“After he woke, he would not be satisfied with dictation,” the Colonel continued. “He insisted upon writing one himself, and demanded a desk be brought to his bedside. His hand was unsteady, but his mind was clear. He would not wait for assistance. He addressed it himself.”
He paused. “When no reply came, he assumed the worst—that Bingley had kept the letters, or that you had chosen silence.”
Elizabeth’s voice came low and stunned. “We wrote, too. Bingley sent two letters—perhaps more. I… I began to think he had changed his mind.”
The colonel’s gaze dropped. “Then something has interfered. Whether by design or accident, I do not yet know.”
With that, Dr. Wentworth cleared his throat gently. “Barring any return of fever, I believe the worst has passed. He must rest, and be kept quiet. If his sleep deepens rather than disturbs, it is a good sign. But if any new symptoms arise—confusion, heat, a sudden decline—you must send for me without delay.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam inclined his head. “You have our thanks, Doctor.”
With a bow to the room, the physician gathered his case and withdrew, his footsteps soon fading into the corridor.
For a moment, no one stirred. Then Elizabeth, her voice low but steady, asked the question that had lived in her heart since Lambton. “How was he injured?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam hesitated, then said, “It was Wickham.”
A stillness fell over the room.
“He broke into Darcy House under cover of darkness. Whether he meant only to rob the place or something worse, I cannot say. Darcy confronted him. There was a struggle. Wickham struck him with a poker—here.” He touched his own temple. “He collapsed at once. He was unconscious for a full week. There was bleeding, swelling. Dr. Annesley feared a fracture, but the skull held. Even after he woke, he could hardly keep his eyes open. For days, he did little more than sleep and take broth. It was nearly a fortnight before he could sit upright unaided.”
Mrs. Gardiner brought a hand to her mouth. Mr. Gardiner muttered something under his breath and lowered himself heavily into the nearest chair.
Elizabeth’s voice, when it came, was faint. “He came to Meryton. Wickham. I used what I remembered.” She paused, the implication clear in her expression.
“He might have lingered if I had held my tongue. But I let truth slip into whispers and rumour. I thought to protect my family—to turn the town against him before he could charm or borrow. And I succeeded. But I made him desperate. I never meant for it to end like this.”
“You did what you could,” the colonel said, his voice firm. “No one could have foreseen he would flee to London, let alone break into Mr. Darcy’s home.”
“He did not escape it long,” the colonel said quietly. “I had him arrested that very night. The charges were many—assault, fraud, theft. The trial was swift. Justice was served.”
Elizabeth looked down. “I should have foreseen how desperation might drive him. He had lost his income, was wanted by the law—and I turned the village against him with truths he could not escape. I meant only to avert one disaster. But another followed, and Fitzwilliam… he bore the cost.”
“No,” Mrs. Gardiner said softly. “Lizzy, your instincts were sound. You saw what others would not. You acted with clarity and resolve.”
“But I was not the one who suffered,” Elizabeth whispered. “He did.”
“Then place the blame where it belongs,” Mr. Gardiner said quietly. “On Wickham. Not on yourself.”
The colonel's expression gentled. “Darcy does not hold you responsible, Miss Bennet. I give you my word—he never has. The very moment he could form a coherent sentence, it was your name he spoke. He asked for you.”
He paused, his voice lowering. "We waited as long as we dared. He told himself—told me—that something must have delayed the answer. But each day that passed without a word… it wore on him. He could not believe your silence was final. He would not."
A breath passed between them. "He was scarcely fit to sit upright. Dr. Annesley forbade travel outright. I urged him to wait—to send another letter instead. But his resolve had taken hold. He said that if there was even the smallest hope, he must come. That hewouldcome."
Elizabeth drew a shaky breath. "But why here? Why Pemberley?"
Richard's eyes met hers steadily. "Because of what you told me at Rosings. You said this was where you fell in love with him. And he remembered."
She stared at him, stricken.
"He said," the colonel continued quietly, "that if there was still hope—if anything could be mended—it would begin again in the place where it began the first time."
Chapter 55
After the silence had stretched too long, Colonel Fitzwilliam rose and crossed to the hearth, one hand braced against the mantle. He did not look at her as he said, with a weariness that went deeper than fatigue, “You must remain at Pemberley, Miss Bennet. I beg you. Until he wakes, until he is well enough to see for himself that you have come.”
Mrs. Gardiner looked to Elizabeth at once, but Elizabeth had already nodded. Her voice, when it came, was hushed. “We will stay. Of course we will.”
