The sound of a gunshot rang out.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had moved with shocking speed as Darcy and Hartley stared at the scene with shocked horror. He had pressed Elizabeth’s arms down and caused the bullet to go into the ground instead of Lord Rochester’s chest.
The sharp scent of gunpowder hung in the air.
Elizabeth violently pulled her arms out of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s grasp and her eyes started widening with a sort of horror. Darcy was not sure if it was because she had shot the gun, or because she had missed.
Lord Rochester stared at her. He seemed wholly shocked. The earl took a tottering step towards Elizabeth.
“Not another move.” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice had a shrill carrying tone to it. He used an odd way of speaking that Darcy thought could be heard over a great distance. “I’ve seen enough of bloodshed in Spain and India. I don’t want to see more when I’m only five minutes’ walk from my aunt’s house. I will knock you about the head if you come another step closer. Same for all of you bloody whoresons. A step out of line, and I’ll have each of you hung.” Colonel Fitzwilliam had a tone to his voice that Darcy was sure was the sound he used in the battle line. “No more shooting. Lady Elizabeth shall not be made to return tonight with you, Lord Rochester, and by God her wish shall be respected. Miss Elizabeth, if you’ve another gun, keep your hands away from it. No shooting. Not from anyone.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s soldier-servant had his own gun in his hand, but it was pointed at the ground.
Darcy’s carriage at last clattered up the avenue. His coachman and valet sat next to each other in the box, while two postillions rode the horses, and one of his own manservants stood on the ledge at the back of the carriage.
Lanterns swung from all corners of the carriage, and another oil light was shining inside of it.
Elizabeth’s breath came in pants.
The tension that had taken Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to leave him as easily as if it had never been there. He laughed. “Fine gun, Lady Elizabeth, and fine aim. Fine stance.”
Wide eyes at Colonel Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth stuttered, “P-p-papa taught me.”
Both Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam glanced towards Lord Rochester, but it was evident that she did not refer to that gentleman. Darcy could not decide if he had been cowed by Colonel Fitzwilliam, frightened by his near brush with death, or was in the process of preparing to shout more demands.
Darcy did not care.
He lightly touched Elizabeth’s shoulder, “My Lady, do you wish conveyance to your father’s house?”
That was enough for her. She turned to him and a breathtaking smile went across her face. “He is. He truly is.” She looked at the empty gun as though she did not know what to do with it, and then she stuffed it into Darcy’s hand.
Darcy helped her up into the carriage, and he stepped in after her.
Colonel Fitzwilliam climbed, while shouting down at his man, “Meet me in London, by stage.”
Lady Catherine frowned, but she also made no orders nor shouts.
“Can I come,” Lord Hartley stood by the step to the carriage, looking decidedly uncertain. “I do not know if...if I am welcome. Elizabeth, I would like—”
Elizabeth stared at Lord Hartley, she still had that startled expression, as though she could not quite understand what was happening around her.
“Elizabeth, you do not need to let him come, but he is your brother, and he has always been a dear friend of mine,” Darcy said, “and he felt your supposed death deeply.”
Elizabeth said in a shaky voice, “I would be glad to know you.”
Lord Hartley climbed into the carriage, the three gentlemen and one small lady making the whole rather crowded. Elizabeth’s leg was pressed against Darcy’s, and it was impossible for him to not notice that.
The horses set off.
Elizabeth stared out the window intently, her eyes never left where Lord Rochester and those around him stood. She gripped Darcy’s hand so tight that it hurt. The young woman had an astonishing strength, in her fingers and in her character.
When they turned a corner, and the group of footmen led by Lady Catherine and Lord Rochester was no longer visible, Elizabeth shivered and lay her head against the back of the seat cushion.
Elizabeth’s eyes had something wild in them. Darcy wished to put his arm around her, and embrace her properly, but his cousin and Lord Hartley’s presence reminded him that he had no right.
Her hands shook. “I shot him. I shot at him. I can’t believe I actually shot at him.”
“As the bullet did not find its target,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “no harm done.”
“Lord, yes!” Hartley exclaimed. His voice had great agitation in it as well. “I imagine he never thought you might do such a thing, even when you had the gun pointed at him. I never could have. I’ve imagined shooting the old man a hundred times if it was once.”
“I was so scared.” Elizabeth’s wide eyes stared into Darcy’s; her face was so close. She was lit by the swinging oil lantern. The last light of dusk was gone. ”I shouldn’t have done that.”
Darcy squeezed her hand. He said softly, “You will be safe. You are so brave.”
“I think I shall faint,” Elizabeth said. “And such a day, to be filled with so much. I feel as though I hardly understand anything. Such a day.”
“It has been a busy day,” Darcy said with a smile. “Such a day.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and placed her head against his shoulder. Her breathing was still hitched and agitated.
For several minutes they were all silent.
At last, Elizabeth opened her eyes, but she did not move her head, or the soft hair from where she pressed against Darcy’s arm, “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I am most grateful to you for protecting me from the consequences that would have followed if my shot had found its mark.”
“I doubt that they would have hung you, with the circumstances.” Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged. “It seemed the wisest course to avoid anything of the sort. It is too easy to kill.”
“Mr. Darcy,” she said quietly, not looking up from where her head was against his arm. “I thank you also. You do not worry—can he charge you for taking his child from him, or something?”
“I do not believe so,” Darcy said doubtfully. “I would be surprised if he could do anything to you at present, legally that is.”
“That is my guess as well,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “The law would do nothing to aid you if you were in his house, not even if everyone knew it was against your will. But I do not consider it likely that you would be forced into his care either. Not at your present age... A pity almost that I stopped you. The tale would have fully compensated for what I have lost in it being proven that my uncle did not murder his own child.”
Elizabeth giggled in a hysterical way. “If I’d killed him that would have been a good story too. I shot at him. I meant to kill him. Hammer back, pull the trigger. Bang.”
She needed his comfort. Darcy put his arm around her and held her tight. “You are safe, Elizabeth, you are safe.”
“Hahahahaha. I nearly shot my own father. The man of my dreams. Hahaha. I always dreamed about him. Hitting me. Shouting bastard. Hahahaha. Shooting the man of my dreams.”
Her whole body shook.
Darcy kissed the top of her head. “You are safe. You are safe.”
She sobbed into Darcy’s coat. He murmured again and again that she was safe, that she was brave, and that he was proud of her.
Slowly she settled herself.
He gave her his handkerchief to dry her eyes with and blow her nose. Once she had done this Elizabeth said, “I apologize. Lord Hartley, I particularly apologize to you. You have right to unhappiness on account of what I did.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “Call me Robert. We are brother and sister. I’ve certainly thought of shooting him. But then what child has not had a detailed fantasy of killing one of their parents?”
Elizabeth nodded seriously, as though it made perfect sense. Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared to be about a third as disturbed as Darcy felt.
“I hope,” Elizabeth said quietly, “that Lady Catherine will not make much problem for Mary and Mr. Collins. They depend greatly on her for their entertainments and position. But must I flee the country? What legal right does he have over me at this age? Of course I cannot marry without his permission.” She laughed again, in a way which showed that hysteria was not wholly banished. “I can’t marry without his permission. Hahahaha.”
Darcy was quite concerned, and he could see that Hartley was also worried. Colonel Fitzwilliam slightly smiled, and he showed no concern at Elizabeth’s manner, and he was the only one of them who had any experience with how people might act after surviving a battle.
“Were you planning,” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, “to get married at any soon date?”
Elizabeth’s laughter became more hysterical, but when she calmed herself, she sat herself up and pulled away from Darcy. She primly held herself erect. The loss ached. “I can never marry...except I can. I can now. Everyone will know, and there is nothing shameful, at least not for me about this secret.”
“You always were able marry if you wished,” Darcy said. His voice was quiet.
“To think that I confessed to you this afternoon that I was illegitimate—” Then to the two other gentlemen. “For such I thought myself to be. And so much has happened. I do not think it has been a full four hours yet.”
“There can be hours or minutes,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “when the fates of men or nations change more than in entire ordinary decades.”
Elizabeth smoothed out her dress. “So strange. The daughter of an earl. No wonder Papa—Mr. Bennet I mean—hid this from me. He wished to keep it from me until I was of age, do you really think it will be safe to return to Longbourn? If Lord Rochester organizes a pursuit, would he have the right to take me? He is most concerned about his rights.”
Hartley snorted. “That is all my father has ever cared about. His rights. But he wasn’t a murderer. At least not that.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth but then frowned and shrugged.
“I would not be concerned,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “From what I understand Mr. Bennet is a substantial figure in the neighborhood, and most of the people about are his friends. No private group could openly seize you by force, and I would be shocked if a judge were to rule that you must be handed to Lord Rochester, and that the local JP must therefore work to arrange it. It would astonish me beyond all believing if any such judgement was issued with any alacrity.”
Darcy knew enough of the workings of lawyers to be able to confirm that it would be very unlikely that any such ruling would be made before she had already come of age.
The carriage quieted. Elizabeth stared out the window, her mind full of thoughts he could not guess at.
They reached Bromley and changed their horses there.
They continued on. The sky was deep dark.
About a half hour after they’d changed horses Elizabeth fell asleep against his arm. He could not stop looking at her face, her lips, the way that her beauty remained, but that the fire and energy that characterized her was changed into peacefulness as she slept.
And she trusted him.
She had simply entered his carriage and laid her head against his arm.
Why had he not realized that he wanted to marry her before he knew? He’d offered to make her a tutor, when he should have offered to make her the mistress of a great estate. She deserved that and more.
After another hour Darcy perceived the changes around the road that showed they were approaching London. The towns and farmhouses with their lights were far more densely packed. There was a dim glow making it harder to see the stars, and then they reached the cobblestoned edge of the city. Many lights shone from the thousand thousand windows despite the hour. It was not yet midnight when the carriage reached the lodgings that Bingley had taken with his wife.
“Bingley’s address?” Lord Hartley said with some surprise at seeing where they’d arrived at. “But of course. Mrs. Bingley is nearly her sister. Much more respectable than staying with you or even me. And of course,” he smiled at Darcy, “I have seen how the two of you behave.”
“I have no notion of what you mean,” Darcy said.
“You do too. Don’t dissimulate.” Lord Hatley leapt from the carriage. “What a day. What a day. I do not think that my nerves shall be settled for a week at least.”
Elizabeth stirred awake. “Where are we?”
“London. Mr. Bingley’s lodgings. We will finish the journey tomorrow.”
She seemed frightened suddenly. “No, no. I want to be in Longbourn.”
“We have already been travelling for three hours,” Darcy replied. “It is nearly midnight and the coachman and postillions need to sleep.”
“You won’t leave?”
He had of course planned to sleep at his own house, but now he agreed with her. “No, never.”
Elizabeth let out another shaky breath.
They knocked on the door to Bingley’s house.
The butler came down quickly, though from his manner he had been quite concerned as to what sort of people might be coming at such an hour. But not so surprised, as it was the London season, and both the master and mistress were in fact still at a ball at Almack’s. That was why the butler had waited up, to ensure they would find lights and a pleasant snack, and any other aid they might want when they returned home, even if it was after dawn.
Darcy had Bingley’s butler wake one of the footmen to run to Almack’s to fetch Bingley and his wife. Darcy sank into the sofa in the familiar drawing room. Elizabeth sat stiffly, seemingly fully awake again. Candles and everything were set out and lit—even though it was irregular the butler recognized Mr. Darcy and Lord Hartley, and the footman who he’d woken up was from Hertfordshire and he recognized Elizabeth. If the master and mistress did not wish close friends of such consequence to be here this late hour, it was their place to say enough to send them off.
Hartley’s request for a drink was instantly echoed by Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. They both took a stiff swallow of Bingley’s fine brandy as soon as it was provided. Elizabeth absolutely refused anything but a little barley water.
Otherwise, none of them talked. Elizabeth sat the whole time staring at a candle, while Hartley shook out the afternoon newspaper to read about the latest doings of parliament. Except it was clear to Darcy that he seldom changed the pages or even looked at the paper. For his part Darcy mostly watched Elizabeth, wondered how she was, and wondered if she would wish him to say something.
But he knew that in such a case he would wish silence and a chance to arrange for himself his feelings without a need to perform for anyone, no matter how dear.
After nearly an hour Mr. and Mrs. Bingley returned. Mrs. Bingley exclaimed as soon as she entered the drawing room, “Heavens! Lizzy, what happened to you.”
Elizabeth seemed almost confused by the tone of the question. “Do I not look well?”
“You look as though you have seen a ghost,” was Mr. Bingley’s reply as he entered behind his wife. “Darcy, Hartley, what the deuce brought you all here suddenly—did one of you shoot someone?”
“I missed,” Elizabeth said.
She still sounded subdued and quiet. But Darcy thought he heard the beginning of the return of her sense of humor in her voice.
Bingley laughed. “I’ve been hunting with you. You would not miss.”
“I interfered with her arm in the process of making the shot,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “Her shot would have certainly found her target without that.”
This prompted another laugh from Bingley that died almost instantly. “Jove! You are serious.”
“Wholly,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. He poured himself another tumbler of the brandy and took a solid gulp. “It was a close call. Until nearly the last moment I had thought that she would not do it.”
“Then the offer of brandy that you assumed I would make was warranted,” Bingley said sitting down next to Colonel Fitzwilliam, and filling up his own glass. “Who did you shoot, Lizzy?”
“The ghost,” was Elizabeth’s reply.
The humor was back in her voice.
Lord Hartly snorted and started coughing and laughing after she said that. “I think I shall like you very much, Lizzy—you do not mind if I call you that?”
“What?” Mrs. Bingley exclaimed. She’d sat next to Elizabeth and was looking her over. “What has happened that you will let Lord Hartley use your Christian name?”
“We are to be family,” Lord Hartley said cheerfully.
Both Bingley and his wife looked between Elizabeth and Hartley with shock, and Bingley then looked at Darcy with some concern.
Then Elizabeth started laughing. “You may certainly call me Lizzy if I can call you Bobby. I think I shall like you as well.”
“I confess to being deeply confused,” Bingley said. “And since you have called us from a lovely ball, you owe an explanation, at the very least.”
“Lizzy tried to shoot my father,” Lord Hartley said cheerfully, clearly not wishing to end the game very quickly. He became more serious. “Though I cannot blame her at all.”
“You were also there that day,” Elizabeth suddenly said. “I remember. He made you watch. You were still just a child. But you were the boy who was there. I think I called you Bobby then.”
“Yes. I remember that,” Lord Hartley replied.
Mrs. Bingley exclaimed, “Elizabeth is actually the child of Lord Rochester who disappeared all those years ago?”
“What, what!” Bingley exclaimed. “The one who is dead?”
Elizabeth gestured at herself, and she smiled.
“Oh, my poor Lizzy!” Mrs. Bingley embraced Elizabeth. “Oh, it must have been a shock. I despise him, I wish you had hit him.”
Both Elizabeth and Mr. Bingley stared at Mrs. Bingley.
“Jane, I never imagined I would hear you say such a thing,” Elizabeth said.
“I confess I do not like to think ill of anyone,” Mrs. Bingley replied, “but I remember how you looked. Black and blue bruises over half your body.”
“Wait, you are Lady Elizabeth?” Bingley said with some surprise. “Hartley’s sister?”
Elizabeth gestured at herself again with the hand that Mrs. Bingley was not occupying. The gesture turned into covering her mouth during a long yawn.
“Of course, of course,” Bingley said. “You must be tired. All of you. Country hours—The west room for Elizabeth? Do you mean to continue to Longbourn tomorrow?”
“At first light,” Darcy said. “I do not particularly wish to even delay for breakfast. Do you mind if I also sleep here.”
Bingley blinked in surprise. “Your own house is just ten minutes’ walk away.”
“Yes, but, ah...” Darcy did not quite know how to explain that he was responding to a request of Elizabeth for him to “not leave”.
Mrs. Bingley went over to her husband and whispered something in his ear. Bingley then looked at Elizabeth, and then at Darcy, and then back to Elizabeth. “You are always welcome with me,” Bingley then said. “It shall cause no difficulties.”
Darcy began to think that he had rather underrated Mrs. Bingley’s perception and confidence in a stressful situation. He had thought her too much like Mr. Bingley, who he always thought a bit too much in the nature of a particularly youthful lad. To the extent that he had understood her at all, with her tendency to smile the same way at nearly everything.
“Am I hosting you both as well,” Bingley asked Hartley and Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I only have two guest rooms. I did not rent this house with the expectation of many guests.” He grinned at Darcy. “I’d been under the impression that my friends had their own London lodgings.”
“ I can help you, old fellow. I’ll wander over to my own place,” Hartley said. “I miss the house. I’ll be here not long after dawn, depend upon it.”
“I will depend on that,” Darcy said.
“You Fitzwilliam?” Bingley asked Darcy’s cousin.
“If you do not mind. But the couch here in the drawing room would be best. Yes, I’d decidedly prefer the couch—but no need to wake me early. You can manage thirty miles of carriage to Hertfordshire without my escort. If you cannot, you are all doomed. I’ve business and friends enough in London.”
With the matter of the rooms settled, they all went upstairs.
Despite the lateness of the hour, Darcy found that sleep did not come to him easily. His mind was filled with the shocks of the day, worries for Elizabeth, and the question of whether he could ever convince her that he deserved a chance to prove to her that he loved her, when he had not made such an offer before her true birth was known.