Chasing Elizabeth

by Jennifer Joy

  “You did not hear my question?”

  She had not heard anything at all. “I am afraid not.”

  “Jane told me you were an exemplary nurse. I suppose Netherfield offered enough to explore within its walls to keep you occupied?” he asked.

  What could she answer? She could not tell the truth — that her time at Netherfield had been full of adventure and mystery … and Mr. Darcy. “The library was woefully neglected, an oversight Mr. Bingley assured me he means to put to right.”

  Father bunched his cheeks and chewed on his pipe. “Yes, Mr. Bingley seems to be of the sort who is easily distracted from books. However, I suspect he is a quick student of experience and chooses to learn by observing others. I imagine he is unafraid of a bit of trial-and-error, but does so only when the stakes are small, otherwise he would have purchased an estate rather than lease one. It is a recommendation to his caution.”

  Stakes. Caution. Elizabeth knew it was accepted — expected even — for gentlemen to gamble. But she never would have put Mr. Darcy in the same lot as Beau Brummel and Scrope Davies.

  Could she trust a man who admitted to losing such a large sum? Who gambled away a fortune?

  “Lizzy? Are you well?” her father asked.

  Elizabeth blinked. She had been staring out of the window again.

  “You keep sighing,” he said.

  “I am sorry. I am only tired, and the rain makes me restless.” Tired was not the right word. Perplexed was more suitable. Consumed, better still.

  “Understandable, I daresay, my dear girl. You have been too long away from Longbourn, but now that you are home, all will be well.”

  That time, Elizabeth noticed the sigh escape her. Tempest was lost to her. The stables at Lucas Lodge were forbidden her. Mr. Darcy was gone. And, once again, she was stuck at Longbourn.

  Chapter 19

  Darcy paced in the front parlor, avoiding the mirror every time he passed it. He was not so adept at tying his cravat as Wilson was, and every look at the uneven folds and creases reminded him why his valet was not with him at Darcy House.

  Elizabeth.

  His cravat reminded him of Elizabeth. As did the preserves on the breakfast table that morning. As did every bookshop he passed. And the copies of Mr. Pinkerton’s books he had purchased the day before. And every blue riding habit.

  Darcy saw Elizabeth everywhere, and his heart grew heavier every time it was not her. Georgiana had noticed when he had called at Matlock House. She noticed everything.

  It was Tuesday, now, and unless Wilson had suffered an accident, he ought to be arriving soon. Better a miserable man with a neat cravat than a miserable man with a crooked one.

  Darcy shoved his hands through his hair. His plan was not working — not in the way he had needed. He was closer to finding the source of the Lucases’ new fortune, and he was more convinced than ever it would lead him to The Four Horsemen … but how could he keep his mind on his mission when his thoughts constantly turned to Elizabeth?

  What he would give to hear her laugh right now or see her bright smile.

  He shook his head and resumed pacing. He would not hear her laughter anytime soon. She was safe at Longbourn, where Mr. Bennet would ensure she would stay — like a princess held captive in a tower waiting for her knight in shining armor to carry her away on a grand adventure.

  Darcy chuckled brittlely at his error. The Elizabeth he knew would wait for nobody. She would find a way to scale the walls. She would find a horse and ride to her freedom without help from anyone. He hoped she would … someday … so long as it did not happen right now … so long as she did not come to London or anywhere near him.

  No, Mr. Bennet would keep her at Longbourn. Elizabeth was safe.

  He would catch The Four Horsemen red-handed, and he would return to Netherfield Park to restore Elizabeth’s brooch to her. Darcy had forgotten it was in his greatcoat pocket until he had ridden several miles past Meryton. If she did not despise him for his abrupt departure and his many secrets, perhaps she would forgive him when he returned her treasured brooch….

  He stopped. A commotion outside his bedchamber door and the familiar step-drag sound of Wilson’s walk alerted him that his carriage and valet had finally arrived.

  Darcy opened his door before Wilson knocked.

  The good man winced at the sight of Darcy’s cravat, and he immediately went about the business of untying and refolding it as he gave his report. “There were no sightings of anyone out of place at Netherfield Park, though the footman and gardener you installed at the house know to remain alert. Mr. Bingley insisted the ladies use his coach instead of yours, but since it was arranged yesterday, I was able to hide the usual munitions in his carriage without being noticed.”

  “Very good. Did Bingley’s coachman give you any trouble?”

  “I had a word with him before we departed. Like most of the servants out in the carriage house and stables, he knew about the shot at your hat, so he was obliging when I asked to ride with him up top for the safety of the Bennet ladies.”

  “He did not ask further questions?”

  “Not after Mr. Bingley made such a fuss about seeing to Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth’s comfort.”

  God bless Bingley. Darcy had hated to leave his friend, but he had little option when Elizabeth was endangered because of him. “Bingley is recovered? The rest of his household as well?”

  Wilson stepped back to allow Darcy to admire his handiwork in the mirror. He was now a miserable man with a neat cravat.

  The footmen came in carrying Darcy’s trunk, and Wilson saw to its placement. Once the servants had left, Wilson said, “They are recovering nicely. Mr. Bingley will call at Longbourn as soon as he is strong enough to make it down the stairs and atop a horse. No later than Saturday, I suspect. Not a day more.”

  Would that he was free to call on whomever he wished. Jealousy gave Darcy’s thoughts a bitter turn. He had better focus on what he must do rather than on what he could not. “You saw nothing suspicious around Longbourn?” he asked.

  “No, Sir. Nothing.”

  “And … and Miss … Elizabeth?” he asked, stuttering over her name. “Was she…?” Darcy could not find a way to appropriately finish his question when Wilson could not possibly know what he burned to hear confirmed. Did Elizabeth think of him at all, as he thought of her?

  Wilson squeezed Darcy’s shoulder. “I left her well and safe with her father. She was, however, saddened at the loss of her brooch.”

  Darcy grimaced. “It was in my greatcoat pocket.”

  “Too bad it is too valuable to entrust with the post, or you could send it to her directly,” Wilson said with a glint in his eye.

  “I could send one of my messengers…” Darcy mused, finding the solution both practical and entirely disagreeable.

  “You could. But you will not.” Wilson shook out a dress shirt.

  Darcy sank onto the nearest chair, pressing his fingers against his temples.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a question of a personal nature, Mr. Darcy?”

  “What could it hurt? You see a great deal too much as it is.”

  Wilson draped a waistcoat over the lid of the trunk. “It is why you employed me, and it is because of my gratitude, I wish to see you happy when all this is done.”

  “I am happy enough,” Darcy quipped half-heartedly. Happiness had never left him so dissatisfied and hopeless.

  Wilson raised his eyebrows but did not contradict him. Instead, he continued unpacking the trunk. “You have sacrificed your happiness for years. For so long, in fact, you have convinced yourself that you can only be happy at Pemberley.”

  “Because it is true. It is where I was last happiest.” Darcy pulled out his compass, turning it in his hand. But instead of the calm it usually restored, Darcy became more acutely aware of an incompleteness. He turned it again in his hand to the same effect.

  Wilson hung the greatcoat up, brushing the capes until he found what Darcy had left
in the pocket. He smiled at the colorful item and nodded as if it represented the solution to Darcy’s dilemma. In a way, it was as much of the solution as it was the problem. Holding the brooch out to Darcy, Wilson said softly, “All the same, it seems you might have found happiness elsewhere. In someone.”

  Darcy rubbed his chest. Happiness was a dangerous subject for men like him. He grabbed the brooch, the bright mosaic pieces uneven under his thumb, unlike his smooth compass. He and Elizabeth were too different. She craved the life from which he longed to retire. She wanted an escape from her home, and all he ever wanted was to return to Pemberley. How could he ever make her happy?

  The ache deepened. Hope was a double-edged sword. One side made a man soar. The other sent him plunging into the depths of despair. The Four Horsemen had escaped his capture before. What if they escaped yet again? Darcy could not think of a future with Elizabeth while those wicked men were still a threat. And he would rather die than endanger her any more than he already had.

  “You know the rules, Wilson. I cannot risk the lives of the people I … greatly esteem … to suit my own wishes. It would be selfish.”

  “When this is over? What then?”

  Placing Elizabeth’s brooch in the secret drawer of his writing desk, Darcy stared at the monogram on his compass. Home is where the heart is. Therein lay his predicament. His heart was no longer at Pemberley.

  The following morning, Richard walked into Darcy’s study without so much as a warning from the butler.

  Dropping unceremoniously onto a chair and stretching his legs out before him, Richard grimaced. “Why are you here when your assignment is in Hertfordshire?”

  Darcy turned the ledger he had been pouring over for the past few hours and pushed it toward Richard. “An informant in Meryton disclosed to me that Sir William recently came into a large sum of money. I am here to trace its origins.”

  Richard sat forward, all attention. “This is from the bank? How did you get this?”

  “You know I cannot reveal my sources.”

  “Right, right. I am merely astonished. This is a quick bit of work, Darcy,” Richard said, running his finger down the ledger.

  Darcy pointed at the pages. “As you see, several deposits were made into an account with the name Smith. Not the most clever alias, but unless someone were searching for something unusual, it would easily go unnoticed. One of my contacts is inquiring into the true identity of the account holder. I am convinced it is Sir William’s and that the funds are coming from The Four Horsemen.”

  “Four deposits of equal amounts to a John Smith? I should say you are onto something, Darcy. You said you learned this from your informant in Hertfordshire?”

  Darcy nodded. If Richard knew his greatest source of information was a curious female, he would pull Darcy off the case quicker than he could draw his pistol. Richard had too recently lost an agent whose head had been turned by a clever lady working for The Four Horsemen. Apparently, the lady had not been completely devious. Her body had been dredged out of the Thames two days after the agent was found stabbed to death and left in a pile of refuse outside a pub by the river.

  Richard rubbed his chin. “I am impressed you were able to gain the confidence of an informant so quickly when Sir William has the advantage of being a local with an established reputation. How did you manage it?”

  “I prefer not to reveal my methods.” Again, Darcy had to give credit to Elizabeth. However, falling in love with the best friend of the villain’s daughter was not something he cared to admit to his prying cousin.

  Darcy’s breath caught in his throat. He loved her. He loved Elizabeth.

  “If this person is a reliable source of information, do you think you might recruit him? We will need—”

  “Absolutely not!” Darcy exclaimed too passionately. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he added, “That is, I have come to know this person well enough to recognize that … his … value would be wasted in the field.”

  Rubbing his chin still, Richard said, “You will be a difficult one to replace.”

  “There are other gentlemen more than willing to take my place.”

  “Too many of them want notoriety. After all, what is the use of being a hero if nobody knows about it? Your type is rare, Darcy.”

  “What of you?” As much as Darcy wanted out from under the thumb of the war office, he dearly wished it for Richard, too.

  “Ah, as for that, my mother has made it clear to me that she will see me settle before I am thirty years of age … or else.”

  “That is this year.”

  “And well I know it,” Richard grumbled.

  “Do not fret. When the right lady enters your life, you will know it.” Darcy had never put much credence in such romantic notions before, but he was a believer now. His attraction to Elizabeth had deepened with all the strength and subtlety of a rafter beam to the head.

  Richard looked up at him.

  “Or so I have been told,” Darcy added quickly, pulling the ledger back to him. “Until this business is done, let us not speak of mundane affairs. We have work to do.”

  Richard sighed. “Yes. There is always work to do.” He looked so tired. So weary.

  Darcy knew the feeling. He had been jaded before he had met Elizabeth. She had reminded him of how joyous life could be. He missed her vivacity, her spark.

  Pushing himself up, Richard said, “I will leave you to it, then. Keep me informed of your findings so I can be ready should you require me and more men.” Walking to the door, he turned, adding, “And Darcy, like you, I am ready for this sordid business to be done. We cannot let these devilish rascals roam at large. This time, we must capture them, or we will never gain another advantage. The war with France is nothing compared to the enemy we face within our own borders. Stay close to this informant of yours. We cannot afford to let a good asset go to waste. Not when we are so close. Do what you must, but do not let them slip between your fingers.” He gripped the door, sighing and shrugging his shoulders. “All is fair in love and war.”

  A fortnight ago, Darcy might have agreed with the axiom. Now, he would much rather face The Four Horsemen than he would Elizabeth. He stood a chance against the criminal minds, whereas he had already lost his heart to a fine-eyed maiden he could never make happy, a lady to whom he had lied. Far from considering his actions fair, Darcy despised himself for them.

  Chapter 20

  Mama waved her handkerchief from the doorway on the chance Mr. Bingley might look back from his withdrawing carriage, elbowing Jane to do the same, and saying, “Mr. Bingley is so charming! And his sisters! Absolutely lovely. They will introduce you into their society in London once you are married, Jane. Oh, the pin money you shall have! I do hope you do your duty by your sisters and invite them to stay at his townhouse. Oh! To think my daughter will marry a gentleman with a townhouse and a country estate! I would just like to see Lady Lucas do better, although Charlotte is well on her way to being shelved if she is not careful. It is a pity she is so plain.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes, stepping back inside and leaving her mother and sister to watch Mr. Bingley’s carriage. She was happy for Jane.

  Mr. Bingley had clearly dragged his sisters along with him. It had been diverting to see how expertly he soothed over his sisters’ jabs at her mother and younger sisters’ silly comments while securing her family’s good opinion. Even Papa, who was disinclined to favor anyone with such a pitiable library as Mr. Bingley’s, found himself quite taken with the gentleman.

  Elizabeth was thrilled for Jane. Really. Simply ecstatic.

  She settled on the settee, folding her feet up under her and reaching for the book at the top of the pile on the table.

  Father sat by the fire with his newspaper folded out so that only a puff of smoke from his pipe was seen drifting into a cloud above the page.

  Kitty and Lydia were upstairs, and judging by the ruckus they created, they were ransacking everyone’s rooms for ribbons and hat trimmings
. They had convinced Mr. Bingley to throw a ball to which Jane need only name the date, and as they would naturally see that the ball would happen sooner rather than later, they had begun their preparations for the blessed event.

  Mary read aloud from one of her books, attempting to instill in her impetuous sisters the benefits of study and reflection.

  Wiggling her toes, and still feeling happy for Jane, Elizabeth flipped blindly through her book. Would Mr. Darcy return for Mr. Bingley’s ball? If he had forgotten to leave her brooch at Netherfield — which she must assume since Wilson had left for London three days ago, and it had yet to appear — would Mr. Darcy deliver it back to her possession himself? Had he forgotten her brooch in his pockets? Had he forgotten her?

  She set aside the book, reaching for an embroidery hoop of white work instead. The linen was soft, but not so soft as Mr. Darcy’s silk handkerchief. She ought to have kept it. She could have held it hostage until he saw fit to return her brooch.

  Mama barged into the drawing room. “Oh, my dearest Jane! I just knew you could not be so beautiful for nothing!” Sitting triumphantly in the chair opposite Papa, she pronounced, “I would not be surprised if Mr. Bingley proposes within the week. What do you think of that, Mr. Bennet?”

  Papa lowered his newspaper. “Mr. Bingley is a fine young man. If he wishes to marry Jane, it would please me to give my consent.”

  Mama clapped her hands. “What do you say, Lizzy? You had more occasion to observe the two at Netherfield than anyone.”

  Unprepared as Elizabeth was for the conversation to turn to her, she said the one thought she had been forcefully repeating through her mind since Mr. Bingley’s arrival with his sisters. “I am very happy for Jane.”

  Her mother was too pleased with her success, and her sister was too enchanted by Mr. Bingley’s attentions to notice the hollowness in Elizabeth’s tone.