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Fitzwilliam was happy to be returning to Netherfield, though he had never expected to have that sort of reaction to the area. He had no objection to country living, for he enjoyed spending a good part of his life at Pemberley, and there was nothing particularly objectionable about the outdoor area of Netherfield, but the society left much to be to desired.
However, there were bright spots, and he was thinking of one of them now as he rode back from having to deal with business in London. The matter had turned out to be far more inconsequential than his steward had implied, and Darcy had been irritated to be called into town just as Georgiana had arrived at Netherfield, but at least the issue was settled now. His steward had puffed up with pride at realizing Mr. Darcy would’ve been happy to allow him to handle the situation in his stead. That was the trouble with breaking in new servants. The man’s father had recently retired, but young Wainwright was finding his way.
Darcy rode faster than usual, eager to be home. He’d left the carriage in London, deciding to take Goliath instead. He had ensured the horse was part of the team drawing the carriage to start with, anticipating he might feel up to riding home several days post-injury. There was still a little ache upon occasion as the saddle jolted him, but he was mostly recovered, though his pride remained dented from Wickham being able to get such an opening.
Fitzwilliam shouldn’t have expected the man to fight fairly, but his defense lessons as a younger lad had not prepared him for a dishonorable opponent. He intended to remedy that once he was back at Pemberley by reengaging the master of his youth to show him how to block certain dirty tricks.
Darcy suddenly jerked on the reins, causing the horse to whicker in protest and stomp the ground as he drew to a halt. Darcy patted his neck. “Sorry, chap.” For a moment, he wasn’t even certain why he had stopped the horse, but then he turned his head back, gaze alighting on a scrap of red.
He dismounted Goliath and walked toward the thicket of blackberries. There was no fruit this late in the fall, but there were brambles, and they had served to tear a piece of red fabric from someone’s garment. Fitzwilliam retrieved it from the branches carefully, confirming it was part of the militia uniform. It could belong to any of the soldiers, he supposed, but it was most likely to belong to Wickham.
Despite having stolen so many items, which he either had intended to return to his victims via ransom, or perhaps sell to someone else in London when he had a chance, Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet had kept him from having the opportunity. He had not made the proceeds from his thefts that he would’ve anticipated, and since it had come out in the village that Mr. Wickham owed just about everyone for something, the man likely had little to no funds with which to flee.
He was probably still in the area, which was vexing, especially since the militia had not yet found him. That left Darcy wondering how they managed to engage the French, but he supposed that was a slightly different matter. They met across the battlefield rather than hunted and searched for someone. He knew how cunning Wickham could be, for Fitzwilliam had been determined to keep an eye on the man after what he had done to Georgiana at Ramsgate, but Wickham had managed to slip away from the Runner he’d hired to track him, and Fitzwilliam hadn’t known where he’d ended up until he saw him as part of the militia at Meryton.
He looked around for a bit but found no further sign of torn fabric or any other indication that might lead him in the direction Wickham had taken. He made a note of the location where he’d found the fabric as he placed it in his pocket, intent on reporting the information to Colonel Forster in the morning. For now, he was too impatient to return home to be bothered to backtrack to Meryton and find the colonel, especially since it was getting dark, and he doubted the militia would have any better luck finding Wickham in the dark than they had in the light for the past few days.
He remounted Goliath and rode on, considering stopping at Longbourn as he neared it. He could find no justification to do so, as it was too late to be calling in to check on Miss Bennet’s state of health, though he had not seen her since the night he’d returned her to her Papa after they had assisted in discovering Wickham was the one robbing everyone.
He hesitated for a moment longer before shaking his head, realizing the foolishness of the notion. It would raise eyebrows and lead to questions he didn’t want to answer if he decided to stop for an impromptu visit. Instead, he would arrange to have Georgiana invite the Bennet sisters for tea in the next few days. Heaven forbid, he could even endure their mother if it allowed him to see Miss Elizabeth again.
Of course, he simply wanted to be sure she was all right after their misadventure. Though she had sustained no injury, she was still a woman, and it was likely it had left her discombobulated. Though she had actively sought out the investigation and had been instrumental in discovering the identity of the thief, she could hardly have anticipated the reality of doing so. He hoped she had recovered and restored her delicate constitution by now, but he wanted to verify for himself. That was the only reason he wished to see Miss Bennet again.