That trust had been his doing.
“I should have been more careful,” Mr Bennet murmured to the empty room. “With you. With all of this.”
He rose abruptly and crossed to the window, staring into the darkness that offered no answers. A boy like Tommy did not simply wander off. Hedid not forget his lessons. He did not ignore instruction.
Someone had seen him.
Someone had recognised what he was worth.
The thought made his blood run cold.
Mr Bennet closed his eyes and, for the first time since the house had been roused into frantic motion, allowed fear to take root—not for reputation, nor for discovery, but for the small, brilliant soul who trusted him utterly.
“I will find you,” he whispered. “Whatever the cost.” Tommy was more than a solution to the entailment. The lad washis son,and he would not abandon him.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The air bit at Elizabeth’s cheeks as she stepped beyond the garden gate, the cold sinking deep into her bones. Winter had not yet come in, but its herald was unmistakable. The sky was leaden, heavy with unfallen snow, and the bare limbs of the trees rattled in the wind like the bones of the earth itself. The ground, once soft with summer’s bloom, now lay frozen and brittle beneath her boots, the grass dead and grey.
She clutched her shawl tighter about her and pressed forwards into the edge of Longbourn’s woods, hoping to still the thoughts in her mind that had been swirling without ceasing since Tommy disappeared. The uncertainty, the helplessness, the guilt—it all pressed down upon her like the grey sky above. Her heart ached with fear, and her soul sagged under the weight of what she had hidden, of what might come to pass if Tommy were lost forever.
She walked without purpose, her steps leading her farther and farther from Longbourn as she followed an old, overgrown trail that the game used more than the family. No one but her ever came this way. No one knew it was here. Twigs cracked beneath her feet. The hush of the woods felt eerie, as though the trees themselves waited in breathless silence. Elizabeth paused, a sudden sound catching her attention—a low murmur, not quite words, but unmistakably human.
Dropping low, she crept forwards, each movement careful and deliberate. The underbrush clawed at her skirts, brambles snagged at her hair, butshe did not stop. She parted the bushes carefully, ignoring the sting of a thorn that tore a scratch across her cheek.
There—movement.
Through the dense foliage, she saw him.
Wickham stood in the clearing, his hand twisted tightly in Tommy’s hair, guiding him with no tenderness at all. The boy’s hands were loosely bound in front, and though his legs were unbound, he stumbled, either from exhaustion or fear. Elizabeth’s heart pounded so violently that she feared it might give her away.
“Do it now,” Wickham snapped, shoving Tommy towards the base of a tree. “Be quick about it. We cannot be seen.” The boy whimpered but obeyed. Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from crying out.
When the boy was done, Wickham yanked him roughly by the arm. “Inside. We have a long wait ahead of us. And no more nonsense. You make another sound and I shall toss you in the stream.” He dragged Tommy towards a small, half-collapsed structure obscured with brush—an old hunting shack, long forgotten. Elizabeth recognised it. Her grandfather had used it in his youth, but it had not been visited in years. She had believed it little more than a ruin, yet here it stood, barely upright but functional enough to serve Wickham’s cruel purpose.
As the door creaked closed behind them, Elizabeth crept backward, branch by branch, until she was clear of the underbrush. Her hands shook. Her breath came in short, gasping bursts. But she did not stop. She did not hesitate.
She turned and ran.
The cold wind tore at her shawl and made her eyes water, but she ran faster, clutching her skirts to keep from tripping. She dared not go back to Longbourn—it was too far, and she was closer now to Netherfield. Herheart beat a frantic rhythm against her ribs as she cleared the wood’s edge and saw the house ahead.
She burst through the front door without ceremony, startling a footman and causing Miss Bingley to shriek from the drawing room. But Elizabeth paid them no heed.
“Darcy! Mr Darcy!” she cried.
Footsteps thundered on the stairs. Darcy appeared with Richard just behind him. Mr Bennet and Mr Bingley emerged from a sitting room at the rear of the hall, where they had congregated to make a new plan of action.
“I found him!” she gasped. “Tommy! He is alive. Wickham has him hidden in the old hunting shack—the one my grandfather used. It is deep in the woods—beyond the deer path. There were brambles and branches and so many obstacles, but it still stands. He is in there.”
Without a word, Darcy sprang into action. He barked orders for weapons and horses. Mr Bennet turned white, but his voice was steady as he asked for lanterns and men.
Richard laid a hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “You did well. You did very well.”
Elizabeth nodded, her breath still coming hard. “You must be careful. Wickham… he has nothing to lose.”
Darcy turned back, his expression fierce and resolute. “And I have everything to lose.”
Within minutes, they were ready. An ambush was set, and Elizabeth could only pray for success.
