A Matter of Honor

by Abigail Reynolds

  “He’s no doctor!” cried the old man. “He robbed me! Threatened me with his gun, he did!”

  The officer shuffled his feet nervously. “Madam, I must do my duty.”

  “By all means,” she said cordially. “But pray do give me your card first, and the name of your magistrate and the judge of your court, because I do not intend to be the one to answer to Lord Matlock for this travesty. He is not a good enemy, the Lord Chancellor.”

  Richard growled, “I will be happy to inform him of the entire matter. He is always interested in judicial malfeasance. Your magistrate can look forward to a close examination of his actions.”

  Blanching, the officer rubbed the brim of his hat. “I’m sure there is no need to trouble his lordship.”

  “That is purely up to you.” Mrs. MacLean sounded bored. “Do your duty or not, but if you leave now, I will not press charges for your assault on my poor, aged butler.”

  The officer looked helplessly at Richard’s stony expression, grabbed the old man by the elbow and strode out. The front door slammed.

  No one moved for a long minute. Duncan MacLaren pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

  Mr. Jack took three long strides to stand in front of Jasper. “A prosy bore, am I?”

  “I have no idea, since I just met you,” said Jasper frankly. “Mrs. MacLean gave me the cue to improvise, so I did.”

  A cold smile crossed Mr. Jack’s face, immediately replaced by a look of menace as he pointed a pistol straight at Jasper’s heart. “Stand and deliver!” he barked.

  Jasper paled. “Be careful with that! It’s cocked!”

  The older man lowered the barrel with a smile. “Of course it’s cocked. Have you ever heard of a highwayman saying, “Stand and deliver and pray wait while I cock my pistol?” He set down the pistol, spread his handkerchief on the small table, and carefully shook the gunpowder from the pan of the pistol.

  Jasper’s eyes bulged. “But she said you were a doctor!”

  “And a highwayman of sorts,” Mr. Jack agreed. “Very recently retired from the latter, thanks to your friend Darcy. Just in time, too, it seems. I thought I had shaken them from my trail when I moved back to the castle, but they must have had someone watching the hill fort. I stopped by there this morning to check on the lad who has taken my place.”

  “Perhaps you had best stay away from it,” Mrs. MacLean said sternly. “Jasper, my love, thank you for that fine improvisation while I gathered my wits into a plan.”

  Elizabeth exploded into laughter. “I cannot believe that you threatened him with Lord Matlock!”

  “After all the difficulty that man has caused, he might as well be useful for once,” her aunt countered with satisfaction. “And I spoke the absolute truth. I could swear to every word I said on the Bible.”

  Elizabeth wiped the corners of her eyes. “And what could be more typical of my life in Scotland than to have my wedding turned into a drawing room comedy?”

  “And in a drawing room, no less,” added Jasper helpfully.

  “Comedy, is it? Ye can marry without me, then!” The dour clergyman, quite forgotten during all this, grabbed his Bible and stalked towards the door.

  Duncan MacLaren caught at his sleeve. “Pray do not leave.”

  The minister glowered at him and spouted off in angry Gaelic in which the word Sassenach appeared frequently. MacLaren replied calmingly in the same language, but to no avail, as the clergyman stomped out.

  “Oh, dear,” said Mrs. MacLean. “Did we scare him away?”

  “Aye,” MacLaren said. “He was loath enough to marry two Sassenachs outside of a kirk in the first place, and I just might have forgot to mention Darcy’s connections or that there would be an English Army officer present.”

  Darcy only cared about one thing. “How long will it take to find another clergyman?”

  Mr. Jack said, “Days, most likely, if you insist on that foolishness.”

  “We are not waiting for days,” growled Darcy.

  “Well, then, let us get it done,” MacLaren said practically. “Miss Merton, will you be so kind as to stand next to Mr. Darcy? Who are your witnesses?”

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Gardiner,” said Elizabeth.

  MacLaren nodded. “Right, then. Miss Merton, are you of marriageable age?”

  “Of course!”

  “Are you free to marry?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Do you wish to marry Mr. Darcy?”

  Elizabeth took his hand, her eyes smiling. “With all my heart.”

  “Darcy, are you of marriageable age?”

  Good Lord, this was happening! “Yes.”

  “And free to marry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you wish to marry Miss Merton?”

  “I do.” There was so much more he wished he could say, but his heart was too full.

  Richard grabbed his free hand and stuffed something into it. Of course, the ring! Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand and slid it gently over her knuckle. Her fine eyes met his, and all the things he had not said were alive in the air between them.

  “Then you are married,” said MacLaren in a matter-of-fact manner. “Do you wish me to write it out for you to sign? It is not legally necessary, but some people like it.”

  Darcy could not stop gazing at Elizabeth. His wife. His wife! He would never tire of calling her that. “Yes, if you would be so kind. Documentation is good.”

  MacLaren crossed to the desk, found a sheet of paper in the drawer, and began to write.

  Mrs. MacLean, her eyes brimming with tears, embraced Elizabeth. “My dear girl, I am so happy for you!” She kissed Darcy’s cheek, just as she had a lifetime ago on Hogmanay. “I am proud to have you as my nephew.”

  Then all the others came forward with their good wishes, Mr. Gardiner, Georgiana, Jasper, Richard, Mrs. Graham, and Timmy, for once without Bonnie Prince. Even Mr. Jack managed to be mostly polite. Darcy realized he was grinning foolishly, and that he did not care. Then it was the servants, giving their congratulations.

  MacLaren held up the paper he had been writing. “‘This is to certify that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire and Miss Elizabeth Merton of Edinburgh, née Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire, did appear before me this first day of March in the year of our Lord 1813 and did state their intention to wed, both being of age and free to marry, and I did pronounce them married.’ Now we need your signatures and those of your witnesses.”

  The footmen carried over the little table, and they each signed. Darcy watched Elizabeth’s hand move across the paper. It was a miracle. After all the misunderstandings, all his family’s interference, all the suffering, Elizabeth was his, and all was right with the world.

  He had thought it would not feel like a real wedding without a clergyman reading the service over them, but he could not imagine anything that would make him feel more indelibly married than he did at this moment. Someday they would repeat their vows in a church, but he felt certain in his heart that God had been present and blessed their joining in matrimony.

  THEY HAD FINISHED THE wedding breakfast the staff had laid out in fine festive spirit, and Mr. Gardiner was proposing a toast to Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, when the sound of a distant knock on the front door made them all freeze.

  “Out through the kitchen, Jack,” said Duncan MacLaren quietly.

  But before Mr. Jack reached the door, Big Tom the footman stepped inside holding a card. “Pardon for overstepping, but the butler is still being seen to below stairs. A Mr. Ramsay is asking for Mr. Darcy. Seems a pleasant Scottish gentleman.”

  “Ramsay? Show him in,” said Darcy. He added to Mr. Jack, “A friend from Edinburgh. No one to worry about.”

  Duncan MacLaren sighed. “No one ever comes to Kinloch House in the winter, and suddenly we have crowds knocking down the doors.”

  Mrs. MacLean added, “Bring a fresh tea tray, too. I have worked up an appetite.”

  Big Tom brought Ramsa
y directly to Darcy’s side rather than interrupting larger conversation by announcing him. Ramsay looked taken aback, as well he might. “Good Lord, a midwinter house party in the Highlands? I have never heard of such a thing.”

  Darcy shook his friend’s hand. “It is a very long story. Forgive me for not standing.” He gestured to his leg. “I am glad to see you, but what brings you here?”

  Ramsay said, “I got your letter and decided to check on that broken leg of yours myself. I do not trust country doctors.”

  “Good,” said Darcy. “I would be happy to have your opinion. My current doctor has an unusual approach, to say the least.” He glanced over at Mr. Jack, who was kissing Mrs. MacLean’s hand.

  Jasper laughed. “Yes, you should see Darcy’s medieval torture device!”

  Ramsay stepped back to look at Jasper. “Why, if it is not my future son-in-law!” he said. “Matilda talks of you constantly, and she is memorizing a monologue to perform for you. I am grateful that you are a very good actor, for she will be crushed if you laugh at her five-year-old version of Lady Macbeth’s monologue.” He rubbed his hands together and said in a falsetto voice, ‘Out, out, damned spot!’”

  Jasper shouted with laughter. “This I must see!”

  Ramsay looked down at the brace on Darcy’s leg. “Good God, Darcy, what is that contraption?”

  “That is the medieval torture device,” said Darcy. “The gentleman talking to Mrs. MacLean created it.”

  “The one in the puce and brown waistcoat,” added Jasper helpfully.

  Ramsay removed his spectacles and followed Jasper’s pointing finger. “Good God! Is that not Jack MacLaren?”

  “I gather that is his name, yes,” said Darcy dryly. “He never actually introduced himself to me.”

  “Well, if Jack MacLaren has been taking care of you, you certainly do not need me. I am very interested in hearing his explanation of your torture device, though.”

  “You know him?” asked Darcy.

  “I know of him. He is a brilliant doctor. He took the hardest cases, the ones no one else wanted, and he saved a goodly number of them. I have been to some of his medical lectures.”

  “Medical lectures,” Darcy said blankly.

  “He left Edinburgh a couple of years ago. I wonder why he chose to bury himself in the middle of nowhere.”

  Darcy choked. “You will have to ask him.”

  As Ramsay examined Darcy’s brace, Mr. Jack – Darcy still could not think of him as MacLaren the doctor instead of Auld Jack the highwayman – approached them. “Do not touch that,” he snapped at Ramsay.

  Ramsay straightened. “I merely wished to see what you had done.” He stuck out his hand. “Ewan Ramsay, a friend of Darcy’s and a doctor in Edinburgh. I have attended some of your lectures.”

  The former highwayman raised an eyebrow. “I imagine Darcy was surprised to hear that.”

  “Rather,” said Darcy with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  Ramsay continued, “Darcy had written to me about his injuries, and I decided to check on him myself, not knowing what sort of care he might receive here. If he had told me your name, I would have stayed at home.”

  “It would not have helped,” drawled Mr. Jack. “That blow to his head left him confused enough that he thought my name was Mr. Jack after hearing some of the servants call me that. He also suffered from the delusion that I was one of the highwaymen who attacked him.”

  “That would be one way to explain it,” Darcy said ironically.

  Mr. Jack said haughtily, “I imagine Mr. Ramsay is well acquainted with the sequelae of severe concussion.”

  “Of course,” said Ramsay, oblivious to the undercurrents. “May I be bold enough to ask about this brace? I have never seen such a thing.”

  “It is makeshift, of course.” Without a word to Darcy, Mr. Jack tugged down the leg of Darcy’s sock to expose his ankle. “His injury is unusual in that both his tibia and fibula were fractured and displaced, the fibula some two inches above the lateral malleolus, and the tibia an inch higher. The usual sort of splint works well enough when only one bone is broken, but with neither to provide stability, even the smallest movement can displace them, and supporting any weight on it would be certain to do so. As you see, there are collars both above the knee and above the medial condyle below the knee, and the rigid shoe is the final fixed point. They are forced apart by these rods which are extended to provide traction and keep the bones straight and unable to grind together as he heals.”

  “Ingenious!” exclaimed Ramsay.

  “Torture,” said Darcy.

  Ramsay laughed. “Darcy, do you know what any other doctor would have done with a double fracture? Amputated it.”

  “Even with that device, there was some displacement when he was transported here and I had to set it again. It would be improved by adding stabilization rods in front and back,” Mr. Jack said critically.

  “If it works, will you present the case?” asked Ramsay.

  Mr. Jack cleared his throat. “I do not expect to return to Edinburgh in the immediate future, and I doubt the patient would agree to it. If you wish to show the technique, I would not object.”

  “I am sure others would be eager to learn. Several of my asthmatic patients have benefited from your recommendation of concentrated tea.”

  Clearly that conversation was going to continue for some time, so Darcy turned back to Jasper. “Would you be so kind as to cover my leg again?”

  “Of course.” Jasper arranged the blanket over the brace. “Amazing, though. He truly is a prosy bore. I was just making that up.”

  Elizabeth stood behind Jasper. “I do not think I have heard him say that many words in our entire acquaintance. I would have called him laconic at best.”

  “Did you hear the part where he told Ramsay I thought he was a highwayman because of the blow to my head?” demanded Darcy.

  Elizabeth laughed. “I suppose I should not be surprised. He does not lack for presumption.”

  “No, and he still has that pistol in his pocket!” exclaimed Jasper.

  “Whereas I am so accustomed to Mr. Jack holding a pistol on me that I would find it surprising if he did not!” said Elizabeth with a teasing smile. “But you need not worry; I have known him for weeks now and he has not yet shot me, despite great provocation.”

  DARCY FRETTED. THIS was not how a wedding night was supposed to happen. He was supposed to go to his bride’s bedroom, not wait for her to come to his, but that was the least of his problems. He had been trying for two days to think how to explain himself to Elizabeth, and every explanation he had come up with was worse than the one before. Finally he had concluded the only thing to do was to remain at a distance and calmly explain that they could not consummate the marriage until his brace could be removed. He thought he could manage all of that except the calm part. Nothing about the concept of consummating their marriage made him feel remotely calm.

  Then James opened the door to admit Elizabeth, who was wearing a silk dressing gown that clung to her every curve and a bewitching smile. “I hope I am not too early,” she said in a throaty voice as James shut the door behind her, leaving them alone together.

  “You could never be too early.” Well, that sounded calm, even if it was completely nonsensical. But now he had to explain. “Elizabeth...”

  She untied her dressing gown and let it slide to the floor, revealing a lowcut lace nightgown with pearl buttons up the front. He swallowed hard as all the blood in his body rushed downward. “There is something I need to explain to you.”

  She arranged herself across his lap. “Yes?”

  This was torture. “You are so lovely I cannot think,” he choked out, almost dizzied by the sight of her cleavage.

  “My advice is not to think,” she said sweetly as she played with the knot in his cravat.

  “But there are things we must discuss.” His traitorous hands, though, decided not to cooperate, not when they could stroke her cheek and caress her thi
ghs.

  She gave him a bewitching smile. “I cannot see why. There we are!” She held the two ends of his cravat in her hands triumphantly. “Wait, does it go all the way around your neck again? Good heavens, how do you ever manage to breathe?” She leaned forward to unwind it from his neck, leaving his lips in close proximity to her tempting neckline.

  Darcy was unsure how he could breathe with the cravat gone. In a strangled voice, he said, “Mr. Jack says we cannot consummate our marriage yet.”

  She took a delicate nibble on the side of his exposed neck. “He told me that, too, or rather he told my aunt and had her tell me. But she also made some suggestions for other things we could do.”

  Now he definitely could not breathe. “She did what?”

  Elizabeth ran her tongue along his collar bone. “Remember that she is a theatrical. They are not as prudish as polite society. You need not worry. She said you would enjoy it.”

  He groaned. “I am sure I would. But you need not...” Why was he about to tell her not to do anything she did not want to when she clearly did want to do those things?

  She began to unbutton his waistcoat. “Do not be silly,” she whispered as she feathered kisses across his neck.

  Buttons. His hands knew what to do with buttons, too, and if they were married, there was nothing stopping him from disposing of those buttons on her nightgown. The sight of the buttons on the back of her gowns had been driving him to distraction for a year. Then he felt her hands slide inside his waistcoat, and he stopped thinking at all.

  THE NEXT MORNING DARCY had the very great pleasure of lying back in bed and watching the maid dress his wife. He could never tire of seeing Elizabeth either undressed or dressed, but experiencing those everyday moments between Elizabeth and her maid was an unexpected intimacy. At first he worried that his attention would embarrass Margaret, but she was soon giving him almost as many saucy glances as Elizabeth was. And if he could only walk, he would throw Margaret out and drag Elizabeth back to bed.