D arcy walked beside Elizabeth through a mist-draped forest, their hands brushing now and then as they followed a well-worn path. The filtered light made her eyes seem almost golden, her laugh like birdsong in the distance. She turned to say something, her expression radiant. Her face was full of trust and something deeper, something fragile and precious.
“Darcy… Darcy…wake up…”
He shook his head. Why is Elizabeth telling me to wake up? We are walking together.
She grabbed him by the arm, shaking him.
“Darcy!” she shouted.
The pressure grew firmer, and suddenly she disappeared. The mist turned to smoke, and he could see the orange glow of flames licking through the trees.
“Darcy!” came the voice again—sharper now, deeper.
“Elizabeth!”
He gasped awake, the dream shattering into pieces as he sat bolt upright in bed. His eyes darted wildly, searching for her, for the forest—for any trace of the world he had just left behind.
“Elizabeth?” he repeated hoarsely, his breath coming in short, startled bursts as a familiar vise tightened around his lungs.
“Sadly no,” came a droll voice, “but I am flattered by the comparison.”
Darcy blinked hard, trying to shake off the fading embers of the dream. “Fitzwilliam? What are you doing in my chambers at in the middle of the night?”
“Clearly not having dreams as sweet as yours.”
Darcy groaned and rubbed his eyes, allowing his cousin to come into better focus. “What time is it?”
“Shortly past two.” The colonel was standing at his bedside, his features flickering in the light of the candle he held.
“That had better be the hour in the afternoon.”
“Tragically, it is not,” the colonel said, voice turning grim. “My batman woke me up—a message arrived from Longbourn not a quarter of an hour ago from Miss Elizabeth’s father. It is addressed to you.”
Darcy shot upright. “What happened? Is she—are they—?”
The colonel handed over a folded letter, its seal broken. “Read it yourself.”
Darcy unfolded the page and motioned for Fitzwilliam to bring the candle closer.
Mr. Darcy,
There has been an intruder in my home. The attack occurred in the nursery during the night. Elizabeth was able to protect the child, though the two women tending him were knocked unconscious.
When questioned, my daughter informed me that you would provide that information.
It appears you and your cousin, two unmarried gentlemen, have been encouraging her to keep things from me, which has put her life in danger.
As I have now had enough of secrets, I expect you both at Longbourn the moment it is light enough to ride.
—Thomas Bennet
P.S. Elizabeth asks me to inform you that a black crow’s feather was discovered in the cradle. I trust you will understand the significance of it.
Darcy read the postscript twice. His blood ran cold, and his grip tightened on the page. “Le Corbeau was in her house.” His voice was murderous.
“It appears so,” the colonel replied. “He sees to be getting desperate, which means time has run out for us.”
“She fought him,” he whispered. “She must have fought him off. Is she unharmed?”
“I am afraid I do not know any more about the situation than you do.”
Darcy stood, already reaching for his coat. “We need a plan. We cannot wait any longer.”
“I agree completely, but we cannot leave now—it would raise too many questions in the household. Besides, it would not be safe to ride over until there is a little light, at least. To go now would be foolish—not to mention the fact that you are still in your night shirt.”
“How can you jest at a time like this?” Throwing his coat down in frustration, Darcy sat back on his bed and glared at his cousin.
The colonel shrugged. “In my line of work, you end up forming a sort of gallows humor. It prevents you from descending into madness at the evil that exists in the world.”
The look in his eyes was so bleak that Darcy immediately felt ashamed. “I apologize, Fitzwilliam. I cannot imagine what you have been through these years.”
“Someone has to do it,” the colonel said with another shrug.
“Still, I am grateful.”
“Thank you.” The colonel’s voice was hoarse.
“You do not have to do it, you know. You have your allowance from your father and the small estate from your mother’s brother.”
“But I did not have those things when I enlisted.”
“You do now, though. Why not sell your commission? Surely there are others who can
“I have put off retirement these last few years,” the colonel said, “only because I refuse to quit until I have stopped Le Corbeau. If we can catch him in Hertfordshire, then perhaps…perhaps I can at last be free.”
Darcy studied his cousin in the flickering candlelight. His cousin looked tired—older than the man who had laughed his way through so many London drawing rooms, the same man who had once charmed every matron in Mayfair with a wink and a bow. This version of Colonel Fitzwilliam bore weight in his eyes that no jest could dispel.
“I will help you,” Darcy said quietly. “Whatever it takes.”
The colonel gave him a faint smile. “I know. That is why I brought you into this. Not just because you were close to the child, but because I knew I could trust you to do the right thing.”
Silence stretched between them as the last vestiges of sleep fell away and tension tightened like wire in the small chamber.
At last, Darcy stood again, pacing a few steps before stopping near the hearth. “We tell Mr. Bennet everything. No more half-truths. He deserves to know exactly what we are facing—especially after tonight.”
The colonel nodded. “I agree. If he is to protect his family, he must understand what they are up against.”
“We will tell him as soon as it is light, then.”
The following hours were spent attempting to read to pass the time, although Darcy spent more of it staring blankly at the same page as opposed to actually reading it. At last, the dim room grew lighter. Darcy turned towards the window and saw the sky streaked with the faintest grey-blue of coming dawn.
“It is time,” he said.
Fitzwilliam pushed away from the wall and reached for his coat. “Then let us be off.”
They left Netherfield in silence, their horses cutting through the frost-covered ground with urgency. As Darcy rode through the dim, mist-hung morning, the wind bit at his cheeks and the reins burned against his gloved hands—but he barely felt it. His thoughts were too loud.
The moment he had read Mr. Bennet’s note, something within him had snapped tight, like a wire drawn too far. Elizabeth fought off an assassin.
The words replayed in his mind over and over, each time twisting the knot deeper in his chest. She fought Le Corbeau.
He could have lost her.
The thought of Elizabeth—alone in the dark, armed with nothing but courage, facing down a trained killer—filled him with both awe and terror.
His hands tightened on the reins. If anything had happened to her...
I cannot lose her. Not when I have just found her.
He knew not when he had first fallen in love with her—it was as if he were in the middle of it before he even realized it. But when he did know…
That knowledge had come to him like a tide at high moon—gradual, inevitable, and now all-consuming. But he had told himself to wait. She had already borne so much—the fire, the child, the revelations. He had not wanted to burden her with the weight of his feelings while she was already carrying the weight of the world.
He had imagined a peaceful day, some quiet moment after the danger had passed, when he might speak to her alone, take her hand, and offer her not just his heart, but a life of calm and certainty.
But there was no calm.
There was no certainty.
And he realized now, with piercing clarity, that waiting was not romantic—it was foolish. If he had lost her before he had told her—before she knew, truly knew, how entirely she had captured his heart…
I would never forgive myself.
He thought—he hoped, at least—that he saw the return of his love in her eyes. There was a softening when they spoke together, a light that seemed to flicker to life in her face when he was near.
It was not proof that she loved him in return, but it was enough.
He could not waste another day.
As Longbourn’s familiar outline emerged from the silver haze of the morning fog, Darcy felt his resolve settle like steel within him. He would speak to Mr. Bennet. He would tell him everything—about the investigation, about Le Corbeau, about the dangers.
But he would also ask him for permission—permission to marry Elizabeth.
For if she would have him, he would not let another morning pass without claiming the honor of protecting and cherishing her for the rest of his life.
Upon arriving at the front door, Darcy dismounted and handed the reins to a sleepy-looking stable boy, who yawned so widely it nearly unseated his cap. The colonel followed suit, tossing a coin into the lad’s palm with a murmured, “Mind those hooves, lad.”
The front door opened before they could knock. Mrs. Hill stood there with her arms crossed, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Her eyes, red-rimmed from lack of sleep, narrowed at the sight of them.
“The master has been waiting for you,” she said, not bothering with a proper greeting. The tone in her voice made Darcy feel, absurdly, like a boy about to be brought before a headmaster. She turned without waiting and led them through the dim halls to Mr. Bennet’s study.
She opened the door with more force than necessary. “Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir.”
Then she shut it firmly behind them.
Mr. Bennet sat behind his desk, a blanket over his shoulders and a decanter already uncorked at his elbow. He looked up slowly, his icy gaze sharp as a bayonet. The temperature in the room dropped five degrees, and Darcy shivered.
“Do you have any idea what it is like,” he said, his voice low and controlled, “to be woken in the dead of night to find your daughter had been attacked in her own home?”
Neither man spoke.
“Of course you do not. Neither of you are fathers.”
He rose, walking around the desk with calm that was far more ominous than shouting. “Let me tell you precisely what that is like. It is to know a horror unlike any other. It is to feel helpless. It is to imagine every second that your child—your child—is lying somewhere bleeding, or worse, because someone brought danger to your door.”
He stopped before them, eyes blazing. “Then to find that she has been fraternizing—conspiring—with two men whom she has known for mere weeks, and who have, by their own actions or associations, placed her in mortal peril? Tell me, gentlemen—what would you do?”
Neither spoke.
“I have half a mind to challenge you both to a duel,” he said coldly. “And the only reason I have not already called for pistols is because Elizabeth refuses to say anything about the situation until I have spoken to you. So, speak. Now. And do not lie to me.”
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Even the colonel, who had smiled his way through more battles and threats on his life than he could count, paled under the force of Mr. Bennet’s wrath.
Clearing his throat, Darcy took a small step forward. “You are correct,” he said simply. “If I were in your position, I would be infuriated. My cousin and I both have guardianship of my younger sister, Georgiana. She is twelve years my junior. I have been more father than brother to her since my father died. If she were in Elizabeth’s place, I would not hesitate to string the men responsible from the nearest tree. I cannot begin to tell you how sorry we are.”
“Then why ?” Mr. Bennet snapped. “Why was this kept from me? Why my daughter? Why this house?”
Darcy looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam. It is not my place to share matters of national security .
Fortunately, the colonel had at last found his voice. He began to explain everything, from the moment he received the intelligence about the Bourbon heir to Denisse’s rescue, the smuggling of the infant out of France, Smithson’s murder, and the final confirmation that the Le Corbeau had followed them to Hertfordshire.
Mr. Bennet sat speechless throughout the entire account. When the colonel finished, he sat heavily in his chair and stared at the far wall, his face looking suddenly far older than it had at the beginning of the tale.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I understand the need for secrecy. I do. The Home Office is not known for its transparency, and I am not known for being the most vigilant of fathers. My wife, bless her, cannot keep a teacup steady without announcing it to the county. I understand why you chose to keep this from me.”
His gaze met theirs, eyes sharp again. “But that does not change the fact that my daughter and household are in grave danger. So. What are we going to do about it?”
Darcy and Fitzwilliam exchanged glances.
“We were hoping,” the colonel said, “to consult with Miss Elizabeth. She is clever and perceptive, and—”
“Yes, yes, she is,” Mr. Bennet interrupted with a faint, tired smile. “That girl always had the sharpest mind in the house. Very well. I shall have someone fetch her.” He began to rise from his chair.
It is now or never, Darcy .
Heat rushed over him as he stepped forward. “Sir, before you do, there is something else. I… I would like your permission to marry Miss Elizabeth.”
Mr. Bennet froze halfway out of his chair. Then, slowly, he sat back down.
The silence that followed was almost comic in its length. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. Thirty full seconds passed in stunned disbelief.
At last, he let out a strangled croak. “My first inclination is to deny you outright, sir. But my daughter would never forgive me if I presumed to speak on her behalf in this matter. So—yes. You have my permission to address her. But you do not have my permission to marry her. If— and only if —she accepts you, and if we survive this debacle, then you may ask me again.”
Darcy exhaled in relief. “That is more than reasonable, sir. And perhaps more grace than I deserve.”
Mr. Bennet snorted. “I do not do it for you , Mr. Darcy. I do it for her. If she loves you, she will say yes. And if she does not, she will say no—and do a much better job of thrashing you with words than I ever could. Which I would enjoy watching, frankly.”
Darcy swallowed hard. The colonel clapped him on the back, grinning. “Cheer up, cousin. Who knows? We may all be dead within the week, in which case you will be spared the rejection.”
Mr. Bennet gave him a long, deadpan stare.
The colonel cleared his throat. “Ah. My apologies, sir. That was… rather flippant.”
To everyone’s surprise, Mr. Bennet barked out a laugh. “I think I might begin to like you, Colonel, despite my better judgment.”
He stood, going to the door. “Now. Shall we have Lizzy sent for? Unless you, too, would like to ask for one of my daughters? I am afraid only Mary remains, but she’s a good enough girl.”
The colonel choked. “I… that is… I assure you, sir—”
But he never finished, for the door opened to reveal Elizabeth herself standing there, a knowing arch to her brow and Benjamin cradled in her arms. Though she was dressed in a plain morning gown with a simple coiffure, Darcy had never seen anything more beautiful.
Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow. “Well, then. No need to send for you after all.”
Elizabeth stepped forward. “I heard raised voices. I assumed that meant the gentlemen had arrived.” Her tone was mild, but her eyes flicked knowingly between the three of them.
Mr. Bennet’s gaze softened slightly. “Indeed, they have. Come in, my dear. We have much to discuss.”
∞∞∞
Elizabeth stepped into the study with Benjamin in her arms. The air was thick with tension, and her father stood behind his desk, arms folded in a severe scowl. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were standing before him, both men looking grim— shoulders squared, expressions hard.
Darcy’s eyes immediately found hers, dark and searching. His gaze swept over her with barely concealed worry, lingering at the slight shadows beneath her eyes, the protective way she held the child. She felt his concern as surely as if he had spoken it aloud.
She gave him a small, reassuring smile, her fingers absently stroking Benjamin’s back as she said, “This conversation may take some time. I believe, Papa, we should at least offer the gentlemen a chair.”
Mr. Bennet sighed. “Very well, but only one.”
The two men looked blankly at one another, and Elizabeth suppressed a giggle. “Really, Papa, this is no time for your teasing. Gentlemen, you may each take a seat.”
Elizabeth raised her brows but said nothing. The colonel quirked a brow toward Darcy, clearly deferring, and stepped back as Darcy moved toward the chair. As he passed her, his arm brushed lightly against hers—only a glancing touch, but it sent a current through her that made her breath catch.
Darcy sat down without a word, but the set of his jaw and the way his gaze flicked back to her told her he was here—for her.
Her attention was called away when Mr. Bennet said, “We need a plan—one that keeps this house, this family, and that child,” he nodded at Benjamin, “safe from the man who tried to kill him.”
Darcy straightened. “I will send word to London this morning to have several of my own footmen travel down—men I trust, not just for their discretion, but for their strength and loyalty.”
“And I can fetch several men of my own,” Colonel Fitzwilliam added. “Soldiers who once served under me, now retired or recovering from wounds. Many live in London, and they can travel with Darcy’s men. They will be grateful for honest coin and clear orders.”
Mr. Bennet eyed him sharply. “And none of them will be able to be bought?”
The colonel’s response was immediate. “No, sir. Not these men—I would trust them with my life.”
“You had better be correct,” Mr. Bennet muttered, “because I will be trusting them with my family’s lives.”
A tense silence fell again. Elizabeth looked from one face to the next, noting the exhaustion etched into their expressions. Even the prospect of reinforcements did not seem to ease the weight in the room.
“Guards are not a permanent solution,” Mr. Bennet finally said. “They cannot surround Longbourn forever.”
“There may be other options,” Darcy offered. “We could arrange to have Benjamin removed from the area. Smuggled to a safe location—perhaps even the palace? If it is safe enough for His Majesty—”
“No!” Elizabeth said at once, her voice sharp enough to make Benjamin stir in her arms. “He is not a parcel to be hidden away. He needs a home. He needs warmth and care and people who love him, not a tower and a set of guards.”
“And even the palace would not be secure enough from Le Corbeau,” Fitzwilliam added grimly. “Someone would slip. There would be whispers, spies. And harboring him openly would provoke Napoleon. Fleeing French loyalists are one thing. Housing a Bourbon in the seat of English power is another.”
Mr. Bennet nodded. “What do you think we should, then, Lizzy?”
She looked down at Benjamin in her arms, his tiny fist curled against her chest, his breath warm against her collarbone. She kissed the top of his head as he nestled into her.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that we need to end this. We cannot guard every door, every window, every servant’s tongue forever.”
They all stared at her.
She met each of their gazes in turn—her father’s stern, Fitzwilliam’s calculating, and finally Darcy’s, which held an emotion so raw she could barely stand to meet it.
“I think,” she said again, stronger this time, “we need to draw him out. And I believe the only way to do that… is to make me the target instead.”