by Leenie Brown
However, her father caught her hand and kept her by his side. “What do you not wish to be?”
Lydia darted a look at Jane and then Elizabeth before looking down at her slippers. “Not good enough,” she whispered.
“Not good enough for what?” Mr. Bennet’s voice was filled with incredulity as were his eyes.
“For the colonel,” Lydia whispered.
“Has he said that?” Mr. Bennet demanded. There was no missing the anger in his voice.
Lydia shook her head violently. “He would never!”
“Then who said my daughter was not good enough?”
Elizabeth was uncertain if she had ever heard her father’s tone be so cold.
“Lady Catherine,” Jane answered for Lydia since Lydia seemed only able to shake her head but could not form the words needed to answer.
Lydia wiped her cheek quickly.
“Oh, my dear daughter.” Mr. Bennet grasped Lydia’s hand between both of his. “You are now more like your mother than even I ever expected you could be.” He waited until her eyes lifted to his before he continued. “There were several who claimed that your mother was not good enough for me, but do you know who is the only one who can prove those people right or wrong?”
He pointed to himself. “Me. I am the only one who can say if your mother is or is not good enough for me – which she is, of course — and the colonel is the only one who can decide if you are good enough for him — which I believe is something he has already decided. However, I understand your worry, and I will write your request to Miss Darcy and Miss Bingley tonight and have it sent tomorrow.” The right corner of his lips tipped up into a half smile. “I also quite wish for the wheels to fall off Lady Catherine’s carriage. My daughter not good enough for the gentleman who loves her? I think not. The idea is quite preposterous.” He released Lydia’s hand and allowed her to go back to her seat. “Do not tell your mother about Lady Catherine unless you must.”
“Why?” Elizabeth asked.
“She may go remove the wheels from Lady Catherine’s carriage herself if she were to hear of it.”
“She would not!” Jane cried as they all giggled at the thought.
~*~*~
Sometime later, after the intricacies of Miss Darcy’s new piece of music had been explained and both Jane and Lydia had left their father’s study, Mr. Bennet looked up from his book.
“I have not done my best by her.”
Elizabeth stopped reading.
“That conversation we had in the Johnson’s ballroom keeps coming back to me.” He blew out a breath. “Will you help Lydia find her feet? She has never lacked for confidence before now, but I can see how it is possible since her education has not been what yours was. Do I ask too much?”
“No. No. Of course not. I will gladly help Lydia, as will Jane,” Elizabeth assured her father.
He sighed as if a great weight had been relieved. “Would you do one more thing for me?”
“Of course.”
“Would you call someone to help me to my room? My leg is aching a bit more today than yesterday, and I fear it is because I attempted to do too much.”
Elizabeth closed her book and assured her father that she would see that someone was sent to assist him as soon as possible.
It did not take long for her to find someone. Mr. Hill was just passing the study when she exited, and he sent a footman directly.
However, Mr. Bennet had only made it to the bottom of the staircase when there was a knock at the door.
“Might I speak with Mr. Bennet and Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said as he entered.
“You do not look well, sir,” Mr. Bennet said.
“I am not,” he answered. He held out a letter. “I have just received this and must be gone straight away.”
Mr. Bennet motioned to the chair in the corridor and the footman assisted him in sitting. “I see,” was all he said when he read the letter Darcy had handed him. “Of course, you must go to him.”
“Who?” Elizabeth’s heart was beating a rapid pace. Her father’s expression was so grave, and Darcy was so distraught.
“My cousin,” Darcy replied. “Richard has been injured most grievously.”
Chapter 10
“I expect my carriage to be ready when I return to Netherfield,” Darcy said as Elizabeth finished reading the letter he had received from one of Richard’s fellow officers and had brought to Longbourn with him. They had gone to Mr. Bennet’s study as instructed by Elizabeth’s father so that Elizabeth might read the news in private, and so that Darcy might take his leave of his betrothed without an audience. For both of those things, Darcy was immensely grateful to Mr. Bennet.
“Will you travel through the night?” Elizabeth looked up at him from the letter, concern shimmering in unshed tears in her eyes.
Darcy nodded. “I must get to him as soon as can be.”
“You will be careful, though?” She brushed at a tear which escaped her eye, and Darcy pulled her into his embrace. “It is bad enough that Colonel Fitzwilliam is injured. I do not need you to join him,” she whispered against his coat.
“I will do all that is necessary to return to you, my love,” he assured her before placing a kiss on the top of her head.
She held him tightly. “Where will you take him? He cannot remain in an inn where there is so much unrest. The noise of it all would not be conducive to his recovery, I am certain.”
“Bingley suggested I bring him to Netherfield since it is close enough to town for my physician to attend him if needed and for my aunt and uncle to call on him since parliament is still sitting. It makes sense.”
“And the air in the country is far better for someone who is unwell,” Elizabeth added.
Darcy rubbed her back and relished these few moments of comfort, storing them in his memory to carry with him as he travelled to Manchester.
He knew only a few details about Richard’s injury from the letter. There had been an attack at a mill, and in the tumult, his cousin had sustained several lacerations as well as a blow to the head that had rendered him insensible. The message had been sent two days ago, so whether his cousin had regained his senses or not was unknown. However, Darcy was attempting to prepare himself for the worst scenario.
Though he did not wish for Elizabeth to witness any of the trouble in the north or the gruesomeness of any injuries associated with it, Darcy yearned to be able to have the solace he found in her presence with him on his journey.
He sighed, knowing both that he must not remain here with her much longer and that he had one more task to complete before he could leave. “Your sister needs to be told,” he said softly, “but I fear that I do not know how to tell her.”
“We will tell her together,” Elizabeth offered.
And they had.
Lydia had been surprisingly calm during the ordeal. She had cried, of course, but Darcy had expected her to be more vocal in her grief. She had always seemed so like Mrs. Bennet, who was boisterous. He shook his head at his foolishness as he shifted in his seat in his carriage. How often would he have to remind himself that what he expected from the Bennets was often not what he received? Had not Elizabeth and Jane, as well as their parents, already surprised him enough for him to have learned that his initial assessments of them had been wrong? Was it not possible for Lydia to have a more thinking nature buried beneath her effervescent exterior just as her sister, Jane, had a scheming mind tucked neatly behind a composed smile? People were, he reasoned, made of many layers. Having been often accused of being only severe and reserved, he should have a better understanding of these things. But apparently, he did not.
He sighed and propped his head against the squabs. He really did need to work on being more considerate of the many facets a person might possess rather than arrogantly assuming his first impression of a person was unwaveringly correct.
However, he would not ponder on that now. He would save it for later. For presently, he needed this journey to be c
ompleted quickly, and so, sleep was necessary. Travelling never seemed to take as long as it truly did when one slept for a portion of the time.
However, even sleeping as often as he could did not shorten the amount of time Darcy had to worry about his cousin or to miss Elizabeth during his trip. Two days of travel, broken only by the necessary stops to change horses had given him ample time to think about a great many things. Having finally reached Pemberley, he climbed out of his coach and stretched his back before giving an appreciative nod to his driver and making his way towards the house.
Mr. Jarvis, his butler, greeted him with Mrs. Reynolds at his side.
“All is ready,” Mrs. Reynolds assured Darcy. “Your bath was drawn as soon as we heard you were at the gate, and your dinner will be in your sitting room within the half hour.”
“And the room for Richard?”
“All is ready, sir. The surgeon will be waiting when you arrive with Colonel Fitzwilliam tomorrow evening.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds.” Darcy sighed softly as he began to climb the stairs to his room.
“He will be well.” Mrs. Reynolds had apparently caught the sigh that had escaped Darcy. “We must believe that,” she added when he glanced her direction.
“You are right, of course, Mrs. Reynolds. It is just not knowing what I will find tomorrow which has me troubled.”
“That is understandable, sir.”
Darcy continued on his way up the steps. A warm bath might help relieve some of the stiffness he felt from sitting in a carriage for two days, and a comfortable bed would not be an unwelcome luxury. Sleeping in a carriage – even one as well-sprung and richly upholstered as his was – was not conducive to feeling well-rested. Hopefully, the lack of proper rest would help him sleep well tonight.
And it did – eventually.
Darcy had lain in bed pondering life and its brevity for three-quarters of an hour before weariness claimed not only his body but his mind.
As the sun rose above the horizon the following day, Darcy woke with muscles that only ached a bit. He would take a short walk in the garden in an attempt to shake loose the remaining stiffness before climbing into his carriage today. Then he would collect his cousin and tomorrow, he would see his steward before he began the journey back to Netherfield. There was no point in being in residence even for a short time without checking on the state of his holdings.
Therefore, after his walk in the garden and before he had eaten breakfast, a message was sent to Mr. Turner informing him of Darcy’s wish to see him on the morrow. Then, after a filling breakfast, Darcy was once again on his way to Manchester.
Just over half a day later, Darcy exited his carriage and entered the inn where Richard had his lodgings.
“Who is there?” Richard barked from his bed.
Darcy breathed a sigh of relief, his cousin was alive and awake, even if he did sound to be in a disagreeable mood.
“Darcy,” he said as he made his way toward the bed. “I have come to take you to Pemberley and then to Netherfield.” He sucked in a breath as he took in the appearance of his cousin.
“I look a fright, do I not?” Richard grumbled. “Not that anyone will give me a mirror to see the surgeon’s handiwork – no matter how much I have threaten.”
“The surgeon’s stitches are tidy,” Darcy replied. “However, there are a great number of them. This is not the wound sustained in the altercation about which you wrote me earlier, is it?”
Richard attempted to move his head but groaned and held his head still. “No. That is the cut above my left eye.”
The large gash on his cheek was as fresh as it appeared.
Richard held out a hand. “If you do not mind, I could use some help in rising.”
“Are you supposed to rise?” Darcy questioned. “I had thought someone was to carry you down for me. That is what I was told.”
“I have two legs that still mostly work,” Richard grumbled. “I can see myself to the carriage.” He waved his hand at Darcy. “Now, help me rise.” He winced and blew out a great breath as Darcy helped him to a sitting position. “Make sure there is ample brandy in the carriage, will you?” he ordered, a grimace still on his face.
Darcy knew that Richard’s injuries were far more extensive than what could be seen above the collar of his nightshirt and robe. The fact that Richard was dressed as he was to travel was a sure sign that the rest of his body was not in a condition worthy of a uniform. Bandages were more easily covered by loose-fitting garments.
“There will be plenty of brandy. I will see to it,” Darcy assured him. “Where are your other injuries?”
Richard placed a hand on his right side. “Here. My left shoulder is not in usable order. My left thigh also has a number of stitches, and of course, as you can see the once lovely features of my face have been marred.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “And the room refuses to stay still.” Again, he blew out a great breath.
“I have readied the carriage as best I can for your comfort, but I fear it will still not be a pleasant trip.” Darcy took Richard’s hand once again to help him rise, just as two officers arrived in the room.
“We are to see our colonel to his carriage,” one of the men said.
Richard attempted to take a step toward them, but he stumbled as if he had miscalculated the distance between his foot and the floor and had expected the floor to be further beyond him than it was. He sucked in a sharp breath.
“My apologies,” the officer on his right said. “I did not mean to cause you pain. I only wished to keep you from falling.”
Richard nodded. “Do you think you could make the floor stand still? It is dashed hard to know where to place my foot.” He turned his head to the left. “Oh, there you are, Darcy. I had thought you were gone. I did not see you.”
“You did not see me?” Darcy asked in surprise. He was standing almost equal with Richard’s left shoulder. He should have been visible to his cousin.
“My eyes are not right,” Richard admitted. “The blow to the head, you see. We are hopeful that it will clear at the same time the room stops spinning and my head stops throbbing.”
Slowly – much more slowly than Darcy had ever witness Richard walk – they made their way down the stairs and to the front of the inn, and after a word of parting to the innkeepers, Richard allowed the two officers who were on either side of him to help him into Darcy’s carriage.
Chapter 11
“I beg your pardon?” Darcy turned from the window in Richard’s room at Pemberley. The surgeon had left a half hour ago, and Darcy and Richard had been discussing Richard’s time in Manchester.
“I am not going to Netherfield.”
That was exactly what Darcy thought he had heard his cousin say, but it had startled him so much that he had to ask for it to be repeated. The surgeon had been impressed with the quality of care Richard had received and did not fear there would be any complications such as infection. The wounds were all clean and properly dressed. There was no need to remain at Pemberley. The surgeon had not thought it would be dangerous to attempt a longer trip.
“I have written to your father informing him that you will be at Netherfield,” Darcy argued.
“You may write to him again. Tell him that I am well but prefer to rusticate in the country far removed from callers.”
Darcy shook his head. Richard was not the sort to ever wish to rusticate in the country. That knock he had received on his head must have jiggled something loose.
“I can write to him myself as soon as the pen and paper agree to stay in the same place at the same time,” Richard added.
Darcy crossed the room to sit in a chair closer to the bed. “It is not just your father who wishes to see you.”
“Mother is welcome to come visit if she wishes to make the trip during the season.” He had turned his face away from Darcy while he spoke.
“And I suppose Georgiana can travel with her?” Darcy asked incredulously.
“I am certain t
here would be room in Mother’s carriage,” Richard answered. “And I think I could tolerate the three of you.” His head turned toward Darcy. “But no more.”
Darcy sat quietly for several minutes studying the way his cousin held his jaw firmly in position and then taking note of the way the blanket over Richard’s chest rose and fell with deep, deliberate breaths.
“What of Lydia?” Darcy asked softly, breaking the silence but only for the length of time it took for him to utter the words.
Richard did not reply. He continued to breathe deeply as he stared up at the canopy above him.
“You cannot abandon her.”
“She is young. She will find another.”
Darcy leaned back in his chair. Something very close to anger rose within him.
“And what if she does not want another?” Darcy attempted to keep his voice from betraying his feelings. His cousin was injured and not thinking correctly. He did not deserve to feel the anger that Darcy felt at the thought of Lydia being injured in such a fashion as Richard was proposing.
“She will. Describe my appearance and tell her I am likely to lose my position in the regulars. I have little to offer her.” Richard closed his eyes, but a tear escaped and ran down the side of his face toward his ear.
Allowing Richard to see himself in the mirror had been a mistake. Darcy had suspected it was at the time but had disregarded his better judgment in favour of satisfying his cousin’s curiosity.
The scar on Richard’s face ran the length of his cheek from nearly his ear to the almost the corner of his mouth, and it was an angry red presently with a track of neat stitches holding it closed. It looked horrid now, but it would not forever. It was going to scar, but it would fade somewhat with time.
Added to that his face was not what made him who he was. Not that Darcy could fault Richard for feeling as he did at the moment. Proper reasoning might return once some of the pain from his cousin’s injuries subsided.
Darcy rose. There was little use arguing any of those things with Richard at present. It would be better to just inform him of what was going to happen and attempt to ignore his cousin’s cursing and grumbling.
