“You have seen this coach, Mr. Darcy?” he said. “It does not sound like the same carriage my daughter was in when she left my home.”
“Their first was damaged in the storm.”
The third gentleman, younger than the others and more fashionably attired, approached with a civil inclination of his head. “Mr. Gardiner, of Gracechurch Street in London. Mrs. Bennet is my sister. My niece is . . .” He glanced at Sir William and paused, as if he had approached a word and thought better of it. “In a situation which makes our presence in this business necessary. I must say we expected her party to be farther north.”
Gracechurch Street. Darcy’s mind supplied, out of long habit, a dozen associations with the street near Cheapside: warehouses, counting houses, the smell of tar and spice. Princes and princesses might, on rare occasions, traverse Gracechurch Street. In his experience, however, they did not keep uncles there.
Whatever wild story Miss Bennet had been told, her relations at least appeared unconscious of having produced a Thurnian princess. He did not mention it. For some reason, he did not wish to embarrass her. She would tell them the story in her own way once they recovered her. And he was impatient to be off upon that errand.
“I happened across Miss Bennet and her companion Mrs. Hobart at an inn near Derbyshire,” he said, the words clipped, rushed. “They hadbeen separated from Sir Reginald by the snow, and their carriage required repair.”
There was a great deal more to that story, but they had no time for it just now.
Mr. Bennet paused. It was not the pause of a man deciding what to do but what to believe. The man’s gaze moved over Darcy with a precision that made Sir William’s dramatic postures seem even more childish by comparison.
Darcy went on. “I met them just south of Stamford when the storm hit. Afterward, the road north of that point was impassable, and they had no escort and a damaged carriage. I had men, horses, and room to spare. It appeared to me that the safest course was for Miss Bennet and Mrs. Hobart to return to London under my escort, rather than attempt to rejoin Sir Reginald upon a road that had already proved treacherous. I offered to see them as far as town. They agreed.”
Sir William gave an approving exclamation.
“Very proper,” he said. “Excellent. Quite what I should have done myself, had I possessed a carriage, men, horses, and the idea.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes slid closed. Darcy surmised that it had been a long ride.
“You travelled together for some miles then,” Mr. Gardiner said, ignoring his companions. “Yet Elizabeth is not with you.”
“We stopped at a posting inn last evening,” Darcy said. “Sir Reginald appeared after dark, no doubt alerted to our location somehow by Mrs. Hobart. He insisted upon taking charge. I could not like it, and I said that I had promised to see Miss Bennet delivered to her relatives.” He caught Mr. Gardiner’s gaze. “She mentioned an uncle and aunt in London, sir. I must presume she spoke of you.”
Mr. Bennet’s mouth tightened. “And my daughter—how did she appear? Distressed? Confused? Under constraint?”
“She was herself,” Darcy said, and found the words lodged like grit in his throat. “She believed she was obligated to remain with her original party.”
Mr. Bennet held his gaze. “You are certain?”
Darcy’s hands tightened at his sides. “I am.”
“And Mrs. Hobart?” Mr. Gardiner asked. “How does she stand in this?”
Darcy’s stomach turned at the name. “She stands at Sir Reginald’s shoulder,” he said.
“Where did you begin this morning?” Mr. Bennet inquired.
“We tracked them to Biggleswade, but not beyond.” Darcy nodded at Anders. “My man and I were just discussing the roads between there and here.”
Mr. Gardiner was already calculating. “Name them.”
Darcy did so, briefly and without ornament, while Anders confirmed in plain terms where each lane was likely to come out.
But naming them was one thing. Choosing where to begin was another. Darcy had always been decisive; indecision was a luxury for those not losing something precious with every moment wasted in conversation.
“The broad road—Little Highland,” Mr. Gardiner said at once. “If they mean speed, they will take the easiest route. Fresh horses in a town, quick change, off again before anyone can ask questions.”
“It is also the road they would expect us to search first,” Darcy said.
Mr. Gardiner’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning you believe him clever.”
“I believe him practised,” Darcy returned. “And practised men do not always choose the most obvious path.”
“Practised men,” Mr. Gardiner said, “still require roads that will carry their wheels.”