Page 125 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
Mr. Darcy greeted Mary with a brief, crisp bow. I was beginning to enjoy his incessant bowing. It was so… male.
“Must we return to Pemberley today?” Miss Darcy asked her brother.
“I regret that I must return for an important business matter,” he answered, looking at me for some reason.
Miss Darcy was dismayed. “When shall I hear Mary’s compositions?”
“Youcould stay another day,” Mary offered. “At Longbourn.” Then her eyes went wide as if she had surprised herself.
“Oh! Could I, Fitz? Just for a day. Or two would be better. I could tune their pianoforte.” She looked at me. “If it is convenient, of course. You must have been busy with the wedding.”
“Why not?” I blurted cheerfully. Everyone stared, and I realized that was not the accepted response. Concentrating, I articulated, “You are very welcome, ifyour brother concurs.” A tray of tea was nearby. I grabbed a cup and took a restorative sip.
Brother and sister negotiated. Really, Miss Darcy widened her eyes wistfully and her brother surrendered, rather like I had been able to do with Papa. Mr. Darcy would travel in a hired coach, leaving the Pemberley coach, driver, and a housemaid in Meryton to return later with Miss Darcy.
Mary and Miss Darcy drifted away. I drank tea, listened to Mr. Darcy and Colonel Forster discuss shooting, and concentrated on steadying my balance.
Mrs. Hill gestured to catch my eye. She was by the manor with a man in regimental uniform. I went over.
“A messenger, ma’am,” she said. When the soldier explained the urgency, I asked him to accompany me, and we returned to interrupt Colonel Forster and Mr. Darcy’s conversation.
The soldier saluted the colonel. “Sir, our militia is called up to Southend. French ships have fired on English vessels at anchor by Margate. Bonaparte means to raid up the Thames.”
“Impossible!” The colonel had an amused smile. “The French will be thrashed if they approach our coast.” The soldier handed the colonel an envelope, which the colonel opened and read, frowning.
A pool of quiet curiosity was spreading from our group. The two other militia officers at the luncheon threaded through the crowd to join us.
The colonel looked up from the message, his face grave. “Gentlemen, we are to Southend. Miss Bennet, my apologies for our premature departure.” He bowed and swiftly said farewell to my mother, and to Jane and Mr. Bingley. The officers departed.
The party resumed, buzzing with speculation.
“I agree with the colonel,” Mr. Darcy said. “It is foolhardy for Bonaparte to attack England. The French navy is outclassed. He may accomplish some brief damage through surprise, but he will take heavy losses.”
“I am sure you are correct,” I said, relieved that feeling had returned to my lips. “But even his enemies agree Napoleon is a great strategist. He must have a purpose. An objective that is worth the risk.” I thought about the shape of the coast. It was rather fun to pretend to be an admiral. “Raiding up the Thames is ridiculous. They would be trapped.”
“The thieves at Pemberley were French spies. They seem to grasp at the ridiculous.”
Mr. Darcy did not know that Lydia and Wickham had conspired with those thieves.
Until now, the gravity of that discovery had escaped me, buried by my shock at Lydia’s powers, the fight to prevent their stealing Longbourn, and the frenzied rush of the wedding. Had all that happened in two days?
The last traces of warmth from the colonel’s drink were driven away by an icy realization. My sister and Wickham were accomplices to the murder of Mr. Rabb. Or worse than accomplices. Whoever shot Mr. Rabb had escaped.
If sentenced by English law, they would be hanged.
Was I sure?
The images I had seen through the tyke’s vision were etched in my mind by pain. I saw the woman mount her horse. The set of her shoulders. How she adjusted her bonnet. It was Lydia.
But I could not call a constable and accuse my sister claiming I saw visions from draca. I would be laughed at. Or called a witch. If I was even willing to accuse my own sister.
However, Mr. Darcy would believe me. Wronged by Wickham once, then betrayed again, he would demand revenge for Mr. Rabb. He had the resources to find Wickham and Lydia. He would challenge Wickham, and they would duel. Wickham would choose pistols, and one would die. Or both.
“What is wrong?” Mr. Darcy said with quiet urgency. I realized the two of us were standing alone.
“I cannot answer,” I said.
He winced as if slapped. Unintentionally, I had used the same words he cried out earlier.
