Page 26 of Gentlemen of Honor (Bennet Gang Duology #2)

An Extra Pair of Hands

Darcy stood in the window of the well-appointed bedroom he’d been given, his gaze riveted to the path leading from the house to the stable, even after hours of waiting. Last night, unable to sleep with helpless anger at Lord Franklin roiling through him, he’d sought clarity in the stars, but the sky had been too overcast to see them. It was only by chance that he’d spotted Elizabeth sneaking out to the stable.

Tonight, however, he watched with purpose. She had not spoken with him at breakfast, only glared, and he had been with Bingley and Robert Collins for most of the day, strategizing. Once evening came, Elizabeth was nowhere about. Quite clearly by her design, he’d found no opportunity to speak with her since their meeting in the stable in the early hours of the morning. Still, he watched now, as he had all last night, standing in this window, until he’d witnessed her safe return.

He, Bingley, and Collins had spent the majority of the day going over and over their legal recourse, to no avail. They had no evidence against Lord Franklin. Nothing beyond the word of a seventeen-year-old lad, who could easily be accused of disliking his older brother, and a fifteen-year-old girl known for being rather silly. That was even assuming they could persuade Nathan Hargreaves to speak against Lord Franklin.

Nor had they located that gentleman to question him, though Darcy had observed, with an admittedly petty sort of delight, the toll Miss Bingley’s machinations were exacting on the Hargreaves and their staff. Quite a few of their servants seemed to have eaten food that was off, and taken to their beds. It was reported that Miss Hargreaves had changed rooms several times during the night, once over a wardrobe overrun by mice, who had destroyed several pairs of slippers. Once for a soggy mattress, the ceiling apparently leaking. Another time for a clogged chimney that filled her chamber with smoke and soot. Darcy only hoped that Miss Bingley didn’t take her torments too far. He would not want to see her in any real trouble, or the Hargreaves staff actually harmed.

Dressed in black, except for the lack of a cravat, for every one he owned was white, Darcy studied the garden, taking in the fairly regular passage of Forster’s men. Apparently, while Darcy was out, Mrs. Oakwood had met with the colonel and they had agreed that he would set up patrols to keep the home safe, though what more Lord Franklin would trouble to do, Darcy did not know. He undoubtedly had Thomas, and Matthew was dying.

Not that Forster hunted Lord Franklin. No, he still thought the Boney Bandits were behind the ills of the region. That misapprehension, Forster’s presence here, those were the fault of Darcy. Another thing over which Elizabeth would be angry with him, and another example where she was correct in her fury, for Forster’s assistance was useless and his guards would only be in Elizabeth’s way.

Not that Darcy believed the presence of Forster’s men would dissuade her. She had not returned with Thomas or the antidote, no doubt adding to her ire, but she would try again. Elizabeth Bennet was not a woman to give up. She would ride out every night, Darcy had no doubt, until she saved her brothers or saving them was no longer something for which anyone could hope.

He prayed for the former, and this time, when she slipped out to the stable to go in search, Darcy would help her.

He’d thought long and hard, often losing track of Bingley’s and Robert’s words over the course of their meeting. Darcy couldn’t shake Elizabeth’s anger from his mind. He could not stop hearing her words, ‘When the life of someone I love is in danger and the law offers no recourse, then yes, I will.’

But those weren’t the words that played most often through his head. They weren’t the sentiments that cleaved into his heart. No, that honor belonged to her saying that he barely deigned to court her. To the realization that she believed he thought he was too good for her. That he wished he did not…did not love her.

That accusation had rung painfully true.

Darcy swallowed back bile at his own idiocy. He was driving away the only woman who had ever engaged him. The most intelligent, witty, capable, beguiling creature in England. And for what? Fear that she might sully the Darcy name? Her strength and determination could only elevate his house.

Or did he resist his love for her because she was intent on breaking the laws of their great nation? What would he do, were Georgiana wasting away from poison? Or imprisoned in Lord Franklin’s hands? Would he truly sit back and hope a conniving old man got his letter and would arrive in time to somehow save her?

He’d struggled, wrestled with his reasons all day, until the truth struck him. He wanted a wife to cherish and shelter. To keep closed away and safe, as his father had kept his mother, and as he kept Georgiana. Was that not what love looked like? Was that not the duty of a gentleman to the females under his care?

And yet, George Darcy had been powerless against the illness that took his wife, and what safety had Darcy’s protectiveness truly offered his sister? She’d nearly married Wickham. None of Darcy’s coddling had kept her safe. All he’d succeeded in doing was making her naive, vulnerable, and incapable of caring for herself.

Elizabeth would never be a coddled woman. All he must do to win her was give up on the notion that Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley should be one.

Movement caught his gaze. Not the thud of the pairs of guards endlessly circling the house. A slip of darkness gliding up the path.

Then another, and a third.

Darcy’s breath caught. All three of them were going. Miss Bennet and Miss Mary were forsaking their vows.

Elizabeth must have located Thomas after all. There was no other explanation.

Now was his chance.

He whirled from the window, scooping up his gloves. He had no mask, but he didn’t need one. He had no reason to hide his face from Lord Franklin. The man was fully in the wrong.

Nor did Darcy have any weapons, for he traveled with neither pistol nor sword, but he knew precisely where to come by some as he stepped quietly from his room. He strode down the hallway, not precisely sneaking, for no one would question him should they see him, but not wishing to be noticed, either. Footmen still patrolled within, despite the troops without, and a sconce lit in every corridor. The former required Darcy to duck into a sitting room at one point but the latter aided him in reaching the same door by which he’d first left the house to seek Miss Lydia and her not-sprained ankle, so many weeks ago.

He cracked the door open and peered out, half his attention on listening for footfalls approaching within the house and half on hearing if any of Forster’s men drew near without. Finally, taking a deep breath as if plunging into a lake rather than the garden, he stepped out and closed the door softly behind him. With quick strides, he hurried up the path, more by memory than sight in the darkness .

He pulled open the stable door to the sight of three black clad forms leading saddled horses through the doorway into the cavern, and three wide-eyed faces staring at him. It wasn’t lost on him that both Elizabeth and Miss Mary had hands on the hilts of knives sheathed at their waists. Miss Bennet appeared completely calm. She cast a single look at him then proceeded to lead her horse, Robin, into the cavern by the light of a shuttered lantern.

Elizabeth dropped her hand from her knife hilt and followed.

Darcy closed the stable door and crossed to join them as Miss Mary brought her white mare in. As Mare Marian’s hide was in no way darkened, they obviously did not intend for the horses to get near enough to where Thomas was being held for them to be seen.

As he turned from closing the door that led into the stable behind them, Elizabeth already stood beside the rack of sharpened weapons, belting on her rapier. Without looking up, she said, “Have you come to reprimand us, Mr. Darcy?”

“Before you do, please know that we are not Boney Bandits tonight,” Miss Bennet said quietly. She opened the hidden compartment full of firearms.

“We are General Oakwood’s Bennet Gang,” Miss Mary said firmly as she donned some sort of bandoleer. “And we are going to rescue our brother.”

“Is that your way of assuring me that you break no vows given to two gentlemen I call friends?” he asked, unable to keep censure from his voice.

Miss Bennet began checking a pistol. “I have discussed the matter with Charles. He gave me his blessing to do whatever I must to save Thomas’s and Matthew’s lives.”

Darcy stared at her. “Bingley knows you are doing this?”

“You believe he should have attempted to stop her?” Elizabeth asked, a bite to her voice.

Darcy shook his head. “I cannot believe he is not here to help.” It was one thing to accept that they were in love with women with such unique talents, but quite another to permit them to shoulder all the risk while hiding in Netherfield Park.

“He did offer.” Miss Bennet smiled fondly. “Charles is a man of many fine qualities, but I believe, in this instance, he would only be in the way.” She reached for a powder bag.

“And in case you are wondering,” Miss Mary’s words were weighted with a thick layer of annoyance, “Robert offered his aid as well.” She flicked a glance at Elizabeth. “He is supportive of my choices. ”

“And Colonel Forster?” Darcy asked.

Miss Bennet looked up from her pistol with a frown. “Why would we inform him?”

“Because he is the leader of a militia troop and would most assuredly muster his men to go free your brother.”

Shaking her head, Elizabeth replied, “I overheard Lord Franklin order the men holding Thomas to kill him if they are approached.”

“We do not trust Forster not to bungle the matter,” Miss Mary added crisply, sliding knives into her bandoleer.

Darcy couldn’t argue with that. Forster had proved distressingly inept.

Elizabeth folded her arms across her black clad chest, her gaze locking with his. “Well, Mr. Darcy?”

He looked her up and down, taking in the sword and knives at her waist, the hilt of another blade protruding from one of her tall boots. He tried not to notice how her black trousers hugged her legs. He missed her dark tresses, braided close to her scalp and hidden under a black scarf, the bottom of which, he realized, could be pulled down to cover the top half of her face. He’d seen the same outfit on Azile, and hadn’t even questioned the overly billowing shirt or the glorious dark lashes about the eyes that would look through the holes he knew were cut into the scarf.

In that garb, with her hair down and fewer weapons strapped to her… He shook his head. Now was not the time for such tempting thoughts.

He held out a hand. “Give me a sword. I want to help.”

A grin split her face, joy and relief bright in her eyes.

His heart spasmed, beating with painful intensity.

She turned to the rack of swords and, standing on her toes, took down a rapier, then turned back, still smiling. “I will find you a belt and a sheath for this. Go saddle your horse. Be careful with the lantern. We do not want Forster’s men to see a light in the stable.”

He nodded, pivoting. His hand shaking slightly with the intensity of emotion coursing through him, he took a lantern from the shelf by the door, lit it, and hooded it. He hoped Elizabeth didn’t note how the light wobbled in his grip.

She’d forgiven him. In one instant, she’d forgiven his pigheadedness. His interference. His sheer foolishness.

Love for her washed through him, freed of the prison in which he’d caged it while he sought every opportunity, every excuse, not to set it free. His frame trembled with joy as he stepped back out into the stable. He crossed to his mount’s stall, careful not to turn the beam of the lantern anywhere near the thick glass of the windows. Setting down his source of light, he braced his hands on his knees, head bowed, and drew in a deep, shaking breath.

Exerting as much control as he could over his torrent of emotions, he drew upright again and, by the dim light, found his tack and saddled his mount. He brought his horse in with the others, the large space they used for practice bouts growing cramped with four mounts in the center. All three waited for him, Miss Bennet’s belt now holding two pistols and Miss Mary’s bandolier spouting the hilts of at least a dozen knives. Elizabeth still wore only the three that he could see, and her sword.

She handed him the one she’d taken down, sheathed and attached to a belt. “It was Papa Arthur’s. The one he used to train us.”

Darcy paused in belting the weapon on. “I am honored.”

“He would be pleased for you to use it,” Miss Bennet murmured.

Miss Mary nodded.

“We will walk our horses through the tunnel,” Elizabeth said, her voice suddenly crisper and her smile gone. “Once we leave the cavern, mount up. I will take point. Our goal is the abandoned Jackson farm.” She cleared her throat, her demeanor shifting back away from command. “I do not believe Lord Franklin knows as much, but he holds Thomas in the home of the man who killed our stepfather.”

Darcy nodded, for what words were there with which to answer that?

Her expression firming again, Elizabeth continued, “There is a stand of trees thick with brush to the southwest of the farm. That is where we are going, and where we will leave the horses. Mary, you will have to keep Mare Marian well back.”

Miss Mary nodded. “As we discussed.” She glanced at Darcy. “He will be with you?”

Elizabeth studied him for a moment. “Yes. Our plan remains essentially the same. Mr. Darcy and I will subdue the two exterior guards while you two make ready to enter through the back. Four men should be asleep inside, and two awake. We will endeavor to draw the awake ones out through the front, though I imagine only one will leave the house. Given their orders, we must be swift. We do not want to kill anyone, but we cannot afford to hesitate. That may mean our brother’s life.”

As she seemed to be addressing the words to him, Darcy nodded. “I understand.” His gaze shifted to their mounts to take in the lengths of rope tied to all three saddles, the sight of the restraints reassuring.

“Once the house is secure, Mary will take Thomas home and we will wait for Lord Franklin. With Thomas beyond his grasp, he may be willing to give up the antidote.”

Darcy nodded again, forgoing asking what they would do if Lord Franklin decided not to comply.

Elizabeth studied him for a long moment, perhaps sensing the question, then turned to her sisters. “Jane, check that the door to the stable is sealed. Everyone bring your lanterns. We will leave them at the entrance to the cave.” Elizabeth scooped a lantern from the floor. Tuck’s reins in her other hand, she led the way into the tunnel.

Darcy went last, struggling to tamp down his fears. Elizabeth could very well be hurt, or one of her sisters could be. Or Thomas.

Perhaps Darcy’s greatest fear, though, was born of the fact that he had never taken part in anything that even approximated what they were about to do. What if he made a mistake? Bungled something? Committed an error that ended with one of the others harmed? If he did, would Elizabeth ever forgive him?

Would he forgive himself?