Mr. Darcy’s eyes followed Elizabeth as she allowed herself to be pulled away by her sister.
Chapter Fifteen
Fitzwilliamsteppedintothestudy first, Darcy on his heels. Bennet was staring out a window with his hands resting on either side of the casement.
Darcy said nothing, nor did he sit. Fitzwilliam moved to pour three glasses of port, handing one to Darcy and then approaching Bennet with the other.
“I do not know how I will live with it,” Bennet said quietly as he took the glass. He still had not turned to face them. “He might have killed Jane. I could not have borne it if he had.”
“He did not. And forgive me, sir,” Fitzwilliam replied, “but we were on our way to deliver the information Todd has just given you. Darcy and I spoke with Jensen. He told us that the carriage had been tampered with.”
“Miss Elizabeth also mentioned that Mr. Todd had of late tended to the repairs,” Darcy added. His cousin shot him a look; he had not had time to inform Fitzwilliam before they arrived back at Longbourn. “He is fortunate he came to you of his own accord, for we would have exposed him in short order.”
“You do not suppose he knew that?” Bennet inquired, turning the wineglass in one hand but not drinking from it.
“I doubt it,” Darcy responded. “He could not know that we would speak to Mr. Jensen in town, nor could he be certain that the sabotage would be discovered at all. After such an accident, it would be a simple thing to believe any missing parts had simply been lost.”
Bennet nodded. “Good. I am a soft man when it comes to children, as I am sure my daughters have told you. Still, I would not like to be a fool.”
“You are a good man, sir,” Fitzwilliam told him. “Better than me.”
“I do not know that,” Bennet said. He set the wine down on his desk but did not sit. “I try to do what is right, but it is not an easy thing. I struggle. Every time, I struggle not to strike out against those who use me ill.”
“Forgive my presumption,” Darcy told the general, “but we all struggle. It is those who do not who are to be feared.”
Bennet laughed a bit at that. “My father was a vicar, you know. He was disappointed in my choice of profession. But he wrestled with that feeling and saw me off with his blessings and his prayers. It was a generous gift for a headstrong son, and I do hope, every day, that I have done him proud.” He released a long breath. “But it is hard. Very hard.”
“Do you recall Private Vaughan, sir?” Darcy asked abruptly.
Bennet pulled a face. “It would be difficult to forget him, Darcy.”
Fitzwilliam snorted and Darcy smiled. “Perhaps you would like to hear how he has succeeded thanks to your willingness to offer him another chance.”
Some of the tension seemed to drop from Bennet’s shoulders. He dropped into his chair behind the desk and waved at them to sit as well. He reached for his glass of port. As Bennet lifted the wine to his lips, Darcy noticed the deep lines in the man’s brow.
“I would like to hear that,” Bennet said.
“To begin,” Darcy said, stretching back in his chair, “he saved my life on no fewer than three occasions. Fitzwilliam’s too, once.”
“We saved him too,” Fitzwilliam grumbled. “It is what you do, in war.”
Darcy chuckled. “Allow me to tell this tale in my own way, if you will.”
Bennet smiled, and the furrows that lined his face eased a bit. “Continue, Darcy,” he urged. “I would like to hear this story very much indeed.”
They had been in the study for two hours, and Bennet was on his third glass of port. Darcy had finished two, and thought it was quite enough, but he could not say how many glasses Fitzwilliam had drunk. The man was rather like a camel when it came to spirits.
“Papa?” called a voice from the doorway, and Darcy recalled that Miss Elizabeth also needed to have a conversation with her father. He had considered it but wondered whether Bennet was really in the proper frame of mind to take on another affront to one of his daughters.
“Come in, Lizzy,” Bennet called. The wine and the conversation seemed to have relaxed him.
“Where is Mr. Collins?” Fitzwilliam asked. “Not that I desire his company, but it is not like him to be silent for so many hours together.”
“He is in the stables,” Miss Elizabeth said. “Complaining very loudly, from what I am told.”
Bennet smiled. “Every master of an estate must know how to ride. And it does not go amiss that he should know how to care for his horses from top to bottom. Even if he will not be mucking out the stalls as master, it is good to know how it is done.”
“He is fortunate Mr. Hill knew where to procure clothing he could not ruin,” Miss Elizabeth said sternly, though she gazed upon her father with fondness. “I suppose you intended to be out there with him?”