Three colonels—one in red, two in blue—rode with the owner of the Darcy carriage through the streets of London on an uncommonly mild August afternoon. The four gentlemen were silent as the carriage made its way from the docks to the more fashionable part of town. Finally, the coachman brought it to a stop before the Buford townhouse. The gentlemen disembarked and climbed the few steps to the door. They were met in the foyer by the butler and Mrs. Albertine Buford.
Moments later, the group was shown into the sitting room. Awaiting them were two people: a lady in light blue and a gentleman wearing a black coat and breeches. The gentleman’s struggles to rise from the sofa caused his wife some distress. She made to help, but she was gently brushed aside.
“Now, leave off, Caroline,” grumbled Colonel Sir John Buford. “I will meet these guests on my two feet. I need no assistance.”
The four men watched as Buford slowly, shakily rose, his right hand tightly gripping a cane, while the sleeve of his left arm was pinned at his elbow. He clearly favored his right leg, and his once-handsome face was scarred and bandaged. Still, his bright blue eyes were clear and only slightly pained, and once on his feet, he looped the cane about his outstretched arm and made to shake each of his guests’ hands.
“Brandon, Fitzwilliam—well met! And Denny, too! By thunder, it is good to see you all again. Darcy, thank you for bringing them.”
While her husband greeted his friends, Caroline watched over him with pride. “Would you gentlemen please be seated?” she asked. “Colonel Brandon, how well you look in a Dragoon uniform! Blue becomes you, I think.” She then helped her husband retake his own seat.
“Caroline, may I introduce—” Buford looked again to be certain, “Colonel Denny? Congratulations, my friend!”
“Thank you, sir.”
Buford turned to Fitzwilliam and grinned. “I understand you are to get the Bath, Fitz. It could not happen to a better fellow!”
“Shall we call you Sir Richard, now?” asked Caroline.
Sir Richard laughed. “From you, I would prefer Richard or Fitz. I know I will never get anything else out of Buford!”
Sir John chuckled as his wife continued. “And you, Colonel Brandon—I thought you a brigadier.”
Brandon smiled. “It was my temporary rank during the occupation, my lady. I shall retire at my permanent rank, but with the Light Dragoons rather than the Life Guards.” He looked at Buford. “I will never wear any uniform except Dragoon blue from now on.”
Buford nodded in understanding. “So, tell me of your occupation duty in Paris. Was there any trouble?”
Caroline watched as Sir John conversed easily with his former comrades, now as dear to her as they were to her husband. In Brussels, she had learned that these three men searched the Waterloo battlefield relentlessly for hours for a sign of Sir John. They were the ones who carried his battered body back to the surgeons. If not for Brandon, Denny, and Fitzwilliam, Caroline knew she would be wearing black instead of light blue this night. These men saved her husband’s life. Tears pricked at her eyes.
The same thought must have occupied Mrs. Albertine Buford, as a sob escaped her lips as she rose slightly unsteadily to her feet. “If you gentlemen would excuse me,” she apologized, “I should see to the tea.” Lifting a hand, she forestalled her daughter. “No, my dear, stay and entertain your guests.”
The gentlemen were uneasy, and Sir John was concerned, but Caroline explained, “All is well, gentlemen. My mother is… very thankful for all you have done. She has lost so much already.”
The atmosphere sobered, and Sir Richard looked hard at Sir John. “Buford, I want you to know—we all want you to know that… well if you need anything, any assistance, you have but to ask.”
Brandon quieted Richard with a hand on his shoulder. “What Fitzwilliam means is that, as well as our friend, you are our comrade. Whatever you need done, we shall do it, if it be in our power. We swear it.” Colonel Denny nodded in agreement.
Buford’s face darkened, Darcy shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and Caroline remembered her husband’s response to a similar offer from Darcy only a fortnight before. She prayed his reaction would not be as abrupt.
Buford spoke sharply. “I thank you for your kind offer, gentlemen, but I am not the useless cripple I appear, I assure you!”
Caroline took Buford’s hand. “John,” she whispered.
The two locked eyes, a message only the two of them could decipher flowed between them, and Buford’s countenance softened. “Forgive me, my friends.” He looked down, his eyes blinking. “I know you mean well, and I thank you for your kindness, but it is unnecessary.” He raised his face, his emotions back under control. “My days of soldiering are done, and I must find my own way in the world. It is not so bad; a man can do much with a bad leg and one arm. Besides, I have my rock with me.” With that, he kissed his blushing wife’s hand. “No better nurse ever lived, by God. She took care to understand every instruction from the physician. She made certain I exercised every day without fail and stood by my side the whole time, badgering me when I wanted to quit and making me rest if I pushed too hard. The only reason I can stand today is because of her. A fine drillmaster she would make.”
Caroline was beet-red. “John, please!”
His response was to kiss her hand again, sigh, and smile at the others. “We shall return to Wales. Caroline and I will be with Mother in the dowager house. Buford Manor is being enlarged as we speak, and we shall remove there in the spring.”
He glanced at Caroline, who touched the six-month-along bulge in her midsection that her shawl had failed to conceal. “My child shall be raised as a Buford should—in Wales,” he vowed. “We shall be very comfortable. You must come and see us once we are established at Buford Manor.”
“Are you going to farm, sir?” asked Denny.
“No, I leave that to Philip. I have a fancy to stand for office once I recover my strength. I suppose one can give as good a speech in the Commons with one arm as two, eh, Darcy?”
“Do not bring me into this,” cried Darcy. “Politics has no attraction for me.” Darcy intended to leave that to his brother Tucker.
While the others shared a hearty laugh, Darcy’s eye fell upon Lady Buford. He could only marvel at the strange twists life could take. It was finally obvious to him that this woman was no longer the Caroline Bingley he had once known. That person was cold, grasping, and rude—a selfish member of the ton. But this lady was everything that person was not. During the whole of this terrible month, to his surprise, she had carried herself with dignity and grace, thinking only of others. Buford did not lie when he named Caroline as the most attentive of nurses. Darcy had been a witness to it, and he had to admit that he had underestimated the lady.
What was the difference? Had her soul been forged for the better in the fires of pain and anguish like the saints of old? He did not know. All he knew was that Elizabeth and he could not be fond of Miss Caroline Bingley, but that, for the rest of their lives, they would name Lady Caroline Buford among their dearest friends.
Caroline looked over at the door. “Frau Lippermann, ist der Tee bereit?”
“Ja, Frau Caroline. Here is de Kaffee.”
The new assistant housekeeper brought in a pot of coffee while Helga carried a dessert behind her. “Tea—just vone minute, thankyou verymuch.”
“Danke.” Caroline received the plate from Helga; meanwhile Mrs. Albertine Buford, now composed, rejoined the party. “Mother Buford, will you pour the coffee?” She smiled at her guests. “Philip arranged for Frau Lippermann and Helga to emigrate from Austria. Was that not considerate of him? We have been practicing; I speak German to them, and they speak English to me. With two Mrs. Bufords in the dowager house, we are Frau Albertine and Frau Caroline.”
Sir John laughed. “It is well I speak German, else I would be forever wondering what mischief was about!”
Caroline gave a loving look to her husband, a gesture whose meaning escaped the others’ understanding.
She then said, “Richard, may I offer you some of this Meranertorte? I must insist you have some. It is simply divine.”
An hour and a half later, the same carriage made its way to Darcy House. The gentlemen inside were just as solemn as before, if not as quiet.
“So, you still plan to leave for Delaford in the morning, Brandon?” Darcy asked.
“Yes—thank you for inviting me for the night. It saves me the cost of an inn.” Christopher never would open Brandon House just for one night.
Darcy turned to his cousin. “And you, Richard, are you still for Longbourn with us?”
“Yes, I will pay my respects to Mrs. Wickham, then I am off to Kent.”
“Going to beard the lioness in her own den?” teased his cousin.
Sir Richard patted his coat where he kept two letters next to his heart—one he received in April, the other in June. “I have all the armor I need right here, Cuz. I have faced Napoleon’s hordes. What is an elderly aunt to me?”
Before more could be said, the carriage reached its destination. As the party approached the door, it was flung open by the mistress of the house herself. She greeted her husband passionately, her cousin affectionately, and the others very cordially. Darcy escorted the group into the front hall, Elizabeth on his arm.
“Oh, Richard, I neglected to tell you that family business has come up,” said Darcy. “Would you join me in the library?”
“Now?” cried Sir Richard. “I have just arrived! Can it not wait?”
“Richard, it is family business,” repeated his cousin gravely.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Are you ever on holiday from business? I wanted to spend some time with Elizabeth and Georgiana, but apparently, there is nothing for it! Come on, then—let us get to it!” Disappointed and aggravated, Sir Richard stormed into Darcy’s library. There he found a lady waiting for him.
Sir Richard was frozen for a moment, trying to believe his eyes. Anne de Bourgh, in a beautiful blue gown, stood smiling at him. Then, with three quick steps, Richard seized his beloved’s face between his hands, and, for the first time, thoroughly kissed her. Anne’s arms went quickly around his neck and pulled him even closer.
Darcy discreetly backed out of the room and closed the door.
Colonel Brandon, who had seen all, chuckled in the hall. “Now, that is a proper greeting for a returning soldier,” he remarked to Elizabeth as she led him into the parlor. There he found his own surprise.
“Christopher!” cried Marianne Brandon as she leapt into his arms.
Brandon tried to speak, but he found that he could not for all his wife’s kisses.
As Elizabeth turned to Colonel Denny after closing the parlor door, she saw the officer looking about with wide, nervous eyes. “May I help you, Colonel?” she asked.
“I do not know, Mrs. Darcy. You do not have Miss Augusta Liverpool lurking about anywhere, do you?”
“No. Pray, who is Miss Liverpool?”
A relieved Denny said, “Someone I hope is not waiting for me.”
Elizabeth laughed gaily while Darcy patted the officer on the back. “You are safe from Miss Liverpool. Come into the sitting room. I promise that all that awaits you are my sister and cucumber sandwiches.”
Sir Richard and Anne finally came up for air. “I have so much to tell you,” they cried in unison.
“You first, Anne.”
“No, you first.”
Richard kissed Anne again. “Your last letter—is it true? We are engaged?”
“Well, what do you expect for compromising me?”
Sir Richard’s face broke into a wide grin. “Anne de Bourgh, I love you.”
Anne smiled cheekily in return. “That is well, for I adore you!”
“You know, I have not kissed you before today.”
“Egad, we have been engaged for over two months! We have some catching up to do.”
“Marianne, my Marianne, I cannot believe it.” Christopher stroked her face.
“I am no dream, m’love.”
“Why did you not tell me you would be in London?”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“You did that. Wait, whose idea was this?”
“Mine, why do you ask?”
“It sounds like something Mrs. Darcy would plan.”
“Well, she helped.”
Christopher kissed her forehead. “My love, where is Joy? Back at Delaford?”
“As if your daughter would permit that!”
“What do you mean? She is here?”
“If by here you mean Darcy House, no. She awaits her papa at Brandon House.” At his look she added, “Oh no, Christopher! We must remain for some little time—for form’s sake, at least. Joy is napping now, in any case. Let us rejoin the Darcys.”
The party sat comfortably around the sitting room. The Brandons took up most of one couch, Marianne practically draped over her husband. Denny was embarrassed, and Georgiana was slightly shocked, but the Darcys looked upon their friends with a lenient eye. Sir Richard and Anne had yet to make their appearance.
Elizabeth addressed Colonel Denny. “Thank you for volunteering to come to Longbourn with us. I trust Mrs. Wickham will appreciate your kindness. I am instructed to tell you that she personally thanks you for your compassionate letter to my family.”
The colonel colored slightly. “It is the least I can do, Mrs. Darcy. It is I who must thank you—for lodgings here tonight and for transport tomorrow.” Denny was traveling with the Darcys to Meryton to offer his personal condolences to Lydia. She and the children had removed to Longbourn at the report of Wickham’s death.
“Think nothing of it,” said Darcy. “We shall leave tomorrow after breakfast to collect Mrs. Tucker, and thence to Hertfordshire.”
Georgiana stuttered, “Were you there, Colonel… when…” She could not finish.
Denny struggled over what to say. “Yes, I was there, but I did not see Major Wickham fall.” He in good conscience could not tell the girl the whole truth. Wickham had awaited Napoleon’s approaching Imperial Guard like a man in anticipation of his execution. When Denny found Wickham’s body after the battle, he saw that a cannonball had practically cut his old friend in half. No, Denny would never share those visions. They were forever entombed along with Wickham in a grave at Waterloo. “He fought well, but so did many others we left behind us in Belgium.”
“I understand that Richard was made a knight,” Georgiana continued. “Do you receive any award?”
“No, Miss Darcy, save that my brevet promotion to colonel was made permanent. That is award enough for me.”
“Why is that?”
Denny smiled. “I will now have money enough to marry, Miss Darcy.”
Georgiana blushed.
Darcy asked, “So you plan to remain in the army, Denny?”
“Yes, sir. I find the military life suits me.”
“What is your next post?” asked Christopher.
“For now, I am to return to Horse Guards. But I think I will put in for a transfer to India next year.”
“Why India?” asked Georgiana.
“A colonel’s pay goes further there, and I hope to work towards promotion, Miss Darcy.”
Elizabeth smiled. She could read between the lines better than most, and Colonel Denny’s attentions to the Widow Wickham had been very marked. She wondered whether Lydia would like living in India.
Sir Richard and Anne finally entered the sitting room, walking in hand in hand. Elizabeth, Marianne, and Georgiana embraced the couple with cries of delight. It was some time before the pair could sit down upon a sofa.
“If you do not mind, Darcy,” Sir Richard said, “I think there will be a change of plans.”
“I thought there might. Kent or Derbyshire?”
“Rosings first—Lady Catherine deserves at least that.” Sir Richard then grinned. “Besides, I need to survey my new properties now that harvest time grows near.”
“Do you think you will enjoy farming, sir?” asked Denny.
He gave the younger man a stern look. “Denny, we are comrades now. You may call me…” he hesitated, and then with dramatic importance, “Sir Richard.”
A pause—then Fitzwilliam dissolved into laughter.
“Denny, if you call that fool anything but Fitz, I will personally cuff you,” demanded an amused Christopher.
After a poke from Anne, Sir Richard stopped laughing. “I think I will like it well enough, Denny. I know I will fancy the accommodations.” He started chuckling again when he noted that Anne was not amused. “What is it, my dear?” She simply gave him an arch look. “What?”
“Oh, do not be cross, Cousin,” cried Georgiana. “Tell us of Richard’s proposal!”
“You have hit upon the heart of the matter, Georgiana,” Anne responded. “There has been no proposal!”
“What? Then how are you engaged?”
“You had a hand in that,” Anne said with a look.
“Oh, the letters!” Georgiana blushed while Denny simply looked confused.
Anne nodded in confirmation. “Yes, we have compromised ourselves! We wrote to each other, Colonel Denny, and there is nothing for it but to marry! Which is all fine and good, but it would be nice actually to receive a proposal,” she turned to her intended, “especially as Colonel Sir Richard Fitzwilliam acts as if Rosings Park is his already!” She gave Richard a de Bourgh glare.
Sir Richard looked thoughtfully at Anne for a moment and then away. “Hmm, we cannot have that.” He began to stand.
“Richard?” Anne was afraid her teasing had gone too far and she had offended her beloved.
But abruptly, Sir Richard threw himself at her feet. On one knee, with one hand on his breast and the other raised to the heavens, he declared, “Sweetest, loveliest Anne! You are the light of my life, the song in my soul, the starch in my stockings—”
“The starch in your stockings?”
“Quiet, woman, you are ruining the moment. Where was I? Ah yes, I cannot live without you! Would you—could you—might you—consider taking pity on this poor fool? I offer all that I have—an old warhorse and a slightly used sabre. What treasure! All I own and my heart. Say yes and make me the happiest man in the world! Reject me, and call for the undertaker the next instant, for I shall surely die of a broken heart. My fate is in your hands, my lady.”
He lowered his face into his hands for a moment before peeking up at her. He beheld a smirking Anne, trying not to giggle. He could not see the various looks of his audience, ranging from delight to amusement to astonishment. “Marry me, Annie?”
She smiled sweetly. “Of course! Before you inflict yourself on some other unfortunate lady.”
Sir Richard sweetly kissed each of Anne’s hands before retaking his seat next to her. “How was that, Georgiana?”
His cousin just shook her head as the others exploded into laughter.
The three colonels took their leave of each other before the Fitzwilliam family’s London townhouse. Darcy had arranged for the house to be opened, for Sir Richard and Colonel Denny could not remain at Darcy House while Anne was in residence. Denny would be retrieved in the morning by the Darcy party when Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson were delivered for their journey to Kent with Richard.
“Good-bye, Denny. Mind the army for me,” said Christopher. “I expect you will be a general ’ere long.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Denny, I am Brandon to you.”
“Brigadier,” cried Denny, using Brandon’s brevet title, “you will always be sir to me.” He snapped off a salute, which Christopher returned.
Marianne embraced the younger man. “May you obtain your heart’s desire, Colonel.”
“All things in God’s time,” he replied with a grin. Denny estimated that Lydia would require only six months of mourning before she would allow him to make his intentions known.
Christopher and Sir Richard shook each other’s hands. “Congrat-ulations, Fitz. I know you will be happy.”
“Thank you, Brandon. Give my love to that daughter of yours. Marianne, farewell.”
She kissed his cheek. “Until the wedding, I suppose. I am so happy for you and Anne! Safe journey.” She turned, and Brandon helped her back into the carriage.
Christopher turned back to the others, one foot in the carriage. “Good-bye, friends! Drive on, driver!”
As the carriage moved away, Marianne moved into her husband’s arms, a place she planned to spend much time in the future—perhaps the rest of her life.
“I cannot help thinking of poor Sir John. Had it been you—oh, I cannot bear it! I shall speak of it no more!”
“Hush, m’love. Do not worry. I have put in my papers. I will fight no more forever.”
“I was so proud of you yet frightened for you at the same time. I might be a coward, but I want you home in our bed, never to leave again.”
He kissed her tenderly. “I wish to be nowhere else, my Marianne,”—he started to smile—“although it will be a crowded place soon, I trust. When is the baby due?”
“Around New Years. Maybe it will be a Christmas baby.”
Christopher counted backwards. “After, I should think.”
“Perhaps. Do you think Joy will like a baby brother?”
“You do not know it will be a boy.”
“I was right about the other thing. You must trust me on this.”
Christopher gave up with an amused shake of his head. After all, she might be right. “I have but one request. If the babe is a boy, his name must be John Richard.”
She looked at his face with tears in her eyes. “Perfect—and Sir John and Caroline shall be his godparents.”
As Christopher bent to kiss her again, he murmured, “Perfect.”
There were no more sounds from the Brandon carriage as it rolled through the London night towards home and Joy.