Page 83 of Heiress of Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variations)
The door to Greystone’s carriage opened and Marianne looked up with curiosity, which quickly shifted into bewilderment. A woman stood looking within, a pretty female of not yet thirty summers, with dark hair and eyes, dressed in simple green muslin, with a yellow sunbonnet on her head.
“Who are you?” Marianne demanded, casting an uneasy look toward Annabelle, who was still deeply in the embrace of drugged sleep.
“Miss Bryant!” the woman said imperatively, reaching in to gently shake the girl. “Miss Bryant, wake up!”
Annabelle did not even quiver at the noise and movement. The woman frowned, glanced at Marianne, and then and called, “John!”
“Yes, Miss Colby?” a male voice replied from outside.
“Carry Miss Bryant to the carriage.”
“Yes, Miss,” John replied, appearing in the door of the carriage.
Priscilla Colby, valued member of the League of the Golden Daffodil, climbed into the carriage and sat across from Marianne, whose was now openly alarmed.
“Who are you?” the maid demanded, reaching out an uncertain hand toward her nominal mistress. “What are you doing? You cannot take her...”
She trailed off as Priscilla, who had opened her reticule, pulled out a small, silver-mounted pistol and aimed it at her.
“Oh, but we can,” Priscilla said sweetly. “Now do sit quietly, my dear. There is no point in being shot, is there?
Marianne could hardly argue with that. She watched fearfully as the man, John, a servant based on his clothing and manner, carefully lifted the drugged Miss Annabelle into his arms and gently bore her away.
“Very good,” Miss Colby said, lowering her pistol. “Now do sit quietly. Sir Walter will be back shortly.”
“Who are you?” Marianne repeated with a gasp.
“My name is not important. It is enough to know that Miss Bryant’s parents requested our help in retrieving their daughter from a rake and seducer. How much laudanum have you been giving Miss Bryant?”
“I have not,” Marianne began, and then stopped when this now frightening woman lifted her pistol again.
“Not a great deal,” the girl blurted. “Just enough so that Miss Bryant would sleep. It is a long journey.”
Priscilla gritted her teeth and gestured toward the basket with food and drink in them. “I will take that basket with me; I fear that the young lady will need some definite proof that the man she loves only had her fortune in mind when he convinced her to run off to Scotland with him.”
“Sir Walter is a good match,” Marianne insisted sullenly. “He is handsome and master of Wynsworth, and Miss Bryant will be Lady Greystone.”
Priscilla Colby stared at the girl for a full minute and then, with a sigh, put her pistol away.
“Do you truly believe that Sir Walter would be a good husband?” Priscilla asked gently.
“Why would he not?” Marianne demanded with a toss of her dusky locks.
Priscilla tilted her head and drew a certain conclusion. “Does Miss Bryant know that you are Sir Walter’s mistress?”
Now Marianne flushed darkly and shook her head. “The gentry do not care about such things. I am just a servant, nothing more. It is expected that gentlemen dally with the lower classes.”
“That is not true,” Priscilla said gently. “An honorable gentleman does not commit adultery. Now Miss ... what is your name?”
“Marianne Edgeworth.”
“Now Marianne, I will give you a choice; would you prefer to journey further with Sir Walter, or would you care to come with us? We will ensure that you are well cared for and can provide safer employment. I fear that Sir Walter will be most displeased with the events of today and might take his anger out on you.”
Marianne, who had seen Sir Walter in a foul mood, shivered a little but said stoutly, “I am hardly to blame for what has come to pass here.”
“True enough,” Priscilla agreed calmly. “However, men of his ilk are rarely reasonable. I wonder, are you aware that the first Lady Greystone fell down the stairs and died under suspicious circumstances? I would not, myself, care to entrust myself to Sir Walter’s benevolent care.”
Marianne Edgeworth paled, thought carefully, and said, “Will you take me with you, please?”
***
“Is Miss Bryant well?” Darcy asked Elizabeth, his brow crinkled with concern.
“I believe so,” his beloved replied, tucking a lap robe around the unconscious girl, who was now propped up carefully in the corner of Elizabeth’s carriage. “She has been drugged with laudanum, but since her breathing is steady, I hope she will wake up in a short while.”
“Very good,” Darcy replied, and turned to his coachman to say, “Take Mrs. Darcy, Miss Colby, and our guests back to Pemberley, Tobias.”
“Yes, sir.”
“John,” Darcy continued, “I trust you to keep Mrs. Darcy safe.”
John sported a feral grin as he fingered the pistol in his hands. “I will not permit anyone to harm the ladies, sir.”
“You be careful as well, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth urged. “I daresay Sir Walter will be angry.”
Darcy kissed his wife on the lips and stepped back out of the carriage. “Do not worry. I have Jacob with me. I will see you soon.”
“Goodbye, darling!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
Darcy stood well away as the coachman turned the carriage expertly in the road and drove back toward Pemberley.
Now, to deal with Sir Walter Greystone.
***
“Now then, Sir Walter,” Fitzwilliam Darcy said, cutting his prisoner’s hands free and then pulling the sack off the man’s head. Jacob, twin brother to John, who was sitting next to his master with his own pistol in hand, lifted the barrel to point it at the baronet.
Sir Walter groaned and rubbed his wrists as he turned fearful eyes at first Darcy, and then at the gun in the manservant’s hand.
“What do you want?” he said, trying, and failing, to keep his voice steady.
“Sit down, Sir Walter,” Darcy ordered, pointing toward the vacant seat across from him.
The baronet did so, his eyes still fixed on the gun, and said shakily, “If you want money, I can...”
“We do not want your money,” Darcy interrupted. “Nor, of course, do you have any, since you are deeply in debt. Be at peace, Sir Walter. In a few short minutes, I will return you to your carriage and you may continue on to Scotland, though given that we have rescued Miss Bryant, it would seem a pointless exercise.”
Sir Walter’s already pale face now turned slightly green. “Rescued? What are you speaking of? Miss Bryant is my fiancée! You cannot take her!”
“Her father asked for my assistance in retrieving her from you, a fortune hunting rascal.”
The baronet straightened his spine and glared at his captor. “Who are you, exactly?”
“I am Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, which lies twenty miles to the east of here. It is a vast estate and yields ten thousand pounds per annum. I am nephew to the earl of Matlock. I tell you this so that you will, I hope, realize the foolishness of trying to oppose me either in court or in society. You ran off with a girl who has not yet attained her majority, and Mr. Bryant certainly did not give you his blessing to marry his daughter.”
Sir Walter leaned back and forced a smile. “Mr. Darcy, I do understand your concerns in this matter, but I love Miss Bryant, and she loves me. Her parents are quite cruel to her, you know...”
“Sir Walter,” Darcy interrupted, his face rigid with disapproval, “I am well aware of your proclivities. You married an heiress and ran through her money. She died under suspicious circumstances...”
“She accidentally fell down the stairs,” his prisoner said quickly.
“Perhaps. Perhaps she was pushed so that you could find another heiress. Do not take me for a fool, Greystone; you are a rake and fortune hunter. You even seduced the maid who accompanied you on this journey! Miss Bryant will no doubt be heartbroken at the discovery of your perfidious nature, but far better to learn before the knot is tied.”
The baronet smiled through clenched teeth and said unpleasantly, “I rather believe it is too late for that, Mr. Darcy. Miss Bryant accompanied me for several days now; if I reveal our flight, she will be ruined in society forever.”
Darcy smiled just as unpleasantly and responded, “You could do that, Sir Walter. You could. However, if you ruin Miss Bryant, I will ruin you. I am currently buying up some of your debts, along with the mortgages on your estate of Wynsworth; if you speak of Miss Bryant’s flight with you, I will have you thrown in debtors’ prison as soon as you are unable to pay the interest on the mortgages. If you keep quiet, you will lose your estate, but I will not have you locked away. It is your choice.”
Sir Walter’s pupils dilated in horror and he exclaimed, “You ... you are bluffing!”
“I am not; Wynsworth lies within thirty miles of Rosings, the estate of my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and her daughter. Doubtless, your land is in poor heart given that you use all your income for your own extravagant pleasures, but Wynsworth is well situated for our family’s purposes.”
Greystone swallowed hard and stared at Darcy’s face, seeking any signs of weakness.
There were none.
“Very well,” the baronet said stiffly. “It seems you have me at your mercy.”
“I do, and you may be grateful that I am a godlier man than you are; you had no mercy on Miss Annabelle Bryant, whose only crime is that she is an heiress.”
Sir Walter tightened his lips and said, “If I was merely pursuing an heiress, I would have made up to the elder Miss Bryant, who will inherit Greensides.”
“Nonsense, sir; Miss Annabelle is heiress to her great-aunt’s estate, as you must know, or you would not have pursued her. It is rather a pity her parents did not tell the girl of her prospects, but I understand they did not want fortune hunters pursuing their younger daughter as they have pursued their elder child. Now it is time for you to go, Greystone; I will leave you with one last warning: I will make sure you are watched carefully. If you try to run off with yet another heiress, you will be tossed into King’s Bench or Marshalsea. Behave yourself.”