This, Kitty had discovered the night before, when just as she was falling asleep, Lizzy had whispered into the dark that she was sorry not to have gone with her to meet Sergeant Mulhall that day, but that she was glad of it now. Pressed to explain why, her sister had relayed a conversation she had had that afternoon with Lady Tuppence Swanbrook, who had given such a solid defence of Lord Rutherford’s character that it had cast Sergeant Mulhall’s account—and his motive in giving it—into serious question.
‘I think he might be a troublemaker,’ had been Lizzy’s conclusion, and while that would not have been enough to put Kitty off meeting any man—indeed, was more likely to make her want to meet him than not—it did make her curious to know why he had said it in the first place.
“I have a question for you,” she said.
“Steady on, I only asked to call on you.”
That made her snort again. “I was wondering why you told me Lord Rutherford is a rake.”
“I hope this does not mean I have a rival.”
“Not at the present moment,” she replied with a coy smile. “It is just that my sister has information to the contrary, and she thinks you must be up to no good to be spreading unfounded reports about people.”
“Ah, I see. That is unfortunate, but I hope you will acquit me of calumny when I tell you that I was only following orders. And whilst I cannot personally attest to the truth of the report, I can certainly vouch for the man who ordered me to pass it on.”
Kitty ceased searching the array of paintings for additional derrieres and turned her complete attention upon Sergeant Mulhall, her curiosity seriously piqued. Not in a thousand years would she have anticipated such a revealing answer. “Pass it on? I thought the matter merely came up in conversation. Do you mean to tell me somebody sent you with the deliberate design to warn me?”
“Not you, madam. Your sister. When you told me your name was Miss Bennet, I assumed I had found my mark. I would apologise for the mistake, but I cannot be sorry for it, for I would not have had the good fortune to make your acquaintance had I spoken to your sister.”
Kitty gave only a cursory smile, too interested in the delicious mystery unfolding before her to be distracted by compliments.“You are very kind but pray tell me—who sent you to warn my sister?”
“My commanding officer, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
It was not a name Kitty recognised. To her knowledge—which was not inconsiderable, whatever her father might think—there had been no Fitzwilliam in either of the regiments encamped near Meryton over the last two years, and Lydia had never listed him among Wickham’s fellow officers in the north. “I do not know anyone by that name.”
“Your sister does. They met in Kent last year.”
“Did they now?”
Lizzy truly was a sly one. It was said that some people kept their cards close to their chests. Lizzy kept hers stuffed tightly down the front of her stays, never to see the light of day. It had always infuriated Kitty and Lydia, for she was their only sister whose secrets they were never able to extract by some method or other. “But how did he know she was meeting Lord Rutherford?”
“It is strongly encouraged for a soldier not to question his orders,” Sergeant Mulhall replied with an enigmatic smile, which might have been attractive if he were not being so vexingly evasive.
“He must be watching her. Should I be concerned? Is he dangerous?”
“Not in the least! He is a fine gentleman. The younger son of an earl.”
“He must be in love with her, then,” Kitty replied glibly, hoping to provoke him into being more forthcoming. “It would explain why he sent you to warn her instead of coming himself. That would have been too obvious.”
Sergeant Mulhall chuckled. “No offence to your sister, I am sure she is delightful, but that is not the colonel’s style. But I understand they are good friends. Which leads me to hope this might put me back in your sister’s good graces.”
Kitty opened her mouth to reply but was forestalled when the woman next to her stepped backwards into her and almost tripped over. Murmurs of “I say!” and “Upon my word, have a care!” went up as a tall gentleman stalked past them all, leaving the crush eddying about in disgruntled circles in his wake.
Kitty gasped in recognition. “That is Mr Darcy!”
“Yes, I know,” Sergeant Mulhall replied, frowning. “I wonder what has him all riled up.”
“Probably nothing. He always looks cross if you ask me. How do you know him?”
“He is Colonel Fitzwilliam’s cousin.”
“Is he?” She grinned at the coincidence. What a joke to have accused Colonel Fitzwilliam of interfering, when here was his cousin who had a proven history of meddling in other people’s relationships—to Jane and Mr Bingley’s detriment. But he had also famously scorned Lizzy’s beauty; thus Kitty grinned again as she quipped, “Perhaps it ishewho loves Lizzy!”
Sergeant Mulhall did not answer her. She stopped craning her neck to peer over the crowds and turned to face him.
“What?” he asked, all faux innocence.
“Upon my life, hedoeslove her, does he not?”
