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CHAPTER 25

Conveying the disturbing news that he had just received from Colonel Forster, the local militia’s commanding officer, to Mr. Bennet was the last thing Collins wanted to do. Who was to say how something so alarming, so revolting, would affect the elderly patriarch’s recovery? Alas, it must be done. He was, after all, the girl’s father. He needed to know, and Collins needed to be the one to tell him.

Mr. Bennet seemed pensive upon hearing what had unfolded under the cover of darkness when the black hearted George Wickham—a man whom Collins had received at Longbourn too many times to count—absconded with the youngest Bennet daughter. Oh, how Collins wanted to believe that the couple had set off for Gretna Green. As scandalous as that would have been, it would have eased the burden of shame a bit. However, all evidence suggested that they were not headed to Scotland. Wickham had confided in his friend, Mr. Denny, that he had other plans for the foolish girl who, by all accounts, had insisted upon fleeing with him. Now equipped with a better understanding of Wickham’s vile nature, Collins had no doubt what that meant.

When a full five minutes had passed and still Mr. Bennet had not said a word, Collins began to worry. Had the shock of it all been the undoing of all the progress of the past weeks? His eyes were open, which must surely be a good sign. Collins placed his hand on Mr. Bennet’s shoulder. “Sir?”

The look his father-in-law bestowed was confirmation enough for Collins to resume his speech. “It is my place to do all that I can to recover Lydia.” Moving away from Mr. Bennet’s bedside and drifting towards the window overlooking the garden, he said, “Mine and mine alone.”

“Young man, you need not take this burden solely upon yourself,” said Mr. Bennet, his voice low and tortured. “It was not you who contributed to her neglect and overindulgence. No, the fault rests solely with me. I ought to suffer for it. Were I able to recover my daughter, I surely would. Even then, I would not take it upon myself to act alone, and you need not either, for you see, you are not alone.”

Turning to face his father-in-law, Collins said, “Do you mean to suggest I seek her uncle’s assistance? Would you have me solicit Mr. Gardiner’s help while I am in town?”

“By all means, for you absolutely must seek my brother’s help, but when I say you are not alone, I believe I speak of someone closer in proximity to us.”

Collins could not imagine who that would be. Does he mean Jane? I would rather she did not know the details of any of this sordid affair. “Sir⁠—”

“Collins, do you not suppose it is time to put aside any differences you still have with Darcy, as well as any misplaced pride?”

“Darcy?”

“Yes, Darcy. He is a good man who cares about his family. To state it more plainly, he cares about all of us. Go and speak with him. He will want to help.”

Upon entering the room, Elizabeth espied her husband staring out the window overlooking the maze garden. She walked up behind him. He turned and opened his welcoming arms. Accepting his embrace, she smiled. His countenance reflected his continued unrest.

“How is Ben this morning?” said Darcy.

“I would say he is slowly returning to his former self; however, he remains in his room.”

It filled her heart with worry that Darcy blamed himself for Ben’s low spirits when, in truth, it had everything to do with his uncle’s defection. Darcy had not witnessed the effect his own leave-taking from Hertfordshire all those months ago had wrought upon young Ben’s state of mind—how he languished about for weeks, thinking he had lost his King Arthur forever.

When Ben loves, he loves with his whole heart and soul. Even though their acquaintance was of a short duration, Elizabeth knew her son was well on his way to loving his uncle Carlton. Both she and Darcy had made it their business to instil in Ben the importance of family, which in theory is always perfect, but in practice can sometimes lead to pain and loss, even suffering. True, Elizabeth wanted to protect her young son from that natural truth, hence her reluctance for him to form an attachment with Henry Carlton, but how unfair it would have been to deny her son the chance to get to know one of the few living relatives on his late father’s side of the family.

Darcy diverted his gaze out the window once more. Elizabeth traced her fingers along his chiselled chin. How she loved the feel of his skin. Standing on the tip of her toes, her lips followed the trail of her fingers. “It is not your fault, you know.”

“I cannot say that I do.”

“You could not have known that Henry Carlton would turn out to be such a disappointment.”

“You knew.”

“Trust me, my love. I take no pleasure in that.”

Their eyes met. Darcy moistened his lips and slowly leaned towards her. Elizabeth closed her eyes and then opened them just as quickly—her hopes interrupted by the sound at the door.

In walked Bingley’s butler. He cleared his throat. “Pardon me, Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy. Mr. Geoffrey Collins is here. He requests a private audience with Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged questioning glances. Darcy said, “Please, send him in.”

When the butler stepped outside the room, Elizabeth said, “A private audience with Geoffrey? I wonder what that is about.” Her countenance clouded with worry. “You do not suppose⁠—”

Collins entered the room before Elizabeth could complete her sentence. Darcy and she met him halfway across the floor. He bowed slightly. Darcy did likewise and Elizabeth curtsied. “Darcy, Elizabeth,” said Collins, “thank you for receiving me.”

Elizabeth said, “I shall leave you two to talk.”

Collins reached out his hand. “No, Elizabeth, if you would, I wish for you to stay. You see, what I have to say concerns you as well.”

Elizabeth placed her hand on her chest. “Pray this has nothing to do with Papa. Has there been a setback in his recovery? When I left him yesterday, he was doing so well.”