Page 109 of Ashes and Understanding
And he realized now, with piercing clarity, that waiting wasnotromantic—it was foolish. If he had lost her before he had told her—before she knew, truly knew, how entirely she had captured his heart…
I would never forgive myself.
He thought—he hoped, at least—that he saw the return of his love in her eyes. There was a softening when they spoke together, a light that seemed to flicker to life in her face when he was near.
It was not proof that she loved him in return, but it was enough.
He could not waste another day.
As Longbourn’s familiar outline emerged from the silver haze of the morning fog, Darcy felt his resolve settle like steel within him. He would speak to Mr. Bennet. He would tell him everything—about the investigation, about Le Corbeau, about the dangers.
But he would also ask him for permission—permission to marry Elizabeth.
For if she would have him, he would not let another morning pass without claiming the honor of protecting and cherishing her for the rest of his life.
Upon arriving at the front door, Darcy dismounted and handed the reins to a sleepy-looking stable boy, who yawned so widely it nearly unseated his cap. The colonel followed suit, tossing a coin into the lad’s palm with a murmured, “Mind those hooves, lad.”
The front door opened before they could knock. Mrs. Hill stood there with her arms crossed, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Her eyes, red-rimmed from lack of sleep, narrowed at the sight of them.
“The master has been waiting for you,” she said, not bothering with a proper greeting. The tone in her voice made Darcy feel, absurdly, like a boy about to be brought before a headmaster. She turned without waiting and led them through the dim halls to Mr. Bennet’s study.
She opened the door with more force than necessary. “Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir.”
Then she shut it firmly behind them.
Mr. Bennet sat behind his desk, a blanket over his shoulders and a decanter already uncorked at his elbow. He looked up slowly, his icy gaze sharp as a bayonet. The temperature in the room dropped five degrees, and Darcy shivered.
“Do you have any idea what it is like,” he said, his voice low and controlled, “to be woken in the dead of night to find your daughter had been attacked in her own home?”
Neither man spoke.
“Of course you do not. Neither of you are fathers.”
He rose, walking around the desk with calm that was far more ominous than shouting. “Let me tell you precisely what that is like. It is to know a horror unlike any other. It is to feel helpless. It is to imagine every second that your child—your child—islying somewhere bleeding, or worse, because someone brought danger to your door.”
He stopped before them, eyes blazing. “Then to find that she has been fraternizing—conspiring—with two men whom she has known for mere weeks, and who have, by their own actions or associations, placed her in mortal peril? Tell me, gentlemen—what wouldyoudo?”
Neither spoke.
“I have half a mind to challenge you both to a duel,” he said coldly. “And the only reason I have not already called for pistols is because Elizabeth refuses to say anything about the situation until I have spoken to you. So, speak. Now. And donotlie to me.”
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Even the colonel, who had smiled his way through more battles and threats on his life than he could count, paled under the force of Mr. Bennet’s wrath.
Clearing his throat, Darcy took a small step forward. “You are correct,” he said simply. “If I were in your position, I would be infuriated. My cousin and I both have guardianship of my younger sister, Georgiana. She is twelve years my junior. I have been more father than brother to her since my father died. If she were in Elizabeth’s place, I would not hesitate to string the men responsible from the nearest tree. I cannot begin to tell you how sorry we are.”
“Thenwhy?” Mr. Bennet snapped. “Why was this kept from me? Why my daughter? Why this house?”
Darcy looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam.It is not my place to share matters of national security.
Fortunately, the colonel had at last found his voice. He began to explain everything, from the moment he received the intelligence about the Bourbon heir to Denisse’s rescue, the smuggling of the infant out of France, Smithson’s murder, and the final confirmation that the Le Corbeau had followed them to Hertfordshire.
Mr. Bennet sat speechless throughout the entire account. When the colonel finished, he sat heavily in his chair and stared at the far wall, his face looking suddenly far older than it had at the beginning of the tale.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I understand the need for secrecy. I do. The Home Office is not known for its transparency, and I am not known for being the most vigilant of fathers. My wife, bless her, cannot keep a teacup steady without announcing it to the county. I understand why you chose to keep this from me.”
His gaze met theirs, eyes sharp again. “But that does not change the fact that my daughter and household are in grave danger. So. What are we going to do about it?”
Darcy and Fitzwilliam exchanged glances.
