Darcy turned slowly, fire in his eyes.
“No. I think it is quite the opposite. You are finished.”
Darcy sheathed his blade after cutting the last knot from the boy’s wrists. The cords had left raw red marks around the child’s small hands. As soon as they were free, the boy flung his arms around Darcy’s neck and clung to him with trembling limbs.
“Papa!” he cried out. “Papa, where are you? Lizzy! I want Lizzy!”
The sound of that tiny, broken voice pierced Darcy to his core.
“Hush now, Thomas,” Darcy murmured, drawing the child into his arms. “You are safe. I have you. You are going home.”
The boy buried his face against Darcy’s shoulder and wept. Hot tears soaked through the fabric of Darcy’s coat as his small body shook with great, gulping sobs.
Darcy stood, adjusting his grip to cradle the boy more securely. His small fists gripped Darcy’s lapel with desperate strength, and his legs wrapped around Darcy’s waist as though he feared being taken again. Darcy placed one gloved hand gently on the boy’s back and rubbed slow circles, whispering reassurances even as his throat tightened with fury and sorrow.
He stepped over the scattered remnants of the shack’s grim interior and walked out the doorway. The cold air bit into his skin as he emerged, careful not to jostle the child.
Thick brambles and underbrush surrounded the crumbling hut, but Darcy forced a path through, shielding Tommy with his body. Thornybranches clawed at his coat and tugged at his hair. He winced as one caught the side of his neck, leaving a stinging scratch. Still, he pressed on.
Behind him, Richard barked orders as he hauled Wickham to his feet, binding him tighter. Darcy did not look back.
At last, the trees thinned, and the edge of the wood opened into a small clearing where Mr Bennet and Elizabeth waited.
As soon as Tommy spotted them, he lifted his tear-streaked face and reached towards them with a shuddering wail.
“Papa! Lizzy!”
Elizabeth ran forwards, but it was Mr Bennet who reached them first. His arms were already outstretched as Darcy transferred the boy gently into his embrace.
“There, my boy,” Mr Bennet murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “It is over now.”
Tommy wrapped his arms around Mr Bennet’s neck and sobbed into his shoulder. Mr Bennet held him close, closing his eyes and pressing his cheek to the child’s hair. Darcy saw a weariness in his eyes, yes, but also unmistakable love and grief.
Darcy turned to Elizabeth. Her hands were pressed to her lips, her face wet with tears. He stepped closer and took one of her hands in his own, squeezing gently.
“I will come to Longbourn shortly,” he said. “Once Wickham is in custody and secured in Meryton.”
She nodded, blinking rapidly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for bringing him back.”
Darcy bent his head and kissed her knuckles.
“Always.”
He gave Tommy one last look, then turned and strode back into the woods, where Richard waited with a bound and cursing Wickham.
They began the walk to Meryton, forcing Wickham between them, his arms secured before him and tied to the saddle strap of Richard’s mount.
Half an hour passed in silence before Darcy turned to him, voice like ice. “I know what happened from Anne’s perspective—and Elizabeth’s. I wish to know your part.” Quickly, he outlined what he knew and then waited for Wickham to speak.
Ever the opportunist, his former friend related that he had seduced Darcy’s cousin for a bit of fun. He explained that Anne had only decided to marry Wickham when she realized she could seize control of her estate.
“Master and mistress of Rosings.” He laughed. “The fool thought she would have any say. I had other plans.”
Darcy halted and turned on him, eyes ablaze. “Anne was naïve. She thought you would care for her as your wife.”
“She thought a great many things,” Wickham said darkly.
Richard narrowed his eyes. “You would have been worse than Lady Catherine. At least she loved the estate. You would have stripped it bare within a year.”
