The Honorable Mr. Darcy

by Jennifer Joy

  They had reached the garden gate to Colonel Forster’s house, when Tanner bellowed, “Enough! The two of you will hold your tongues until you are asked to speak.”

  Darcy stopped in the middle of the footpath. The guards which had been present on a constant rotation were nowhere to be seen. The hair on Darcy’s arm stood on end. He looked around, but not a soul was in sight. No one opened the door to receive them. He knocked once, and when there was no response, he pounded on the door. Still nothing. It was all wrong.

  Tanner paced in the lawn, looking from right to left. “It is empty.”

  Scenarios and explanations ran through Darcy’s mind, each one dismissed as soon as it appeared. There was no excuse for this. Even if they had left early for Mrs. Philips’ card party, there would be someone around to ask. The house looked abandoned.

  Shoving the vile woman toward Mr. Denny, Darcy said, “Do not let her out of your sight. Take her back to the inn along with Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia. Nobody leaves until we return with Miss Elizabeth.”

  Darcy raced around the house, the sound of Tanner giving instructions fading as he ran.

  The door to the stable was open.

  “What do you think has happened?” asked Tanner, hastening up from behind him.

  “I do not know, but something is horribly wrong. Why is nobody here? And look, the coach is gone.”

  “Hallo there?” called a man. It was an officer.

  There was no time for pleasantries. “Where have they gone?” asked Darcy.

  “The colonel? I saw his coach leave some minutes ago.”

  “Did you see who was with him?”

  “I did not, but I did think it strange for him to be driving his own coach. He seemed to be in a hurry, and so I assumed the Missus had taken ill.”

  Apprehension seized Darcy. Moving across the lawn toward the village stables, he asked one final question. “In what direction did he go?”

  “Toward London.”

  “Tanner, why did we not see him?” Darcy asked.

  “He must have gone around the square.”

  Colonel Forster had not wanted to be seen.

  Darcy was grateful he had not returned his favorite stallion to Netherfield Park. The horse pranced in his stall when he approached. They would lose no time. Tanner joined him, tossing a saddle onto a dark chestnut mount and cinching the girth.

  “Can he keep up?” Darcy asked.

  The beast pawed the ground as if he understood Darcy’s doubts. “Brutus will keep up with your fancy blood horse, Darcy. Let us go!” He jolted forward as his horse took off at a canter.

  Once they reached the edge of the village, there was no restraint. They galloped so hard, it pulled tears from Darcy’s eyes, and he had to squint and blink to see clearly.

  All this time, it had been Colonel Forster. Darcy recalled every conversation; every interaction with the colonel. Had Elizabeth found him out? Is that why he kidnapped her? What did he plan to do with her?

  Darcy’s indignation bordered on madness, and his horse responded to his frenzied emotions by galloping faster than he ever had before.

  They passed a man he suspected to be his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam riding toward Meryton. Darcy would not slow down to make sure.

  He heard Richard shout and saw him turn his horse around before Darcy lost sight of him. Good. Richard would have his sword and pistol. Darcy had nothing other than his bare hands.

  Of course, if Colonel Forster touched a hair on Elizabeth’s head, his hands would be all he would need. With a shout, he urged his horse on.

  Chapter 33

  “Why did you murder Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth had asked while she still could.

  He had looked at Mrs. Forster, who was slumped against the settee, her empty teacup dangling from her finger.

  “If I cannot have her whole heart, then nobody can,” he had said with all the warmth of a statue.

  Elizabeth wondered how a man so cold could deceive them for as long as he had.

  She had been too weak to prevent him from tying her hands together. She had screamed, but he soon silenced her with the handkerchief. She remembered hoping he had not used the handkerchief before stuffing it into her mouth.

  Had she lost consciousness? How long had they been traveling? It was not yet dark outside, but it would be soon. A fine spray of moisture covered the windows.

  Elizabeth fought against the stupor, fueling her anger against the colonel to keep herself and Mrs. Forster alive. He had killed Mr. Wickham and was content to let Mr. Darcy hang for it! He had drugged her and his own wife! He had kidnapped them! Colonel Forster’s list of sins grew, and her mind awakened with the addition of each one.

  Now, Elizabeth found herself kneeling on the floor of the coach, her legs too numb and her knees too sore to move immediately. Mrs. Forster lay motionless on the cushioned seat above her.

  Gathering her wits, Elizabeth calmed her breathing and assessed her situation. Her feet were free, but even if she could get out of the carriage, she did not trust her legs to hold her weight. Her mind might have some sharpness to it, but her body lay like a lifeless lump.

  Colonel Forster must have been in a hurry, for he had tied her hands in front of her. Reaching up, she pulled the handkerchief out of her mouth. There. That was one less obstacle to overcome. Her throat was sore, but she could muster a good scream when the time was right.

  Carefully, so as not to shake the carriage and draw his attention, she slid up the seat to look out of the window. Nothing but open, empty fields.

  Panting at the exertion, she eliminated all thoughts of a quick escape. Even if she managed to jump from the carriage into the fields, she could not run. She doubted she could even walk. And then there was Mrs. Forster. She could not just leave her.

  “Think, Lizzy, think! Use your brain!” she mumbled to herself. Lifting her hands to her mouth, she pulled on the rope tying them with her teeth until her arms got too heavy. What had been in that tea?

  Unwilling to give up, she propped her feet up against the seat in front of her and leaned forward to reach the rope. It was clumsy work, and she toppled over too many times to count, but finally the rope loosened, and she pulled her hands free.

  The skin around her wrists was chafed and raw. It looked worse than it felt… for now. That would change once the effects of the drug had run their course.

  Sliding closer to the door, she wiggled the handle. The door clicked open. Could she jump? As the ground sped by at an alarming rate, she clutched her stomach at the thought. If no better idea occurred to her soon, it would have to do.

  She considered Mrs. Forster. She was no bigger than her, a fact for which Elizabeth was grateful. She would gather her strength, hold Mrs. Forster as closely as she could and, in one mighty leap, she would pray for the best and jump. Neither of them weighed much. If she chose a rough patch of road, there was the possibility— though slight— that Colonel Forster would not feel the carriage lighten. The fog would make it difficult for him to find them if he did notice.

  Elizabeth huffed in frustration. Too many possibilities and maybes. Was there no other option?

  She looked at the door again. Maybe, just maybe, there was a passing rider who had the keen eyesight necessary to see her through the foggy dusk. One could dream. If not a rider, then she wished for a good, heavy rain. Falling into mud, while unpleasant, would provide a much softer landing than the packed earth of the road.

  Opening the door just an inch more to see if any other travelers were about (anything to keep from breaking her neck and Mrs. Forster’s by taking a risky jump which Colonel Forster would certainly be able to feel), she peeked her head out and looked in the only direction in which she could see without toppling over.

  Her hair whirled around her face and stung her eyes. Grabbing the loose strands and pulling them back with one leaden hand, she tried again.

  And she saw him. She blinked hard, ensuring herself he was not a dream.

  He shouted so l
oudly, Colonel Forster must have heard him. Before Elizabeth could shift her weight back and away from her precarious position, the coach scratched and creaked to stop, sending her lurching against the open door and bruising her ribs as she smacked against it.

  Darcy’s heart leapt from his chest as he saw Elizabeth dangle headfirst from the carriage, her face dangerously close to the ruts in the road.

  “Stop!” He shouted so loudly, the clomping of the horses’ hooves and the carriage wheels grinding over the packed dirt road faded like whispers.

  “Get down!” clamored Richard.

  Just above Elizabeth, Darcy saw the flash of a pistol at the same time Tanner rammed his horse into him, sending Darcy against Richard. The crack of the shot echoed through the fog and Tanner’s mount screamed.

  Darcy’s stallion careened to the side, and he grabbed at the mane to keep his seat. Tanner’s horse shrieked, tossing its head wildly, tangling his bridle in Darcy’s stirrup and smearing something wet and hot down his leg.

  “Tanner, are you shot?” Darcy kicked his foot free and hurled himself down, holding the reins closely to his horse’s head to steady the animal, and trusting Richard not to let his horse trample him.

  “I am unharmed. Go!”

  Needing no more reassurance or encouragement than that, Darcy ran to Elizabeth. She lay in a ball on the dirt. He heard Richard click the cock of his pistol.

  Colonel Forster jumped from the footboard, weapon in hand. “Stop!” he ordered, pointing his pistol at Elizabeth.

  Darcy reached his arm out to warn Richard.

  “Stop right there or I will shoot her.” The colonel grabbed at her arm and yanked her to her feet.

  “If you harm her, we will shoot. My cousin is an excellent shot. He will not miss,” threatened Darcy.

  Elizabeth staggered on her feet, waving back and forth. Her face was dirty, but he saw no blood. Colonel Forster grabbed her around the neck, and she screamed so loudly, it made Darcy’s ears ring.

  The colonel smacked his hand on top of her mouth, and Darcy knew what would happen. He was close enough to see it in her determined eyes. With a fierceness and enthusiasm he was privileged to witness, she sunk her teeth into Colonel Forster’s fingers.

  The gloves he wore were no protection against the sharpness with which Elizabeth’s teeth pinched his flesh. Darcy knew the feeling all too well and it filled him with pride.

  Promptly pushing her away, the colonel yelped in pain, his pistol misfiring in the process.

  “Grab him!” Darcy shouted as he reached for Elizabeth. He caught her just before she hit the ground.

  Richard kept his pistol on the colonel. “Put your arms behind your head and kneel,” he boomed in a voice demanding swift obedience.

  Tanner joined Richard, leading the horses. “Tend to your lady, Darcy. We will take care of Forster.” As if he thought Darcy capable of doing anything else.

  Kneeling on the ground, Darcy cradled Elizabeth in his arms.

  “My limbs feel like lead. He drugged my tea,” she explained with a slurred voice.

  Gently, he pushed her hair away from her face, stroking her skin until the tightness in his chest grew unbearable. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No more than is visible to the eyes.” She snickered. “I must be a frightful sight.”

  To him, she had never been more beautiful. Her dirt-smeared face did not diminish her humor or tenacity, and nothing could dim the sparks in her eyes. Were he to consider only his feelings, he would have declared himself that moment.

  “I thought I would lose you,” he whispered more to himself than to her.

  She sighed and mumbled, “You will not be rid of me so easily, Mr. Darcy. So long as I have my teeth…”

  Darcy laughed from the bottom of his lungs. “You would show a sense of humor at a time like this.” He loved her for it.

  “Darcy, are you going to make yourself useful?” asked Richard sarcastically. He had tied Colonel Forster’s hands behind his back and now stood beside him with the tip of his sword poking the criminal’s neck.

  Casting him an annoyed glare, Darcy lifted Elizabeth, nestling her head against his shoulder. “I see you two have everything under control.”

  Richard rolled his eyes and addressed Tanner. “By the by, I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of His Majesty’s Army, at your service.” Jerking his head in Darcy’s direction, he added, “I am the handsomer, cleverer, and far more charming one.”

  Tanner chuckled. “I am happy to meet you, Colonel. I am Jonathan Tanner, the innkeeper at Meryton.”

  “And my brother,” added Darcy, delighting in the shock on Richard’s face. Tanner grumbled and wrinkled his face in displeasure. It did not bother Darcy in the least. He would have to get used to his family, and there was no better time than the present to start.

  “Tanner, you will have to learn to put up with us. I will only tell Richard and Georgiana about you, but you must allow me to claim you as my brother to the people closest to me. For God’s sake, you pushed me out of the way of Forster’s bullet. Had you not done so, it would have been my face he hit instead of your horse.”

  Elizabeth gasped. Reaching up, her fingers glossing over his face as soft as a feather, she wrapped her fingers around the hair at the base of his neck.

  “Poor old boy. He does not much like the hole in his ear, but he will live. He is a tough one,” said Tanner. Darcy would have smiled had he been in better possession of his senses.

  He saw the concern in Elizabeth’s eyes when they met his, and she let her hand drop. “I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. I only needed to be certain you were not hurt. If you will put me down, I think I might be able to walk. I did not drink much of it.”

  Darcy was not so confident. Nodding to Colonel Forster, he asked, “What did you give her?”

  Richard removed the gag from around his mouth. “Answer the question.”

  Colonel Forster stretched his lips and cleared his throat. “It was only laudanum.”

  “Only laudanum?” Darcy growled. “Tie him up, Richard. Tanner, when we return to Meryton, can we gather everyone at your inn?”

  Tanner nodded, but Darcy’s attention was soon drawn to Miss Elizabeth. Her eyes were as large as tea saucers.

  “Mrs. Forster!” she exclaimed, struggling in his arms to get to her feet.

  He set her down, but kept his arm around her waist. She was not strong enough yet.

  Leading him to the carriage, she opened the door. Mrs. Forster lay quietly on the cushioned seat. Too quietly.

  Reaching forward with his opposite hand, Darcy felt her skin, pulling his hand back sharply. “She is dead.”

  Colonel Forster sunk to his knees and wept.

  “We will stop at the coroner’s on the way. Let us go.”

  Chapter 34

  Mr. Darcy’s valet greeted them with an ashen face when they finally arrived at the inn. “Mr. Darcy, I found this at the bottom of your trunk.” It was a pistol with the initials GW engraved on the sideplate. “If only I had seen it earlier, we would have known who put it there.”

  Taking the weapon from his trembling hand, Mr. Darcy said gently, “It is done now. Do not forget it was at my suggestion you put off unpacking. You are not to blame. Now we know why the colonel left when he did.”

  Elizabeth said, “He must have placed it in your trunk when it was almost certain you would be found guilty.” She shivered, deeply troubled at the ease with which the colonel would have discarded another life.

  Mr. Darcy took her by the arm. “You are shaking. Tanner, we must see to Miss Elizabeth.”

  A second later, the housekeeper whisked her away, swatting Mr. Darcy from their side with her plump hands. “I will tend to the lady, Mr. Darcy.” When he made to follow, she dared him with a glare to take a step closer.

  Chuckling, Mr. Tanner slapped Mr. Darcy on the back. “Miss Elizabeth is in good hands with Mrs. Molly. You had best leave them be.”

  Taking her upstairs, Mrs. Molly lost no time. Sh
e helped Elizabeth clean up at a wash basin, straightening her hair and brushing her dress.

  On their return, Mr. Tanner settled Elizabeth at a table in the corner. Bringing her coffee and a plate of beef stew, he insisted she eat— a demand with which she was more than willing to comply.

  It seemed that all of Meryton was crowded into the room. Father sat beside her with an overjoyed Mr. Denny, who after receiving permission to marry Kitty, was only kept at their table in case he was called upon to testify. His eyes strayed to the door many times, no doubt longing to be with Kitty at Aunt Philips’ party.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Tanner, and Mr. Darcy stood at the front of the room, each of them the epitome of seriousness with their arms crossed and stern expressions. Three cousins.

  Now that she knew about their relationship, she wondered how she had not seen it before. Mr. Tanner bore a stronger resemblance to Mr. Darcy than Colonel Fitzwilliam did. But they were there nonetheless. Watching the three of them standing shoulder to shoulder, full of confidence and power, was an impressive sight.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam represented the authority in the room, Mr. Stallard no longer qualified to do so. With a booming voice, Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “Let us begin. Given that the proof against these offenders is irrefutable, we shall hear their testimony before the witnesses present before conveying them to Hertford to await the next available assize.”

  Colonel Forster sat in the front row next to Mr. Stallard, his shoulders bent and his head bowed. When his name was called, he did not bother to raise it.

  “Are you guilty of the murder of Lieutenant George Wickham and of your wife, Mrs. Helen Forster?”

  The colonel nodded his head, his shoulders shaking.

  “Speak up, man!”

  “Yes. I never meant to hurt her. She was the love of my life.” The colonel took a deep, shaking breath. “I have nothing to live for and would sooner take my own life than live with the knowledge that I have taken hers.”

  “Then you may as well unburden yourself before these witnesses,” suggested Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Tell us why you killed Lieutenant Wickham.”