  Friday: Claresfont, Nottinghamshire Although the news of Darcy and Elizabeth's unanticipated trip to Pemberley caused the Matlock household some surprise at breakfast, no one had appeared particularly concerned about it after the initial discussion. Lady Matlock had absorbed the news with little comment while Georgiana had expressed some disappointment to have missed the opportunity to show her future sister about the house. Mary Bennet had said nothing but privately, she had quickly decided, to her alarm, that the Colonel's explanation of the matter was thoroughly suspicious. Mary had already judged Edward to be a man who exercised economy in his use of words. Thus, when he had gone on to detail the reason for the sudden trip - a matter about which no one had further inquired - her curiosity had been stirred. When he had attributed it to an urgent request from Darcy's steward, concerning an peculiar sounding business opportunity, she became convinced that something else was actually happening. After breakfast, Edward spent some time with Malcolm further reviewing the account books but the Earl left at noontime, for an appointment with a tenant and Claresfont's steward. Mary made a point of mostly ignoring the Colonel during lunch, instead discussing music with Georgiana. She then declined the other girl's invitation to practice in the music room, citing a desire to look for a volume on the history of Derbyshire, in the library. A quarter of an hour later, as she was intently studying a map of the shire, she mentally smiled to herself when she heard the doors to the library open. Colonel Fitzwilliam soon joined her at the small table where she sat. "Ah, Mr. Cary's maps," he said, after glancing at the spine of the book. "They are quite current," Mary informed him. "I am trying to determine the traveling distance from here to Pemberley." "By carriage or horseback?" Edward asked. "By carriage, of course. I'm curious to know how much time Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth must spend as a consequence of this horticultural emergency." Edward coughed, just in time to cover the chuckle which had almost escaped against his will. This young woman is really too damn clever, he noted silently. "Between four and five hours, each way," he said aloud. "I did not realize that the arrival in Derbyshire of a new turnip, even one from the exotic Swedish Kingdom, would warrant such an urgent response." "His steward apparently thought that it did." "Then Mr. Darcy may need a new man. Sending the turnip itself to Catisford by express would have been far more efficient, not to mention far better treatment than a root usually expects." Edward did laugh out loud at that. "I will be sure to tell him that." Mary glared at him. "Perhaps, Colonel Fitzwilliam, you should first tell me what my sister is actually doing. I have a sense of foreboding about this and I have never been accused of having an overactive imagination." The Colonel regarded Mary for several seconds. "I cannot tell you anything else about the particulars of William's current business," he finally replied. "However, I cannot imagine that Miss Elizabeth is at any risk of harm in my cousin's company. If you wish to learn more about their trip, you would be better off applying to your sister upon their return." Mary was certain that Edward's carefully worded response was intended merely to mollify her, without actually answering her question. However, she was not inclined to directly accuse him of dissembling. She returned her gaze to the map. "I certainly intend to do just that, sir." When she said nothing else, Edward stood up. "I will see you at dinner, Miss Mary," he said, then left the room. The rest of the day passed quietly into evening. By nine o'clock, Mr. Woods had locked the front door and gone to his rooms with his wife, the Matlocks and their guests having already retired to theirs. He was about to change into his night clothes when a footman appeared and informed him that a carriage was approaching the house. By the time that he reached the entrance hall, the Darcy coach had come to stop in front of the house. Mr. Woods opened the door, as Darcy stepped down from the carriage and then turned to assist Elizabeth. "Welcome back, Mr. Darcy. Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Woods said. "Please forgive the darkened house. We understood that you were to return tomorrow." "It is quite all right, Woods," Darcy replied. "Indeed, that was originally our plan, but since my business concluded more quickly than I expected, we decided to take advantage of the bright evening and return tonight." "Have you eaten dinner?" the butler asked. "Do you wish for any refreshments?" "I do not. Elizabeth?" "I must own to being somewhat hungry. Perhaps you could send something up to my sitting room, Mr. Woods? Anything will do." "We served a fine loin of pork at dinner, miss. There are several chops left. Will that suffice?" "Yes. That and some bread would be fine. Thank you." "I will see to it." Darcy offered Elizabeth his arm and they walked silently up the two flights of stairs, to the second floor. When they reached the landing, he did not break his stride but rather, continued to escort her to the door to her sitting room. "Thank you for your company and your thoughts today, Elizabeth," Darcy said, as he released her arm, only to reach for her right hand. He held it briefly, then bowed. "Goodnight." "Goodnight, William." After Elizabeth had disappeared within her rooms, Darcy quickly made his way to the family wing, stopping at the door to Edward's chambers. He knocked lightly and immediately heard a reply. A second later, his cousin opened the door, then motioned for him to enter. "William, I did not expect you back this evening." Seeing that the Colonel had not yet changed into his nightshirt, Darcy glanced towards the closed door to his dressing room. "Is your man still within?" he asked softly. "No. I usually do not bother to have him attend me in the evenings. Tell me, what happened? Did Everson bring the girl to you?" Darcy nodded, then walked over to one of the two armchairs positioned near the room's fireplace. He sat down but did not immediately speak. Edward took the other seat and waited. "Elizabeth did not wish to stay the night," Darcy eventually said. "I could not disagree with her: I believe that the circumstances were overwhelming for both of us. Mrs. Reynolds was also quite rattled, when her future mistress appeared unexpectedly. I think that Elizabeth was aware of that and did not wish to add to her burden, which had already risen under the circumstances." "And the girl?" "I did not see her, although Elizabeth did, briefly at least. However, Mrs. Reynolds had called Hobson in and I spoke with him at some length, after he examined her. The girl - her name is Letty Sares - had also confided in Reynolds upon her arrival." He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. "They abused and violated this poor young woman, Edward, merely for fleeting, meaningless pleasure. In truth, they almost killed her, without any fear whatsoever of requital. During our trip back to Catisford, after my betrothed had cried herself into a fitful sleep, I kept coming returning to the same thoughts. Should my father have acted differently a dozen years ago? Was there something that he, or myself for that matter, could have done in the past that might have prevented this?" "Your father did all that he could, William," Edward declared. "I must believe that Harwood did not take his threat idly and curtailed his activities, at least to some serious degree. Neither of you knew the extent of Harwood's depravity. You are most certainly not responsible for it. You must see the sense in that." "In my mind, perhaps. My conscience is telling me something else." The Colonel felt compelled to further express his heartfelt disagreement with his cousin's thinking but he sensed that he was not really hearing him. A few minutes later, Darcy wished him a good night and left his bedchamber.
When Elizabeth had first entered her sitting room, she had checked to see if there was light appearing beneath the door to her sister's bedchamber. She had thought that she detected the flicker of a candle but had then decided against disturbing her. She was in her rooms for barely a minute when her maid appeared. "Can I help you with anything, miss?" she asked. "Just help me change for bed, Sally. And Mr. Woods is sending up something for me to eat. Please bring it in here when it arrives." A light knock on the door to the sitting room soon signaled the arrival of her meal. Sally retrieved the tray from the footman and carried it into the bedchamber. Elizabeth thanked her and dismissed her for the evening. She then settled down on the room's small sofa and allowed herself to experience the relief of being snug in her rooms at Catisford, sheltered at least physically from many of life's worst realities. When she eventually examined the tray, she saw that in addition to the roast pork and bread and butter, the butler had included a slice of cake and a small carafe of white wine, as well as a pot of tea. Elizabeth poured a cup of tea for herself and then began to spread butter on a slice of bread. While she was doing so, she heard a soft scratching sound at the door connecting her chamber to the sitting room. "Mary, is that you?" she called out. "Please come in." "Lizzy!" Mary exclaimed as she entered the room. "From what the Colonel said, it was thought that you would not return until at least tomorrow." "William completed his business more quickly than he expected. He kindly agreed to my request that we return this evening." "Why did you wish to leave so soon? Were you displeased with Pemberley?" Mary asked. "How did you find the turnips?" she could not resist adding. "Turnips? We were not served any turnip. I do not know if they are even grown there," Elizabeth said, clearly puzzled by the question. "But no, I was not displeased by Pemberley. I doubt that anyone could be, for I have never before seen such a beautiful house. But they were not expecting us, especially me, to suddenly appear. The housekeeper made the best of it but she was clearly discomfited. I did not wish to add to her current burdens." Mary had planned to immediately interrogate her sister about the purpose of the unexpected trip but something about Elizabeth's demeanor caused her to reconsider. "Georgiana was disappointed to not be the one to give you a tour," she said instead. "She may yet have her wish. I did not look at any of the house's many rooms, save those that we actually needed to use." "And how did you find Mr. Darcy as a traveling companion?" "He was more than adequate company - when both of us were awake. I confess that I slept for a portion of each journey. Did anyone appear to be scandalized by our unchaperoned trip?" Mary shook her head. "If they were, they did not say it." "I daresay that at this point, nothing may be a surprise where we are concerned," Elizabeth said dryly, as she reached for the decanter of wine. "Would you like to share this?" she asked. "If so, fetch the glass by the water pitcher on my nightstand." Mary declined her sister's offer. She sat quietly for a few minutes, watching her eat. Then she stood up and took her leave. "Goodnight, Lizzy. I shall see you at breakfast." Not long thereafter, Elizabeth decided that she had eaten enough to satisfy her hunger until the morning. The room was starting to become cooler, as the fire died down. She quickly made her way to the bed and after draping her robe over its foot-board, slipped under the covers. But she did not immediately extinguish the candle. When Mary had first entered her room, Elizabeth had considered unburdening herself of at least some of what had happened that day. However, something had stopped her from doing so. Now, as she considered it further, she realized that her hesitation had nothing to do with Mary. She believed that her sister would understand why she had insisted on traveling to Pemberley and involving herself in something so disturbing. But her own thoughts at the moment were too confused to express to anyone else. Her mind wandered to a short conversation that had taken place between Mr. Darcy and herself, while they were at luncheon earlier in the day. He had hastened to assure her that when the estate became her home, she should feel completely at ease to make such alterations as she saw fit to her rooms, Mrs. Reynolds' preparations notwithstanding. The rooms were to be hers, not monuments to Pemberley's history. Indeed, he had gone so far as to tell her that he looked forward to hearing her ideas about improvements to any part of the house, which had undergone few changes since the early years of his parents' marriage. She had no doubt of his sincerity. In response to her protests that the house was already beautifully appointed, Mr. Darcy - William - had also made it clear that he would not balk at the outlay of hundreds of pounds, for those renovations that she deemed desirable. Then, she thought of Letty Sares. She shook her head, despite having no audience to witness it. For part of almost every day since the events in Hertfordshire, she had allowed herself to wallow, however brief the moment, in self-righteous self-pity. After all, it seemed as if she had lost all control over her own life. How foolish that now seemed to her! Had William not offered marriage or had she refused to his offer, she had family and friends who would have come to her assistance. Her aunt and uncle Gardiner would have helped her, no matter what her decision had been. The poor girl now recovering at Pemberley could make no such claim: she was truly at the mercy of the whims of chance. She now slept in a room the likes of which she would never have even been invited to enter, at least in the normal course of events. Were she to be in service for her entire life, she would never earn even two hundred pounds. Letty's situation in life was so dire that Elizabeth felt almost embarrassed by the hubris she feared was represented by her earlier belief that she could somehow comfort her. Eventually the candle began to sputter, the wick having mostly burned away. Elizabeth blew out its flame and waited for sleep to claim her. It did not take much longer: the day's events had emotionally exhausted her. Her last thought, as she drifted away, was a resolution to no longer waste her energies regretting the past. She would try her best to think only of the new life before her. Saturday: Rosemont The butler at Rosemont had been given his position by Clement Walcott's grandfather, near the end of that man's life. In the years that he had served at the estate, he had learned to turn a blind eye to some of what went on there. He managed to live with himself by believing that he was not capable of stopping any of it. But late at night, when he lay in bed, he sometimes forced himself to see the truth: he was a coward. He knew it as well in moments like this. Lord Harwood looked up as the butler knocked on the open door of his study. "Yes, Graham?" "My lord, I wanted to inform you that we had a death in the servant's quarters on Thursday night." "Did you make the required notifications?" The Marquess returned his attention to the papers on his desk. "Miss Franks saw to the matter. She called the undertaker in, not long after it was discovered." The butler paused for a moment. "She thought that was for the best. It was a girl from the laundry, by the name of Letty Sares." "Please thank Miss Franks for her efficiency," Lord Harwood replied, glancing briefly at Graham, his face without expression. Unexpectedly, the butler felt his equanimity slipping, as an image of the look of horror on the cook's face suddenly appeared in his mind. Summoning the ease learned from experience, he marshaled his emotions and blandly replied: "Yes, my lord." He then withdrew to attend to his daily tasks, hoping that the mundane would silence the accusatory voices in his head. To act otherwise would be an irreversible error.
At noontime, Lord Harwood and most of the then occupants of Rosemount,, sat down to a light meal. Lord Everson was not present, having left the estate in mid-morning on some matter of business. When Lord Layton appeared in advance of the rest of the party, his father took the opportunity to inform him of the death of the laundry girl, making no effort to hide his displeasure over the turn of events. "She was not in a dire state when I left her to the three of you. What did you do to her?" "Nothing that we - or you, for that matter - have not done before," Lord Layton replied defensively. "I had expected to make good use of this one. See to it that this does not happen again." The son was prevented from replying by the arrival of his own two daughters, who were soon followed by Lady Harwood, Lady Layton and George Wickham. When the meal was over, Lord Layton and Wickham left the house together, intending to exercise their horses. They wasted no time, upon reaching the stables, in seeking out Toby Kipp, to learn if he knew that Letty Sares had died. The stable hand expressed the same surprise as Wickham had, upon hearing the news just minutes earlier. However, there was nothing to be gained from further discussing the topic at that moment. The two men soon mounted their horses and went on their way. Kipp himself left the estate not long afterward, driving a cart into the nearest town, in order to pick up a supply of feed corn for the stables. When he arrived at the granary, he was required to wait, as the hands were occupied assisting two earlier customers. He decided to take advantage of the delay and investigate the veracity of what Lord Layton had told him. He tied up the cart and horses in the granary's yard and walked down towards the end of the street, to where the local undertaker had his stables. He found one of the drivers at work, washing the sides of a funeral carriage. "Yer customers don't like the dust, Cal? Particular to their last minute in the sun, eh?" Kipp hailed the man, with whom he had a passing acquaintance. "T'is Mr. Ames who is the fussy one, Kipp. You here to make an appointment? You know the good book says that a man shouldn't know the hour of his death." Kipp laughed. He could not recall when he last opened a book, good or otherwise. "I'm waitin' for an order from Barrow's. They got some other customers ahead of me." The man nodded but said nothing else as he continued his work. The stable hand watched him for a brief time before getting to the actual purpose of his visit. "I heard you made a stop at the manor house yesterday morning," Kipp said. "But the boy what told me didn't know who died." Cal looked up. "At Rosemont, you mean? Yer butler better be lockin' up the brandy at night: he who told you that musta been drunk, to be seein' coffins where they ain't. We took old Miss Parnell from Oakview to the churchyard yesterday. She passed on Wednesday night. That was all for us." Kipp remained at the undertaker's establishment for a few more minutes, making it a point of mentioning some subjects which were unconnected to Rosemont. Upon finishing his errand and returning to the estate, he found Lord Everson's coach sitting in the stable yard. One of the assistant grooms was removing the horses from their harnesses. "His Lordship back already?" he casually asked the young man. "Did he go far? They look tired." "They went almost to Lambton and back. That takes two hours each way, I guess. They ain't had much time to rest." Kipp nodded then stood watching him, trying to find a way to ask the groom if he had heard where it was that Lord Everson had actually gone. However, before he could do so, the man offered up another morsel of information. "They ain't in as bad shape as the ones he used yesterday. The driver said they went over to Nottinghamshire but they musta gone along in a hurry, because those were very tired. They had to use a different pair today." He suddenly laughed as he looked up at Kipp. "Maybe the earl has lady-friend in both directions in. I'm sure I don't rightly know another reason for him to be going back and forth like that in the middle of the night." Kipp's next question concerned Lord Layton and George Wickham. Learning that they had yet to return from their ride, he started unloading the sacks of corn, while keeping an eye out for the arrival of the two men. Now certain that matters were not what he had been told, he was eager to pass along his information. More importantly, he did not wish to be blamed for the sudden demise of the girl, which he feared might happen since he had been the one to return her to the house. His diligence was rewarded ten minutes later, when he heard the sounds of horses approaching the stables. Lord Layton and Wickham were at first dumb-struck by the report. Then, Lord Layton's color began to rise. Seeing his host's reaction, Wickham swiftly admonished the stable hand to keep his information to himself. Then, he took hold of Lord Layton's arm and steered him towards the house, hoping to reach their rooms before the man exploded. To Wickham's relief, Lord Layton controlled himself until they were in his chambers. Once there, he let loose a string of invectives towards both his brother and their cook. "That bitch of a spinster will regret this!" he ranted. "I can imagine my father's reaction when he hears this news! It will be the end of her, I assure you. And my brother! It is high time that he stops his damn meddling. My father will see to it." He jumped to his feet. "Come, George. Let us go find the Marquess." "Be still yourself, Layton," Wickham replied. "Your father should be told but you should know that he will not act while your mother is here." Privately, he did not believe that Harwood would even speak to Miss Franks on the matter, but he decided to allow the other man his opportunity to vent. "I believe that this will force his hand," Lord Layton replied. "James has no other acquaintances near Lambton, save the Darcys. As incredible as it sounds, I think he may have taken her to Pemberley. My father will go wild when he hears this! And he can interrogate my brother's drivers. The assistant - the young one - can be worked on in private, to say what he did. I know it!" "That may be, but I suspect that he and your mother have an unspoken truce, at least where his lordship's predilections are concerned. She is not your wife. She requires that he not force her to dwell upon his habits. In turn, she ignores them." Lord Layton continued to bluster a while longer, although he knew that Wickham was likely correct. When he finally composed himself, the two men agreed that they would speak with Lord Harwood after dinner that night. Saturday Afternoon: Oxford Preston Barrington had spent the weeks following his meeting with Arthur Ruskin in a state of simmering rage. He had also become increasingly obsessed with discovering who exactly was responsible for his fall from grace. After making no progress whatsoever - his powers of concentration being disrupted by his easy emotions - help had arrived in the unlikely form of Simon Eccleston. Mr. Eccleston was the long serving curate of the Merton College Chapel; he held the position by virtue of being a relation of the Dean of the College. When Barrington had first arrived at Merton, he had been irritated to learn that the position of curate was already filled. However, he had soon revised his opinion of the matter. Eccleston was an unimaginative clergyman who had no desire for future advancement. In short, he was the sort of plodding journeyman that Barrington himself would have looked for, one who could only make him look better by comparison. Barrington still remained uncertain as to whether either his assistant or the Dean was aware of his current predicament, although he thought it likely that they were not. As a result, when he encountered Eccleston in the vestry on Saturday afternoon, he decided on a whim to ask him if he was familiar with Arthur Ruskin, not actually expecting to learn that he was. However, as it turned out, the curate was somewhat acquainted with man, having met him socially on a few occasions prior to his appointment as the Archbishop of Canterbury's assistant. Eccleston explained that Ruskin was a son of the Marquess of Banford, whose estate was in Leicestershire. When Barrington inquired about the family, the curate told him what little he knew. He then suggested that he review their information in The Correct Peerage of England, Scotland and Ireland, a copy of which could be found in the College's library. It turned out to be a more inspired idea than the curate would normally express. Barrington soon found himself reading about the lineage of the Ruskins. After finding nothing obvious in the main entry, he decided to look at the entries for the families with which they had intermarried. It did not take long for a particular alliance to catch his eye. Lady Banford's maiden name was Stallworth; she was a daughter of the fourth Earl of Wellstone. More than four decades ago, her oldest sister, then Lady Victoria Stallworth, had wed Marlon Averton. She was now Her Grace, the Duchess of Alsworth. Barrington slammed The Peerage closed so forcefully that several students, who were working in the room, glanced in his direction. Alsworth. Of course! He knew that the Duke of Alsworth and Andrew Fitzwilliam had been close friends for years. They were frequently seen in each other's company when in town; their estates in Nottinghamshire were only a few miles apart and he assumed that they socialized there as well. Lord Matlock had also been close to his nephew. He would not have hesitated to ask the duke for such an accommodation on Darcy's behalf. And Alsworth, who treated both the Walcotts and the Barringtons with barely concealed contempt, would certainly have believed whatever lies he was told by the two other men. He left the library and walked quickly back to his rooms. Before going upstairs, he stopped to tell the porter to call for a man to take an express to Derbyshire, within the hour. He did not expect it to take long for him to compose a letter to Lord Harwood, informing him of everything what had occurred. Barrington had no intention of letting the slur on his reputation go unchallenged. He was confidant that with his uncle's assistance, he would be able to right the wrong that he believed had been imposed upon him. In fact, he decided that a visit to Rosemont would soon be warranted. Together, he and the Marquess would then determine what should next be done. Saturday Evening: Rosemount The plans of various parties were ripped asunder during the dinner hour, by the arrival of an express for Lady Harwood. When she saw from whom it had come, she opened it immediately, without pausing to request her company's forbearance. The letter from Lord Granville, her sister's husband, quickly confirmed her fears. Her sister had been in poor health for several months and now had taken a turn for the worse. Her brother Granville wrote to bid her to come to their Sussex estate as soon as humanly possible. There was no question that she would go and in her mind, if not in his, there was also no question that her husband would come with her. She immediately rose from the table to instruct her maid to begin packing her trunks, after Lord Harwood agreed to leave Derbyshire at first light. Harwood promptly summoned the butler to inform him of their trip and to have him summon his valet. In response to a question from Lord Everson, he then decided that there was no need for his sons to travel with them. Neither man was close enough to the particular aunt to feel a heartfelt need to attend her on her death-bed: she had rarely visited Rosemont as the boys were growing up. There would be time enough to summon them for any formal obligations. When dinner ended and the others had excused themselves, Lord Layton assumed that he would have his opportunity to relay his news about the laundry girl to his father. However, to his great disappointment, before he could begin his tale of woe, Lord Harwood waved him off. The Marquess had desired to retire early, in consideration of the upcoming journey. It would take several days to reach their destination, which was nearly at Brighton, and he was not a particularly enthusiastic traveler at his age. He informed his son that his issue, whatever it was, would need to wait until they met again. Thus, Lord Layton and George Wickham were forced to spend the rest of the evening with only each other's attentions. Their unrelieved anger continued to fester, as they both spun fantasies of revenge and retribution against the cook, the earl and the occupants of Pemberley. Sunday: Claresfont, Nottinghamshire The current and future occupants of Pemberley were at that moment engaged in making revelations of their own. Lady Matlock had first taken notice of a change in Elizabeth and Darcy's demeanor at Saturday breakfast, when they were immediately accosted about their brief trip by Georgiana, who was eager to hear her future sister's impression of Pemberley. Elizabeth had replied with an appropriate amount of enthusiasm but it had seemed to the Countess that there was something forced, however subtle, about her approbation. She would have been surprised by that, but not much more than curious, had not her nephew responded in an equally suspect manner to his sister's questions. At first she wondered whether they had quarreled in some way but she eventually, rejected that conclusion. They had sat next to each other at every meal, something they had done periodically in the past but not so deliberately. Then when they had returned to the house after church on Sunday, they had elected to walk together in the rear gardens instead of resting before the planned early dinner. Lady Matlock had caught sight of them then, from a window in her chambers as they carried on an obviously intense conversation. She was certain that they were not engaged in the sort of playful verbal dance common to young people about to marry. Everything signaled to her that they were discussing serious business: their postures, their gestures, even the close distance that they stood from each other. She became determined to speak to one or both of them before the day was over. The opportunity for her to do so presented itself at the end of dinner, when her sons and the two girls announced plans which would occupy them for at least a few hours. Malcolm and Edward were going riding; Georgiana had decided to impart her knowledge of drawing to Miss Mary, using a sculpture in the west gallery as their first victim. As a result, the four of them left the table not long after the dessert course was completed. When they were gone, Lady Matlock requested that Darcy and Elizabeth join her upstairs in her sitting room. Once a footman had brought in the service of coffee that she had ordered and then departed, the Countess spent no time on subtleties. Rather, she asked them directly what had occurred during their time at Pemberley. Her nephew began to reply but then stopped himself, looking over at Elizabeth. After several seconds had passed, Lady Matlock was about to question them again, when Darcy finally spoke. "I felt that I needed to seek Elizabeth's thoughts on this, but I did not wish to involve anyone else, save Edward." Darcy was soon joined by Elizabeth in the telling. What followed was so removed from Lady Matlock's expectations, that at first she could do little more than listen. Eventually, their story had meandered from the events of the last several days to the expression of guilt on her nephew's part, mirrored by an expression of regret from Elizabeth, for reasons that she could not quite follow. She then had felt compelled to intervene, praising them for their nobility of purpose and demanding that they both set aside their unwarranted self-censure. She thought that she had been successful on the latter point, at least in terms of the past. More than an hour later, when the Countess was once again alone, she considered the conclusion of their conversation. She had felt both a swell of pride and a tingle of fear, as Darcy had quietly informed her that his lack of action concerning Harwood and the rest was only temporary, in consideration of their upcoming nuptials. She wondered now if she should have cautioned him against becoming further involved with the miscreants. She knew why she had not done so. She desperately wanted justice for Andrew, perhaps more than she even knew. She could only hope that their collective desire for retribution would bring them all the peace that they sought. |
