“He planned this,” Mr. Darcy said. “Where is Captain Denny?”
Colonel Forster sneered. “As soon as we heard the report that the animal was stolen, the captain admitted to believing the lieutenant’s lies. Denny said he returned to the barracks once Wickham had possession of the horse. He is locked up. Two soldiers are on watch. We will deal with him after we find your horse.”
Sir William Lucas arrived with his two eldest sons, all mounted and prepared to help.
The only person not seated on a horse was her father, who watched the preparations with an expression of profound frustration. “I should be riding with them,” he said to Elizabeth. “This happened on my property because of my daughter’s foolishness and my failure as a father. And I cannot help because I never saw fit to purchase proper riding horses after you girls were grown.”
Elizabeth had never heard such bitterness in her father’s voice. He retreated with Mary and Kitty to the house.
The search party divided into groups—some would search toward Meryton, others toward Lucas Lodge, and still others along the main roads. Jacob insisted on joining, taking one of the plough horses that could at least manage a steady trot. Sam rode Miss Darcy’s horse alongside Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Mr. Darcy approached Elizabeth before mounting Gracie. “We will find him,” he said, his voice low and intense. “I swear to you, we will return Atlas to you.”
“Please be careful,” she cried. “Both of you. I…just be careful.”
Something flickered in Mr. Darcy’s eyes—surprise, perhaps, or tenderness. “Consider it done, madam.”
Then they were gone, rushing out of the stable yard in multiple directions, leaving Elizabeth standing with her mother, sisters, and Miss Darcy. Lydia wept.
“My apologies, Mrs. Bennet,” Miss Darcy said. “If I had realized that your family was acquainted with Mr.Wickham, I should have let you know the sort of man he is.”
“You bear no fault,” Elizabeth said. “The fault lies with the man who told the lies and the girl who believed them.”
Lydia’s cries intensified as Miss Darcy stepped back, the color draining from her face.
Jane put her arm around their youngest sister. “Come inside, Lydia. You are not needed here.”
“I have ruined everything.” Lydia wept. “Lizzy will never forgive me. Mr. Darcy will never forgive me. Atlas might be hurt because of me.”
Elizabeth wanted to say something comforting, but the words would not come. Instead, she turned to Atlas’s empty stall and pressed her hand against the door. When Miss Darcy joined her, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around the girl’s shoulders, pulling her close.
“Please be safe.” she prayed. “Please, please be safe.”
Miss Darcy pulled away. “Miss Elizabeth, there is something I need to tell you about George Wickham. And me.”
They searched for hours.
Mr. Darcy rode with Richard and Colonel Forster’s group, pushing Gracie hard across the countryside, checking every barn, every abandoned cottage, every place a man might hide with a stolen horse. The autumn sun climbed higher, then began its descent toward the western horizon. Still no sign of Atlas.
His mind raced with terrible possibilities. Wickhamwas desperate—desperate men do desperate things. Atlas would fight him and would refuse to be controlled. Would Wickham hurt him before he requested a ransom? Darcy’s stomach knotted with fear.
Wickham!George Wickham damaged everything he touched. But not this time. Not Atlas. Darcy would find them if he had to search every inch of Hertfordshire. Atlas deserved better than this.
And Elizabeth.
He must bring Atlas home to her. When had she become so important to him? When had her happiness become more vital to him than his own? He knew the answer, though he had not allowed himself to acknowledge it until now.
He loved her. Loved her intelligence, her wit, her passion for life. Loved how she had looked at Atlas with such longing and joy. Loved her kindness to Georgiana, her tolerance of his reserve, her refusal to be impressed by his wealth or intimidated by his rank.
He loved Elizabeth Bennet. And if he failed to?—
“There!” Sam’s shout cut through his thoughts. “Sir, I hear something!”
They all pulled up their horses, listening. At first, Darcy heard only the wind in the trees, the stamping of their own mounts. Then it came—a sound that made his blood run cold. Not a whinny or a neigh, but a scream of fear.
Atlas.
“There!” Darcy kicked Gracie into a gallop, the others close behind. They crashed through a copse of trees and emerged into a clearing. Before them stood an abandoned cottage, half-fallen into disrepair, its door hangingopen. Behind the building, the corner of a small paddock was visible. They heard the unmistakable sounds of a struggle—a horse snorting, hooves striking wood, the crack of a whip, a man’s cursing.
