She had spent the morning walking in circles around the estate as she struggled to come to terms with her decision.
She knew exactly what she needed.
She knew exactly where to find it.
Yet she had done nothing. It was not an easy decision to follow through on. She sighed. Hardy was not a patient man; he would not allow them to simply ignore him, which appeared to be what Bingley hoped to do. She held her sister’s future and that of her children in her hands. Only Elizabeth could save them now.
And she was too cowardly to do what she needed to do.
She walked on as fast as she could, hoping the exertion might help to calm her. But she would not be calmed. For all she knew, Hardy could strike against them at any time. She had to forget her conscience and act before she regretted it for the rest of her days.
She turned and hurried back towards Radcliffe House. At the very least, she needed to know how much time she had left. She had been patient with Bingley, but he had still made no attempt to tell her about the letter. She could not pretend any longer. How could she continue to spare his feelings at the expense of their niece and nephews’ safety?
As she moved out of the thick cluster of trees, she saw a carriage in the distance. She frowned. There was nothing remarkable about the carriage itself—it might have belonged to anyone. No, it was one of the horses that drew a second glance from her. She was not much of a horse-rider, but Darcy had insisted on taking her to the stables to show her his horses. He had been most proud of one of the black stallions, but it was a different horse that caught her eye now. Proud and russet-coloured with a distinctive white mark on its forehead, she would recognise it anywhere.
She shook her head and turned back towards the house. Perhaps it was a coincidence. She did not know enough about horses to say whether such markings were common or not. Perhaps it was a common trait of that kind—he had told her what it was but she could not recall it now.
She could not help but be amused by the fact that she had so willingly been distracted by Darcy even with everything that was troubling her mind.
* * *
She found Bingley in the drawing-room with her sister. They were alone: the Collinses had gone out early that morning and taken the children—all of them.
“Where is your sister?”
Bingley shook his head. “I do not know.”
“I must speak to you.”
He nodded.
“Privately.”
“Oh, Lizzy, it is sweet of you to try and protect me but there is no need.”
This time she would not be swayed. What she had to say could not be overheard by a woman in Jane’s condition. “I am sorry Jane, but there is something I must ask Charles and I cannot do so in your presence.”
“Of course,” Bingley said, leaping to his feet. “Let us move to the parlour.”
She turned and hurried there without another word. He followed her in and closed the door soon after.
“How will we ever tell her the truth?”
“It must wait until after the child has come. We should not have told her anything of this at all.”
“I agree. Charles, I must ask you… I know about the letter.”
“Letter?” His forehead crinkled. “What do you mean?”
She sighed. “I was outside the library when you told Darcy it had come. I heard what Hardy asked of us. We must not dwell on that now. Please tell me—”
The door flew open. Both turned and stared in that direction, surprised that anyone would think of entering the parlour at that time of day.
“Darcy!” Bingley cried. “You have returned, my good man!”
Elizabeth could not believe what she was seeing. She had believed him gone from her life forever. Not just a few days. She stared at him, unable to speak.
“Bingley,” Darcy said in a clipped voice. “Miss Bennet.”
It was not often that she found herself lost for words, but she was thus afflicted now. “Mr. Darcy,” was all she could manage.
“I take it you are both well.”
“What are you doing here? Have you forgotten something?”
“Forgotten something?”
“Yes, of course. You cannot have turned around and returned here unless it was for something very important.”
“Ah yes. Indeed. Yes.” He made no further attempt to explain and she did not prompt him.
“I shall leave you.” She turned to Bingley. “Charles, did Hardy mention anything in his letter about when he expected to receive an answer from you?”
“Lizzy, I…”
“Please, Charles. How much time do we have?”
Bingley glanced at Darcy, who was watching her intently. She turned away, fearing they might read her intentions from her face.
“He expects an answer within the fortnight. He was rather clear on that. I still do not—”
Elizabeth did not wait for him to finish. She swept from the room and hurried to her chambers.
They had been given even less time than she had expected. She needed to act now—or risk regretting her inaction for the rest of her days.
Chapter Twenty
Darcy’s arrival complicated matters. She paced the floor in her room as she considered this. She might have deceived Bingley and Jane, but he would be far harder to mislead.
Perhaps he would even realise what she wished to do.
She could not wait. With any luck, he would find what he had forgotten and take his leave immediately, but Bingley might also prevail on him to stay.
I must go now.
She rummaged in her trunk and pulled out the piece of paper she had carefully hidden in a stocking. She read back over her hastily-written notes and nodded. Her palms had begun to perspire. It was so risky, but there was nothing else to be done.
She bent and held the edge of the paper beside the embers in the grate until it caught fire. She watched it burn. She would never dream of wasting paper but she could not afford for anyone to find what she had written—Darcy in particular.
You must calm yourself, she thought. Darcy does not care what I do. In fact, he has probably already departed for Pemberley.
She hurried out of the room and rushed down the stairs, stopping first at the cupboard where Jane kept her gardening things. She took out a basket and a pair of thick gloves.
She hurried back across the hall and out the door, giddy with the knowledge that she had gotten away undetected. It was silly, of course—this was by far the easiest part of the enterprise.
She had not gotten fifty yards when she heard her name called. She stopped and froze on the spot.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said as she turned. She recognised his voice immediately.
“Miss Bennet. Wait. I shall join you.”
She had come to enjoy his company as she walked in the ground at Radcliffe House. Now she cursed her rotten luck.
What else could she do except smile and walk with him? She could hardly decline his offer to join her. She could not risk raising his suspicions. No, everything must be as it usually was so that he maintained the belief that nothing was amiss.
“Of course, Mr. Darcy,” she said with a smile. “Please do.”
He caught up with her and frowned. “You seemed rather concerned about Hardy’s letter. I had not realised you knew of it.”
“Yes. Well, I was curious that is all. I trust you gentlemen have resolved the matter.”
He appeared shocked. “You do? Who has claimed that?”
“Oh, I do not know. I have concluded that it is not a matter a young lady should concern herself with. That is all I meant.”
He looked taken aback but he made no further enquiries on the subject. They walked on.
“You have a basket.”
“Yes,” she said holding it with far more enthusiasm than might usually be the case. She was simply delighted that he had changed the subject away from the delicate matter of Hardy’s letter. “For wild roses.”
“I see. Whe
re had you planned to go? I thought we might walk to the lake.”
“No,” she cried, altogether too quickly. “I mean, the blooms there are nowhere near as good as they are beside the stream at the edge of the forest. I expect it is something to do with the minerals in the soil from all the fallen leaves.” She was babbling and she knew it, but she could not stop. “Lovely blooms. I thought I might pick some for the breakfast parlour to cheer the place up somewhat. Of course, if you wish to walk to the lake you must go there. Do not feel obligated to accompany me.”
“I do not feel obligated. Rather it would give me great pleasure to do so. We shall go to the forest, then. It makes no difference to me.”
She frowned. He seemed as pleased to be in her presence as he always had, despite what she had heard to the contrary.
They walked. He was far more talkative than usual. In fact, he appeared rather agitated. She assumed it must be because he had not found whatever it was he had mislaid.
“When will you return to Pemberley?” she asked.
“I do not know. Not for weeks, I expect. Perhaps months.”
“Ah, so you have found a way of settling your affairs without attending to them in person. How fortunate.”
“My affairs? What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Bingley said you had to return to Pemberley quite suddenly. I simply assumed… Forgive me; I should not have done so.”
“Do not apologise. Yes. I have no need to return to Pemberley after all.”
“How wonderful.” It was anything but. It would be far more difficult for her to leave Radcliffe House now that he had returned. She would need to take great care to avoid rousing his suspicions.
They fell silent and walked on. Elizabeth had walked this way the previous evening. For one terrible moment she thought that the gardener must have found the precious plants and destroyed them, but then they moved further through the trees and she saw the great clump of poison hemlock was still intact.
All she wanted to do was hurry over to them with her basket and gloves, but Darcy had begun to talk excitedly about some trivial matter in which he had previously shown no interest.
She was too distracted by her plans to really notice the absurdity of this.
They meandered through the trees and she became so impatient that she could barely stand it. Darcy stopped abruptly when they were mere steps away from those precious plants.
“What is the matter? I shall just pick some roses.” There were no roses in sight but she imagined he would not notice the difference. Not if she disappeared around the other side of the clump and then held her basket far away from him. She had never known a man to be interested in a bloom.
“Wait!” he cried.
Her heart thumped. Had realised what she planned to do? She hoped not. She had worked herself up to the point that there was now no way anyone could convince her not to do it. Darcy was a man of great moral conviction—there was no way he would rest easy knowing what she intended to do.
“The roses are wonderful at this time of year. I really must insist.” She hurried away, growing panicked when he followed her instead of waiting where he was.
I shall think of a way, she thought. I have walked this way many times. If necessary I shall return at night when the others are sleeping.
“Please listen, Miss Bennet.”
Something in his voice made her pause. There was a plaintive, desperate note in it that she had never heard in his voice before.
“What is it?”
“My feelings will not be repressed. It has been a struggle to withhold them from you for even a week. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
Elizabeth gasped. How many times had she hoped to hear those words? She realised it now, even though she had not been aware of it at the time. Her heart swelled with love and her spirits soared.
They did not stay like that for long.
She knew. Deep down, underneath the burst of joy, she knew exactly why he had proposed.
It was affection for Bingley that had driven him to such extreme action. Either that or guilt.
“Please,” she whispered, holding up her hands to silence him—for Darcy had continued to describe his feelings after that first, bittersweet declaration. “Please do not.”
“Do… Not? Miss Bennet?”
She smiled up at him and shook her head. She would never forget his generosity. For what if she had accepted? Was he truly willing to marry her for the sake of his friend? What a miserable existence that would be for him! And for her—knowing that the man she loved was only by her side out of love for her sister’s husband.
It would do no good anyway. Bingley could not afford to pay Hardy. There was only one way she could permanently rid her family of that evil man’s spectre. If only she could explain it to Darcy—she knew she could not.
“Mr. Darcy, I know why you have decided to tell me this. Please. I shall never forget your kindness, but I must decline. How can I accept? It will make no difference anyway. Bingley does not have the fortune that Hardy is demanding.”
“Hardy? Bingley? What do they have to do with this? I am asking you to be my wife. You cannot imagine how difficult it was to stop myself telling you before now.”
“Please, Mr. Darcy. I know everything. I know about the letter. I know about Hardy’s demands. I do not begrudge you for attempting to help, but it will do no good. I will not force you into a life that will bring you no joy.”
“You are wrong. The only thing that will leave me joyless is if I am forced to live without you.”
She turned away from him so that he would not see the tears that had formed in her eyes. It was all too much. He could not understand how much she had longed to hear those words. Perhaps he could, and he had uttered them anyway because he thought it was for the greater good. She did not doubt that he meant well. It changed nothing.
“Please, Mr. Darcy,” she said again as she fought to compose herself. “Please do not say another word. I know you are proposing marriage as a means of saving me from Hardy. I know everything. You are kind and I am touched by your deep affection for Charles. But I cannot agree. Thank you, but I must beg you to never mention it again.”
She turned to run, but he caught her arm. His face was wrought with anxiety.
“You cannot… I… It is…”
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, willing herself not to cry in his presence. “It is the best way, Mr. Darcy. We both know it. Do not worry about my other sister and her children. I can assure you I have spent a great deal of time reflecting on it and even if I were to take you up on your kind offer, it would do no good. Please be assured that I have thought of a way out of this.”
She froze. In her emotional state she feared she had said too much!
With that, she turned and ran in the direction of the house, dropping her basket as she did.
Chapter Twenty-One
Her eyelids were heavy but she told herself it was no time to sleep. Not that she could have slept for very long. She had not slept properly in days—weeks, even. She had always slept soundly and dreamlessly in the past; now those terrible dreams would wake her several times in the night, where she would gasp and cry out, damp with the perspiration of terror.
“No,” she muttered, sitting up even straighter until her back was pushed against the hard wood of the headboard. It was an uncomfortable position; one she felt certain would keep her awake no matter how sleepy she became.
* * *
It felt like only a few moments later when Lizzy jerked awake. Her eyes flew open and she saw with dismay that the sky had lightened. She had no need of a clock—she had left the curtains open and she could see it was close to dawn.
She hurried from her bed and dressed quickly and carelessly. After all, she would return to her bed before any of the others had risen, so what did it matter how she looked?
She hurried out of the room and down the stairs. She had con
vinced herself that Darcy must be waiting somewhere, having worked out what she intended to do.
But he was not. She left the house without incident and picked her way across the grass. She was not overly worried about being heard—her caution was more to do with preventing herself from twisting an ankle. Such an injury would be ruinous to her plans.
It was a little more difficult to find her way when the trees thickened. She walked slowly with her hands outstretched to stop herself from walking into a tree trunk. Of course, there was still the risk that she might trip over one of the gnarled roots that had burst through the ground and blocked the path in places, so she stepped as slowly as she could despite her growing impatience.
She wanted to be back in bed with her precious cargo hidden in her trunk away from prying eyes.
She reached it, finally. She knew she was almost there when she very nearly stumbled over the basket she had dropped earlier. She bent to pick it up and was relieved to find the gloves were still inside. There was no way she would have been able to find them in the darkness if they had fallen out.
She hugged it gratefully to her chest and turned around. The sky was reasonably clear but the moon was a tiny sliver, so it did little to light her way. Nor had the sun lit up the sky enough to be helpful in that respect.
She tiptoed forward with the handle of the basket under one arm. She pulled on the gloves and told herself to move carefully. She had read that the sap of the plant could burn the skin and she would need to pull the stems away. She had forgotten cutters earlier and she had not wanted to risk hunting for one in the middle of the night.
She reached the plants and took another breath to steady herself. The white flowers glowed pale in the moonlight and it was hard to believe that those delicate things were capable of killing a man.
It took a long time for her to break the stalk as she did not want to move it too vigorously and risk splashing the toxic sap on herself. Soon she lost herself in the movement, bending the stems back and forth until they eventually broke off and came away in her hands. She kept working until her basket was half full. She was sure she did not need so many, but she had decided to err on the side of caution. The worst thing would be to have too little. She could not afford to put a step wrong—the consequences would be dire for all of them.
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