Darcy took the stairs two at a time. He scared a footman about to cross the foyer with his sudden arrival causing the young man to immediately turn and go back the way he came. Darcy was outside and about to march back across the meadow between Rosings and Hunsford when Richard called out to him. This broke the spell of rage Darcy was under and allowed him to bellow.
"He struck her! The coward hit her face because she helped a tenant family!"
Richard swiftly moved to stand in front of Darcy and coaxed him back towards the house. "We knew he hit her, there was no question about that and we agreed there could never be a cause. Now, come with me to the library. Let's have a drink and be reasonable."
"Reasonable? Reasonable? That man deserves to be beat within an inch of his life!"
"And what would that achieve? How would marching over there to teach that windbag a lesson help Mrs. Collins? Will it make a man like him less likely to strike out or more likely to prove he's in control? THINK man. Better yet, will it help us marry our loves or potentially send your Elizabeth packing this very afternoon?"
Richard had said the magic word. Darcy blew his frustrations out and ruffled his own hair in the aggravation of feeling powerless. It was not an emotion he was accustomed to experiencing.
"I need a drink."
Richard grinned and followed Darcy back inside. "Yes, and we're raiding the finest. I need to wash that horse's piss the Parson calls brandy out of my system."
The men were surprised to discover Elizabeth in their retreat of choice, reaching far above her head to a dusty shelf in the corner. Richard rushed forward to assist her. As she pointed to the tome she needed, she collected the other thick volume she had already pulled down on her own and began walking towards Darcy with a wide smile. Darcy wasted no time in pouring himself and Richard a stiff drink, and downed his in a swallow before facing the beautiful, yet flawed, visage before him.
"Mr. Darcy? Colonel?" Elizabeth looked over her shoulder to beckon her book boy to bring his burden to the front of the room. "I must enlist your aid in making mischief."
"Mischief, Miss Bennet?" Darcy hoped if he forced himself to keep using her polite name, it would help him to put his emotions back into their cold reserve. "To what end is this mischief?"
"Why pleasing Anne!" Elizabeth beamed at the two men; clearly satisfied she would not be denied. "I propose we read, nay perform, as much as we can, A Midsummer Night's Dream for Anne, I mean Miss de Bourgh, as she has just told me that one play she wished she had been afforded the opportunity to see was the same."
Darcy poured himself another drink as a memory flooded his mind, of a young Anne, nearly eleven, laughing at Richard and himself trying to wage a proper naval battle in the small pond on the west side of the property. She was healthy that year, before a bout with pneumonia that winter would rob her of every ounce of youth and send her into a faded presence. She had splashed water with her hand to make waves, causing both Richard and himself to cry out, to which she had explained surely even in battle, Mother Nature had her say. She had been reading a collection of Shakespeare's works that summer, the gold-leafed volume Sir Lewis had given her for her birthday.
"I think it's a splendid idea, what say you Darcy?"
Darcy cleared his throat. "Of course, anything for Anne."