The Indomitable Miss Elizabeth

by Jennifer Joy

  “Promise? If you have spoken a promise, it was not spoken to me.”

  Infuriating woman! He had repeated the promise so many times to himself, it was as real to him as if he had said the words aloud. And why had he been unable to voice them? Because she had prevented it by wanting more time! Blast it all! He had granted her time, and now he paid the consequence for giving it to her.

  "Thunder an’ turf, that deteriorated quickly.” Richard stood in front of the door to Tanner's inn, looking between him and Elizabeth, his arms folded over his chest and his feet planted widely in preparation for an attack. “Come inside before the two of you make more of a scene and add unnecessarily to your difficulties."

  If Richard continued his scolding, he would need more than just a wide stance to defend himself.

  Chapter 10

  Tanner took one glance at their party and, without a request for explanation, he led them into the private parlor Aunt Catherine had occupied the day before.

  He stood by the door with one eye looking out into the hall and the other trained on their group. “Just in case Her Majesty returns,” Tanner explained.

  Aunt Catherine was out? Good.

  Richard stood beside Tanner, cackling. They looked ridiculous guarding the door like that. Darcy resented them, but he could not ask them to leave lest he compromise Elizabeth yet again. Once had been more than enough.

  Looking at the source of his ire, he said, "You refuse to answer my question, Miss Elizabeth? Do you believe me so weak?"

  "Does it merit an answer?" She took a step forward and the wave of lavender reaching him nearly soothed his mood. Nearly, but not quite. It was not an appropriate scent for Elizabeth. Cinnamon, now … Wait, wait, she believed him a weakling. Such an accusation could not go unchallenged nor be distracted no matter how good she smelled.

  Breathing through his mouth (since it was much safer than his traitorous nose), he said, "It does. You have questioned my constancy by implying I might be persuaded to act contrary to my own wishes by my relatives and the society with which you equate them. Do you honestly believe me so weak-willed you fear I might succumb to their influence?"

  She did not back down, nor did she pause to think before she spoke. "You tell me. You have told me how poor a judge of character I am, and yet you have given me every reason to doubt you this morning."

  "And what is your purpose in coming here if it is not to interfere with my family's affairs?"

  Her nostrils flared and her lips thinned into a sharp line. "You assume I meant to interfere?"

  "Were you not attempting to do so? Is there any other reasonable explanation for you to walk alone into Meryton when you could have waited to travel by carriage with your family?"

  Her eyes narrowed. "You assume that because I prefer to walk alone, my sole purpose in coming into the village must be to interfere with your family? Are you still so proud you only think of how everything affects you? I apologize for my ignorance, but the last I checked, the sun and its planets do not revolve around Fitzwilliam Darcy."

  Darcy's temper darkened all the more when he heard chuckles from the ingrates guarding the door. It was time to put this discussion to rest.

  "If I did not know you to be the most stubborn, curious, judgmental … maddening woman of my acquaintance, I would not have to assume what I do. But I know you well enough to give up hope that you will stay out of what does not concern you. Why can you not come into the village and enjoy the militia parade like normal women?"

  Elizabeth's jaw dropped, her forehead furled, and Darcy sensed he was in trouble. He could have borne her wrath better than the hurt which next crossed her semblance. Her lip quivered. And he felt like a horse's rear end. Had he tried, he could not have acted like a worse brute.

  While Darcy attempted to form an acceptable apology, a difficult task from his lack of practice, Elizabeth spoke, "I will admit my purpose in coming into Meryton was to prevent a scene between my mother and your beloved cousin. It is clear to me now that you neither need nor appreciate my help, and so I will take my leave."

  She strode to the door, and Tanner and Richard moved out of her path. Pausing by Tanner, she said, "Please take care to keep Miss de Bourgh indoors. Perhaps her room, or one overlooking the street, would provide her a better view of the parade without exposing her to those who might poke their noses in others' affairs and bring Mr. Darcy more grief. We cannot have that, now, can we?"

  She left the room with her dignity intact and her head held high. Darcy wanted to kick himself.

  His brother and cousin did not help. As soon as the front door shut more firmly than was necessary, Richard exclaimed, "Darcy, you buffoon!"

  Tanner shook his head, expressing his disgust and pity as clearly as Richard voiced it. "You realize what you have done, do you not?" he asked.

  "It is worse than you know, Tanner. You did not hear what the simpleton said before we arrived here. Darcy, being the socially inept being he is, gave Miss Elizabeth every reason to doubt his attachment to her in favor of Anne."

  Darcy opened his mouth to contradict him. That had certainly not been his intention.

  Richard interrupted him, pointing a finger into his chest as he spoke. "Do you deny telling Miss Elizabeth that you came into Meryton with the express purpose of calling on Anne, placating our Aunt Catherine, and seeing to Anne's welfare?"

  Tanner groaned and sank into a chair. "You did not!"

  Richard nodded gravely. "Oh, yes, he did. Miss Elizabeth could not know how Darcy has been up since dawn writing letters to knowledgeable doctors, inquiring in such a way as not to raise suspicion about Anne's illness. She does not know what is involved because this numbskull did not tell her." Richard dropped into the seat beside Tanner and both of them glared at Darcy while shaking their heads in horrified disbelief.

  Darcy clung to the only shred of dignity remaining to him. "I could not very well discuss such a matter while we were in the square. If someone overheard, it could mean Anne's life."

  "And you did not think to tell her once we led you into this private room? Why do you think I stood by the door if it was not to prevent anyone — especially Her Holiness — from overhearing your conversation?" growled Tanner.

  "Communication is the key to a happy marriage, Darcy," Richard added in a self-righteous tone that chafed against Darcy's pride.

  "And you are suddenly an expert in marital bliss? What do you know of the subject?"

  "Obviously, I know much more than you do, you big oaf. I have not spent the last decade of my life in His Majesty's Army in vain. I know how to earn the trust of my men, and any woman I choose as my wife deserves the same courtesy I bestow on them. And more."

  "Any luck on that front?" Tanner asked in a casual tone.

  Richard grinned. "There is a certain lady who has caught my eye, and I shall pay a call on her as soon as I have seen Aunt Catherine to Netherfield Park."

  "Well done, man," Tanner smacked him on the arm.

  Darcy glared at them. "You two are pathetic."

  "Not so pathetic as you, little brother." Tanner rose to stand in front of him, resting his calloused hand on Darcy's shoulder. "Darcy, before you moved out to Bingley's estate, I listened to you ramble on in praise of Miss Elizabeth's independent spirit and strong mind. You praised her capableness as well as her strength under adversity."

  He could not contradict Tanner, though he wished to just to be contrary.

  Tanner continued. "Is it not ironic how the very qualities which have won your heart are the same which provoke you?"

  The last trace of Darcy's anger melted away, leaving him exposed. It was a horrible feeling. Only one thought brought him comfort. "I love her."

  "Would you have her change?"

  "Never!" he responded violently. "I love her as she is."

  "Then talk to her. Explain yourself. The only close male role model she has had is her father. She undoubtedly thinks you are as inconstant as he proved to be to Mrs. Bennet. As most men are."


  It pained him to think Elizabeth could compare the ardor of his affection to the fickle fancifulness of her father or the numerous accounts of philandering gentlemen she read about in the gossip columns of the newspaper, but Richard and Tanner were right. That he had caused her anguish worse than he was experiencing at that moment (for betrayal was infinitely worse than bruised pride), gave him the courage to leave the inn in search of her.

  A thundercloud rumbled as the drums of the militia began playing for the villagers crowding the sides of the streets. He had best make haste.

  Elizabeth slammed the door so hard, she hoped the glass would shatter into a million pieces. Like her heart.

  She stopped, taking note of how the streets crowded with people. People who would pity her if they suspected how she ached. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back.

  Lady Lucas stepped out of the shop, leaving the door open. Elizabeth must especially control herself in front of her friends. She would have difficulty concealing the depth of her disappointment to Charlotte and her mother.

  She had thought Mr. Darcy better than most high born gentlemen. He was honorable still … perhaps to a fault. Was that the real issue? Could it be that his loyalty to his family was greater than his loyalty to her? Was she asking for too much?

  Her mind told her she desired more than a woman should expect, that her dreams were unrealistic and fanciful. But her heart demanded undivided love. She could not settle for less without losing a part of herself.

  One thing was for certain. She could not stand in front of Mr. Tanner's inn any longer. He had said he expected Lady Catherine to return at any moment and, with the sounds of the drums approaching, Elizabeth knew she would arrive sooner rather than later. She had no desire to see the great lady. The ruiner of her happiness. No, that was not fair. Lady Catherine was guilty of nothing more than what her own mother was — seeing that her daughter marry well. It was all Mr. Darcy's fault.

  Elizabeth looked across the square to the corner where Aunt Philips' house stood. Lydia already waved her handkerchief. While Aunt Philips shared in Lydia’s excitement, her remaining three sisters stood like statues beside them.

  Jane was deep in conversation with Mr. Bingley, who pretended to include Uncle Philips in their conversation, but obviously only had ears for Jane. Of course, the growing noise of the crowd and the marching men with their flutes and drums meant he had to lean close to her mouth in order to hear anything she wished to communicate. He would feel her breath on his ear just as she had felt Mr. Darcy's breath tickling her neck when they had been trapped in Mr. Bingley's library. Elizabeth sighed.

  Mother was nowhere in sight, no doubt spending too long at the haberdashery. Elizabeth really must find her before something dreadful happened. She crossed the street before the militia blocked her passage, covering her head and ducking when the sky cracked like a rifle. A fat raindrop plunked on the rim of her bonnet. The threatening clouds of the morning could not choose a better moment to keep their promise of doom and gloom. Elizabeth welcomed the storm.

  Mother was not amongst the crowds lined along the sides of the streets. Elizabeth squeezed through the length of the footpath, her concern that Mother had slipped through her fingers to cause problems with Miss de Bourgh weighing heavily on her mind. Looking for an opening to make her way into the haberdashery, Elizabeth had to pass directly by Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. They pretended to be so consumed with the parade, they did not see her. It was for the best. Elizabeth had no desire to exchange niceties with them when it was of the utmost importance she find Mother.

  The drums and flutes grew deafeningly loud and it was a relief when she ducked inside the shop.

  Nobody was there to greet her, but it was no matter. It would take no time at all to see if Mother had fallen asleep in the cushioned chair in the corner. She had done it before, but it would be shocking for her to sleep through the militia’s parting parade.

  Moving through the room quickly, Elizabeth saw the toe of Mother’s slipper peeking out from below a collection of peacock and ostrich feathers.

  “Mama, I have been looking for you,” Elizabeth said, stepping forward as quickly as her exhale of relief. And promptly freezing at the sight before her.

  Her limbs too numb to cover her mouth when she screamed, Elizabeth’s head swirled with the indelible image of blood dripping over Mother’s glassy, unblinking eyes staring across the wood plank floor where she lay.

  Chapter 11

  Darcy opened the shop door just as a woman screamed. Not the sudden, high-pitched shriek of one who had suffered a fright, but the gut-wrenching, heart-wringing bellow of one suffering great distress. It was a sound he would not be able to forget. It had come from Elizabeth.

  Running to her, he saw her profile. Her hands covered her mouth and tears spilled down her fingers. When she shifted her weight, he rushed forward to catch her. Her face was ghostly white, and yet she did not move her vision away from the corner. Nor did she swoon as he had expected. Darcy followed her gaze.

  "Dear God." His stomach roiled in a wave of nausea. A trail of blood pooled near Elizabeth’s feet, the trail of scarlet leading to Mrs. Bennet’s bludgeoned forehead.

  He reached out to Elizabeth with every intention of turning her away, but in one swift whirl, she faced his open arms. Stepping forward to offer her comfort, encouraged when her outstretched hand rested against his chest, he promptly jumped away when Elizabeth doubled over and covered his recently washed, pressed breeches and polished boots with bile. And he had thought she would faint.

  Cursing himself for not knowing better, Darcy pulled Elizabeth into his arms, brushing her hair away from her face in case her heaving stomach should find more contents to empty. He could wash later. He would set things right with her later. For now, he must simply hold her.

  He offered her comfort and a clean handkerchief. When her body trembled, he pressed her firmly against his chest, offering all he had in the way of support. Lord knew she needed it. The arrangements, the selfish mourners who would seek her out when she was the one who must grieve her loss, the filling of the time and space the deceased had once occupied … all of death’s responsibilities would fall on her quivering shoulders. And not just any death. A murder.

  Mere seconds passed, but everything had changed. Darcy pulled her with him closer to the window, seeking relief from the heaviness surrounding them. The smell of lavender in her hair was a welcome alternative to the acrid aroma clinging to his legs and pooling on the floor. On any other day, the perfume lingering in her curls would have scrambled his senses as they nearly had before. But not now. If anything, her nearness sharpened his awareness. Mrs. Bennet had been murdered. There was another killer in Meryton. And the most obvious suspect was his own Aunt Catherine.

  Looking around Mrs. Bennet, he focused on what he could see. What could have been used against her as a weapon? Something heavy. The oak tables were heavy, but who could have lifted one and struck Mrs. Bennet as the killer had? The inkwells resting around the legs of the table did not look substantial enough. Surrounded as she was by feathers, magazines, and embroidered cushions covering assorted pieces of furniture, not one item on the shelves struck him as a likely weapon. He looked again. What was missing?

  Creaking floorboards alerted Darcy to the presence of others. So intently had Darcy been examining the area around Mrs. Bennet, he had not noticed Mr. Burk creep up behind them.

  Mr. Burk tugged on his side whiskers, his mouth wide open, and his eyes visibly examining the state of his shop floor. Did Darcy imagine it, or was he more concerned that the blood not stain the planks than in the loss of Mrs. Bennet’s life?

  "Mr. Burk, this has been done recently. Who else was in the shop before Miss Elizabeth arrived?" Darcy asked, not bothering to hide the bite in his tone. Mr. Burk continued to examine his floor in a shocked stupor. He offered no condolences. Nor did he appear overly aghast.

  Elizabeth stepped out of Darcy’s embrace, leaving
his arms empty and his chest cold. She dabbed at the beads of sweat covering her blanched face with trembling hands. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bright. He longed to reach out to her. To touch her. But he could see it would not be welcome by the rigid set of her chin. Her determined face beamed with purpose, and her stony glare rested on Mr. Burk.

  Rubbing his hands over his face, Mr. Burk said, "Nobody will want to enter my shop when this is found out. I will be ruined. And now, I will never receive payment—" He cut himself short, but his meaning had been clear enough when his eyes flickered between the lifeless figure of Mrs. Bennet and her irate daughter.

  Elizabeth sucked air in through her gritted teeth, preparing to give an answer she might later regret.

  "You will get what you are owed," Darcy growled. "Now, answer my question. Who else was in the shop? Whom did you see?"

  A bead of sweat trickled down Mr. Burk's temple. "Nobody. Nobody was here besides me and the laborers unloading the cart." He straightened his posture and clasped his hands together. "Once the parade began, I went to the back room to arrange some recently arrived tables and chairs from London. I swear I did not know of Mrs. Bennet’s presence, nor that of anyone else."

  “Are the men still here?” asked Darcy.

  “No. They just departed.”

  The floor creaked and a flurry of female voices reached them from behind the counter.

  “Who is there?” asked Elizabeth, moving closer to the source of the noise.

  There was nothing Darcy did not wish her to do more than involve herself in another murder. Especially when her mother was the victim. However, he could not stop her. He knew that. Cold, impersonal facts were easier to manage than grief. But Darcy knew grief too well. Elizabeth might be able to put it off for a time — time enough to catch the murderer, if he knew her at all — but it would return with a vengeance and demand her consideration. One never forgot the loss of a mother. All that was left for him was to do all in his power to protect her and lessen her struggles.