by Jennifer Joy
For a moment, Elizabeth feared her father had noticed, but she must have imagined his frown and drooping pipe. He left for his book room. And just in time, for Mama was like a dog with a bone, and Elizabeth was incapable of hiding her reactions fully from her father. He knew her too well.
“It is too bad you could not entice Mr. Darcy to stay longer at Netherfield. You must not have been tempting enough to encourage him to stay,” Mama said, clucking her tongue.
Elizabeth clamped her jaw tight, her fingers pressing against the cold metal of the needle until it left marks on her skin.
Jane rose to Elizabeth’s defense. “Lizzy was so busy nursing me, and Mr. Darcy was equally occupied. You heard Mr. Bingley recount how indebted he is to Mr. Darcy for coming to his aid when he fell ill.”
“All the more reason to stay,” Mama grumbled.
Jane persisted. “Mr. Darcy is a busy gentleman with an estate of his own to manage. No doubt, business took him away. He will return for Mr. Bingley’s ball.”
Elizabeth smiled her thanks to Jane, though she was not as optimistic as her sister was that he would attend the ball.
“Mr. Bingley must have been very ill, indeed, to have waited three whole days to call,” Mama complained, fanning her face. “I was beginning to worry he would never call.”
How quickly their mother waved between ecstasy and anguish.
Elizabeth said, “Mama, Mr. Bingley nearly fainted the last time he dragged himself to the door of Jane’s bedchamber to inquire about her health. When we left, he had to lean against the banister.”
“I do not understand how his recovery delayed longer than Jane’s. It is a bad omen. Oh, Jane, you had better secure the ball in haste, or the event will lose its importance and he will never propose! And Mr. Bennet will die, and we will be tossed out of Longbourn to live in the hedgerows,” Mama wept, fanning her face and dabbing her cheeks with her handkerchief.
Jane reassured her. “Pray do not trouble yourself so, Mama. Mr. Bingley ate more of the preserves than I did and was much more ill than I was.”
Their mother pshawed. “Mr. Darcy did not fall ill. What is his excuse for preferring London over our company?”
Elizabeth could not recall telling her mother of his whereabouts. “How did you know Mr. Darcy was in London?”
Mama sniffed. “Mr. Philips saw him riding through Meryton. He was on horseback, accompanied by his groom with the funny nose. Where else would he go without his luggage and valet but London where one assumes that a gentleman as wealthy as Mr. Darcy must have another house?”
Most assuredly, the henchman Mr. Darcy pursued was not a single gentleman of fortune. Otherwise, her mother would have tracked him down as easily as she had Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth sighed, plunging her needle into the linen. She wished she knew more. All she saw were loose threads which led nowhere, and Mr. Lucas’ warning only added to her confusion. She could not believe Mr. Darcy capable of perfidy. Nor did she think him a liar. Neither explanation settled well with her, which, after several days of pondering the conundrum had led her to the conclusion that Mr. Darcy was protecting someone. That was what she hoped. It added integrity and virtue to his actions.
Had he not seen to the needs of everyone sick at Netherfield? Had he not shielded her when their lives had been endangered, putting her life ahead of his own? While a pinch of jealousy prayed the individual under his protection was not another lady, Elizabeth took comfort in her reasoning. It was the only thing that made any sense at all.
Mama’s grievances trespassed on her thoughts. “If only you had stayed longer! You did such a good job securing an invitation to stay at Netherfield by falling ill, Jane. Why could you not have stayed a few more days? Then, I am certain Mr. Bingley would have felt well enough to propose. You could already have been engaged. Oh, I am so disappointed! My poor nerves! How will you ever marry, Lizzy, when you insist on scaring gentlemen away? And how nearly you ruined Jane’s chances with Mr. Bingley by leaving before a week had passed.”
Elizabeth clutched her embroidery, stabbing the needle back and forth. Nothing she or Jane could say — had said over the past three days — would convince their mother that they had acted sensibly.
Still, Mr. Darcy’s absence and her mother’s constant lamenting gave rise to Elizabeth’s growing discontent. Jane’s happiness only emphasized her distress … no matter how glad Elizabeth tried to be for her.
What did she really know of Mr. Darcy? Less than she liked. She had been convinced of his character until he had told her of his debt. That piece did not fit in her puzzle.
Jane gently tugged the embroidery from Elizabeth’s hands. “Perhaps you should set the needle down, Lizzy. Your finger is bleeding.”
Elizabeth looked down. Gracious! Blood rimmed her fingernail.
Not knowing what to do with herself, Elizabeth went to the one serene place in the house, and the only room where her mother would not follow her.
The door to Papa’s book room was closed. Elizabeth tapped on it.
Emily opened the door. “Miss Elizabeth,” she said, bobbing a curtsy and brushing past her with her eyes firmly on the ground.
Elizabeth watched her scuttle off, then turned to her father. “Is Emily in trouble?” she asked.
Father rubbed his side whiskers. “No. Nothing of the sort. I merely wished to consult with her … about Mr. Bingley. To know what sort of man he is when he thinks nobody is looking.”
Elizabeth exhaled, sitting in the chair across from him and resting her elbows against his desk. “I cannot imagine she had anything disagreeable to say.”
“True—” Papa stopped short, looking as though he wished to say something more. Instead, he took off his glasses and polished them, his lips pinched closed. When his glasses reflected the sun coming in through the window to crystalline perfection, he filled his pipe and settled against the back of his chair. “Your mother planned Jane’s wedding trousseau while you were away. It was insufferable. Nothing but lace and bonnets and speculations on the number of carriages and the amount of pin money she would have.”
That sounded about right. Elizabeth smiled, but ended up sighing yet again.
Looking at her askance, Papa said, “It has been difficult for you, too. You are very distracted of late.”
She did not wish to discuss the greatest source of her restlessness until she understood herself better. So, she told him what she could with confidence. “I know you would rather me never ride a horse again, to keep me at Longbourn and away from danger. I do not begrudge you your reasons, knowing them to be borne from love and concern. But I miss riding. And I dearly wish to see something of the world.”
Papa’s eyes misted. “You are too good to me, my dear girl. I know it is unjust of me to make you pay for Thomas’ foolish choices. I am not completely blind. I know you have suffered the most for it, and for what? I am the father to three of the silliest daughters in Hertfordshire despite the limits I have placed on your freedoms.” He looked out of the window and tugged his side whiskers.
Elizabeth’s eyes burned and blurred. Father had never recognized how his way of mourning his only son’s death had affected her before.
When he turned his gaze away from the window to her, she blinked furiously and rubbed her sleeve over her cheeks.
“I call you my favorite, and yet, I have allowed your mother to torment you over the past three days. I have watched your lively nature turn listless, and I cannot continue to ignore it. How can I make reparation, Lizzy?” he asked.
Blindsided by his question, Elizabeth sat with her mouth open. There was so much she could say, and none of it seemed appropriate.
Waving his pipe in the air, he said, “I know what! Why did I not think of it before? Please forgive me for being such a foolish father, Lizzy, but I promise I will do my best to make amends. I will try.”
Elizabeth rushed to his side of the desk and kissed his cheek. “That you wish to try is enough for me,” she said, her heart
so full, emotions pooled in her eyes and spilled down her face.
Papa chuckled, dabbing at his eyes and handing her another handkerchief. “I will do better than that, dear Lizzy. Tell Emily to pack a trunk for you and Jane. On the morrow, we will leave for London.”
Chapter 21
Mr. Carton did not often work on Saturdays, so when Darcy received a note requesting his immediate presence, Darcy knew his man of business had discovered the provenance of Sir William’s new fortune.
Not only had Carton acquired a reliable informant inside London’s largest bank office, he had also procured copies of four separate transactions for the precise amounts deposited in Sir William’s account in the names of Sir Leonard, Sir Benedict, Sir Harcourt, and Sir Erasmus. The Four Horsemen. Darcy had the documents in his satchel. He had already sent a message to Richard.
If brought to court, The Four Horsemen would argue that the amount was nothing more than a coincidence. They would contend that however the evidence was obtained was unlawful and therefore inadmissible. But to Darcy, the information was priceless. He was on the right track. And as soon as his carriage conveyed him to his residence, he would focus his energies on finding Sir William.
Wilson had told him that Sir William and his two eldest sons had departed from Lucas Lodge, but finding them had proved to be a daunting task. Now, it was a priority.
Before the carriage came to a complete stop, Darcy hopped out of the conveyance, taking the stairs two at a time. He would be anxious until he handed the satchel over to Richard, who would hand it over to the higher powers at Leo.
Crossing the entrance hall, Darcy instructed the butler, “Colonel Fitzwilliam will arrive shortly. Please send him to my study directly,” and he proceeded up the stairs.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls surrounding the mahogany desk commanding the center of his study. Taking several books off a shelf, Darcy entered a combination in the safe hidden in the wall and gently placed the satchel inside.
He had just slid the last book into its position on the shelf when there was a knock at the door. The butler peeked inside.
Anticipating him, Darcy said, “If it is Richard, see him in immediately. And send up a bottle of my best brandy.”
“It is not Colonel Fitzwilliam, Sir. A Mr. Bennet from Longbourn in Hertfordshire is here to see you.”
Darcy leaned against his desk.
“Shall I tell him you are out?” the butler asked.
Nausea churned Darcy’s stomach. Mr. Bennet should not be in London. Why was he here? Was something wrong? Was Elizabeth safe? Good God, what if she was in London, too? Wiping his palms against his breeches, he said, “No. No, I will see him. Please bring him here.”
Darcy sat behind his desk. When that felt too formal, he stood in front of his desk. Too stiff. He leaned against the front of his desk. Too informal. Trying to calm his rising panic, Darcy looked about the room, seeing it through the eyes of a newcomer.
The trio of chairs arranged around the fireplace offered a welcome compromise. He would greet Mr. Bennet standing beside his desk and invite him to have a seat in one of the cushioned chairs.
That only left the salutation. How did you greet the father of the woman you loved when you both feared and craved her presence more than anything? Good day. Good morning. Welcome. Greetings. He had not yet exhausted the list when Mr. Bennet walked in.
Darcy bowed, his tongue tied.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said with a bow. “I thank you for receiving me.”
His manners were too light to stem from concern. Perhaps all was well in Hertfordshire. “It is my pleasure,” Darcy said, gesturing toward the seating area (rather smoothly, he thought.)
Mr. Bennet rubbed his hands against his breeches several times and looked about the room. The tell-tale nervous gesture increased Darcy’s own anxiety. He reached for his compass, turning it over in his hand and waiting on pins and needles.
“You have a great many books here. I am always inclined to think kindly of well-read gentlemen,” Mr. Bennet commented amiably.
Darcy smiled, somewhat relieved. “If you like this room, you would love the library, although it pales in comparison to my library at Pemberley.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes lit up with an energy Darcy was shocked to see the gentleman possessed. Darcy saw where Elizabeth got the twinkle in her eye, and it made him miss her all the more.
As his own had done, Mr. Bennet’s smile faded. He patted his pocket until he found his pipe. Had the gentleman asked for permission to light it, Darcy would gladly have given it, but Mr. Bennet seemed content to fiddle with the object — much in the same manner Darcy fiddled with his compass.
Realizing how anxious he must look, Darcy tucked the keepsake into his pocket and clasped his hands together.
“I suppose you are wondering why I am here,” Mr. Bennet finally said.
Yes!
Darcy nodded, using every trick in his possession to keep his voice steady and his heart from leaping out of his chest. “You are not in difficulties, I hope?”
Mr. Bennet tucked his pipe back into his pocket and tugged on his side whiskers. “No. Nothing like that, I assure you. I only wished to have an excuse to bring Lizzy with me to London.”
Darcy’s stomach dropped, and his heart raced. Elizabeth was in London.
“She has seen so little of England,” Mr. Bennet continued, “and she has been more restless than usual lately.”
Really? Did she miss him? Vain hope rose within Darcy even while rational thought told him this was a disaster. She was supposed to forget him. He was supposed to forget her.
Mr. Bennet smiled, completely unaware of the turmoil he had stirred. “As her father, I am doing my best to see to her happiness.”
Now? He chose to see to her happiness now? Darcy breathed deeply. He must relax. “Your attention on her behalf is certain to give her cheer,” he said, only a little stiffly.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I hope so. She is dearer to me than anyone.” Mr. Bennet looked at him intently, as if inquiring where Elizabeth stood in his affections.
Darcy clamped his teeth shut. That she was also dearer to him than anyone on the earth, he had no right to say. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. It was the saddest reality Darcy had contemplated since his father’s death had left him without his most-trusted adviser. What would his father have counseled him to do now?
He exhaled slowly. Darcy knew the answer. His father had ensured his son never forgot the solution to all his troubles. Placing the compass in Darcy’s palm and wrapping his hands around them, he had said, “This will guide your path to home. Keep it close and you will never be lost or alone.”
That was the answer. Darcy needed to go home. Pemberley had always been his fortress, his safe place. It was where his favorite memories were, where his aspirations had been inspired.
But Elizabeth was not there.
So entangled was Elizabeth in his visions of the future, Darcy could not think of Pemberley without imagining her there with him.
Would the excitement of Pemberley wear off, leaving her as dissatisfied there as she was at Longbourn? Would she resent what he cherished?
Mr. Bennet did not continue. He watched Darcy over the rims of his spectacles. Darcy needed to say something, but he could not without exposing his heart to the father of the young lady he was certain to disappoint. Tongue thick and throat dry, he finally said, “That is how it ought to be, Mr. Bennet.”
“I am glad you agree, Mr. Darcy. Lizzy has not had the advantages most ladies of her station have had, but she is an intelligent student and learns more quickly than most. She is a credit to me through no effort of mine. She will be a credit to the young man who wins her heart.”
Darcy thought his heart would crack his ribs, it hammered so violently. “I am certain you are right,” he muttered.
Mr. Bennet seemed pleased with his reply. He visibly relaxed. “We are staying at The Stratford Hotel. Do you know it?”
“Of course.” Darcy had walked by there from his residence at Mayfair many times.
“We would have stayed at Gracechurch Street with Mrs. Bennet’s brother and family, but they are away at the present, and I thought Lizzy might fancy staying in a more fashionable part of London. I find the location convenient. My favorite bookshop is only a bit over a mile away, and Hyde Park is a comfortable walking distance. Perhaps you would agree to dine with us tomorrow evening?”
Darcy wanted to accept so badly. Clearly his heart was treacherous where Elizabeth was involved. If he could just see her…
He had to change the topic without giving offense. He could not accept Mr. Bennet’s invitation, but he could not bring himself to refuse it either. “You did not bring the rest of your family? It is just you and … Miss Elizabeth?” Even saying her name was difficult.
“Mrs. Bennet would not leave Longbourn when Mr. Bingley is so recently courting Jane. He had already called twice before we departed for town. Otherwise, I had hoped Jane would accompany us.”
Darcy tried to be content for Bingley. “I wish them both well and happy.” He tried to cover the bitterness in his tone with a smile he hoped did not look as forced as it felt.
“Mrs. Bennet is very happy, although my younger daughters were cross with her for insisting they stay behind while Lizzy and I came to enjoy the entertainments of London with our acquaintances. To be honest, I am relieved they did not come. I am not brave enough to venture out with my youngest daughters quite yet.”
Before Mr. Bennet could repeat his invitation, Darcy asked, “What do you plan to do while in town?”
“Sir William invited us to see his new racehorse.”
Darcy sat forward in his chair. If he could find out where they were from Mr. Bennet, he would have more time to figure out how to lay a trap for The Four Horsemen. “He is in town?” he asked casually.
“They have been for nearly a week. I am not one to appreciate horseflesh, but I know Lizzy will like to see the animal.” Mr. Bennet shivered.
Darcy appreciated the sacrifice the father was willing to make for his daughter’s pleasure, but he must find out where the Lucases were staying.