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.