Page 27 of Dishonorable Gentlemen (Bennet Gang #1)

All’s Well that Ends Well

Darcy could tell by how Bingley kept urging his mount to greater speed that he meant to propose to Miss Bennet. They had been visiting Dovemark almost daily, at first to the sight of a wan, sofa-bound Miss Bennet and a hovering Elizabeth, but later to take increasingly longer walks with the two, often accompanied by Miss Lydia who, in her words, had to make certain nothing untoward took place. To this the younger girl would always add a wink, no matter how many times her older sisters admonished her to better comportment.

That day, however, when he and Bingley requested the company of the eldest two Bennet sisters for a stroll and Miss Lydia stood to join them, Mrs. Oakwood crisply ordered her youngest daughter to sit back down. Darcy didn’t know if the matron read Bingley’s intention in the way he couldn’t seem to pry his gaze from Miss Bennet, or held hopes based on the Bennets’ two weeks of mourning for Mr. Collins being over, but he was pleased with Mrs. Oakwood’s intervention. He had no dislike of the youngest Bennet with her lively chatter and somewhat impertinent nature, but she always walked with him and Elizabeth, making private conversation impossible. With the sisters’ weeks of mourning their cousin at an end, Darcy, too, had a question he wished to tender, one he’d wanted to ask since the day of the duel, and he did not need Miss Lydia as an audience.

The four set out along the walk that led around the Oakwoods’ manor house, sans Miss Lydia, and Darcy and Elizabeth slowed their pace in mutual accord, giving Bingley and Miss Bennet more privacy. Once behind the house, they went not into the walled garden, but instead took to one of the woodland trails. An early snow that would fade long before December blanketed the forest floor, adding a crunch to Darcy’s steps yet somehow wrapping the forest in a quiet, secluded feel. The path they followed appeared to be little more than a game trail, as were all the tracks they’d meandered in these woods. Despite the lack of curated walks, Elizabeth and Miss Bennet always seemed to know precisely where they were.

“The militia is being recalled,” Darcy offered by the way of interesting topics as they followed the game trail through the trees.

“Are they?” The path narrowed and Elizabeth slipped ahead of him, her light steps making no sound in the snow. “I had believed they were meant to remain into the spring.”

“I understand it is an act of discipline,” Darcy replied, using a gloved hand to keep a reaching bramble from sticking into his coat. Richard had written to inform him of the militia’s imminent departure even before the order was given.

“Whatever have they done?”

“I am not certain if it is what they have done, or have not done. Colonel Forster is quite glum, however. He delivered the news to Netherfield Park personally.”

Waiting for him where the path widened again, Elizabeth gave him a look of what he now could recognize as mock annoyance. “Very well. What have they not done , then, to see them leave in disgrace?”

Coming to a halt before her, Darcy deliberately began with, “What they have done, is to permit a duel to take place mere miles from their barracks, in which a man was slain.” All levity left him as he added, “Moreover, one of their officers was used as a spy and to hire an assassin, and the newest member of their troop was that assassin. Both are being taken to London to face trial.”

For which Darcy had been pleased to give his statements. Wickham had gone much too far this time, and would finally be punished as he deserved.

Her expression serious now as well, Elizabeth asked, “And will both be charged? Mr. Denny, I think, will not find anyone among his fellows to vouch for his character, but as to Mr. Wickham, I am less certain. I have conversed very little with him, but he gives me the impression of someone who is accustomed to charming his way out of trouble.”

“Very much so, but in addition to his and Bingley’s testimonies of Mr. Collins exhorting Wickham to murder, your soon-to-be-brother produced written records of Mr. Collins’ transactions with Mr. Denny, as well as his agreement with Wickham. This included the order to kill Bingley under the guise of the duel and how much Collins was to pay. The man was a fool to write any of it down. In truth, doing so seems so ill advised that I would suspect Robert Collins of forging the record, if the ledger did not go back so many years in the same hand, and was not filled with all manner of similarly damning information. ”

“And if you did not know both Mr. Collinses?” Elizabeth suggested.

Darcy nodded. He could only agree that, knowing both men, it was easier to believe that the late Mr. Collins was a fool than the living one a liar.

“So, in the view of Colonel Forster’s superiors, his troop permitted a duel in which the local magistrate died, foul play was afoot, and a wealthy gentleman was injured. One of their members was a spy, and another an assassin,” Elizabeth summarized. She looked over her shoulder, up the path to where Bingley and Miss Bennet rounded the next bend, the trail skirting a large oak. “If all that is what they did, what did they fail to do?”

“Is that not obvious? They failed to capture the Boney Bandits.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed at that. “Did you truly wish them to? Rather, now that you better understand the circumstances here, do you still want the Boney Bandits apprehended?”

Darcy frowned, thinking. He recalled his hope that they wouldn’t be caught on the day of the duel. Finally, he shook his head. “No. I do not. In truth, I wonder if they will not simply disappear now that Mr. Collins will be replaced as magistrate.”

“I imagine that will depend on who replaces him,” Elizabeth said lightly, she started to turn, to continue up the path, where Bingley’s and Miss Bennet’s footprints wended away before them.

“You must hope that Bingley will purchase Netherfield Park?” Darcy asked, to stay her. In truth, he knew Bingley intended to do so, but it was not his news to give.

Halting, Elizabeth turned back to face him. “I do hope that, certainly, but what interests me more is that you apparently believe that if he does, the Boney Bandits will not be seen again. By what logic?”

Darcy stared down at her, taking in her dark, intelligent eyes. The gentle bow of her mouth. Normally, he might feel obliged to point out that they could no longer see Bingley and Miss Bennet, but not today, and not simply because he suspected that Bingley walked more quickly than usual, seeking privacy in which to propose. Today, Darcy sought seclusion as well.

Elizabeth smiled slightly, her expression questioning as she studied his face. “Mr. Darcy?”

“Miss Elizabeth.” He loved the sound of her name from his mouth.

“I asked why you believe the Bandits will disappear if Mr. Bingley purchases Netherfield Park.”

So she had. He’d been so busy taking in how lovely she was, he’d all but forgotten. “Because I concede that you were correct. The Boney Bandits merely sought to counter Collins’ evil. ”

She smiled, as he’d hoped she would. Elizabeth, he’d come to realize, enjoyed a spirited debate. In defeat, she was gracious, but she very much preferred to win.

“Also, I have Enaj’s sword and he has made no effort to reclaim it,” Darcy added. “At first, my valet and I took turns guarding the blade in the hope the Boney Bandits would come for it, but it has been weeks. I cannot imagine they do not know where to find me.”

“Well, then, maybe they are done.” Mischief danced in Elizabeth’s eyes. “Or perhaps they seek to lull you.”

“If they do, they have.”

“Then it may be we will soon learn which.”

As much as the topic seemed to delight Elizabeth, Darcy did not wish to speak of the Boney Bandits’ fates. He’d much rather speak about his, and Elizabeth’s. “Before the duel, I asked you a question.”

Her breath caught, her gaze locked with his.

“And you asked to have until after the duel to answer,” he added when she did not speak.

“Will Mr. Bingley propose to Jane today?” Elizabeth asked softly.

Darcy frowned. “Your answer to my request of a formal courtship hinges upon that?”

She dropped her gaze, her lips turning up in a small smile.

Confusion filled him, and dread. Had she, then, been seeking a means by which to gently deter him? Was this another attempt? But they spoke nearly every day. They’d shared views on literature, punctuated by Miss Lydia’s irreverent quips. They had traded tales of their childhoods. He’d told her of Pemberley and the people there, and Elizabeth had seemed genuinely interested.

She sighed and raised her gaze to meet his. “I apologize. I am clinging to something which no one can hope to keep.”

He shook his head, bewildered.

Elizabeth smiled up at him and the tightness in his chest eased at the warmth he read in her eyes. “I mean my childhood,” she clarified. “Not that I am a child, to be certain, but I still linger in the familiarity of that world. The unchanging landscape of youth, that seems as if it will never end, until, with one question from Mr. Bingley, it is shattered and forever gone.”

He considered her words, his mind going back to when his childhood had been taken from him. The day his father had died, leaving Darcy in charge of an estate and a sister enough younger than he was to seem almost like a daughter. “ I understand.”

“Then understand this as well.” She continued to study his face with those affection-filled, intelligent eyes. “I know that life cannot remain as it is and while I am leery, I am also hopeful, and the source of that hope is you. Before, when I would imagine Jane leaving, for certainly I have always known she would, I could think of nothing that would come after. Nothing good, at least. Simply years here alone, without her. Although, I did believe that I would at least have Mary.” Elizabeth shook her head, bemusement flittering across her features before she once again focused on him. “But none of that is important. What is, is that because of you, since I met you, I can see a different future. A happy one. One that will be every bit as joyous and full of new adventures, and affection, as what I am leaving behind. You, Mr. Darcy, are the only person who has ever made my future seem wonderful.”

He stared down at her, a strange tightness in his throat. Until she spoke those words, he had not realized how empty his own future had been. He’d focused on his duties, his obligations, and never looked beyond the next in an endless, lengthy line of tasks. “You make my future seem wonderful as well,” he murmured, reaching up to cup her face.

She looked up at him, her eyes shining, her breath quickening, and Darcy knew that if he lowered his head, she would kiss him.

He had never wanted anything more than he wanted Elizabeth’s kiss.

She pulled away, turning to face up the path, and brought her hands to her cheeks, obviously seeking composure. Darcy stared at her in shock, uncertain what he’d done to break such a perfect, precious moment.

Bingley and Miss Bennet appeared farther up the trail, hand in hand, their faces wreathed in matching smiles as they rushed down the path. “We are engaged,” Bingley cried joyously.

Darcy worked to offer a happy smile to his friend as he and Elizabeth issued their felicitations, the two sisters hugging. Elizabeth must have heard them. She had pulled away because she’d heard them. Not because she would not welcome his kiss. She had not rejected him, but had rather been appropriately circumspect. They had, after all, not agreed to marriage, which being caught kissing would necessitate. They’d simply agreed to court.

Hadn’t they?

Bingley and Miss Bennet leading the way, their steps quick as they hurried to share their happy news, they all retreated back down the forest trail. Darcy tried to be happy for his friend. Was, in fact, happy for him, but his mind swirled, unsteady and uncertain, wondering where he stood with Elizabeth .

When they reached the narrow section of trail, Bingley and Miss Bennet moving rapidly ahead, Darcy gestured for Elizabeth to precede him. She offered a smile before moving past him, somewhat easing his worry. He followed, then paused as a bramble caught the back of his coat.

“Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked, turning back, somehow immediately aware that he no longer followed.

He gestured over his shoulder. “My coat. Patrick will never forgive me if I ruin another.”

She came back, slipping around him. “Another?” she asked, gently tugging at the thorny branch that snagged him.

“I tore my favorite on the morning of the duel.”

“Can it not simply be mended?”

Suddenly hearing how what he was about to say would sound to her, Darcy grimaced and admitted, “He will have mended it, and then donated it somewhere it’s needed. I, ah, do not wear repaired garments.”

“You do not wear repaired garments?” Laughter filled her tone. The final thorn slid free. “You may move, and do not fear, the thorns merely stuck in, not tearing. You may yet be able to keep what I must assume is your second favorite coat.”

He stepped free of the narrow section of path and turned back, abashed. “It is a bit silly, I suppose. Especially as it was my favorite coat.”

“Perhaps a bit,” she agreed with a chuckle.

Reassured and warmed by the sound, Darcy offered his arm.

They reached Mrs. Oakwood’s favorite drawing room to find her, her sons and other daughters, the Phillips, and even Robert Collins waiting, presumably all summoned. Mrs. Oakwood took one look at Jane and cried, “Pour the wine,” then rushed forward to meet them in the doorway, embracing her eldest.

“Mama, how did you know?” Miss Bennet asked as Mrs. Oakwood squeezed her.

Releasing her, the matron said, “I am your mama. A mama always knows,” before turning and holding her arms open for Bingley.

Without reservation, he accepted his future mother-in-law’s embrace.

“Oh, you dear, dear man. Thank you for taking my Jane. I despaired for her, I truly did, and now you have saved her.”

“It is not as if Jane was on the shelf, Mama,” Elizabeth laughingly countered while Miss Bennet went pink.

Behind them, where everyone gathered in the drawing room, footmen were filling glasses, but rather than rejoin the others, Mrs. Oakwood kept her focus on Bingley. “Now, you will want to marry as quickly as possible, which I daresay means you will not be able to have any guests. Such a shame, but your new bride must take precedence. You will want plenty of time alone to begin begetting your family, to be certain.”

Darcy raised his eyebrows at that. Bingley stared at her in bewilderment.

“Mama,” Miss Bennet murmured, going pinker still.

“Are you trying to be rid of Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked with a laugh.

Mrs. Oakwood turned to him, her expression surprised. “Mr. Darcy? Certainly not. Mr. Darcy must remain. I am sure you will hardly notice him.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Come, let us join the others. We will toast to Jane and Mr. Bingley, and permit them to decide on house guests.”

Mrs. Oakwood pursed her lips, defiance in her eyes, but permitted Elizabeth to take her arm and return her to the gathering deeper in the room, Bingley and Miss Bennet following.

Darcy followed, but his mind went to the impending arrival of the Hargreaves, something he would have forgotten if not for Miss Bingley’s ongoing and slightly frantic preparations. Did Mrs. Oakwood not wish them to come to Hertfordshire? But how could that be when she claimed not to know them? He would have to ask Elizabeth when next he had the opportunity.

A celebratory mood prevailed, even though Robert Collins still wore deep mourning, and it was with actual regret that, after half an hour, Darcy made his farewells alongside Bingley. The Phillips and Robert Collins departed as well, the three not-yet-wed men quickly leaving the Phillips carriage behind as they’d all ridden. In Meryton, Robert offered a wave, and Darcy and Bingley carried on to Netherfield Park to share Bingley’s news with his sisters and Hurst.

There, Bingley’s announcement was met with, “Oh, but Charles, we are mere days away from learning if she is worth marrying,” from Miss Bingley, which devolved into an argument between the three siblings. Hurst excused himself to see to his correspondence, and Darcy said he would change for dinner.

In his room, he indeed found Patrick laying out his evening wear. Remembering Elizabeth’s amusement of earlier, Darcy asked, “Have you already found a new home for that coat of mine? The one I tore the morning of the duel?”

Patrick looked over from where he brushed Darcy’s dinner jacket. “I did, sir, but do not fear. I went through the pockets first. Your spyglass is in the desk.” He gestured to the sitting room .

Darcy frowned. “Spyglass?” Leaving the bedroom, he entered the adjoining room, calling over his shoulder, “What spyglass?” as he went.

Patrick appeared in the open doorway, brush in hand. “The collapsible one you had in your coat pocket. I assumed you purchased it for the purpose of better searching the forest for would-be assassins. It is in the top right drawer. Several letters also arrived.”

Reaching the desk, Darcy took in a letter from Richard, one from his steward, another from his man in Town, and two from Georgiana. He truly needed to find her more companions, such as the elder three Bennet sisters. She should have people to write to aside from her older brother and other relations.

Ignoring the missives, he pulled open the top right drawer to the sight of a spyglass. Enaj’s, he realized, removing the item. He opened it, inspecting what was a well-crafted scope. Weighty, too. He’d forgotten he’d taken it, doing so overshadowed by his duel with Azile, the injury to Bingley, the appearance of Wickham, and Mr. Collins’ death.

Did the Boney Bandits know Darcy had it? Did the spyglass lend weight to his theory that they were done? Their cause completed?

Darcy closed the spyglass, then noted an engraving on the rim. He moved to the window to better take in a stylized oak tree, the letter O stamped in the middle. Below were the initials, M.R.A.O. He had no idea what the M or the R could stand for, but A and O could be for…

He had seen this spyglass before, in the hands of Matthew Oakwood.

A tremble going through him, Darcy returned to the desk. Pushing the chair out of his way, he clunked the spyglass down on the desktop, then he pulled free a clean sheet of paper. He seized a pen. Not bothering to trim the tip, he opened the ink and scratched out, Azile and Enaj .

Bile rose in his throat. Azile and Enaj. It had been staring him in the face this whole time. So blatant as to make a mockery of them all. Azile…Eliza. Not foreign names at all. Not French. The stepdaughters of a man who spoke French like a native. Who had taught them all he knew. One merely need read their names backwards.

That inexplicable sense of knowing the woman in the mist that morning, that repeated shock of recognition when he’d met Elizabeth on the street in Meryton, those sensations were not a sign that she was meant for him. They had merely been some deep, obviously more intelligent, part of his mind recognizing the bandit who had robbed him. Recognizing Azile.

Darcy fumbled for the chair he’d thrust away from the desk, sinking into it. Jane Bennet had shot his hat. Elizabeth had bested him in a duel. They were the Boney Bandits.

Bingley was about to marry a madwoman, and Darcy had asked to court one.

I hope you enjoyed learning how Elizabeth and her sisters defeated Mr. Collins and saved Mr. Bingley, all while navigating the foibles of courtship. If you would like to discover what Mr. Darcy does now that he has guessed the truth, this epic tale of love and adventure continues in volume two of The Bennet Gang Duology, Gentlemen of Honor .

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