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  “I understand, sir.”

  Richard thanked him and closed the door.

  “And me, Colonel?” Chase asked. “What is it that you wish for me to do other than relay messages?”

  “You are good at strategy, are you not?”

  “I like to think so, sir.”

  “Good,” Richard clapped his man on the shoulder. “Then, while you put my clothes away, we will discuss some strategy.”

  He stood in front of the young man, who was of slightly shorter height than Richard, as well as at least five years younger and having a more slight build. Chase was a man, Richard thought, who had likely had to use his wits to preserve his features so well. The larger bucks often liked to make sport of the smaller ones.

  “I am going to share things with you that will accompany you to your grave.” He watched Chase’s Adam’s apple rise and fall with a swallow.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I am placing a great deal of trust in you — more than I do when I climb into my bath or allow you to hold a razor to my neck when shaving because what I am going to share has the potential to harm those whom I love.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he held the gaze of his batman. “And, you should know that as much as I enjoy the way my boots shine when you have polished them, I, and my sword, will not hesitate to splatter that shine with your blood if you harm those same loved ones.”

  Chase’s eyes grew wide as he nodded. “Of course, sir. I am not a gossip. I never share what I see or hear unless you have requested I do so.”

  Richard smiled. “Very good. For you do tie a fine cravat, and I would hate to have to break in a new man. I am not the easiest chap to serve.”

  The corners of Chase’s mouth twitched, but he managed not to smile as he replied. “I couldn’t say, sir.”

  Richard flopped back into his chair and began explaining the full story to Chase before the two set about devising the best course of action to remedy the current situation.

  Chapter 8

  “Papa, what do you mean, we are leaving in the morning?” Elizabeth stood in the hall outside Lydia’s room and kept her voice soft so as not to disturb Lydia if, indeed, her sister could hear what was being said.

  “She needs her mother.” Mr. Bennet drew a hand across his brow as if he his head was sore. “It is best if she is at home.”

  “But, Papa, Mr. Darcy has promised his physician. Surely, his care would be superior to the apothecary or surgeon in Hertfordshire.” Her brows furrowed as her father’s features seemed to darken.

  “We have no need of that man’s help.” His words were stern and determined, further furrowing Elizabeth’s brow. “If he had not interfered or if he had told us of Wickham…” Her father shook his head.

  “Or if Lydia had thought!” refuted Elizabeth.

  “She would not have needed to think.”

  Elizabeth recoiled at his sharp tone.

  “We leave in the morning. Prepare accordingly. I will not discuss this any further.”

  “But what of Jane, Papa?”

  Mr. Bennet closed his eyes as he drew and released a breath. “Mr. Bingley still holds the lease to Netherfield and can call on Jane at home if he chooses. We are not staying in town. Lydia needs her mother.”

  “But Mr. Darcy was to call tomorrow.”

  “We have seen the last of him,” said her father.

  Elizabeth gasped, and her hand grasped the neckline of her dress just above her aching heart. “Why?” The question was barely a whisper.

  “I have severed our acquaintance,” Mr. Bennet explained, “I do not wish my daughters to be further endangered by such an arrogant man.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest but closed it again as no words would form. Severed their acquaintance? Was she truly to never see Mr. Darcy again? She wished to ask, but her voice failed her.

  Had her father not turned and walked away, he might have seen the pain his words had caused his favourite daughter. Had he not descended the stairs without a glance backward, he might have seen Elizabeth slip to the floor and drop her head to her knees. If he had not been in the drawing room, he might have heard her shuddering breaths and small gasping sobs. But he was in the drawing room. He had not looked back, and so he was unaware that he had caused great harm to his favourite daughter.

  While Elizabeth cried, Lydia stirred momentarily, Jane wiped her sister’s brow, Mrs. Gardiner sat on the end of the bed, rubbing Lydia’s feet, and Mr. Bennet settled into a chair across from Sir William and next to Mr. Gardiner with a glass of port and his thoughts for company.

  Elizabeth was likewise left with just her thoughts for company — thoughts about a man whom she had come to know better and admire, thoughts about never seeing that man again, and thoughts about how bleak and dreary life would be without that man.

  Finally, after some minutes of tearful self-indulgence, Elizabeth rose and went to her room to wash her face. The tear-stained face with puffy eyes and red nose that stared back at her brought to mind the image of Jane when Mr. Bingley had left Netherfield. It was the face of a broken heart. Elizabeth’s shoulders drooped, and her eyes filled once again with tears. Her heart did, indeed, feel as if it was shattering into sharp painful pieces.

  “Lizzy,” Jane peeked her head around the door to their room. “Lydia opened her eyes and asked for you.”

  Elizabeth splashed water on her face and then dried it with a towel. “I will be there directly,” she said from behind her towel.

  She drew a steadying breath. Thoughts of Mr. Darcy must be put away for the present. Lydia had to be her immediate concern. And so, with her resolve formed, Elizabeth went to see Lydia.

  Lydia’s smile was weak and her voice, soft when she greeted Elizabeth. “I am ever so glad you found me,” she said as she held Elizabeth’s hand.

  “Shhhh,” said Elizabeth. “You must rest. We are going home to Mama in the morning.”

  “We cannot,” Lydia attempted to push up in the bed.

  “We must,” Elizabeth assured her. “Papa has said we must.”

  “But I have not seen Mr. Bingley,” Lydia protested.

  “I know,” Elizabeth said as she nodded and smoothed Lydia’s hair back from her forehead. “Mr. Darcy will tell him you were here.”

  She hoped it was true; however, with her father having severed his ties with Mr. Darcy, Mr. Darcy might not speak to his friend on Jane’s behalf. She paused. No, he would. He had said he would tell Mr. Bingley of Jane’s being in town, and he was the sort of man who kept his word. Was he not?

  Although the comment had started a flurry of unsettling thoughts for Elizabeth, it seemed to be just what Lydia needed to hear because she smiled and nestled down into her blankets.

  “Rest,” said Elizabeth. “Jane, Aunt Gardiner, and I will be here if you need anything. Sleep, so tomorrow, when you see Mama, she will not worry because you look wan.” She smoothed her sister’s hair again. “You would not wish to worry Mama, would you?”

  Lydia shook her head and then, as Elizabeth continued stroking her hair, fell into a restful slumber.

  “We are leaving in the morning?” Jane whispered after Lydia had fallen asleep.

  Elizabeth nodded. “Papa says Lydia needs Mama.”

  Jane raised a brow.

  Elizabeth smiled wryly and nodded her agreement. Mama was not good in a sick room. Having their mother fluttering about — and loudly — was never conducive to recovery. However, Lydia and Mama had a special relationship, so it might not be all bad.

  “I am sorry,” she said to Jane. “I know you had hoped to see Mr. Bingley.” She stopped talking and drew a breath to keep the tears that were gathering once again from falling.

  Jane gave her a sad smile. “I was, but perhaps he will come to Netherfield.”

  It was so like Jane to attempt to remain positive even when things were dire.

  “And perhaps Mr. Darcy will join him.” Jane smiled as she came to stand next to Elizabeth and placed a hand on her shoulder reass
uringly.

  “Perhaps,” Elizabeth said weakly. He would not. But it would do little good to discuss that detail with Jane right now. It would only start the flood of tears once again, and her head already hurt from crying earlier. She did not need to increase her pain.

  “You do not think he will?” Jane asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

  Elizabeth sighed. It appeared she was not going to be able to avoid this discussion. “Papa has severed our acquaintance with Mr…” she swallowed against her tears, “Darcy.” She took another steadying breath. “Papa holds Mr. Darcy accountable for…” she waved her hand toward Lydia.

  “But he is not!” Jane’s whispered response was emphatic. “Lydia knows better, and if Papa or Mama had taken the bother to check her every once in a while, she would not have behaved as she did.” Jane grasped Elizabeth’s hand. “He is not responsible.”

  One tear slid down Elizabeth’s cheek, followed by another and then another. She knew it was true. Mr. Darcy had not caused her sister to be hurt, but what good did knowing such a thing do? She was still not going to be allowed to see him again. “I love him,” she whispered.

  Elizabeth had, of course, spoken to Jane earlier about how she and Maria had come to be travelling to London with Mr. Darcy. There had been several hours of sitting and watching Lydia with very little else to do but talk after the physician left, and so, tales about Rosings had been shared. However, in all her talking about Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth had not revealed how she felt about that gentleman. Indeed, until she had been faced with never seeing him again, she had not known it herself. But now, she felt the weight of that revelation fully as it pressed hard on her chest, making breathing painful and causing a river of tears to fall.

  “I love him,” she repeated, as Jane gathered her into an embrace.

  “Oh, my dear, dear Lizzy. We shall have to find a way to right this wrong.” She rubbed Elizabeth’s back and cooed sweet things as Elizabeth cried.

  Finally, when the worst of this fresh burst of grief had seemed to pass, Jane held Elizabeth away from her a short distance and said, “I will stay with Lydia until Aunt returns if you wish to go lie down for a bit.” She brushed at the few remaining tears on Elizabeth’s face. “I have found a rest helps ease the pain of disappointment, though only slightly.”

  Elizabeth merely nodded, not trusting her voice, and allowed herself to be persuaded to take a rest.

  An hour later, after Elizabeth had cried once more and then fallen asleep, Jane joined her and, wrapping her arms around Elizabeth, settled in for a short sleep of her own before one or the other of them would be called to take her turn at Lydia’s side.

  All night, the ladies of Gracechurch Street shifted between rest and watchfulness. Aunt Gardiner would sit with Lydia for an hour and a half, and then, one or the other of her sisters would come and fill the chair. Finally, Elizabeth had refused to return to her bed and chosen, instead, to sleep in a chair in the corner of the room when it was not her turn to sit beside Lydia. It was here that the sun found her as it began to rise, and, as Jane’s eyes were falling closed of their own accord, Elizabeth rose from that chair where she had been dozing and stretched.

  Her limbs were stiff, her neck was sore, and her heart ached more and more as the dawn approached. For as the morning drew near, so did her separation from the gentleman she loved and the place where, though he might not visit, she might in travelling about the town chance to come upon him.

  She had imagined it as she sat next to Lydia. She would stop at some store for a bit of lace or a pair of gloves, and there he would be. They would smile and greet each other. Then he would offer to see her to her next stop, and as they walked, he would confess his love for her, and she would assure him that she felt likewise. It was a silly and fanciful dream, but it had done its work in keeping her from dwelling on reality and dissolving into tears. Even now, she contemplated such thoughts for a moment before she walked over to the bed and smoothed Lydia’s hair as she had so many times during the night.

  “Jane.” Elizabeth placed her hand first on Lydia’s rosy cheek and then on her damp forehead. There was no mistaking the signs of fever. “Jane,” she repeated, feeling the small start of anxiety growing. Lydia was warm, alarmingly warm. “The physician. We need the physician.”

  ~*~*~

  Richard rode up Gracechurch Street and then down. In front of the Gardiner’s home, there was a carriage being made ready for travel, but he had not seen more than one small trunk and a bag being loaded. Surely, if the Bennets were leaving, there would be more luggage than that. He took one more tour of Gracechurch Street before determining that he was not going to be able to speak to Mr. Bennet on the road as he thought he might be able to do. Despite the early hours, he would have to knock and ask for a conference, which is precisely what he did. He knocked; he requested; and now, he waited.

  There was scurrying to and fro above him. Doors opened and closed. Heavy feet hurried up the stairs and down a hall, while at least one other set of lighter feet descended the stairs and passed through the hall just outside the closed door of the room in which Richard paced.

  Richard took one more turn around the small sitting room, pausing at the window long enough to see Sir William and Maria entering the carriage. Sir William agreed to something Mr. Bennet was saying, then the door was closed, and the carriage moved away. As Mr. Bennet turned to enter the house, Richard took a seat and waited for the man to enter the sitting room, which he did.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I had not thought to see you again,” Mr. Bennet began, giving only a small tip of his head in greeting. He lowered himself into a chair slowly as if he were a man twice his age and weary to the bone.

  Richard imagined he was exhausted. Worry could do that. If Richard were to pause and recall his own concern for his cousin, he would likely yawn and scrub his face. He had slept very ill, and he suspected the same was true of the man sitting across from him.

  “I told you yesterday that I would see the matter regarding Mr. Wickham through. I will not go back on my word, no matter how you have treated my family.” He pitied the man’s having to worry about his daughter, but he was not going to take a gentle approach. Mr. Bennet needed to feel the weight of his responsibility in this matter.

  “Your family?” Mr. Bennet’s eyes grew wide as his face reddened. “It is your family who has endangered mine.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam raised a brow. “I disagree,” he said before adding, “How is Miss Lydia this morning?”

  Mr. Bennet’s eyes narrowed. “Feverish. Mr. Graham is with her now.”

  “It grieves me to hear that, although I cannot say I am surprised. It has been my experience that exposure to the elements after an injury often leads to fever.” He was glad to hear that Mr. Bennet had at least called for Mr. Graham, Darcy’s physician. It was likely due to the man’s having already been made familiar with the case, but Richard did not care the reason. He only cared that Lydia was being given the best chance for recovery. “I will not take too much of your time as I am certain you are as anxious to return to your daughter as I am to return to my cousin.”

  Mr. Bennet blinked as if startled by such as statement.

  Richard pulled at his sleeve. Darcy would likely not thank him for this, but then, Darcy would likely never know he had spoken about him to Mr. Bennet. “Suffice it to say; your letter was not well received. I fear you have misjudged my cousin most severely, but that is not the purpose of my call today. Today, I am here to inform you that I have located Mr. Wickham, and he has been detained until it is determined what is the best course of action regarding his fate.”

  He leaned forward slightly. “There is no gentle way to say this, and quite frankly, when it comes to business matters such as this, I am not currently feeling any more inclined to gentleness than you are. Wickham has bandied about the tale of a young lady who stole his purse.”

  Mr. Bennet sank back in his chair as if overwhelmed, and Richard could not blame hi
m for such a response. To be accused of theft was no small thing. It carried with it a hefty price for those found guilty of such an accusation. He paused for a moment, allowing Mr. Bennet time to recover slightly. Then he continued.

  “The good news, if there can be any in this ordeal, is that Wickham is not in a position to follow through on such a claim, nor will he ever be in such a position. I shall see to that. However, you needed to be made aware of the fact.” He stood. “I shall return when I have any further news to share.”

  “A letter would suffice,” said Mr. Bennet, pushing slowly to his feet.

  “No, it will not.” Richard held Mr. Bennet’s gaze. “You may have severed your connections with my cousin, but until the matter at hand has been resolved, you will continue to see me. I, like my cousin, am a man of my word. We do not take honour lightly.” He paused at the door to the room. “I assume you will not travel to Hertfordshire today.”

  He tipped his head and studied Mr. Bennet. “Mr. Graham is excellent at his job. I have great faith in him. He has seen me through some rather difficult times.” He put on his hat in preparation to leave. “If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to send word to Darcy House. I will be there for the next two weeks.” He gave a nod and departed before Mr. Bennet had a chance to reply.

  “Colonel,” Elizabeth said in surprise as Richard exited the sitting room. “I had not thought to see you.”

  “You did not?”

  Her smile was sad. “My father…”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  Elizabeth drew a calming breath. “He is wrong,” she whispered.

  “That I also know,” said Richard. “How is your sister? I understand Mr. Graham is here.”

  Elizabeth looked back toward the stairs. “She is so very warm.”

  “Has she woken?”

  “Once last night,” Elizabeth replied. “She was distressed that she would have to leave town before seeing Mr. Bingley.”