Jacob hurried to saddle one of the plough horses while Elizabeth sank onto a bale of hay, her hands trembling. She pressed her face into her palms and tried not to cry.
11
The sound of hoofbeats—many hoofbeats—broke through Elizabeth’s despair. She looked up as riders poured into the stable yard. Even Mr. Hurst had come, looking unusually alert astride a chestnut gelding.
Mr. Darcy had leapt from the saddle before Gracie had fully stopped, striding into the stable with an expression Elizabeth had never seen before—fury and fear warring for dominance.
“What has happened? Are you well?” was all he said.
“I can hardly say.” Elizabeth’s voice broke. “His box was empty when I arrived this morning. Jacob says the lock was not forced. Someone had access.”
Mr. Darcy moved to Atlas’s box, examining the door, the latch, and the surrounding area with methodical intensity. Colonel Fitzwilliam joined him, his soldier’s eye cataloging details.
The colonel struck his fist into his palm. “No one in their right mind would want an old horse, unless theyknew what the animal meant to the owner. This was calculated…against you, Darcy.”
“Wickham.” Mr. Darcy’s voice was flat, certain.
“But you said he was gone,” Elizabeth protested. “Called away on extended duties…”
“I believed it to be true.” The colonel’s jaw flexed. “After we saw him in Meryton, I spoke with his commanding officer. I was assured that he would be reassigned. Until then, he was to be kept in the camp. But if he took Atlas?—”
Mr. Darcy’s hands fisted at his sides. “He has been here all along. Watching. Waiting.”
The sound of footsteps made them all turn. The entire Bennet family had descended on the stable.
“Lizzy, what has happened?” Jane, pale with concern, moved to her sister’s side.
“Atlas is gone. Stolen in the night.”
Mrs. Bennet, wringing her hands, gasped. “Stolen! Oh, how dreadful! Mr. Bennet, you must do something!”
“What would you have me do, madam? I have no horse to pursue a thief. Our animals are fit for ploughing, not riding.” Mr. Bennet looked grim; his tone charged with self-recrimination. “I cannot even assist in searching for a horse removed from my own property.”
“I do not understand why you are so concerned, Mr. Darcy,” Lydia said, her stance akimbo, though her eyes darted between Mr. Darcy and the colonel. “It is not even your horse.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
“What did you say?” Mr. Darcy’s voice was dangerously calm.
“Atlas. He is not yours. You had no right to keep himin the first place.” Lydia’s chin lifted. “So I do not see why everyone is acting as though something terrible has happened. Justice has been served.”
“Lydia!” Their mother’s voice was shrill with alarm. “What are you talking of?”
“I spoke with Mr. Wickham last evening. On the path between here and Lucas Lodge. He was with Captain Denny.” Lydia’s words came faster, defensive. “He told me everything. How Mr. Darcy’s father promised him both Atlas and a valuable living, but when his father died, Mr. Darcy withheld them both out of spite. Mr. Wickham has been denied what is rightfully his for years. He did not steal Atlas—he merely took what belongs to him.”
Blood drained from Elizabeth’s face. “Oh, Lydia. What have you done?”
“I helped correct an injustice!” Lydia’s voice rose. “Mr. Wickham was so grateful when I showed him where Atlas was kept. He said I was a true friend. That I had helped right a terrible wrong.”
Their father had gone very still. “You showed him? You brought this Mr. Wickham to our stables?”
“Yes! And I would do it again!” Lydia’s impudence crumbled at the edges, uncertainty creeping in as she saw the horror on every face. “He deserved to have what was stolen from him. Mr. Darcy is so rich, so proud. Why should he keep what rightfully belongs to someone else?”
“Miss Lydia,” Mr. Darcy said, his voice like ice, “Atlas was never promised to George Wickham. My father bred Atlas specifically for me when I was in leading strings. That horse has been mine for twenty-five years. Wickham has no claim on him whatsoever.”
“But he said?—”
“He lied.” Mr. Darcy’s jaw clenched. “As he always lies.”
