Page 121 of The Difference of a Darcy
And so as he spoke of vengeance, her mind raced, desperate for something—anything—that did not end with blood or ruin. And then she remembered.
Georgiana’s letter—Colonel Fitzwilliam!
The idea struck her like a spark catching dry tinder. He had written to Georgiana from Matlock, which was only a few hours away. If they could reach him—if he could see what had becomeof his cousin’s household—surely he would intervene. Surely he could do what they could not.
Her lips parted to speak, to tell Darcy of her plan, but then his arms tightened around her, anchoring her to him. The rage and despair that had filled the small cloakroom seemed to ebb with every breath he took against her hair.
For the first time since the fire that was not a fire, she felt safe. Truly safe.
She closed her eyes and leaned into him. The world could wait a little longer.
To her disappointment, a soft knock came all too soon.
“William? Beth?” Mrs. Reynolds’ voice carried a weary gentleness. “I am sorry, but we must act. Have you settled on a plan?”
Darcy’s negative response only served to harden Elizabeth’s resolve. “Fortunately, I have one,” she said.
“What are you thinking?” Darcy asked her, a look of trepidation on his face.
Darcy turned sharply toward her, his expression caught between hope and trepidation. “What are you thinking?”
Elizabeth lifted her chin, arching an eyebrow with a faint trace of mischief. “Nothing so dire as you are, I suspect. It involves neither murder nor mayhem—at least, not if we are lucky.”
The smallest ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, and she felt her heart ease just a little at the sight.
“It is actually quite simple, really. Georg—Mrs. Georgianareceived a letter from her cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam a few days ago.”
“Richard?” Darcy asked eagerly, the name escaping him before sense could intervene.
Mrs. Reynolds stiffened, scandal flashing in her eyes. “Colonel Fitzwilliamis the son of an earl,” she reminded himprimly. “And he is on the Continent, if I recall correctly, and of no use to us.”
“He is at Matlock, actually, which I understand is only a few hours away by horse.” Elizabeth looked at Darcy for confirmation. “He said he would come call on his cousin, and he would like to speak to Mr. Wickham.”
As if he could read her thoughts, Darcy said, “I could ride there to retrieve him while you remain hidden.”
“Precisely.”
Darcy began to move decisively towards the stables, then froze midstep. He turned back to Mrs. Reynolds and asked, “May I use Nell?”
Mrs. Reynolds hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, I think that would be best. If you leave within the hour, youmayreturn before nightfall—if fortune favors you. Your wife can stay in the kitchens. There is a small pantry there where she may hide should Mr. Wickham wander below stairs.”
“May I see to Mrs. Georgiana, first?” Elizabeth asked. “She must be quite distraught.”
Hesitating a few moments, Mrs. Reynolds shook her head. “We should not risk it. He will look for you in his wife’s chambers first. Best keep you well out of sight.”
“But surely I should be there to help—”
“No!” Darcy and Mrs. Reynolds interrupted in perfect unison.
The sharp echo of their voices filled the narrow room, and for one absurd instant, Elizabeth almost laughed. Darcy’s eyes widened slightly in surprise at himself, and the corners of her mouth twitched despite the danger.
“Very well,” she said with a small, wry smile. “I see the alliance is formed.”
Even Mrs. Reynolds’ stern face softened. “Forgive me, my dear, but it truly is for the best. I shall take Mrs. Georgianato her own chamber and tell anyone who asks that she is still unwell—not that anyone should. You will remain belowstairs until Mr. Darcy returns. I shall have Cook bring your meals, and if he comes down, you are to hide yourself at once.”
Elizabeth nodded, sobered again. “And if he returns before the colonel?”
“Then God help us all,” Mrs. Reynolds muttered.
