Chasing Elizabeth

by Jennifer Joy

  “His sisters do not have the advantage of tact or delicacy. I hope they did not alter your sister’s view of Bingley.”

  “No more than my mother and sister altered Mr. Bingley’s view of Jane.”

  Mr. Bennet chuckled. “It would appear that both young people have been blessed with blinkers where their relations are concerned. They are fortunate, indeed, for every family has at least one ridiculous member.”

  Darcy thought of his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh. If she and Mrs. Bennet stood side-by-side, Darcy would find it difficult to select which one’s company he would suffer from more. It was a humbling realization.

  Unwilling to think of those who made him cringe, he changed to a more agreeable subject. “I have a sister who is as shy as you describe yours. She is but fifteen.”

  Mr. Bennet clucked his tongue. “A troublesome age. If she is as sensible as my Jane, then she will not give you too much trouble.”

  Darcy sympathized with him. If Georgiana acted like the two youngest Bennet daughters, he would be tempted to lock her in her room until she developed a modicum of sense.

  “Is Miss Darcy at Pemberley?” Elizabeth asked.

  Darcy’s chest tightened. He cleared his throat. “Not presently. She is with my aunt, who has two daughters about her age.” He cleared his throat again. “I hope she will want to return to Pemberley with me once my business in town is done.”

  A shadow of sadness passed over Elizabeth’s countenance, but she overcame it with a smile. “I am sure she will like that very much. Have you had success in arranging the affair which brought you to Hertfordshire?”

  Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows shot up.

  For his benefit, Darcy explained, “I told Miss Elizabeth my reason for coming to Hertfordshire was to investigate a failed bet which I suspect was sabotaged. I will pay my debt and be done with the business, but I do not wish for another unsuspecting gentleman to fall into the same trap I did if I can expose the scoundrel.” Lies tasted sour on Darcy’s tongue. He took a sip of wine to wash it down, but the aftertaste lingered.

  “I would not have taken you for a betting man,” Mr. Bennet said.

  “I am not usually.” At least that was true. Darcy was not one to frequent the gambling houses. He could not help but think how hard his tenants worked for the same wage many gentlemen thoughtlessly squandered on one bet.

  Mr. Bennet shrugged. “Ah, well, it is a gentlemanly pastime. I once indulged in a game of dice to see what it was all about. I won twenty guineas, then lost the entirety of my winnings within the next quarter of an hour. The whole experience was too volatile for my taste, and I have never cared to repeat it. When I think of the books I could have bought with that sum, it makes me ill.”

  Darcy laughed. He liked Mr. Bennet.

  Mr. Bennet looked about. “They must be very busy in the dining parlor. I fear they have forgotten us. Pray give me one moment to remind them of our presence. I am getting an appetite.” With a large grin at his daughter and Darcy, he left the room.

  Darcy was alone with Elizabeth.

  Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out her brooch. “I am sorry I kept this for so long.”

  She covered his hand, pushing the brooch away.

  His eyes fixed on their hands. Her fingers were long and thin, her palm narrower than his. Her skin was soft, and though her touch was gentle, the effect it had on him was not.

  “Please, Mr. Darcy, will you keep it a while longer? If you return it to me now, I will have to explain to my father how it was lost … and I think that is a conversation best kept between ourselves for now.” She pulled her hand away.

  Not knowing what else to do with himself, Darcy did as she asked and put the brooch back into his pocket. “As you please,” he mumbled.

  “Thank you.” Her lips captivated Darcy. He had not appreciated how perfectly formed her Cupid’s bow was or how the corners curled upward at the edges. And her chin. Elizabeth had a strong chin (which often revealed her agreement or disagreement with its angle), but the point at the tip gave her a constantly impish, mischievous look. The urge to trace her chin with his finger grew, and Darcy clasped his hands together lest he give in to it.

  She glanced toward the door her father had disappeared through. “My father does not know how to hurry,” she said apologetically.

  Darcy was not sorry.

  She looked down at her lap, her eyelashes splaying over her cheeks. “I hope you do not think his invitation here an imposition.”

  Was she nervous? Did she doubt him?

  “I would not have accepted had I thought so.”

  “You are kind.”

  “Not that kind. It is not my custom to act contrary to my instincts or imply agreeableness unless it is genuinely felt.”

  She looked up, her pupils rimmed in chocolate brown. “I am relieved to hear it,” she whispered, nibbling on her bottom lip.

  Mr. Bennet returned just then. “Our meal will arrive shortly. Apparently, some Lord something or other is dining in the main room, and he has kept the servants occupied with his many demands.”

  He resumed his seat, and pulled out his pipe to fiddle with, looking at it in his hands and guffawing. “I have this bad habit when I am nervous, Mr. Darcy. I believe I rub the ivory with my thumbs more often than I actually smoke from the thing. But I noticed I am in good company. I saw you do the same earlier with a timepiece … or is it a compass?”

  “It is a compass,” Darcy said, pulling it out of his pocket and rubbing his thumb over the monogrammed case. “It was a gift from my father. He gave it to me the day I left Pemberley for Eton — my first extended stay away from my family. I was anxious, and though I confided my fears in no one, my father knew.” Darcy smiled at the memory. “He was a great man. And insightful. He took me aside the morning I was to depart, and he gave me a box wrapped with a green bow and lined with satin. Inside was this compass.” He handed it to Mr. Bennet.

  “Home is where the heart is,” he read. “Pliny the Elder. A wise quote from a wise man.”

  Darcy smiled. “Pemberley was always a happy place. When my father gave me the compass, he told me it would always guide me home, to Pemberley. So long as I carried it in my pocket, I never felt lost.”

  Mr. Bennet handed the compass back. “How extraordinary you should carry a symbol of home with you always. My dear Lizzy has a brooch she usually wears, but I have long suspected that hers is a symbol of her desire to venture away from her home. I suppose Mr. Darcy had the right of it, my dear. Home is where the heart is.”

  Elizabeth jutted out her chin. “And who defines what home is? If home is where my heart is, then I can feel at home so long as I am with the people I love.”

  Her words knocked the breath out of Darcy’s lungs. Had that been what his father had meant when he gave the compass to Darcy?

  The food arrived, and as hearts and stomachs filled with good food and excellent company, Darcy found himself laughing and talking more than he had since he had sat around the table with his mother and father.

  He felt as though he was at Pemberley.

  Chapter 24

  Darcy’s heart was so light, he finally understood the expression “walking on the clouds.” Or was it “head in the clouds?” Either one would do. The slightest gust of wind would send him floating into the heavens.

  He waited in the entrance hall for the maid to bring his hat and coat. Soft laughter echoed in the hall. Candlelight flickered from the crystal chandelier above him and reflected on the mirrors flanking the room.

  It was a perfect night. He had found out why Sir William had been so difficult to find. Fearing trouble for his newly acquired racehorse, he had checked in under an assumed name. John Smith (the same name from the incriminating ledgers) and his horse Blacky. He and his two eldest sons were staying at The Golden Crown.

  The Four Horsemen were within his grasp.

  Brimming with hope, Darcy dreamed of his life after years trapped in a cloak-and-sword existence. He imag
ined riding over the fields at Pemberley with Elizabeth. He wanted to show her every inch of his family’s legacy, knowing that not even Pemberley would feel like his home without her there with him. He understood that now.

  He would show her his favorite places in England, and they could discover new places together. Then, when the war was over, he would show her the world. He would travel to places he had never seen before, not so much for a desire to see them, but so that he would have the joy of experiencing Elizabeth’s wonder and delight.

  He would give her what she wanted so long as she was with him. Their needs were not so different after all. She needed adventure. He needed her. It was so simple now, Darcy wondered how he had ever thought it complicated.

  Bursting with optimism, Darcy peeked over to the busy dining room, wishing he could profess his happiness to the world, for such happiness must be shared.

  Several met his gaze with smiles of their own, as one person’s cheer often inspires cheer in another.

  However, his gaze froze at a table in the back corner of the room where a gentleman sat alone. A gentleman Darcy would know anywhere. A gentleman who did not belong in the crowded hotel.

  Sir Erasmus nodded at Darcy, his face devoid of expression, his eyes as dark as coals.

  Darcy tensed, resenting how quickly the Horseman robbed him of his euphoria. There could be no light, no smiles or dreams while that man was free to use others’ suffering for his own gain. He was a viper.

  “Allow me to assist you with your coat, sir,” the attendant said behind him.

  Only then did Darcy break eye contact with Sir Erasmus. With a quick look toward the stairs to reassure himself that Elizabeth and her father, who had retired for the night, remained upstairs, he donned his coat and hat.

  How had Sir Erasmus come to dine at the hotel the same night he had dined with the Bennets? Were The Four Horsemen and their lackeys onto him? He had been pursuing them for months, and they were not so foolish as to ignore threats to their evil empire. Had they followed him? Had he inadvertently led them to the Bennets?

  Darcy’s stomach lurched. If his real identity was laid bare, he was being watched, and, now, the Bennets were in danger. He would take no risks. He had to send help — another agent The Four Horsemen would not know — to watch over the Bennets at the hotel.

  Careful to appear unaffected under the watchful stare of Sir Erasmus, Darcy kept himself from running up the stairs lest Sir Erasmus see confirmation of Elizabeth’s importance to him. He would have to treat her like a stranger. He would have to distance himself.

  Waiting until his carriage pulled up in front of the door, Darcy had a quick word with one of his footmen. The young man would remain behind to watch over the Bennets until Darcy arranged for more protection.

  Darcy hopped inside the carriage and waited. If he was being followed, he wished to cause as much confusion and distraction as he could create.

  When the carriage slowed at a crossing, Darcy saw his opportunity. Quietly, he slipped from the carriage. His coachman would continue as if nothing were untoward. He was accustomed to Darcy’s ways and would alert Oakley, who would ensure that Wilson knew they were no longer unknown to their enemies. It was best to assume the worst and act accordingly. It meant Darcy could not accompany the Bennets to admire Sir William’s horse, but that could not be helped. He had the information he required, and he only needed until Thursday to capture his prey.

  Sticking to the shadows, Darcy walked, pulling his hat down and tugging his collar up. He would run, but that would only draw more attention to himself. His residence was not far.

  He came to a street crossing. Looking about, he wished he could make better use of his senses over the sounds of carriages, clattering of horses, and boisterous dandies celebrating the late hour with their packs.

  Two more streets, and Darcy House would come into view. He looked around again, hastening his step now that there were fewer passersby to take notice of him.

  To the right was clear. The left, too.

  Darcy turned to face forward, the hair on his arms prickling as the hairs rose. His pulse beat wildly. He looked left.

  A sharp blade pressed against his exposed throat. “I would not turn if I were you, Mr. Darcy. One flick of my wrist, and you are a dead man.” The voice was rough like gravel.

  Darcy twisted, but the man held him fast.

  “What do you want?” Darcy asked slowly. Was the man alone? Did he have another weapon? Could he overtake the man? He must be tall. That limited Darcy’s options. If the man was taller than he was, butting his head back would be ineffective.

  The blade dug into Darcy’s flesh. A trickle of hot blood trailed down his neck. Wilson would be cross with him for staining his shirt again. Dirt was one thing, but blood was another matter.

  The man pulled Darcy’s left arm back, freeing his other side but giving Darcy no time to make use of it when he thrust Darcy’s arm upward until his shoulder pierced in pain. “My boss wants you to quit interfering in his business. He saw you with that young lady and her father. It would be a pity if something were to happen to them.”

  Bone-deep terror gripped Darcy. “Your quarrel is with me. They are of no use to you.”

  “Ah, but methinks they are very useful. Back off, or I will hurt the girl.”

  “Not if I get to your boss first.” Darcy could not allow the ruffian to think his threats had hit their mark. Slowly, he moved his free hand toward his pocket. If he could reach inside without being detected…

  “You make one move against my boss, and she will pay for your mistake. When you think she is safe, we will strike. We will make you regret you ever tried to stop The Four Horsemen.”

  Darcy grabbed onto the chain of his fob. Dropping his compass so that it dangled from the end, he swung it around and let the compass fly at the face of his assailant.

  He heard the thud and felt the sharpness of the blade dig into his neck. But the man’s hold loosened around Darcy’s arm. Wrenching himself free, Darcy pivoted around with his fist raised to strike a blow.

  The man was taller than Darcy. His knuckles smashed and tore against the assailant’s chin. However, Darcy could run with a throbbing hand much easier than the ruffian could with a swollen eye and a dislocated jaw.

  He ran until Oakley met him on the sidewalk, pistol in hand.

  “They are onto us,” Darcy gasped, pressing his hand against his neck and praying he would not lose consciousness before he could send an agent to watch over Elizabeth and her father.

  “I already told Wilson something was off. The coachman told us you left the footman behind and slipped out of the carriage on the way. What do you want us to do?”

  Darcy kept moving, not stopping even when they entered Darcy House, and Oakley noticed his injury. “Good Lord, Mr. Darcy. You need a surgeon.”

  Gritting his teeth and continuing up the stairs to his study, Darcy said, “I need you to deliver a message. Not to Richard. I do not know if he has been discovered yet, and I do not want to lead The Four Horsemen to him. Take it to Mr. Carton. He will know what to do.”

  Carton was the first step in Darcy’s emergency protocol. He would be at home, but his clerk kept a room at his office for precisely this purpose. The clerk would hear the knock and see the note slipped under the door, and he would take it to his employer. He would keep Richard informed through Darcy’s messages.

  “Stay with me while I write the message, Oakley. We can lose no time,” Darcy said, clenching his jaw when his heart cried out. “And bring Wilson to me. He will be my surgeon. I must consult with him on a matter of utmost importance.” If his cover was unreliable, Darcy could not trust that The Four Horsemen would not know the identities of Leo’s other agents. He needed a soldier. A trustworthy, trained soldier capable of watching over what Darcy could not protect.

  He had endangered Elizabeth. She could die because of him — another tragic fatality through no fault of her own. It was his fault. He had thought he could b
e happy with her after this mess was resolved. He had deceived himself into thinking it could ever be resolved. He had hoped, and because he had let his guard down enough for Elizabeth to become a part of his life, he would have to be the one to disappoint her … if she loved him. There were times he thought she did, but until he heard her say the words, he dared not believe. He would never hear them now. He had no right to.

  God, what had he done?

  Darcy steadied his hand and wrote a concise account of what had transpired, sealing the page and handing the note to Oakley to deliver to Carton. “Be cautious. You will likely be followed.”

  With a nod, Oakley departed. He would be swift.

  That left only one more letter to write, and a guard capable of defending Elizabeth to find. Someone unassociated with Leo, someone unknown.

  Wilson’s uneven steps carried from the hall. Darcy wiped his knuckles with a clean handkerchief. The blood at his neck had dried enough to glue his collar to his neck. He could not move for fear of ripping the wound open again.

  After his customary double knock, Wilson entered the room with a medicinal case and several towels in hand. A maid scurried in behind him, leaving a water pitcher and bowl on the edge of the desk.

  On catching sight of Darcy, Wilson heaved a sigh. “You know how I hate cleaning blood, but I would rather scrub a shirt than bury you, Mr. Darcy. Oakley spoke to me, and I see for myself that the tide has shifted against us. Tell me what I can do while I clean you up, and I will see it done.”