Darcy’s gaze flicked back to Mr Bennet. He had been told of one visitor. Not two.
Wickham went on, untroubled. “Mr. Bennet’s carriage and horses are being settled in your stables. I have given instructions that they be made ready again shortly, should Mr Bennet wish to depart without delay.”
Mr Bennet nodded, satisfied. “Thank you, Mr Wickham. Darcy, your staff is remarkably efficient.”
Darcy felt the questions rise at once—too many, too sharp. He held them back with effort and returned his attention to his guest. “I heard nothing about your intentions to come to London.”
“I judged it necessary,” Mr Bennet said. “After last night.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “Indeed.”
Mr Bennet studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. “You appear surprised.”
“That you came to see your daughters? No. At the timing? Perhaps. And your traveling companion…” Darcy glanced at Wickham. “An officer in the militia does not leave his company without notice.”
Wickham took a step to the side, positioning himself to Bennet’s right. “Colonel Forster was good enough to oblige me,” he said lightly. “Given the disturbances in Hertfordshire, and the… temper of things at present, it seemed prudent that Mr Bennet should have an escort.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “An escort?”
“One of his officers,” Mr Bennet confirmed. “As I am, after all, one of the principal landholders in the district—and with Mr Bingley absent from the county, there is some concern that matters may go unaddressed.”
“Unaddressed,” Darcy repeated.
Mr Bennet’s gaze held his now, keen and searching beneath the mildness. “There is unrest. Rumour. Fear, if you prefer the word. I have come to speak with the proper authorities in London and to see, with my own eyes, what is being said of my daughter’s recovery.”
Mr Bennet’s gaze did not leave Darcy’s face. “You will forgive a father,” he said mildly, “if he asks why his daughter should improve so markedly upon leaving Hertfordshire.”
Darcy kept his expression composed. “London offers advantages. Medical counsel. Rest from familiar pressures.”
“And yet,” Mr Bennet replied, “those same advantages were available to her elsewhere. Why is it here that she improves?”
Darcy did not answer at once. He chose his words with care, not because he doubted them, but because any truth he offered would not stand alone.
“I cannot account for every change in Miss Elizabeth’s health,” he said at last. “Only for what I have observed. She is, at present, quite well.”
Mr Bennet regarded him for a long moment. There was no accusation in his look—only calculation.
“If you wish,” Darcy added, “I would have her come down and speak with you herself. She will assure you of it far better than I can.”
Silence followed. Wickham shifted slightly behind them.
Mr Bennet’s mouth curved. “No. That will not be necessary. For the present, your assurance will suffice.”
“I appreciate your trust, sir.”
Bennet’s smile tightened. “There is something else. Something I should like to ask you.”
Darcy’s attention flicked, unbidden, to Wickham. Certainly, there was nothing Mr Bennet could ask that he would wish to answer in Wickham’s company.
Wickham met the look easily, his expression open, untroubled, as though there were nothing he would rather do than remain precisely where he stood.
Mr Bennet noticed at once. “Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “your cook might be prevailed upon to produce some luncheon. We have travelled since early morning.”
Darcy inclined his head. “It is likely already laid for the other guests of the house.”
“Ah.” Mr Bennet turned slightly. “Then I should not wish to delay them.”
Darcy’s gaze returned to Wickham. “You will know where that is.”
