Page 58 of The Colonel's Ungovernable Governess
“Not yet. But Fitzwilliam will not stop until he does,” Mr. Darcy assured.
“Then please speak of what the colonel reports, sir,” the child instructed.
Mr. Darcy nodded his appreciation of the child’s response. “The colonel found Lady Marksham and the woman’s younger children outside of Norfolk. Mr. Jennings’s family left in the night’s middle, abandoning Lady Marksham without funds or a means to contact her husband. Fitzwilliam has asked the sheriff to detain them, guaranteeing Matlock will pay the price of their incarceration while the matter is resolved.”
“Then my uncle has escaped?” the child asked in fearful tones.
“Not yet,” Mr. Darcy assured. “The harbormaster at Norfolk reported that a ship large enough to accommodate passengers and setting sail for Europe would be docking along the Kentish shoreline. Likely near the estuary, for the Thames is too low at this time for many of ships to sail all the way to London. There has been a lack of rain to feed the river’s flow. The colonel will begin with Dover and keep looking until he finds them.”
“Is it terrible . . . if I pray . . . the colonel knows success?” the boy asked cautiously. The pauses indicated the child was deeply moved by the situation. “Should I not . . . care for my . . . Uncle Philip?”
“You could pray for Colonel Fitzwilliam’s safety,” Jocelyn suggested from where she still sat propped up in the bed. “Leave the rest in God’s hand.”
The child turned to her. “Might I be . . . excused for . . . a bit . . . Miss Lambert?”
“Most assuredly,” she told the boy, whose expression spoke of his intentions. “Now that Mr. Darcy is here, I should follow Mr. Harwell’s continued instructions to walk the passageway again.”
The boy nodded his gratitude and exited before his sisters could offer an opinion.
Mrs. Darcy instructed the girls to place their sketchbooks away and then wash their hands for the midday meal would be served soon. “Mr. Purdy will ring the bell when all is prepared,” the lady assured them as they left for their own chambers.
Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy was beside Jocelyn’s bed, prepared to assist her to her feet. “Your shoes await you, Miss Lambert.”
Jocelyn grinned at him. “Mrs. Darcy has trained you well, sir.”
“Mr. Darcy claims he sought me out for the liveliness of my mind. I termed my sharp tongue as impertinence. The fact is my dear husband was sick of civility, of deference, as well as officious attention. He had tired, and was a bit disgusted with the women who were always speaking of what they thought he would approve and agreeing with his every opinion, even when said opinions were absurd. I roused and interested him because I was so unlike them.” She paused to straighten the line of her dress. “In truth, if my dear husband had not been really amiable, he would have hated me for it. Yet, he was always noble and just.”
“High praise indeed, Mr. Darcy,” Jocelyn teased.
“It is my easygoing nature that my wife adores,” he said with a straight face, though his lips twitched ever so slightly.
“I adore your devotion to our child, our tenants, our home, and the surrounding village. I adore that you are a man of great vision, high intelligence, and . . .” the lady paused briefly before adding with a giggle, “a man of excellent taste in dress, books, fine wines, and wives.”
Before more quips could be exchanged between the pair, Mrs. Murray appeared at the door. “Pardon, Mrs. Darcy. There is a couple below, along with a child. They say you wrote to them of their daughter being injured and how the lady could be found at Babbington Hall.”
“Mama?” Jocelyn caught at Mr. Darcy’s arm.
“Show them up, Mrs. Murray,” Mrs. Darcy instructed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No walk for now, Mr. Darcy,” Jocelyn declared, suddenly out of breath. “Might you instead assist me to a chair before the fire? I have worried my parents enough. It would break my mother’s heart if she viewed me in a bed as I was a few days prior.”
As quick as Mr. Darcy could, he seated her, but there was no time for much more than her to straighten the seams of her clothing over her bandage, before they could hear her parents in the passageway. Jocelyn swallowed her anxiousness just as her mother burst through the open door ahead of her father and Andrew. Her ladyship paused for a second to sweep the room with her eyes until they landed on her. “Oh, my dear girl,” she declared before she rushed to Jocelyn’s side, leaning down to kiss her forehead and both her cheeks. “I have been worried witless.”
Her mother thought to embrace her, but Mr. Darcy warned, “The lady’s arm is bandaged heavily.”
Her mother dropped to her knees to catch Jocelyn’s free hand. “You are alive,” she said as she caressed Jocelyn’s cheek. “I could not believe my prayers had been answered.” She looked back to Elizabeth Darcy. “You are Mrs. Darcy?”
“I am, ma’am,” Elizabeth stated. “I did not wish to worry you. In fact, I did not know of Rose’s—I suppose I must accustomed myself to say ‘Jocelyn’s’—condition when I sent my message. Such is why I sent the second shorter note.”
“I, for one, am deeply in your debt, ma’am,” her father announced. He turned to where Mr. Darcy waited close by. “You must be Darcy.” Her father extended his hand to the man. “I would have thought you were George Darcy, except it would be impossible for your father not to have aged. You were perhaps a youth of eleven or twelve when Celine and I departed England.”
“I recall something of the look of Lady Romfield when she was young. I always thought she and Sir Lewis were nothing alike.”
“Do not permit Lady Catherine to hear you say such things,” her father replied. “This is my son Andrew.”
“How old are you, Andrew?” Mrs. Darcy asked.
