Two days later, at the top of the field just across from the driveway to Rosemoore, Fred and Wickham waited for Captain Denny to drop his handkerchief to signal the start of the race while Captain Saunders collected the wagers.
“Is it enough?” Fred asked Whit, who was watching Saunders carefully.
Whit held up a hand to keep Fred from speaking further and silently finished counting the money that the band of spectators placed in the bag. He nodded and smiled at Fred. “Just fly like the wind, my friend, and your brother will be leg-shackled in no time.”
“Over the hedge, down to the tree, three circles, and come back,” Denny shouted above the din of voices calling out encouragements to Wickham and taunts to Fred. “No touching the other rider or horse. First to dismount and retrieve my handkerchief from where I drop it, will be the winner. Do you both understand the route and the rules?” Receiving a nod of confirmation from each rider, Denny dropped the piece of cloth, and the race began.
~*~*~
“They have gone where?” Mary asked Mr. Hill. Mary had inquired of the man if he knew where her younger sisters might be. Visitors were expected, and Mrs. Bennet was anxious that all her eligible daughters be present. So, Mary, who was the person the callers were coming to see, was dispatched to find Lydia and Kitty.
“Walking toward Rosemoore, miss. They seemed keen to see the young men. I believe, that was the reason Miss Lydia insisted on the sprig of mistletoe. I was just about to speak to your father.” He stood waiting for Mary to either leave or ask more questions before he continued on to her father’s study.
“Have they been gone long?”
“No, Miss, though I waited a few minutes so as not to let them know I had heard. It is better if they do not know your father’s source of information.” A small smile played at his lips and a twinkle shone in the eyes over which one eyebrow cocked shrewdly.
Mary chuckled. She understood completely. If her younger sisters were to know who had carried the tale, they would become more cautious around the servants, and many of their schemes would not be prevented. “Tell Father that I will ask Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Darcy if they would like to take a tour of the countryside before tea,” she said as she buttoned her pelisse, and Mr. Hill continued on his way.
Miss Darcy and the colonel had arrived at Netherfield yesterday. Last evening, the Bingley’s had hosted a dinner for Darcy to introduce Elizabeth to them, and today, Miss Darcy was to spend time with Mary before a dinner was to be held at Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet was displeased that Mary would be designated as Miss Darcy’s particular friend. However, she did not wish to insult Mr. Darcy by opposing his decision and with a hope that perhaps a battle-worn colonel might find comfort in Mary’s serious nature, she had resigned herself to allowing Mary to accept the privilege, not that in doing so she would be above putting either of Mary’s younger sisters forward — hence the need for them to be present for tea today.
Mary waited at the door until she saw the carriage enter the drive, then she slipped out of the house to meet it. “Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she began her request after the proper greetings had been given, “I am wondering if I could impose upon you for some assistance.”
“I am at your service,” he said with a bow.
Mary smiled, covering the mortification she felt at having to reveal to Elizabeth’s future family the silliness of her sisters. “My younger sisters have gone for a walk, and while I could make excuses and cover their foolishness with some ploy such as they forgot their scarves, I prefer to be honest, no matter the humiliation it might bring.”
“This sounds serious,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“They have taken it upon themselves to walk to a neighboring estate to call on two young gentlemen.” Mary was glad for the coolness of the day to temper the heat that rose and coloured her cheeks.
“Ah,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “say no more. We know that young ladies can get carried away by emotions.” He winked at Miss Darcy, who lowered her eyes. “All is well and good as long as dire consequences can be prevented.” He extended a hand to Mary. “Shall we tour the country?”
“I would like to say it would be a pleasure, but considering the reason, I can only say I am grateful.” Mary climbed up into the carriage, and after the top had been lowered and blankets wrapped around to block the nip of the wind, they set off.
“We have agreeable weather for a tour,” said the Colonel. “A bright sun is not always available at this time of year. I believe that shows the good Lord is with our mission.”
Georgiana giggled. “My cousin is always waxing eloquent as if he was older than my uncle.”
“In experience, I am,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Father never saw what I have.”
Georgiana’s face grew serious. “I am ever so glad you only saw the horror and did not fall victim to it.”
The muscle in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s jaw twitched. “Yes, for that I am also grateful, but I am also glad I did not have to return to the battlefield a second time.” He smiled at Mary. “The benefits of having a well-connected earl as a father.”
Mary studied his face. She knew from Elizabeth that the colonel was only two years Mr. Darcy’s senior, and yet, the fine lines that surrounded his eyes and the deep groove between his brows, gave him an older appearance that matched the gravity in his eyes. “I have heard some tales and am glad you escaped without physical harm.” She held his gaze for a moment longer. He was not unscarred, she was certain of it. No one who cared so well for a ward as he did Miss Darcy could come away from seeing the grizzly realities of war without it affecting him on some level. His smile and eyes softened as he nodded his thanks.
“Is this all your father’s land?” Miss Darcy asked.
“No not all.” Mary spent the next few minutes pointing out Longbourn’s boundaries and describing Mr. Halward, whose fields bordered Longbourn’s on this side, to her new friends.
“Oh, he sounds unpleasant.” Miss Darcy’s nose scrunched slightly.
Colonel Fitzwilliam cleared his throat.
“I do apologize. I should not have spoken ill of someone I do not know,” said Miss Darcy.
“Oh,” replied Mary, “you have not spoken amiss. Mr. Halward can be very unpleasant. He can also be very obliging, but one must pay both him and his property the proper respect he demands. Then all is well.”
“There are two young ladies crossing that field,” said Richard pointing off to their left. “And there is a large group gathered just beyond them. Several redcoats by the look of things.”
Mary sighed. “My sisters also like officers.”
“Some officers are worthy the recognition,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said with a laugh.
“Not these,” said Mary before she could catch herself. “That is not fair. I am certain there may be one or two that are not deplorable in their midst. Their colonel seems a fine man, and he is not lax in discipline.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam turned from watching the group in the field they were approaching to look at Mary. “You do not have a high opinion of the militia?”
“I can be too harsh,” she replied, her cheeks colouring slightly. “I appreciate their service to the crown, but the few I have met — one in particular — have not impressed me. I cannot say what it is about Lieutenant Wickham that sets me on edge, but there is something.” She now had the full attention of the colonel, and Miss Darcy had taken to carefully watching the group in the field.
“Has he given you reason to distrust him?” The colonel’s tone was pleasant, but his features — his eyes in particular — were somber.
“Only a few comments.”
“About what?”
Mary squirmed slightly under the colonel’s intense scrutiny. “He commented on my being alone on a walk and not caring if rumors spread that would cause a scandal.” She looked down at her hands. “He is not interested in me as a person.” She looked up at the colonel, expecting his eyes to be boring into her, but they were not. There was a softness and understanding in their depths. “He is interested in me because of whom my sister is marrying.”
“Yes, that would be him,” said the colonel. He reached across the carriage and patted her hand. “You are wise to stay away from him.”
“Oh, they are racing,” cried Georgiana, “and coming this direction. I think they are going to jump that hedge.” There was an excitement in her voice that reminded Mary very much of Kitty. Kitty loved to be entertained.
They had drawn close enough to see the riders. “I wager there is a bet that’s been laid,” growled Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Mary sighed. “He said he would not gamble.”
“Wickham?” the colonel asked in surprise.
“No. If he made such a promise, I would not believe it. The other rider, Mr. Fred Hammond.” She shook her head, disappointment filling her breast. “I will have a word with his brother after this. I only said I would remain silent if there was no gambling. He was to earn the money in a reputable fashion.” She shook her head one more time and turned back to watch the race.
Bits of earth flew in the air as both horses raced toward the hedge at the end of the field. Neither showed any sign of slowing.
“Oh, good heavens!” Mary cried as she caught sight of another rider flying down the field across the hedge. “They are going to jump that hedge, and he does not see them!” She stood in the carriage. “Let me out. I must stop them. Look how quickly they are both going. Oh, he is going to die. No, no, no! Nicholas!” she yelled as loudly as she could, but it was too late.
One horse cleared the hedge, followed closely by the second just as Nicholas, who as attempting to turn his horse, reached that very spot.
“Let me out. Please, let me out.” Tears streamed down Mary’s face as she helped push open the door and jumped down. “Oh, please, do not let him be dead,” she cried as she gathered her skirts and raced across the field, the sounds of men shouting and horses screaming were drowned out by the hammering of her heart. He had to be alive. He just had to be, or her heart was going to die with him.
Gasping for breath, she pushed her way through the crowd that had gathered around the injured men and beasts. “Fred,” she said, clutching the shoulder of the man bent over the still form of Nicholas. “Fred, is he alive? Please, tell me he is alive.”
Fred lay an ear against Nicholas’s chest, pressing it first to one place and then another. “I hear his heart and his breath, and though they are not strong, he is alive.”
Mary sank to the ground next to Fred. “Oh, thank God. Thank God.” She picked up one of Nicholas’ hands and held it to her own rapidly beating heart. “We must get him home.” She gave Nicholas’ hand one more squeeze and then lay it back down. “Someone get the surgeon,” she commanded as she stood. “You, can you ride fast?” she pointed at someone, she was not certain who it was other than he was a soldier with a horse.
“I can,” he replied.
“Then get the surgeon,” she barked. “You,” she pointed at a couple of other men. “The house is there,” she pointed to Rosemoore Manor, “take him there.” She turned to Fred. “Someone should stay with the horses until we can send a groom to get them.” She clasped her hands in front of her stomach. “Will they need to be shot?” Her knees were beginning to tremble as the full reality of the situation crashed in on her.
“Miss Mary,” Colonel Fitzwilliam stood beside her. “You should sit down.”
She shook her head. “No, I will not rest until Nicholas is well.” And though she meant every word of her statement, her legs were more willing to follow the colonel’s suggestion, and so Mary found herself gently lowered to the ground by the colonel, who had managed to catch her as her knees gave way.
“All will be well,” the colonel assured her. “All will be well.”
Mary sat for a moment with her spinning head in her hands as men intertwined arms and hoisted Nicholas off the ground, walking slowly across the field toward Rosemoore Manor. Georgiana sat down next to Mary and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.
“He was special?” Georgiana whispered.
Mary nodded. “Not that he knew it.”
Georgiana hugged her close. “He is unconscious, but he is alive. We must be thankful for that.”
Mary nodded again as a sob shook her body.
“When you feel you can walk, we should get you to the house as well,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Mary used the handkerchief he pressed in her hand to dry her eyes. Sitting here, crying, was not going to help anyone. So, after a few deep, shaky breaths, she pushed herself slowly up from the ground.
“What of Lieutenant Wickham?” she asked, attempting to search for him but having her efforts thwarted by the colonel and several other men who had formed a wall with their bodies between her and where she suspected Wickham lay.
“You do not wish to see,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “Just know that your Nicholas was the fortunate one.”
Mary’s legs trembled again and were it not for the steadying arm of Colonel Fitzwilliam, she would have once again found herself on the ground. “He is dead?” The question was little more than a squeak.
The colonel nodded. “Now, let Georgiana and me help you to the house.”