Chapter 32

Mr Darcy was silent for a long while after his somewhat startling revelations; Elizabeth was not quite certain how to respond.

“From the little I have heard, I understand that Mr Fitzwilliam’s scars are the result of extreme bravery, fighting for his country.”

“Yes, that is true. He served under Craufurd in Portugal—an officer five years Wellington’s senior yet below his rank, and who aspired to greater position.” Mr Darcy stared off into the distance, as if he viewed French forces amassing amongst Pemberley’s roses.

“Everyone knows the earl’s character. I cannot think what his son could have accused him of, that could be called ‘traitorous’. You need not tell me any of this,” she said. What would he do if he knew he was speaking to Pennywithers?

Mr Darcy continued his explanations as if she had not spoken. “Craufurd’s ambition dwarfed his good sense at the river C?a. Surprised and outnumbered by Napoleon’s troops, Wellington ordered him not to engage. Instead, Craufurd chose to press forward with an unfordable river at his back.

“By the time Craufurd realised it was hopeless, his men were fighting for their lives. He ordered retreat, but the only way out was a single bridge blocked by an overturned supply wagon. The French were gradually driving back our fellows protecting the withdrawal, so Craufurd ordered those troops to fall back and take position on the heights overlooking the bridge. Unfortunately, the same idea had already occurred to Napoleon’s commander, and the heights belonged to the French.”

“It sounds terrible.” Elizabeth said, dread filling her.

“Then, in a move that took the French completely by surprise, one commander on the ground launched an assault which held the enemy at bay long enough for our forces to make it across to the other side of the C?a.”

“The commander on the ground…the one who led…” Elizabeth began.

“Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Thousands of lives were saved, but not, unfortunately, his best men who led the assault with him. They were more than his officers—they were his friends and comrades. They all expected to die that day, my cousin included. He almost did—and the army surgeon who sewed him up afterwards nearly finished the job. Had Richard’s batman not insisted he be carried home expeditiously, had the ship he boarded not sailed so swiftly, had my physicians been less skilled, well, he would have joined his men.”

“Awful,” Elizabeth whispered. “And yet, you must be so grateful that he did survive.”

He agreed, fervently, and she liked him the more for it. But it still did not explain the source of contention between the colonel and the earl.

“Surely his father is proud of him.”

Mr Darcy sighed. “He was, but unfortunately, in his relief at his son’s survival, he cared little for Richard’s grief over those who did not. Instead, he pushed for a promotion, for recognition. When those recognitions were offered, however, Richard refused them all and instead sold his commission.”

“I can understand it,” Elizabeth said, after consideration. “It must have been horrible, seeing his friends die before his eyes and upon his own command. Not to mention coping with his own permanent disfigurement and the pains of recovery.”

“I am certain the earl’s feeling was that if the family publicly addressed that disfigurement, especially with a stamp of royal approval and a hero’s welcome, it would ease the future for him. Richard does not have a private fortune. There might come a time when he will regret that he did not take what was offered.”

“Perhaps. Yet, his actions do not seem traitorous.”

“Richard was very bitter—that battle ought never to have taken place. Craufurd’s arrogance in defying Wellington’s orders and fighting it anyway cost far too many lives. He demanded the earl use his influence to see Craufurd decommissioned, perhaps—and I do not exaggerate overmuch—drawn and quartered. But Craufurd’s brother is a crony of the earl’s, a baronet, and when the general received no more than a hand slap—he was, in fact, promoted to major-general early this summer—Richard was livid.”

“It is natural that he should have been upset.”

“Lord Matlock informed Richard that the Regent was to present him with a medal, complete with ceremonial parade. Not only did my cousin refuse to accept such honours, he swore the next time he saw the Regent in person, he would tell him exactly what he thought of the House of Lords and his Royal Highness’s leadership over England’s military concerns. There was an ugly scene. Father and son do not acknowledge each other’s existence—not that it is difficult. My cousin leads a hermit’s life.”

Elizabeth sighed. “To the colonel, it likely seemed as if he must step upon the heads of his dead friends to receive that award, those attentions. Whether right or wrong in how he dealt with Craufurd, his father truly had his son’s best interests and future at heart.”

Nodding, Mr Darcy shifted on the bench to face her once again. “I wonder how it is that you can see what they cannot?”

“When the heart is injured, the mind can be blind. And speaking of hearts…if Sarah was not an admirer of Mr Fitzwilliam before, his heroic actions of today might have sealed her opinion. Is there any possibility of a future for her admiration, do you think?”

Mr Darcy nodded slowly. “The good man he was is in there somewhere. Miss Bentley is a unique person, whom Richard would be lucky to win. Perhaps, if he gave himself a chance to entertain the notion, he could find the happiness he deserves. I am unsure whether he will see it, however.”

“You must help your uncle see it too. If he truly loves his son, he must cease being a hindrance to him. Whether he was right or wrong to refuse his father’s efforts, Mr Fitzwilliam has enough troubles to wade through, and has been left with nothing except his scars and his ghosts.” She smiled at him. “And a very good cousin, of course.”

He looked at her then, just a look, but she felt caught within his gaze. When that gaze dropped to her lips, she felt it slide down her spine, enlivening her essence. She was the first to look away.

Followingher conversation with Mr Darcy, Elizabeth retired to her room. After a few minutes of restless pacing, however, she took up the packet of information from Mr Bowen. She stared disinterestedly at the contents for a long time, before setting aside the scandals, the curious tit-bits, the descriptions of costumes, galas, and gossip, and pulling out a piece of fresh paper.

Pensively, she began to write.

An hour later, she finished an express to Mr Gardiner, and began walking it into the village herself to have it posted.

A good day’s work, she thought.