francis."
"Not so fast," Fitzwilliam said, his attention drawn again to the group at the far side who were inching slowly closer to Anne and, he assumed, her bag full of banknotes. He swung his sword toward them. "No one move. That money belongs to no one here. It is Lady Catherine's, and it is in everyone's best interest to return it to her."
His words meant little—he could see the gleam of avarice in too many eyes. Even Monsdale was eyeing the bag speculatively. What a little fool Anne was! Had she truly imagined that such a group as this would have happily let her go on her way carrying such a sum? And what if she were robbed along the road? Or at an inn?
Perhaps it would serve her right to let these vultures accost her, but he kept thinking of pathetic Lady Catherine, of how heartbroken she would be over this deception, and as much as he had never really liked her, he did not believe she deserved to be so completely ruined.
One of the group against the wall began inching his way toward them, bouncing an empty candlestick against his palm like a truncheon. He was flanked by both others, one of whom slid a sword from his belt. The other drew a knife from his boot.
The lead man held his empty hand out innocently, but his eyes were fastened to Anne's bag. "Now think, Colonel. She may be your aunt, but we all know Lady Catherine has no care for anyone besides herself. If we take that bag from this foolish child, we could split all those notes equally. There are only eight of us in this room besides her and Parkinson. Just think—that's seven or eight thousand pounds each!"
"Stay back, fools, or face our blades." Fitzwilliam stepped beside Parkinson and tapped the hilt of the young man's sword, which was still hanging in his scabbard. Parkinson looked surprised to see it there. He drew it, and he and Fitzwilliam faced outward.
Anne stepped out around them, holding out pleading hands and looking terribly injured. "But my friends, I have repaid my debts! How could you consider taking what is rightfully mine? I have never… Oh!"
Mrs. Collins darted from where she had been standing behind Monsdale and rushed Anne back behind Fitzwilliam and Parkinson. "You had best remain quiet," Fitzwilliam heard her say in a harsh whisper. "You have already caused enough trouble."
"Unhand me!" Anne demanded. "I am certain my friends will listen to reason!"
"Yes, Anne!" The lead man said, sneering. "Come on out and face us as friends. We are all feeling quite reasonable."
The cackle he added at the end seemed to convince Anne to remain happily in Mrs. Collins' grasp.
"I suppose," Monsdale said dryly, "it would be bad for business if a young lady, even a stupid one, were to be assaulted and robbed around one of Lord Smythe's tables." He sauntered over and stepped into the circle with Fitzwilliam and Parkinson, raising his blade outward. "Lord Smythe would find out and never allow me to keep the money anyway." He winked at Mrs. Collins, who giggled inanely and blew him a kiss.
With one hand holding his blade, Monsdale used the other to begin sorting notes onto the table beside him. As he did so, he spoke in a conversational tone, "The same will hold true for you, Parkinson. If you use Smythe's business to steal unjustified from anyone, even your future mother-in-law, he will not be forgiving. There will be no corner of England where you shall be safe."
"That's why I've spent the last week securing us passage to America after we marry," Parkinson replied gravely.
"America is a new world," Anne squeaked, trying to sound cheerful despite the circumstances. "We shall be safe there, and quite rich."
Fitzwilliam glanced quickly over Parkinson's face, trying to find any symptoms of passion or affection in his face, but none were in evidence. Did this stern-looking young man truly wish to marry Anne and run away with her, or was he just another thief, planning to marry her for her money, or to run off with it and abandon her?
"Now," Monsdale said loudly to the men still inching warily toward them, "here I have laid out for you the monies I know Anne owes to each of you. I have kept a careful accounting of each debt as you have reported them to me, so do not attempt to convince me she owes you more. I am now placing into my pocket Lord Smythe's twenty-thousand pounds." He followed his words with action, stuffing a single note into his breast pocket. "Anyone who tries to take it from me will feel Lord Smythe's anger, and I do not think anyone here doubts his willingness to regain his funds in whatever way he deems necessary. Do not test him."
The men and women moved to the table, and Monsdale pointed each one to a short stack of notes. The bills were quickly counted and secreted away. Just as quickly, Fitzwilliam motioned them back with his sword.
The two groups in the room, each containing three men and two women, stood staring at one another, uncertain what would happen next.
"You are one of the men who assaulted me on the street in Dover," Parkinson muttered to him, his eyes on the others.
Fitzwilliam was taken aback—that was why the young man's face had seemed familiar—but he attempted not to show it. "You were attempting to re-abduct a friend of mine at the time."
"Just doing my job. We would not have harmed her—Smythe never would have allowed it, and nor will Reg. You are Anne's cousin, the colonel?"
"I am. Are you certain you know what you are doing, absconding with her? She is rich, but…"
"She has lived a difficult life," he said quietly, a tenderness to his tone. "She can be childish and vengeful. Sixty-five-thousand pounds! But she can also be quite sweet and earnest—she is so determined to enjoy every moment of her life to the fullest. And she is carrying my child. I will take the best care of her I can manage."
Fitzwilliam prided himself on his discernment, and although he had been quite deceived in Anne, he was certain it was because he had never taken the trouble to pay her the slightest bit of attention, a reality over which he suddenly felt significant regret. How miserable must she have been to have come to this place, to these people, as her solace? In this instance, however, he believed what Parkinson claimed. He was sincere, and he would not abandon Anne.
Could Fitzwilliam let Anne leave with all that money? But could he manage to get himself and Mrs. Collins out of the room along with them, without being followed, and then forcibly take the money? He could not imagine all of that running smoothly.
A ninety-thousand pound loss. He suddenly wished he had paid more attention to Darcy's conversations with Mr. Nelson about the state of Rosings' finances. True, he had been scanning the accounts for the past several days, but he had not been looking for total incomes and outlays, and he had found no recent references to conversations with bankers over mortgaging the estate. Would Rosings be able to survive such a forfeiture?
"I am going to attack them," he whispered tightly to Parkinson. "Monsdale and I will keep them busy while you and Anne run. I know not how long we can hold them—do you have a quick means of escape?"
"My horse is tethered out front, and I brought one for Anne as well. We shall be away quickly."
"Very well."
"Colonel," Parkinson said quickly, "I will offer you something in return for your assistance. Your other cousin, Mr. Darcy, is in trouble."
"He is safe enough. He has not been discovered since their successful escape."
Parkinson shook his head. "He only thinks he is safe. There is a man who knows where he and Miss Bennet are hiding. The man brought information to Reg in Whitechapel this morning just before I left. I did not hear their negotiations or their specific plans, but I am fairly certain they intend to move first thing tomorrow morning."
Fitzwilliam cursed. "I must get word to them. If this is true, I am in your debt."
"No. 'Tis the least I can do, despite the beating in Dover."
Fitzwilliam nodded, his mind already flying ahead. He was so distracted with considerations of yet another night-ride, this time with only the mare he had borrowed from Lady Catherine's stables, that he missed the signs of the man nearest him preparing to lunge. He only barely parried the stroke, nearly backing into Anne and Mrs. Collins.
With that movement, chaos took over the room. Swords clanged, women screamed, voices yelled from the inn's common room, and Fitzwilliam could focus on little besides protecting himself, preventing the movements of the other armed men, and providing a narrow path for Parkinson and Anne to make their way to the door.
The man with the sword, the younger gentleman he had met his first night here, lunged again toward Fitzwilliam as the others launched themselves at Parkinson and Monsdale. Neither of his allies seemed as familiar with his blade as he ought to be, so Fitzwilliam was unsurprised when he noticed Monsdale stagger back, the candlestick having left a bleeding gash on his cheek, and Parkinson release a yelp as he barely managed to avoid the short dagger, despite his much longer blade. Fitzwilliam easily incapacitated his attacker, leaving him a slice on his forearm deep enough to make the unprepared fellow back away whimpering, and stepped in front of Parkinson, hissing, "Go."
It was only a matter of a few more seconds before Monsdale, Fitzwilliam, and the angry innkeeper, who had appeared once the noise had begun, had subdued the antagonists—one knocked unconscious, one held in a chair at sword point, and the third still mewling over his arm—and ushered the angry women and curious bystanders from the common room outside. The fight had not been nearly as distressing as many in which Fitzwilliam had been involved before, but he was still slightly winded, and he leaned back against the wall as the innkeeper finished tying up all three men, whose punishment would apparently be a six-month ban from Smythe's tables. From their reactions to Monsdale's declaration, one might have thought their children had just been murdered in front of them.
"Well, Colonel," Monsdale said, leaning back against the wall beside him and pressing a handkerchief against his cheek, "it would seem I chose the correct side in that fight. You are quite handy with a blade."
"To a Frenchman, I am the devil himself."
Monsdale laughed. "I am surprised that you allowed your cousin to leave with all that money."
"As am I. I know not what I shall tell Lady Catherine."
"It seems to me a just punishment for being such a poor parent."
"Perhaps. I suppose at least the debt to Smythe is paid. Although according to Parkinson, that does not seem to mean they will abandon their pursuit of my cousin."
Monsdale glanced around and lowered his voice. "I probably should not speak of this, being as I am only a lowly agent and know very little of the larger scheme, but I do know one thing. Lord Smythe has been preparing to retire for some months now—word is there is a woman involved—and he has been attempting to close up the entire operation. However, Reg, his lieutenant, has been quietly preparing to take over the operation as soon as Lord Smythe quits the country permanently. This was supposed to be a short trip to make preparations somewhere on the Continent, and then Smythe was to return for any final collections, including his lady, and disappear into Europe.
"Reg approached most of us agents, and the others of the group, and privately offered us the opportunity to keep working as we have been, to maintain the operation, even to continue using Smythe's name for Reg, since it is only an alias anyway. I may be wrong, but if I understood Parkinson correctly, your other cousin and the young lady escaped but are even now being pursued by Reg. If so, I would advise you not to assume that his methods will be the same at Smythe's. Reg has never held with Smythe's exacting code of conduct, and it would not surprise me if he has decided to seek a far heavier ransom for their freedom than Miss de Bourgh's twenty-thousand-pound debt."
"But Smythe himself told Darcy that he would seek a ransom from the very beginning."
Monsdale frowned. "Smythe has never asked for ransoms except as repayment. He does not use abduction as a primary source of income. I cannot imagine why he would have begun doing so now."
"From where in London would Reg operate?" Fitzwilliam asked, having regained his breath enough to feel urgent again. "How can I find him?"
"I know nothing," Monsdale said, holding up his hands and shrugging. "I only know that I am paid handsomely to monitor this table, and that I am to send updates each time the private courier comes through. I know not where he comes from, who he is, or where he goes. He knocks on the back door every second and fourth Tuesday at midnight."
"Very well." Fitzwilliam pushed off the wall, dusting off his coat and sheathing his sword. "Then I am for London."
"Good luck to you, truly," Monsdale nodded. He looked around the room then and sighed with resignation. "It appears that, once I settle with the innkeeper over these troubles, I am for my bed. Alone. My little bird has flown the coop, and honestly, who could blame her? I can always hope she will appear again tomorrow."
Fitzwilliam stared around the room, horrified that, in the all the chaos and his new fears for Darcy, he had forgotten Mrs. Collins. She was, indeed, gone. "Yes. Good evening."
"Good journey."
Fitzwilliam made his way out to his horse and untethered her, mounting and riding swiftly toward the path leading back to the main road. He wanted to return to Rosings, to assure himself that Mrs. Collins had returned safely, to pack his belongings and prepare for the journey to London, but he was torn, remembering Parkinson's warning that Reg and his men would be moving the very next morning. It was already nearing eleven o'clock, he guessed, and returning to Rosings would delay his departure by at least two hours. He reached the dark, empty road and slowed his mount, still uncertain.
"Colonel!" a voice hissed from a blackness at the side of the road that appeared to be trees.
"Who is that?"
"'Tis I, Colonel," said Mrs. Collins, stepping out into the pale moonlight.
He dismounted immediately and led his horse off the road. As he entered the dark copse of trees, he saw Locken waiting against a wagon concealed there. He took Mrs. Collins' hands, raising them to his lips in relief. "I did not see you leave. I worried something had happened."
"I thought it wisest to make my escape while Mr. Monsdale was still occupied. Are you well?"
"Not even a scratch," he chuckled. "Those poor, greedy fellows were no match for a member of His Majesty's Army."
"I am so glad. I heard what Mr. Parkinson told you. You are for London?"
"Yes. There is no time to return and speak to Lady Catherine. I fear she will be in great need of solacing, but as I am not the most patient of men, I suppose I would be of little help to her anyway."
"I do wonder about her reaction tomorrow when she finds Miss de Bourgh missing. Mrs. Jenkinson will probably have left also. She will be so alone."
"Alone, and as poor as a church mouse, I fear." He shook his head. "Perhaps I should not have let Anne leave, but I was not sure what better choice I could make. Had we not been under duress, I probably would have told her to keep ten-thousand after the debt was paid and return the rest to her mother."
"You would not have stopped her from leaving?"
"Did you hear Parkinson say she is with child? No, I would not have stopped her. What happiness would there have been for any of us had I forced her to return?"
"Oh, my. Well, I suppose I made the right decision then."
"What do you mean?"
He could just catch her movements as she reached quite boldly down the bodice of her dress and withdrew a thin stack of papers. "From what I have counted, I seem to have left her with approximately twelve-thousand pounds, if she had exactly ninety-thousand."
"But… How did you… When?"
"Anne is remarkably unobservant," Mrs. Collins replied, sounding slightly smug. "I simply reached into her bag while she was watching the others across the room and withdrew all but a few notes."
"Mrs. Collins, you are a remarkably fantastic woman!" Before he had realized what he was doing, he had pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers fiercely.
It was several seconds, several long, shockingly-pleasurable seconds, before Mrs. Collins finally pulled herself away with a sharp gasp. "Colonel!" she rebuked.
"Forgive me, madam," he replied gravely, his fingers aching to pull her back to him. He suspected, given her ardent response, that had Locken not been present, convincing her to return to his arms would have proven a dangerously simple task. "I was simply caught up in my gratitude. I meant no disrespect."
She cleared her throat, taking another step back from him. He could see her widened eyes reflecting the moonlight. "Of course." She inhaled deeply before pronouncing, "You should go."
"Yes." He shook himself and took a few steps toward his horse. "Yes, I shall. You will return the money to Lady Catherine?"
"Indeed, and I will offer her whatever consolation she will accept from me. Godspeed to you, sir."
"Farewell, Mrs. Collins. And thank you."
He mounted and rode toward London as quickly as he could manage in the darkness. It was a long time before the chill of the long, lonely ride could break through Fitzwilliam's ruminations on that kiss.