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H is cousin drew his horse alongside Darcy’s as they rode back to Netherfield.

“I am delighted to have met the young lady,” he called across. “Your letters to Georgiana seemed to be too good to be true, but she is indeed beyond all description.”

Darcy drew his horse up in shock. “My letters? To Georgiana?”

“Yes. You’ve never written about another lady to her before, and she is beside herself with excitement.”

“But I haven’t written of her.”

“You may not have been aware of it, but you have indeed mentioned her. Georgiana has told me everything you said.” Richard’s knowing grin caused the heat to settle round the back of Darcy’s neck, and he knew his flush would be visible.

“But I was amazed to see you in the same room as the duke.” Richard seemed determined to get to the bottom of the matter. “And the atmosphere was reasonably cordial.”

Darcy turned his horse onto the grass verge and spurred it to a canter. He didn’t want to talk, although he knew perhaps he was only delaying it. Richard was more tenacious than a badger.

He scowled, and alongside him, Richard laughed, and, despite himself, Darcy was forced to admit the humour in the situation.

No doubt Richard would make him laugh over their early, hurried lunch before they went to the barracks tent. He wondered how Wickham was feeling now, with the shadow of the noose facing him.

By two o’clock, shaved and neat, Darcy was sitting in the makeshift courtroom, Richard and Bingley beside him.

In front of them, a plain deal table held three small, neat piles of papers, and on a bench to the side, Wickham, Denny and Chamberlain sat, shackled together.

Darcy kept his features impassive as he met Wickham’s contemptuous gaze, glad his father hadn’t lived to see this day. But the world would be a better place without this man in it.

Richard leaned over. “I’m surprised the duke didn’t wish to see vengeance himself.”

Darcy nodded. He was, too. “Perhaps he wished to remain in Lady Elizabeth’s company. After all, we are required to be here, in case our statements are questioned.”

Richard looked beyond him to Bingley. “Don’t worry, man. Nothing violent is to happen in here.”

Darcy was sorry Bingley had said he wished to witness this; to know what justice involved. He was a young man, and still to see the worst of human nature.

Apart from his infernal sister! Darcy smiled wryly at the thought, and then had to pull his attention to the front, as the presiding officer, a Colonel Williamson, entered, flanked by another officer also from London, and Colonel Forster.

Denny and Chamberlain were dealt with together, not even given the distinction of a separate trial. They had little on which to defend themselves, of course, apart from saying that Wickham had coerced them, but Colonel Williamson looked down his nose at them.

“You are supposed to be officers — and gentlemen. Your uniform and oath to the King ought to mean you are of strong character. Now what do you have to say for yourselves?”

Within minutes, they were found guilty, and had sentence pronounced.

Darcy’s eyebrows rose along with Richard’s.

Twenty lashes each, then stripped of their commissions, and pressed into service as common seamen on separate naval battleships, “so you will not be a danger to ladies ever again!” Williamson looked at the two as he pronounced sentence, his features heavy with disgust.

Then he turned immediately to Wickham. “Stand up, man!”

The witness statements were read out by the major on the panel, and Wickham, pale with anger, invited to comment.

Of course, he tried to blame Darcy’s hatred and jealousy for the determination to see him hanged, but the colonel leaned over the table.

“Lieutenant Wickham, are you telling me that Mr. Darcy set up the whole situation of you attempting to abduct a wealthy heiress, murdering her footman guard — all this from London — and you were coerced to do it?”

The sentence, when it came, was an anticlimax. Richard climbed to his feet. “Might I speak, sir?”

The colonel nodded. “Go ahead, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

Richard didn’t take his eyes from Wickham.

“Dawlish, the footman who was murdered by Wickham, didn’t have a family, and served the Duke of Lancaster’s family loyally, dying while he protected Lady Elizabeth.

His funeral is in Meryton at half after three this afternoon, and we all wish to pay our respects in gratitude. ” He looked back at the bench.

“Might we beg the indulgence of the court to return after the ceremony to witness the sentences being carried out?”

The colonel rose to his feet. “Certainly. The prisoners can wait on your arrival. An extra hour or two to anticipate events cannot be but an extra burden.”

Half an hour later, the three gentlemen joined the duke and Mr. Bennet in the church, sliding into the seat behind them.

Darcy was surprised to see several local gentry in the pews as well, though he presumed the opportunity to speak to the duke would have been an encouragement to Sir William, at least.

The silence was heavy, and Darcy remembered the last funerals he had attended.

Most had blurred one into the other. He attended as many as he could when it involved his tenant farmers or staff, although his stewards deputised for him when he was not in the area.

Only his parents’ funerals were a sharp memory, even those of his grandparents having faded since his childhood.

At last, the sonorous words of the clergyman sounded from the back of the church, and they all rose to their feet as the coffin was carried in, following the vicar. Darcy saw the duke’s steward was one of the pall bearers, and his opinion rose at the duke signifying such respect.

The service was brief and similar to so many that had gone before, and soon they were all standing around the open grave, listening to the final sentences of committal.

They lined up in order of precedence to scatter a handful of earth on the coffin, and then took their leave as the grave diggers moved forward to fill it in.

Darcy stood with the other men a few moments by the lych gate, listening to the comments on the service, and then he bowed at the duke. “With your permission, Your Grace, my cousin and I will return to the militia quarters to observe the sentences.”

“I will join you.” The man’s expression was glacial, and Darcy shivered.

But he would not demur. Elizabeth was not his, may never be his.

But he wanted to see her safe, and Wickham punished for what he had put her through, as well as what he intended.

So he could not fault the duke for wishing it too.

“Of course, Your Grace. Would it assist you if I gave your coachman the direction?”

“Thank you,” the man said shortly, and Darcy hoped he didn’t seem to be trying too hard.

He mounted and dropped back with Richard as they followed the coach. Bingley had been relieved to return with Bennet to Longbourn to join his wife.

Richard was sombre. “I hope those young men can keep relatively quiet during the floggings. I think the duke will not have anticipated what it is really like.”

Darcy glanced over. “It is not something we normally witness in civil life, Richard.”

“I advise you to keep your eyes just above the scene, Darcy. Try not to see too much.”

“I thank you for your advice.” Darcy wasn’t sure he would abide by it, though. The sight of the bruise on Lady Elizabeth’s face had angered him beyond any anger he’d ever felt before — even after Ramsgate.

The sentencing judge was surprised to see the duke. “Colonel Williamson at your service, Your Grace. Let me procure you a chair.”

“Thank you. Then let us get on with it.” The duke’s voice was brusque, and Darcy wondered if he was already regretting his decision, having seen the three men, backs bared, lashed to large cartwheels, ready for their flogging.

He tightened his jaw as the punishment began. Denny was silent, his jaw clenched. Chamberlain screamed at the first lashes, which must have knocked all the breath from his body, for he was then silent.

But for Wickham, who had to wait his turn, it must have been torture to know what was coming. Darcy shuddered. Inhumane. Hanging alone would have rid the world of him; lashes beforehand were too redolent of cruelty.

Richard leaned towards him. “Military life is cruel, Darcy. And the news will spread through the ranks. Others who plan such things may be put off, and ladies will be safer.”

“I suppose so.” Darcy stared glumly at the scene in front of him. “But it is not a sight to be gloried in.”

“No. But what Wickham did, to Georgiana as well as to Lady Elizabeth … Darcy, he deserves it. He cared nothing for them or their well-being or happiness. Remember that.”

As the two younger men were cut from their bonds and stretchered away for rough tending to their bleeding backs, Wickham was dragged to the gibbet as the audience watched silently. Well, almost silently.

Richard leaned over. “I know this will keep Lady Elizabeth’s name out of the papers, but I could almost wish he would hear the roar of the vengeful crowds at Tyburn.”

Darcy shrugged. “He is past caring now, cousin.”

He followed the duke to his coach. “We will escort your coach to Longbourn, Your Grace, and then return to Netherfield.”

The duke turned to face him. “No, I am going to Netherfield. Bingley has kindly offered me accommodation there, and given Mrs. Bennet’s indisposition, I will not impose on Bennet. I will bathe and rest and return to Longbourn to dine.”

Darcy bowed. “Then we will escort you to Netherfield, sir.” Somehow he hadn’t considered the duke would stay at Netherfield.

It would be difficult staying in the same house — or would the duke assume Darcy was returning to London?

Perhaps he ought. He’d seen Lady Elizabeth and assured himself of her well-being, and the duke had said he could not countenance Darcy calling on his daughter.

No, he would not be welcome again at Longbourn. And therefore he ought not to risk increasing any possibility of the duke’s irritation with him.

He sighed as he followed the coach. He would have liked a bath, too.