Page 12 of Colour My World
The incident in Lambton was spoken of for days. The butcher’s apprentice, who had witnessed everything, relayed the tale in exacting detail to anyone who would listen. The seamstress, who had clutched at her shawl in horror, repeated it to her friends and customers as she hemmed their gowns. The men outside the tavern, half-drunk and fully stunned, carried the story beyond the village.
And an informed Mr George Darcy returned to Pemberley.
A few days later, Mr Robert Wickham stood before his employer’s desk. His hands rested at his sides, his back straight. “My son laid hands upon yours. There is no defence.”
Mr Darcy steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Indeed, there is not.”
The silence stretched.
“I have done ill by him. His mother… Well. It matters not. I indulged him beyond reason, and he has grown reckless.” Wickham paused, his broad shoulders rising and falling. “You have my sincerest regrets, sir. Pray, tell me how I might make amends?”
Mr Darcy regarded him for several moments, then nodded. “My holdings in Ireland require a competent steward.”
Wickham blinked. Slowly, he inclined his head. “You do me great honour, sir.”
“You will quit Pemberley within a se’nnight.” Mr Darcy stood. “And be certain to curb that whelp you call a son.”
Mr Wickham bowed and then strode from the room.
* * *
Dark clouds pressed against the peaks, thick with unshed rain. Inside the Pemberley stable, his cousin Richard Fitzwilliam satastride a black Friesian. One gloved hand rested on the saddle pommel; the other traced the horse’s muscular neck.
Sun Tzu was a broad-chested beast built for war. His coat gleamed like polished obsidian; his long mane cascaded in thick waves. Its eyes fixed on Darcy.
He looks at me as does the painting of Sir Alistair. Both are irascible beasts.
“Still brooding over Lambton?” Fitzwilliam arched a brow.
“You clearly made your point.”
“Did I? Because you look as though you mean to seek satisfaction.”
Darcy shook his head. “I only wish I were more like you.”
Fitzwilliam’s hand stilled against Sun Tzu’s withers. “Not all of us have the luxury of choice. Some paths are set from the cradle.”
Darcy frowned. “And mine is not?”
His cousin rolled his neck as if preparing for another altercation. “Do not let prejudice blind you to the truth.”
“What do you mean?”
Fitzwilliam tapped Sun Tzu’s flank with his heel, guiding the great stallion a step forward and then halting him. The Friesian’s tail, long as a banner, swished once in the air.
Darcy fell into step beside them.
“You believe you are bound to duty, to legacy, to the demands of your name. And in some ways, you are,” Fitzwilliam said. “But do not mistake that for a cage. A man may bear duty and still have freedom if he is wise enough to see where they intersect.”
Darcy swallowed. “And if they do not?”
“Then you carve your path, Cousin.” He adjusted his gloves. “But you had best be prepared for the cost.”
Sun Tzu tossed his head, hooves striking the stable floor with impatience. Fitzwilliam bent low and murmured something into the beast’s ear.
He shifted his seat. “One day, you will understand.”
Darcy watched as his cousin urged Sun Tzu towards the summer storm that gathered beyond Pemberley. He had always admired Fitzwilliam. But for the first time, he wondered whether his closest friend envied him.
