Darcy and Diamonds

by Caitlin Marie Carrington

  “Of course,” she said. “Whatever I can do to help.”

  They had found Mrs. Graham in the dining room, and while Darcy had expected the woman to be upset that there was a thief on the prowl, she had surprised him by clapping her hands and smiling triumphantly.

  “I knew it!” she had cried. “My girl insisted we had left the necklace at home. Oh, Mr. Darcy, I do hope you find this horrible person. I’ve lost my dear Henry—I don’t want to lose his gift to me, as well.”

  Elizabeth had hugged the woman and they two ladies had spoken so quietly he could not make out their conversation. They had turned to leave the room, Elizabeth still treating him coldly, when Mrs. Graham had called out.

  “You are right, dear Eliza—the memories of Henry can never be taken from me. How lucky you are, to have a young man courting you now! Make memories, my dears!”

  Elizabeth had frozen in place, her spine so tense that Darcy was afraid she might shatter if he jostled her. She did not acknowledge Mrs. Graham’s words and once in the hall she fairly flew in front of him.

  Darcy followed, his long legs easily overtaking her. He’d expected Elizabeth to make a joke or say something arch about the meddlesome Mrs. Graham.

  Or say something about…anything.

  Instead, she kept her eyes straight ahead and her jaw clenched.

  “Mrs. Allerton—” he said, coming to a halt. She would either listen to him or shout at him, but he didn’t expect his Elizabeth to run away.

  She’s not yours yet, is she? She acts like she can’t stand the sight of you.

  But that didn’t make sense. So they’d squabbled slightly on the way back from riding—she’d been injured! He’d been terrified! Why was she acting like this, now?

  At least his gambit had worked. Elizabeth had stopped, turned, and was staring at him. She was pale, with patches of pink on her cheeks. She was…

  Angry?

  “Obviously you are not courting me. It is a ridiculous notion.” Elizabeth’s words came tumbling out. “I apologize for Mrs. Graham. She oversteps her bounds.”

  “There is no need—”

  “I will leave you now. I am sure you can handle the rest of this investigation yourself.”

  She seemed to have stolen all of his breath. Her own chest was heaving with each of her frantic inhalations. For his part, Darcy could not move as a dreadful, horrible coldness settled over him.

  “Why are you so upset?” he said, though slowly—he had an awful, dawning feeling. This felt like years ago. This felt like—when he had first proposed. “What has happened since yesterday and today?”

  “What has happened?” Elizabeth cried, taking an angry step forward. “Did you hit your head as well?”

  “I have no idea why you are enraged with me,” Darcy growled, taking a step toward her and her flashing, angry, irresistible brown eyes. “But I am not leaving until I discover why. When I left you last, you were injured. I sent for London for my physician to care for you—”

  “Which I did not ask for, or require!” she hissed.

  Darcy stared at her. Somehow they were even closer now, her chest still heaving—his as well. He ran his hands over his face, then through his hair.

  They itched to move to her. To touch her. To calm her. To caress her.

  “Why are you doing this?” he whispered, staring down into her upturned face. She was so beautiful, was that why he could not breathe? Or was it because she was so angry? “Because I carried you when you said to put you down? Because I cared for you? Because I do—I care for you, Elizabeth!”

  “How easy such declarations fall from your lips,” she cried.

  “Elizabeth,” he said, his voice hoarse. He took another step toward her. Then another. “Elizabeth,” he whispered. “That is not true. I do not say such things with ease. I have never—I have never told another person outside my family what I am about to tell you—”

  “Except last night.”

  Darcy watched in horror and confusion as her eyes filled with tears, becoming liquid lakes. It was as if she willed the tears not to fall.

  “Last night?”

  “I heard you. I saw you. Mr. Gladwell told me—”

  “Mr. Gladwell? Did he come to your rooms?” Darcy felt a burst of anger and jealously he had never expected. “I assumed you were resting. How did he find you?”

  “No, he was in the halls! The stairs rather,” she paused and looked away, wiping her eyes. When she turned back to face him, the raw pain on her face wiped him of his ability to breathe. “And he told me that you and Caroline were in the library.”

  No, thought Darcy. No, no no.

  “And then he left and I—I walked to the library—and I saw you! I saw Caroline in your arms. And I heard you tell her you cared, and that you did not want the maids or footmen to find you!”

  “That is not what happened,” he cried, moving forward and placing his hands on her arms. For a moment he almost cringed, realizing he had held Caroline in the exact same position last night. And yes, he had told her he cared—but it was an utterly different meaning!

  “What you think you witnessed, that is not the truth.” He was begging her with his eyes, with his words, with his heart—begging her to hear him. “Believe me. Please, God, Elizabeth, you must believe me. Caroline was in distress and although I do care for her, it in no way resembles how I feel about you. Elizabeth, I—”

  He paused, her brown eyes upturned, her face so close he could reach down, he could touch her, he could kiss her—

  For a moment he wavered, they both did, as if on the edge of a precipice. He swallowed, realizing he had never said these words before to a woman. Not even when he had proposed to her.

  “Elizabeth, it is all a misunderstanding. Caroline and I never—”

  And then an earth-shattering scream sounded from directly above them. They both glanced up, shocked, and then Bingley and three footmen were running from the direction of the kitchen.

  “Who is it?” Darcy cried, meeting his friend’s eyes.

  “I don’t know,” Bingley said. “But it sounds as if it’s coming from one of the sisters’ chambers.”

  Both men raced toward the grand staircase, that led up to the family’s rooms. Darcy could hear the footmen following, then he turned and saw Elizabeth at his side.

  “Eliz—Mrs. Allerton, it is not safe. Please go back and find Mrs. Graham.”

  “You have no right to order me about,” she said breathlessly. “You had no right yesterday, and even less of one today! This is why I shall never marry again,” she growled to herself.

  Darcy had no time to argue with her, before they were up the stairs and met Jane, running down the hall.

  “Jane!” Bingley and Elizabeth cried in unison.

  “Are you hurt, darling?” Charles said, taking his weeping wife in his arms.

  “No, no,” she gasped. “It’s not me—it’s Caroline! And there’s so much blood!”

  21

  Elizabeth

  Head wounds bleed.

  Elizabeth remembered this from her childhood. But it was one thing to know such a fact, rationally. It was another entirely to see it in action.

  There was so much blood.

  After Jane had found them in the halls, Mr. Darcy and Charles had raced upstairs to Caroline’s rooms, followed by the footmen. Elizabeth and Jane had run upstairs as well, despite both men ordering them to stay behind. But once they’d arrived, Elizabeth had almost wished she had listened to Mr. Darcy’s desperate plea.

  They found Caroline on the floor—very much alive, but injured. A large gash across her forehead bled profusely. Charles had run to his sister, who now was very quiet. She stared straight ahead with unseeing eyes, her legs splayed on the floor, blood dripping from her face onto her pristine white dressing gown.

  Charles had gathered her in his arms, whispering and weeping. After ensuring that Caroline was in no imminent danger, Mr. Darcy had taken control. He’d ordered the house sealed, wi
th men at every exit. He’d looked outside and saw, by wonderful chance, that Mr. Abernathy’s carriage was waiting outside to take the physician back to London.

  Mr. Abernathy was sent for immediately. Mr. Darcy then had rushed into the hallway, stopping as soon as he saw Elizabeth, who held a weeping Jane in her arms.

  “Mrs. Allerton,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I asked you to remain in the kitchens, with the rest of the staff.”

  “You have no right to order me—”

  “Elizabeth, I want you safe!” The burst of anguish—and terror—on his face silenced her.

  He obviously loved Caroline. Immensely.

  And she should not be selfish or judgmental or stand in their way.

  “I—I just wanted to help,” Elizabeth said softly. Her eyes traveled to Caroline’s bedroom and Elizabeth gasped. “Look under the chair—what is that?”

  Mr. Darcy strode inside and retrieved a bloody knife, handing it to a footman who wrapped it in a towel.

  “Wait!” cried Elizabeth. “Is it a kitchen knife? Mrs. Greyson—the cook—was missing one last night.”

  Darcy nodded at Elizabeth, then ordered the footman bring the knife to Mrs. Greyson for identification. Dr. Abernathy appeared, disgruntled and still wearing his overcoat. But as soon as he entered the bedroom and saw Caroline, he called for hot water, linens, and a maid and footman to assist him.

  Then he banished Charles and everyone else from the bedroom. Jane withdrew from Lizzy’s embrace and threw herself into her husband’s arms. Elizabeth clasped her hands and tried not to feel…adrift.

  “Mrs. Bingley, did you find her like this?” Mr. Darcy said. “Did you see anyone, in her rooms or in the halls?”

  “Yes,” she cried, her face pressed against Charles’ shoulder. “But I’m such a fool. I saw a figure running down the hall. But I wasn’t wearing my spectacles, so I could not see him clearly!” She looked up, her tear-stained face earnest. “I’m so sorry, Charles. If it weren’t for my vanity, we could catch this horrible, horrible man!”

  “Was it a man?” Elizabeth said. “Are you certain?”

  All three of them looked at her in shock.

  “As if a woman could do such a thing!” Charles laughed nervously, looking to Mr. Darcy for confirmation of the ridiculousness of Lizzy’s suggestion.

  But Mr. Darcy, his face grim, simply ran his hand through his hair. “A woman’s sex does not prohibit her from engaging in evil,” he said. “Mrs. Bingley, was the figure you saw tall? Short? Do you think it wore skirts or trousers?”

  Jane wiped her face and took a deep breath. “I do believe the figure was tall. I would guess it was a man. But I could not see his face, not in any way.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded. “Charles, this is no longer a simple matter of thievery. You must send for more men, and we will scour the house and countryside until we find who has done this to your sister.”

  “What about Caroline?” Elizabeth could not help but ask. “Did she see her attacker?”

  Charles shrugged helplessly. “She will not speak.”

  “I must—I must check on her,” Jane said miserably.

  “I will send word to our neighbors and ask for help,” Charles said, kissing his wife’s hand. “Do not blame yourself, my love. We will find the man who did this and punish him most severely.”

  There was a great commotion downstairs, followed by footsteps on the stairs and shrieks. And then Mrs. Bennet, Kitty and Lydia appeared, holding their skirts and running toward the small group in the hallway—followed by Mrs. and Mr. Potter.

  “Oh dear, is it true?” Mrs. Bennet cried, coming to a stop outside Caroline’s doors. “Was Caroline attacked and maimed?”

  “Gracious, mother, no!” Elizabeth said.

  “She was attacked, yes,” Mr. Darcy said, not realized the effect his words would have on Mrs. Bennet’s nerves.

  Mrs. Bennet gave a great wail, her face turning first pink, then red. Lydia began to nonchalantly fan her mother with her hand, but her focus was on Mr. Darcy. “So was she maimed, too?” Lydia said with only a slightly gleeful grin.

  “She was not maimed,” Charles cried.

  “It’s only a cut on the forehead,” Mr. Darcy said, his eyes growing wide at the resulting cacophony of ladies’ screams.

  “I knew it!” Kitty cried. “One of the maids said she was covered in blood and it was dripping into her eyes!”

  “How terrible!” said Lydia, clapping her hands.

  “Let us move away from her door.” Elizabeth ushered the group back toward the stairs, and realizing that Mr. and Mrs. Potter had followed the Bennets.

  Her mother, sisters and Charles walked swiftly toward the stairs, stopping the Potters from venturing further into the family’s hall.

  “She was not maimed!” Kitty announced. “But she is terribly, terribly wounded!”

  Mrs. Potter let out a loud wail. “We are in danger, Elton!” she shrieked. “We must leave this cursed place at once!”

  Mrs. Bennet frowned at Mrs. Potter’s theatrical outburst, then decided to shout even louder. “Come, girls! We must pack. I cannot have any of you murdered, especially since none of you except Jane have given me grandbabies!”

  Elizabeth miraculously resisted covering her face with her hands, remaining still while her mother and sisters hurried back down the hallway toward their chambers. Mrs. Bennet stopped suddenly and shouted, “Come, Lizzy! Come! You will travel with me and Lydia to London!”

  “I am not leaving Jane,” Elizabeth said, though it would do no good to argue with her mother at this point—or point out that she herself had packed last night.

  “You will leave at once! I might force Jane and the children to come with us!” With that proclamation, Mrs. Bennet left, yelling instructions at Kitty and Lydia. Elizabeth turned to find Jane and Charles apologizing profusely to the Potters.

  “I am so terribly distraught,” Jane said gently, trying to calm Mrs. Potter. “Netherfield has never seen the like! Please know that typically we do not—”

  “I know nothing, except that my very life is in danger!” Mrs. Potter said, pulling herself up to her full height. She was covered in jewels today and nervously pulled on one of her many necklaces. “I am forced to wear all my jewels so that the thief cannot take more. And now this! Bleeding in a bedroom! We must leave at once.” She curtsied angrily, her long earrings clinking against a thick, jewel-encrusted choker. “Elton? Elton!”

  Mr. Potter sighed good-naturedly. “I’ll be right along, dear!”

  “I forbid you to leave me alone! I might perish!” she shrieked, rushing past a maid and knocking clean linens out of the poor girl’s arms.

  “I’m so sorry for all of this, Potter,” Charles said. “Believe me, I understand if you wish to sever our agreement after such madness.”

  Mr. Potter grinned widely at Charles. “Sever our agreement? Bingley, I insist you come visit me in London next month. I’m ordering all the papers drawn up.”

  “You…are?” Charles said, shock evident on his face. “Even after your wife fell in a river, and her diamonds were stolen and—and all of this just now?”

  “Of course!” Mr. Potter chortled and bowed at the group. “I’ve never attended such an entertaining house party! However will you top it next year?”

  He was still laughing as he followed his wife’s shrieks toward their chambers. All four of them stared in shock until he turned a corner and was gone from their sight.

  “Well, if my sister wasn’t senseless and bleeding, I’d say that was a success,” Charles sighed heavily. “I’ll send word to the neighbors. Jane, Caroline is in good hands. Can you check on the children?”

  “Yes, of course—”

  They conferred quickly with Mr. Darcy about the next steps for interrogating the household and guests, and then her sister and brother hurried off. Elizabeth was left alone with Mr. Darcy, who surprised her by leaning back against the wall, tilting his head toward the heavens, and sighing heavily.
It was a casual pose and showed an intimacy that she felt she should not share.

  “Before I say anything else, Mrs. Allerton, I want you to know I am not and never have been intimate with Caroline Doughton.” Mr. Darcy straightened and looked directly at her.

  Elizabeth felt her cheeks heat in shock. And pleasure.

  But—how could she trust him? After last night? Perhaps he was simply protecting Caroline’s reputation.

  She shook her head. “How can I believe you?”

  Mr. Darcy’s eyes widened in shock. “Because I said so.”

  “And Caroline said otherwise.”

  At her words, Mr. Darcy’s face lost its color. “She could not have.”

  “She did, Sir.”

  “She lied, Madam.”

  They stared at each other. Mr. Darcy’s cravat had blood on it, she realized for the first time.

  “I want to believe you—”

  “I want you to, as well. Elizabeth, I will not say the words now, covered in her blood, but I want so much more with you. You have to know that, by now.”

  “What I saw last night in the library,” she shook her head again, as if the motion could rid her of the memory. “I cannot get it out of my mind. And Mr. Gladwell assured me he saw and heard even more!”

  “Mr. Gladwell?” Mr. Darcy practically sneered. “Who is he to you? To me? To any of us? We don’t know the man, how could you trust him over me?”

  Elizabeth shook her head faintly. “Do I know you?”

  “Yes,” he said. His blue eyes were wide and full of hurt.

  “Where were you after the picnic?” she said. “You and Caroline both missed dinner. You both are always conveniently missing, at the same time. I must trust what I see, what my senses—and other people!—tell me. I cannot trust my heart—”

  She gasped and placed a hand over her mouth. Traitorous, foolish words.

  Mr. Darcy shook his head, then shrugged. “Blast it all,” he growled.

  He walked the five paces it took to reach her, walking so swiftly that she stumbled backwards against the wall. He did not touch her, but growled and put his hands on either side of her head, caging her against the wall.