Page 24 of See, Hear, Speak No Evil, Mr. Darcy
“Are you well, madam? Can you see and hear me? I would not hold a swoon against you. I am on the verge of doing so myself,” the soldier said, searching Charlotte’s eyes.
“She was yelling ‘no,’ and ‘to stop.’ He deserved…he deserved…”
“In that, we are wholly agreed, madam,” the avenger said, his thumb caressing her cheek before he let her go. Still, she was fixed in place by the way his eyes possessed her.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and he wiped something from her face. He then pulled out his flask to spill some on the handkerchief before pressing the opening to her lips. When the burn from the alcohol hit her tongue, her senses returned to her in a rush.
Swallowing, Charlotte managed a strangled, “Thank you.”
The damp cloth showed blood removed from her cheek. It was when his eyes shifted to the others that she remembered they were not alone. She whipped her head around, pressing a hand over her heart from a sudden onslaught of fear.
Charlotte saw that Mr. Darcy had pulled Elizabeth and Miss Darcy into his arms. Holding them to him, Mr. Darcy stared at the dead body of George Wickham.
“He will haunt the Darcys no more,” Colonel Fitzwilliam whispered.
“I have seen the results of women taken against their will. I assure you, sir, Eliza and I will speak in her defense. We see no evil in your sister having protected herself, Mr. Darcy. Rather, I commend her. It was I who ended his life when he turned her gun on you.” Charlotte’s eyes then returned to the man before her.
“I did not kill him?” Miss Darcy asked in a broken sob, lifting her head from Elizabeth’s shoulder to look at Charlotte. “Oh, Richard, you have come.”
“You sent for me. I was racing to the stables before I had finished reading your note. I am glad to have arrived in time.”
“But I did not kill him?”
“I did,” Charlotte said, her eyes fixed on Colonel Fitzwilliam. “It wasme.”
“No, poppet, you did not. It wasme,” Fitzwilliam said, his voice stern. The last was said once his eyes returned to Charlotte to verify she understood his expectation of taking the blame on his shoulders.
Mr. Darcy sagged in relief and understanding, pressing a kiss to Elizabeth’s lips before thanking her for her care of his sister. He then pressed his cheek to the top of his sister’s head, rocking them both in his arms. When he lifted his face, he rested his forehead against Elizabeth’s.
“How do you have a gun, dearest?” Mr. Darcy asked his sister.
“Richard made certain I could use one after Ramsgate,” Miss Darcy sobbed, turning her face to her cousin.
“Of course,” Mr. Darcy murmured.
“Colonel,” Mr. Bingley said, “Ana informed the housekeeper she intended to walk in the gardens. Darcy and I planned to join her once we broke our fast. When we heard her scream, we came running. There was a gunshot, and that dastard was…”
“Neardeath, Mr. Bingley. Mr. Wickham wasneardeath when you came running out. You saw him grab Miss Darcy’s gun, but I…I could not let him harm you.” Charlotte’s gaze remained on the handsome colonel.
“Wecould not let him harm another.” Fitzwilliam picked up both of Charlotte’s hands to kiss them. “I am Colonel Fitzwilliam, and I am in your debt, madam.”
“Right, yes.” Mr. Bingley said, “Colonel, this is Miss Lucas. And this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” His hand rested on Darcy’s shoulder as if to steady himself.
Colonel Fitzwilliam clasped Miss Darcy to his chest, demanding to know if she was harmed. Assuring him she was well, Miss Darcy took Charlotte’s hand and hugged it betweenherself and the colonel. With her other hand, Charlotte ran long, soothing strokes down Miss Darcy’s back.
“I did what I was supposed to do, Richard. He grabbed me, threatened me by saying he would not be thwarted this time. I refused, but he would not let go,” Miss Darcy said, clutching both of them to her. “I did what I wassupposedto do.”
“I know, poppet,” Fitzwilliam said, kissing her brow.
“You came,” Miss Darcy said, pulling back enough to see his face.
“Of course. My favorite lady in the whole of England needed me. It would have taken an act of God to delay me. Bingley, we require the magistrate, and as quick as can be done.”
“My father, Sir William Lucas, is the magistrate, sir. You can send a footman to Lucas Lodge. The apothecary, Mr. Mason Jars, is likely to be found at his shop in Meryton,” Charlotte supplied.
“I think, perhaps, you can let me go, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said gently.
“I apologize, Miss Elizabeth, but I find that impossible just this moment.”
