Chasing Elizabeth

by Jennifer Joy

  “Really?” Elizabeth interjected, holding her tongue to avoid overwhelming Charlotte with all the questions she wanted to ask.

  “He has been quieter than usual, surlier. He wavers between snapping at us for no cause at all to apologizing profusely. It is disconcerting.”

  Elizabeth contemplated how to steer the conversation away from Charlotte’s eldest brother to the topic in which she was most interested — horses. “How strange,” she acknowledged.

  “I have given the matter much consideration, and the only satisfactory explanation is that John resents George for always coming to the rescue when he is the one to inherit.”

  “He has never troubled himself over it before,” Elizabeth said absently. She did not wish to seem inconsiderate by changing the subject when Charlotte clearly wished to speak of her brother.

  “True, but we have never been so close to losing Lucas Lodge before either. And now, it seems that whole affair has been resolved. While my father carries on as if all is well no matter what befalls us, George is too responsible to invest in a thoroughbred and trainer unless he had sufficient funds to cover the cost. My hope is that this turn of fortune has been extreme enough to awaken John’s conscience. He has to face his own deficiencies, but he will be a better man for it.”

  Elizabeth could not count how many times she had wished the same for her older brother. But he had not learned from his scrapes, and he had paid for his foolishness with his life.

  “For all of your sakes, I pray you are correct, Charlotte. Are they collecting the horse in London to bring here?” Elizabeth hoped her redirection was not too abrupt.

  “Father mentioned something about the races. He wanted Mama, Maria, and I to join them. It is said the Prince Regent will be there, and you know how my father never misses an opportunity to attend to royalty. But John argued that my presence at the races would ruin my prospects. George was hesitant for us to join them, too.”

  Elizabeth gasped. “But ladies attend the races all the time! Why should they not wish for you to go?”

  “John considers it the height of vulgarity to discuss financial affairs with anyone, much less with the women in his father’s household. Since this is a venture for gain, he does not wish to draw attention to it by having us underfoot. George agreed with him.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Why should a lady not be concerned with her family’s fortune if it affected her future? “I am happy to hear Lucas Lodge is no longer in danger, but I do not understand how the reverse in circumstances could happen so quickly.”

  “Nor I, to be honest. It is hardly fair. The gentlemen of the house hide the affairs which most affect the women who occupy a goodly portion of our time in their houses. They seem to believe we are immune to concern regarding our security and the stability of our residence.” Charlotte smoothed her skirts. “Perhaps John learned his lesson on seeing how close he was to losing Lucas Lodge for us all. Perhaps his luck has changed.”

  Her choice of words captured Elizabeth’s attention. “You do not believe in luck. It is too romantic a notion.”

  “All the same, I am grateful for our turn of fortune — whatever it was.” With a knowing smile, Charlotte asked, “And what of your romantic notions of spies? Does Mr. Darcy meet your expectations?”

  Chuckling at her own whimsy, Elizabeth said, “I was often in Mr. Darcy’s company at Netherfield Park, and while I admit he would make a dashing spy, I cannot fathom how such an activity would lead him here.” She said no more, not wishing to mention his debt.

  Charlotte leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “You make a handsome pair. I thought it at the assembly when I saw you conversing with each other.”

  Elizabeth’s face caught fire (or, at least, it felt like it!) “He is easy to converse with, and I will admit I enjoy his company.” She liked Mr. Darcy. She liked him very much, and unless she could find a reason to entice him back to Netherfield, she had little hope of ever seeing him again.

  The realization smarted too much for her to share with Charlotte, and Elizabeth soon bid her farewells to her friend before she revealed her melancholy.

  Mind muddled and heart-sore, Elizabeth departed from Lucas Lodge. She had sought clarity and clues, and now, she realized her folly. Mr. Darcy would not come back to Hertfordshire no matter what she found out.

  “Miss Elizabeth!” called Mr. Lucas as she crossed the drive. He dismounted his horse, an elegant stallion Elizabeth did not recognize.

  She bobbed a curtsy, hoping she would not be kept long. Elizabeth was in no mood for conversation, and she had so little in common with John Lucas, she could not fathom why he had stopped her.

  He bowed, swooping his hat off his head and shuffling it between his hands until Elizabeth longed to snatch the item away from him. His eyes widened, and it was then Elizabeth noted how feverish his complexion appeared. Charlotte had said he had been acting strangely.

  Thinking it best to dismiss herself, Elizabeth curtsied again. “Good day to you, Mr. Lucas. I am expected back at Netherfield Park.”

  He reached out as if he would stop her, but quickly retracted his hand. “Be careful whom you trust, Miss Elizabeth. There are those who carelessly put a price on life, and they do not realize what they will lose until they are called upon to settle their debts,” he said in a rush of agitated breath.

  She stood frozen in place. He was warning her? He had hardly uttered more than a few sentences to Elizabeth directly in her entire lifetime, and his agitated manners combined with his choice of words sent chills through her. Price on life? Settling debts?

  He could only be referring to Mr. Darcy. What did John know? Seeking more information, Elizabeth said, “I do not understand.”

  Mr. Lucas shuffled his hat again. “These are dangerous times, and the people you are inclined to trust might very well betray you.”

  Elizabeth balked at the insinuation. Mr. Darcy was not the sort to betray a trust. By his own reluctant admission, Mr. Darcy had told her of his senseless, outlandish bet. It had pained him to reveal the truth to her. Was that not proof of his honesty?

  Was it fair of her to alter her regard based on one poorly made decision when she was far from perfect? Or were her emotions too involved for her to see Mr. Darcy for anything other than what she wanted him to be?

  Oh, confound this wretched doubt!

  The breeze ruffled Mr. Lucas’ disheveled hair. Charlotte was right. He was not quite himself. Given his vague warnings, agitated state, and feverish complexion, Elizabeth thought it prudent to continue on to Netherfield rather than press for more details. “Charlotte told me you will accompany your father and brother to London on the morrow. I wish you a safe journey.”

  The pained look he gave her moved her to continue. “I pray all will turn out well.”

  He frowned. “It will be well. In the end. Very well indeed. I thank you, Miss Elizabeth. Good day to you.” Spinning on his boot, he walked away, smacking his hat against Lady Lucas’ rosebush and sending several leaves fluttering to the ground.

  Chapter 18

  Elizabeth crawled on her hands and knees on the floor, looking under the bed, the armoire, and checking under the rugs. “I am losing my mind, Emily.”

  The maid closed the trunk and latched the lid. “You will not find it on the floor, Miss.”

  Standing and brushing off her hands with a chuckle, Elizabeth said, “To be sure, I do not remember Mr. Darcy returning my brooch, but I cannot imagine him keeping it either, so I must assume he left it behind.” The mention of Mr. Darcy brought on an onslaught of mixed emotions Elizabeth would rather not think of right then. She was about to return home with Jane before their mother’s appointed time. Elizabeth would need all of her fortitude.

  “He did not leave it with me, and Mrs. Nicholls assured me he did not leave anything with her either,” Emily reassured her again.

  “He must have left it with Wilson, then.” It was the only explanation that made sense. The others, Elizabeth had to admit, wer
e not nearly so plausible. She could not imagine Mr. Darcy purposely keeping her brooch as a token to remember her by. While the idea appealed to her vanity, she could not rationalize turning Mr. Darcy into a thief of feminine fripperies. Especially when he knew how much she valued the item. Its worth was not so much intrinsic as it was symbolic of her desire to see the world.

  Mr. Darcy had already seen much of the world and could have no use for it. He clearly had no use for her. Now, that was a dismal thought if ever she had one.

  He had probably forgotten it in the deep pockets of the greatcoat he had worn the night he had—

  Elizabeth stopped the thought before she could finish, though that did nothing to stop warmth from enveloping her whole body. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his breath tickling her lips. She fanned her face with her hand until Emily gave her a funny look.

  “Miss, are you certain you wish to leave today?” she asked.

  “Jane and I are decided.”

  Emily clutched her hands together. “It is only that … perhaps Mrs. Bennet is correct in assuming a connection.”

  Elizabeth shook her head vehemently. “Jane does not wish to be a burden to Mr. Bingley when he and his family are still recovering. Longbourn is not far, and he has already said he will call as soon as he has strength enough to ride a horse.”

  “I was not speaking of her.” Emily looked up, and Elizabeth felt the color drain from her cheeks.

  She could easily dismiss Mr. Darcy’s attention by pretending her imagination had exaggerated it. But Emily had been there. She had seen. Elizabeth could not pretend she had not come a whisper of a breath away from her first kiss.

  Mr. Darcy had done well to step away. Had he kissed her in front of his valet and her maid, he would have had to honor his attentions with a proposal. And while there were worse things in life than marrying Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth had not yet had enough adventure to be willing to settle into the life the wife of a gentleman of the first circles would be expected to live — no matter how willing she had been at the moment to receive his attentions. Besides, she needed to be certain her attraction to him stemmed from a deeper source.

  Now that Mr. Darcy was miles away, he might regret his actions. Were Elizabeth as accomplished in the manipulative arts as her mother wished her to be, a word would secure her engagement. But she could not do that to Mr. Darcy any more than she could to herself. She did not want her marriage to come about by accident or force. She wanted love — true, constant, ardent love. The kind that grew stronger through tribulation and deeper over the passing years.

  She wanted to marry a man who would ask her to be his wife so that he would not have to suffer a day apart from her side; who would keep her awake late just so he could converse more with her; who valued her opinions as much as his own; who would steal glances at her in a crowded room and seek out her company because he truly enjoyed being in her presence. All things her mother would deprive Elizabeth of if she knew how easily she could secure Mr. Darcy for her son-in-law.

  “Please, Emily, do not tell Mama. Please promise me you will not.” Elizabeth wrung her gloves in her hands.

  “I will not breathe a word to her, I promise, Miss,” Emily said, one hand over her heart. “Oh, but the way Mr. Darcy looked at you, Miss, it was like to make me melt.”

  “Let us speak no more of it,” Elizabeth mumbled. Mr. Darcy was gone, and there was little chance she would see him again unless he returned to Netherfield Park.

  The footmen came to take her trunk down to Mr. Bingley’s carriage.

  Mr. Bingley and Jane were out in the hall. They both stepped away from each other and jerked their hands back with telling blushes.

  Wilson, who emerged from his room just then, reached out to steady Mr. Bingley, who was still weak.

  “Thank you, Wilson,” Mr. Bingley said, “Are you certain you, too, must leave today? I had hoped Darcy would return.”

  “I am certain he would have liked that, Mr. Bingley,” Wilson said, his eyes flickering to meet Elizabeth’s before returning to his host, “but I am afraid it is impossible.”

  Impossible was such a definite word.

  After a brief visit to Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley’s rooms to express their gratitude for extending their hospitality in Jane’s distress, and, in turn, wishing the ladies prompt recoveries, Elizabeth and Jane joined Wilson at the bottom of the stairs.

  Mr. Bingley, kept at the top of the stairs by his vigilant valet lest he should attempt to navigate them in his weak state, waved from the top of the landing.

  “Pray return any time,” he invited, his enthusiastic voice echoing in the entrance hall.

  Pink-cheeked, Jane curtsied. “We would be delighted to. You are always welcome at Longbourn, as well.”

  Her boldness made Elizabeth wonder how many times Jane and Mr. Bingley had “chanced” upon each other once they were recovered enough to leave their sickrooms. Evidently, they had made good use of their time for Jane to feel comfortable enough to speak so invitingly.

  Wilson handed them into the carriage.

  Taking advantage of her opportunity, Elizabeth asked, “By any chance, did Mr. Darcy leave my brooch with you to return to me?”

  “I am afraid he did not, Miss Elizabeth. I will inquire of the other servants before I depart for London.” He turned to the front of the coach, extending his hand for the coachman to pull him up and revealing a pistol hidden under his coat.

  Right. How could she have forgotten? Wilson had stayed behind to ensure her and Jane’s safe delivery to Longbourn. Elizabeth did not feel herself in danger (the danger, apparently, being meant for Mr. Darcy and not for her), but she did feel better knowing she and her sister had Wilson’s protection.

  Was Mr. Darcy safe from harm? Had he found the henchman and acquired the proof he needed against the unsavory gentleman? Elizabeth’s stomach tied into knots. So many things could go wrong chasing after a lawless thug with no respect for life. A ruffian such as that would think nothing of shooting Mr. Darcy, picking his pockets, and leaving him in the street for dead. Things of that sort happened all the time in London. She read about them in the papers.

  Before she had a chance to prepare herself to face her mother, they were at Longbourn.

  Wilson handed them out. Elizabeth wanted to ask him about Mr. Darcy, but what could he know?

  The valet smiled. “I will inquire about your brooch, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “Thank you, Wilson. I hope you have a safe journey to London.”

  He nodded, then ensured the trunks were gently handed down to carry inside Longbourn.

  Mama burst out of the house, handkerchief in hand. Aside from fans, handkerchiefs were her favored accessories. One could dab delicately at the eyes to suggest tears, or drop it as a means to command attention, or wave it about like a victory flag. So versatile was the handkerchief. Mama waved hers about when she saw Mr. Bingley’s carriage sitting in her drive.

  Then, when she correctly discerned that it was only the gentleman’s carriage and not the gentleman himself come to convey Jane home so that he might request an audience with Mr. Bennet in which he would ask for his blessing on their forthcoming union, she began dabbing at her eyes.

  Jane and Elizabeth looped their arms through their mother’s, encouraging her with gentle pulls to enter the house.

  “Where is Mr. Bingley? Mr. Bennet is at his leisure and quite able to see the gentleman.” Mama looked between Jane and Elizabeth, adding as an afterthought, “Or Mr. Darcy, perhaps? He is not so agreeable, but he has more carriages than Mr. Bingley.”

  There being no reason to delay the inevitable, Elizabeth said, “Neither of us is engaged, Mama, but Jane is fully recovered. Are you not happy to see her well after her horrible illness?”

  Their mother’s face scrunched. She whined, “I would much rather have seen her engaged. Did you not read my instructions? You were not to return before the end of a full week. I sent enough gowns. I can understand this willful rebellion
from you, Lizzy, but I cannot believe it of my sweet, beautiful Jane.” She hid behind her handkerchief and sobbed.

  Jane embraced her, giving Elizabeth an apologetic look over their mother’s bowed, weeping form as she led her into the drawing room.

  Papa joined them, but he was little consolation to his grieving wife. “There, there, my love. No harm is done.”

  “No harm, you say, Mr. Bennet? Oh, my poor, poor nerves! My heart! Such spasms! Lydia, bring Mr. Jones’ draught! Hurry before I am overcome! Oh, I fear it is my time! Dear Lord in the Heavens, help my daughters settle where I have failed them!” she cried out in another fit of sobs and wails which lasted until the calming draught the apothecary had given her for such occasions worked its effect. Snivels turned to snores and tears to spittle soaking her pillow.

  Father lit his pipe and called for tea. “I am happy to have my two sensible daughters restored to Longbourn. Your mother has talked of nothing but lace, wedding gowns, and cake since you left. I daresay all of Meryton expects to hear an engagement announced or a reading of the banns on Sunday.” He chuckled. “I am sorry for you, Jane, but your mother is resilient. She will find a way to come out triumphant or, more likely, she will forget the shame of her presumption altogether when she finds another unmarried gentleman upon whom to cast her ambitions.”

  He asked about Netherfield Park, and Jane spoke kindly of everyone in the household, making sure to mention the great care they took to see to her health even while they were ill.

  Elizabeth’s gaze wandered to the window. It had started to rain. Was it raining in London as well? She imagined Mr. Darcy roaming through narrow streets and alleys in a relentless search for the henchman. It still bothered her that he had gambled an exorbitant sum. And yet, it must be true if Mr. Lucas knew of it. Perhaps there was more to the matter than Mr. Darcy had hurriedly explained—

  “Lizzy?” her father’s voice interrupted.

  She blinked, clearing her vision and momentarily disoriented until she saw Papa looking at her with his bushy white eyebrows raised in question marks. “Yes?” she said.