“Chatter, why I…” Kitty began, her fists set firmly on her hips as she faced Lydia, though she had no opportunity to continue her defense as Mr. Bennet shook his head and Mrs. Bennet took charge.
“Come, your nerves must be as worn as mine,” their mother said as she pulled Mary and the three men with her into the drawing room, her daughter never allowed far from her.
Lord Lightcliffe rising from the settee as they entered, Mrs. Bennet kept one hand on Mary as she worried, “Sir, your leg. Is it not too soon to attempt pushing yourself?”
“Fear not, madam, that chair by Jane shall do me well, would you not agree?”
Nodding swiftly, she asked Kitty to place a small stool in front of his chosen seat before pushing the chair nearer to Jane’s. “There is less of a draft you see,” she supplied as he made his way toward the chair, a brow raised.
“Of course,” he answered, Mrs. Bennet observing him happily for several seconds before her eyes grew wide and she whirled around.
“Mary, please, take the settee by my chair. After all you have endured, you should be comfortable. And you sir,” she said to Mr. Darcy’s cousin, “do sit beside her, you both must have the best place.”
Accepting the seat in mute obedience, Mary sat followed by Colonel Fitzwilliam, his hand moving as if to grab hers, thenstilling, his fingers drawing in and out as if uncertain what to do with himself.
How curious?Peering at her sister, Elizabeth’s eyes widened at what she saw; the same, unsettled movement in her fingers, along with a peculiar shift in her posture toward the Colonel.
Turning a questioning gaze to Darcy, she hoped for answers, though none could be given in her mother’s drawing room with the very subjects of her curiosity seated before an eager mamma.
“A cousin of Mr. Darcy’s?” the Bennet matron began her polite interrogation of the man. “And a soldier, I believe?”
“I am, Mrs. Bennet. One of three in regard to Darcy’s collection of cousins, and the only one in the military.”
“Ah, and you are a second son?” she pried.
“Indeed. My elder brother is in London at present, and our cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh, is with her mother at their home, Rosings Park, which is in Kent.”
“I believe a cousin of my husband is curate in Kent, and has mentioned some lady with that name. Lady Catherine de Bourgh was it?”
“Yes, dear,” Mr. Bennet supplied, a note of amusement growing as he considered his cousin, “I believe he did mention her in his letter… several times in fact.”
“There, you see,” she smiled, “something in common already, for surely she must be your aunt?”
“She is.”
“My! A lady; I believe Mr. Collins claimed her father was an earl, and her husband had been a knight? Are such noble connections found in your parents?”
Mary’s face blanching at the direction of their mother’s questions, she gently cleared her throat, though Elizabeth knew such polite hints would go unnoticed.She would have to do something to help her sister.
“My father is an earl,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied before Elizabeth could intervene; Mary’s gaze turning toward the nearby window as the conversation continued.
“What a fine thing. You must be in the regulars then? And a man such as yourself must have risen well?”
“I am a colonel in the regulars,” he answered, his tone and posture patient, though with each question asked of him Mary’s patience appeared to grow thin.
“Mamma,” Mary rushed before another query might be pressed, “though I fear this may be rude of me, I am certain the Colonel and the men with him are as exhausted as I. In truth, Richar… umm, Colonel Fitzwilliam, kept watch at our last stop and has had little sleep today; as much as I know him capable, after all this time and everything endured, a night of sound sleep in a comfortable bed must be needed.” Frowning, she observed him with kind eyes, “I should hate it if anything happened to him.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s hand again appearing to reach toward Mary’s, Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, the words of Mary and her calling the man by his first name echoing in her mind.She would have to speak to her.
“Then I must take my leave,” Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked, his eyes lingering on Mary before turning to her mother. “Darcy and Aldry are no doubt as exhausted as I. Though, if acceptable, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, I should wish to share a proper visit on the morrow?”
“Of course, we would be happy for you to come!” Mrs. Bennet answered quickly as she held her daughter’s hand, the assurances of her husband which followed genuine, though far less enthused.
His eyes moving toward Mary again, the Colonel said his goodbyes as he moved backward toward the door, the farewells of those around him unnoticed as he kept his eyes on Mary as long as he might.
A raised brow turned toward Darcy, again she knew her silent question could not be answered as he could offer no more than a familiar turn to his lips as he left with the others.
If only she might speak with him. To walk as they often did, or sit by a fire, discussing questions and problems, and when they could bear the serious nature of things no longer, turning their words to talk of family, friends, hopes, dreams, and anything else they desired.
