it was understood. The only words that passed between them were those of love and devotion and need. They basked in their newfound understanding of the other’s feelings. In the coach during the day, they never left each other’s side.
The trip was harder on Caroline than on her husband. More mornings than not, she awoke sick to her stomach, but she would not complain, request a moderation of the pace of the journey, or even speak of her discomfort, for she refused to be a burden to Sir John.
Finally, in early April, they crossed the Rhine into Belgium.
“Damnation! There is no passage to be had!” cried Buford as he entered his rooms. He ran a hand through his hair. “I have asked everywhere, but I can get no proper passage for you and our servants back to England, at least anytime soon. In a month,
Caroline left off writing to her sister and rose to see to her husband. “Sir John, please,” she gently scolded him. “Would it be so bad if we remained? Other officers have brought their wives.”
Sir John looked torn. “My love, the selfish side of me would wish you by my side, but that is impossible! The others are fools! I will not have you here in danger. Perhaps I can arrange for a fishing boat—”
“No, sir! As I said before, I will not go without Abby and Roberts or our belongings!”
For at least the fourth time in as many days, the couple argued the point, and the colonel found that he still could not budge his wife. Assured in her husband’s esteem and affections, Caroline’s old assertiveness had returned, and her time in Vienna had instilled in her a fierce attachment to their servants.
“Woman, you shall do as I say!”
“Is this how I should expect a king’s officer to speak to his wife? I was led to believe that there were gentlemen in the army!”
“Caroline, please—”
“I shall not be moved, no matter how much you beg!” On and on it went, with the same result. “My love, do you not see? I cannot—I will not—abandon our people or our belongings. I do not wish to be a burden upon you, but there it is.”
“But dear, I would have you safe with our family in England.”
She touched his cheek. “I know.”
Buford needed to find another way. Consequently, he did what many people would do who possessed his connections. He wrote to Darcy.
“Fitzwilliam! What a pleasant surprise!” cried Mr. Gardiner as the tall, finely dressed husband of his niece was announced. “Come in. May we get you something? Allow me to alert Madeline that you are here.”
“No, Edward, please do not,” answered Darcy. “May we retire to your library? There is a matter of business I should like to discuss with you.”
Edward Gardiner knew something was wrong. “Of course, my boy. Right this way.” In the years since Elizabeth’s marriage to the Master of Pemberley, the Darcy and Gardiner families had grown so close that Christian names had become
After seeing his guest into the library and closing the door, Mr. Gardiner asked, “May I get you something?” To his eyes, something rare happened: Darcy started to fidget. “Fitzwilliam, is something amiss? Out with it, my boy.”
“I am afraid I must ask a favor.”
“Is that all?” the older man exclaimed in relief. “Why, by your countenance, I thought someone died!”
Darcy continued to squirm.
“Come, tell me, man. Whatever it is, you shall have it.”
Darcy gritted his teeth. “It sits ill with me to ask this of you—”
“I know—you would sooner do it yourself. But think nothing of it, my boy,” he said with affection. “We are family.”
Darcy nodded at the truth of this. He reached into his coat pocket, extracted a letter, and handed it to Mr. Gardiner. Falling back into cold politeness, as he always did when he was uncomfortable, he said, “Pray, do me the kindness of reading that letter.”
Mr. Gardiner opened it.
“I see,” said Mr. Gardiner.
“Poor Buford,” said Darcy. “What it must have cost him to write such a letter!”
Mr. Gardiner thought for a minute. “I can have a ship at Antwerp by week’s end—ten days at the most.”
“Edward, I do not know what to say.”
“Fitzwilliam,” said Mr. Gardiner softly, “would you do any less for me, were it in your power? Come, give me your answer to Sir John. I shall dispatch it with the ship. It shall wait at dock until our friends are aboard.”
Darcy’s note had arrived in mid-afternoon. The sailor who delivered it said the ship would sail upon the morning tide the next day. The shipmates he had brought along were to move the baggage and other possessions aboard that night. Sir John assured the messenger that the passengers would arrive in good time in the morning.
Caroline was distressed, knowing she had but one last night with her husband. She reached deep into herself for her control; it would not do to take leave of Sir John crying like a blubbering idiot. By pure strength of will, she was able to face her husband with at least the appearance of composure after the last of the trunks were on their way to the ship.
Buford was not deceived. He addressed his small household staff: “Tonight is your last in Belgium. We shall not require you this evening. Here is some money. Roberts, take Miss Abigail out to the finest restaurant in town. ’Tis my farewell gift to you both.”
Roberts and Abigail understood. “Good night, sir,” his man said. “We shall see you in the morning.”
After the servants left, Sir John took Caroline by the hand and led her downstairs. To the owner of the inn, he
