‘Why, George? Why did you throw me over? Why did you give me to Denny? I love you.’ Do you know what he said? He said, ‘You were a ripe toss, girl, but you’re in more proper hands, now. When I marry, it will be a lady with land like Miss Darcy or Miss Burroughs. Not some fluff from the farm.’”
Darcy knew if Whitehead had been in the room at that moment, he would have strangled the bastard with his bare hands.
“So I stayed and made the best of it. I knew when Denny would visit me—Sally always seemed to know—and so I made sure I had plenty of whiskey close by. It… it helped. Most of the time, I just wanted to die.
“When he would finish with me, Denny would brag about what he’d done. He killed that Washington family, you know. He said, ‘Yeah, me and my boys killed them like the dogs they were, an’ they won’t be the last ones. There’s plenty o’ folks that need killin’ around here.’”
Her story done, she turned back to him, a single tear running down her face, her hands turning white as they clutched together. “Now do you understand, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy submerged his rage, walked over to Lily, sat her on the bed, slowly pulled her hands apart, and held them in his. She tried to resist, but he was persistent. He knelt before her, his head and hers at the same level.
“Miss Lily—and you are still a ‘Miss’ to me—I must tell you I don’t hold with the idea that if a woman’s attacked and taken advantage of, that somehow it’s her fault, and she’s damaged goods.” She would not look at him; instead, she stared at the floor. “You’re a victim, Miss Lily, of two evil men, and I swear to you on my mother’s grave these two things.
“One—your family will take you back with open arms.”
She looked up at that. “You… you sure?”
“Yes.”
She looked down again, more tears running down her face. “And the other promise?”
In as flat a voice as Darcy could manage, he said, “Whitehead and Denny will pay for what they’ve done.”
Lily studied Darcy’s cold blue eyes. Apparently, she saw what she was looking for, because she was on her feet the next instant. “I guess we should be going now, Mr. Darcy. I sure can’t stay here anymore.”
She walked out the door without a backward look. Darcy stood, picked up her carpetbag, and followed her down the stairs.
Sheriff Lucas escorted Sally Younge over to the jail for her “protection,” while Fitz and the deputy followed with the stacks of papers. What no one saw was the face of Pyke, peering out of the livery stable barn and watching every move.
It was past midnight when six riders approached the entrance into the Bennet farm, the full moon lighting the lane between two low hills. Darcy looked to either side as they moved along the lane, spotting proper sites to stage his ambush before turning his thoughts to the task ahead. What he had to tell Mr. Bennet was beyond painful, and he hoped the man would believe him. He refused to allow himself to speculate how Beth would take the news. To hurt
He glanced at the young woman riding next to him. Thankfully, Lily’s impassioned outburst seemed to drain the girl of any more words—that and the natural discomfort she must have felt over her impending reunion with her family. Darcy’s words to her held more hope than conviction, and for her sake, he prayed that Thomas Bennet was a Christian man in more than name only.
The riders finally reached their destination. They passed a series of low structures—chicken coops and hog pens by the smell—and entered a large, open area before the pitch-dark farmhouse. It was a low-slung building, a porch spanning the whole of the front exposure, with two sets of windows framing the center door. The house faced due east, better to catch the morning light in what was sure to be the living area of the place while protecting it from the hot afternoon sun. There were no trees to fall on the house in case of a storm, and a large barn was off to the left. They could see no well or outhouse, and he assumed those were in the rear.
Darcy waved his hand, and the Pemberley riders formed a semicircle before the house, Darcy and Lily in the middle. Darcy stood up in his saddle and called out.
“Hello, the house! Bennet! Tom Bennet! It’s Will Darcy! I come in peace! I’ve found something that belongs to you! Hello, Tom Bennet, it’s Will Darcy!”
Darcy waited for a minute, wondering if he would have to shout again, when he saw a light moving from inside the house. Motioning to his companions to be still, he watched the front door open.
“Who’s there? I… I see you! Who are you?” A disheveled man, still in his nightclothes, peeked out, brandishing a shotgun.
Darcy called back, “Are you deaf, Tom Bennet? It’s Will Darcy, come to visit!”
“Will Darcy?” Bennet stepped out onto the porch. “What the hell are you about, man, coming around here at this time of night?” He started as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and could see the others in the moonlight. He raised his gun to his shoulder, aiming at Darcy. “Why are you all here? I know how to use this! Speak smartly now!”
“Put those guns away!” Darcy barked at his men, some of whom had drawn their pistols at the threat from Bennet. He dismounted and began to walk towards the irate farmer, holding his hands out wide. “Now just hold on, Bennet! I mean no harm! I’ve got something here that belongs to you, and I figured you’d want it back right away.” Looking closely, Darcy could see faces peeking from behind the window curtains. Knowing them to be the Bennet women, he wondered which one was Beth.
Bennet lowered his gun, his face a mass of uncertainty. “Something of mine? What’re you talking about?”
“You’ll see.” Darcy slowly turned and gestured. A moment later, Lily, still in her dancehall outfit, dismounted and walked slowly towards the house.
“Who… who’s that?” croaked Bennet.
As gently as he could, Darcy said, “It’s your daughter, Lily, come home.”
Bennet gasped. “L-Lily!?”
“Daddy?” Lily managed as the light of the lantern lit her face.
Bennet made a strange sound in his throat, dropped the shotgun, and ran towards the girl, arms outstretched. “Lily? My God, Lily!”
Tears running down her face, Lily met him halfway. As they embraced, a screech came from the house, and a white blur ran out the door. Fanny Bennet threw herself upon her husband and daughter, screaming and crying. Darcy tore his eyes from the spectacle to the porch. There, three Bennet girls stood, two in unbelieving confusion, the third staring directly at him. Darcy’s heart jumped at the sight of Beth Bennet, holding a robe closed at her throat, her curly hair half obscuring an unreadable expression on her face. He wondered if she knew that he was doing all this for her and her alone.
Bennet’s voice broke him out of his ruminations. “I must thank you, Mr. Darcy, for returning my daughter.” His voice grew harder. “I don’t wish to seem ungrateful, but I must ask— how is it that Lily came to be in your company?”
“Father!” cried Beth, capturing Darcy’s attention again. “You shouldn’t be questioning Mr. Darcy. We owe him a debt we can never repay!” By then, Mrs. Bennet and Lily had reached the porch, and the wayward girl was greeted with great emotion by her sisters.
Bennet turned to the door. “Quiet, girl, and get yourself inside! All of you! You aren’t decent!”
“Men, dismount and take your ease,” Darcy called and moved next to the farmer. “Bennet, I’ve much to tell you, and we’ve little time. This isn’t the place for our talk. May we go inside?”
