Darcy and Diamonds

by Caitlin Marie Carrington

  “Ah, but you had the pleasure long before that, Sir!” Mrs. Reynolds said. “Mrs. Graham would visit when you were just a wee thing, wearing your pudding cap and learning to walk.”

  “This is the problem with having a housekeeper who has known me my entire life,” Darcy said. He spoke to the group but he could not keep his eyes from Elizabeth’s face, noting her reactions. “I can get away with nothing.”

  “A pudding cap?” Elizabeth said. “Did you fall often, Mr. Darcy?”

  Mrs. Reynolds shook her head. “Ah, he did everything as he should. His mother simply doted on him something fierce, and didn’t want him to injure himself at all, even as a babe.”

  Darcy smiled. He had no recollection of this, obviously, but as always he loved to hear stories about his parents.

  “He has her eyes,” the older woman said, smiling. “And more importantly, her spirit and kindness. And so we all live on, as long as there are those on Earth who embody our lessons, and our kindnesses.”

  Mrs. Reynolds seemed to realize she was becoming melancholy. “Ah, but it is this time of year! Mrs. Darcy passed in the Fall, and I cannot help but remember her now.”

  “And that is as it should be,” Elizabeth said softly. “What a gift, to speak of a departed loved one with a smile on your face.”

  Mr. Darcy frowned, knowing she was thinking of her father. He could not take that sadness away, but perhaps he could give her new reasons to smile.

  “So you are dining with Mrs. Graham tonight, but what of tomorrow? Might I persuade your party to join me, and my sister and cousin, here at Pemberley?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner looked to Elizabeth, and he saw that they discerned this was not only a friendly offer. Elizabeth glanced up at him, and then nodded slowly at her uncle.

  “We would be delighted, Mr. Darcy!” Mr. Gardiner announced.

  “I could offer you tea now, and a tour of the main floor?” he said, hoping to prolong their visit for even a few moments.

  A brief tour was agreed to, though tea was gracefully declined, as they needed to return to Lambton to prepare for dinner. As Mrs. Reynolds regaled the Gardiners with the history of what Darcy considered a very boring tapestry, he met Elizabeth at the window.

  She turned from her study of the grounds.

  “And what do you think of Pemberley?” He glanced out the window, waiting for her answer. What if she hated it here? What if she found it…anything but wonderful?

  She laughed. “How can I say anything but praise?”

  He met her eyes and smiled. “Honesty is preferable to praise.”

  He watched her brown eyes, dark and deep and shadowed and magical, like the woods he’d grown up exploring. Then a smile tugged at her sweet, pink lips.

  “An honest answer is easily given, if you ask me about Pemberley: it is perhaps one of the most beautiful places on Earth.”

  Darcy laughed, unaware he’d been holding his breath. “Well, that is high praise, indeed.”

  “But honesty about other things—” Elizabeth bent her head, and he studied the afternoon sunlight on her dark hair. She gazed at him again. “That is more challenging for me. I fear I overreacted at Netherfield. I am much used to being alone and—”

  He was holding his breath again.

  “—And perhaps I am not so brave as I thought I was.”

  “You are the bravest woman I have ever met.” Darcy took a step closer, so close he could smell her scent of sun and flowers and the autumn air. Elemental, he thought, inhaling deeply. “You speak your mind, you hold me accountable. You are not intimidated by my title or stature.”

  “You are rather annoyingly tall.” She looked up at him and grinned.

  “That, too,” he said.

  “But I am not so brave. You scare me more than you know.”

  He took another step closer. “I don’t want to scare you, Elizabeth. I see your aunt and uncle, patiently staring at us from across the room and I know you must leave. But perhaps we can discuss such things at greater detail tomorrow.”

  “Such as your gift,” she said. “It was—it was thoughtful beyond measure. I can never thank you enough.”

  “Well, I suspected you liked Shakespeare. Perhaps only the tragedies, though.”

  She smiled. “Comedies can be diverting, as well.”

  “What of romance?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I suspect we shall continue to discuss that subject tomorrow at dinner.”

  “Is any other woman as wise as you, Elizabeth?”

  He offered her his arm and she accepted, and he walked her slowly back to her waiting family.

  “You continue to call me Elizabeth, Sir. Have I given you permission?”

  He smiled, and could not help himself. “No, you have not. Have I offended you?”

  She blinked and wet her lips, and he could not keep his gaze from watching that small, nervous, beautiful action.

  “No,” she said slowly. “You have not. Though you should know, having been married once, I have very specific ideas of how men and women should interact. I believe in equality.”

  “As do I,” Darcy said.

  “Are you then granting me permission to call you Fitzwilliam?” She looked up at him again, her eyes full of light, and he could see a thousand afternoons stretching before him, when they walked together, just like this.

  “God no,” he laughed. “My friends call me Darcy—or Will.”

  “Darcy or Will,” she repeated. “And so, we are friends?” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

  “God no,” he said, and was rewarded by her perfect, immediate laughter.

  27

  Elizabeth

  Today, Elizabeth appeared to adore Lambton even more than her aunt. The sun, the faint snowfall, the cold winter air and all the smiling faces they passed—it was all lovely, it was all perfect!

  “Lambton is such a beautiful town,” Lizzy said, twirling in the middle of the street.

  Her aunt laughed. “You have been walking on air all morning.” She paused and placed her finger to her lips, pretending to think very hard. “Rather, you have been in quite a good mood since last night. I don’t suppose Mr. Darcy has anything to do with it?”

  “Stop,” Elizabeth said, but she could not keep a wide smile from her face. “Perhaps. I just do love a good roast, and I’m imagining the cook at Pemberley makes a very fine dinner.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s the reason for your constant smile,” Aunt Gardiner said. “Pity we are scheduled to return home before Michaelmas. I’m sure the cook makes a lovely goose pie, as well.”

  Thinking of leaving was, indeed, the one thing that made Elizabeth stop smiling. But she knew it was foolish, and so she turned and stopped to look at a shop window—and hide her distress.

  “Lizzy,” her aunt said, wrapping an arm around her. “I was only teasing. I would not be surprised if a certain gentleman found a reason for you, at least, to stay.”

  Elizabeth turned and met her aunt’s eyes. “Do you really think so?”

  “Do you really pretend not to think so?” Aunt Gardiner said. “I could be blind and still see that Mr. Darcy is beyond charmed by you. Do you think you feel the same way? I know that when you first met him, you found him quite rude and arrogant.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Yes, I did. But—I fear that is all to be forgot. Perhaps I did not always love him so well as I do now. But in such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever remember it myself!”

  “Love!” Aunt Gardiner cried. “How marvelous! But even at Netherfield, Jane said you were quite cross with him. Whenever did your feelings change?”

  Elizabeth shrugged and pulled her aunt along, trying not to smile. All of this grinning could make one’s cheeks ache. “It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began.” She grinned cheekily at her aunt. “Perhaps if I were forced to pick an exact time, I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley.�
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  “You impertinent child! How I love you. And how happy I am for you.”

  “Well, we shall see how Mr. Darcy acts tonight. And how his cook makes dinner. I could never love a man who tolerates a burnt roast.”

  Aunt Gardiner shook her head, smiling. “Humor is a lovely defense, my dear. Now, do you mind if I stop in this shop for a moment? You may continue on to the Rose and Crown, if you like. I know I have kept you out of doors all morning, and you may wish to dress or have the maid style your hair for…the pot roast.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Enjoy your shopping. Oh! Would you mind purchasing some ribbon for Mama? I swear I had bought some yesterday, but I couldn’t find it last night.”

  Mrs. Gardiner gladly agreed and they bid each other goodbye. Elizabeth reached the inn quickly and was just thinking she might have her aunt’s maid fix her hair, when she encountered a large family who was just arriving at the inn. They were blocking the path to the stairs, and Elizabeth tried to wait patiently as an argument broke out over which trunk went into which room.

  At that moment, Elizbeth saw the golden-haired maid, the one who yesterday had run into Elizabeth and all her packages. The young woman was wearing the same clothing, a white apron over a serviceable dark dress, though today she had a white cap that covered most of her curls. Elizabeth would not have paid any attention to her except for the fact that she was stuck behind the large family—and for the girl’s odd behavior.

  The maid had walked in from the kitchens, stopped and stood behind a large wooden beam, studying the inn’s new guests. And then, as if she had been running the entire time, the young woman picked up her skirts and ran directly into the front of one of the older gentlemen in the party.

  A gentleman who was carrying quite a few packages.

  Elizabeth watched in amazement as the girl made loud apologies and dropped to the floor, helping to gather his varies belongings. Then, just as she had done with Elizabeth, she stood and handed him his belongings—while somehow making him drop them all over again.

  She dropped to her knees and Elizabeth gasped as the girl took a smaller package and secreted it into a hidden pocket in her skirts. Then she stood, but the newcomer was irate and no longer wanted her “help.”

  “Be off! Be off with you!” he cried, shaking his fist.

  The girl was still on her hands and knees, and it was only because the man was yelling and she was rushing—but the maid didn’t seem to realize that a necklace she wore had fallen out of her dress and lay, shining against her chest.

  Elizabeth frowned. She couldn’t see the necklace well from a few feet away, though it caught the light and gleamed richly. The girl stumbled to her feet, the package she’d stolen cleverly concealed from view. If Elizabeth hadn’t noticed her quick-moving thievery, she wouldn’t be able to tell that anything at all was hidden beneath her voluminous skirts.

  The maid bobbed and curtsied, apologizing and running past the angry guest—and past Elizabeth. She didn’t seem to see Lizzy, so intent was she on escape. But Lizzy saw her.

  And now she could clearly see the necklace that rested on the girl’s pale skin. It was long, gold, and at the very end hung a large, blood-red ruby.

  No maid would own such a treasure. Elizabeth’s own mother, while she certainly wouldn’t kill for such a piece, might at least kick a woman a few times for it. Elizabeth frowned. She might have forgotten if she hadn’t just seen Mrs. Graham last night. Mrs. Millicent Graham, who still had never found the necklace she’d lost—or had stolen—at Netherfield. The ruby necklace with Mrs. Graham’s initial worked into it.

  And so, without thinking, when the maid rushed past Lizzy this time, Elizabeth reached out and grabbed her arms. The girl whirled round, light brown eyes wide with shock, and that’s when Elizabeth saw it.

  A large ruby, and just above it—the letter M cleverly hidden in the golden filigree.

  Elizabeth stared at the necklace, and so did the girl, and then they both looked up and stared at each other.

  “Where did you—”

  But the maid raised her hands and gave a great push, freeing herself and knocking Elizabeth a few paces backward—and directly into the same, angry gentleman as before.

  “What the deuce!” the man cried, grabbing Elizabeth before she could fall to the floor. “What is going on with the women in this place?”

  Elizabeth ignored him, pushing past and following the maid—who had run upstairs, past the Gardiners’ chambers. She knew she wasn’t thinking clearly, but she couldn’t let this girl run off. She looked vaguely familiar, and most definitely guilty.

  “Wait!” Elizabeth cried, her boots and skirts heavy on the stairs. She fell near the top, wincing as her shin hit the hard wood, but she kept going—just in time to see the maid whirl around the corner and into a room, where she slowly shut the door.

  No banging it, Elizabeth thought. No loud noises.

  She approached the door, ready to march in and demand the girl return Mrs. Graham’s necklace. But just as she reached it, Lizzy hesitated. Her ire and sense of justice made her feel invincible, but she had to be smart. The maid might not be alone. She might have a weapon.

  But Lizzy couldn’t let her get away. She’d run to the top of the stairs and shout for help; that would work. Lizzy slowly took a few steps backwards, not wanting the old wooden floors to creak and alert the maid to her presence. When she felt she was far enough away to run, she turned, whirled—and ran directly into the hard chest of Mr. Gladwell.

  28

  Elizabeth

  “Mr. Gladwell!” Elizabeth whispered, her heart beating madly.

  “Mrs. Allerton,” he said in a quiet voice. “How we do keep running into one another.”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, stepping closer. “And what good luck—I do believe I have discovered the thief!”

  “The thief?” Mr. Gladwell made a puzzled face.

  “I’m sorry, I’m making no sense.” Elizabeth couldn’t quite catch her breath. “The thief from Netherfield. I can’t explain now, but there’s a maid locked in that room there. I was about to confront her but wasn’t sure if she was alone. What luck you are here!”

  “Yes,” Mr. Gladwell nodded and took a step toward her. “What lovely luck. For me.”

  Too late, Elizabeth saw that his concern was not friendly or protective—at least, not toward her. The hallway suddenly seemed quite small and far from the crowds. And Mr. Gladwell blocked her way to the stairs.

  But there must be another set of stairs in the back of the house. Elizabeth turned and began to run, but Mr. Gladwell was surprisingly fast. And surprisingly strong. He had her in his arms, his hand clamped over her open mouth, before she could so much as scream.

  His hand smelled, and he pressed his palm so tightly against her that she could not close her jaw. She tasted him, dirt and grit and salt, and shook her head, trying to throw him off.

  “You keep still now,” Mr. Gladwell whispered, his words wet and heavy against her ear. “You were right to wonder if the maid was armed. She probably is. But you should have worried about me, as well.”

  Elizabeth felt something hard prick her back.

  “That’s right, m’lady. If you’re not quite sure what you’re feeling—being a gentlewoman, after all—let me explain. It’s a blade not much longer than my middle finger, but if I press it here—”

  The sharp object began to sting as he pushed hard against her lower back.

  “—I can run it through ye, and you’ll be nothing more than a flood o’ blood and a bag o’ bones before they find ye—not that I want to do that to you, Mrs. Allerton. I’ve always liked you. I didn’t lie about that. Now keep your head about you, and you’ll be just fine.”

  Elizabeth sobbed into his hand, which stunk and made her eyes water. His accent wavered now, changing from the dulcet, careful tones he’d affected before to something harsh and quick and ugly. Then the door that the maid had gone through flew open, and the golden-haired woman stood the
re, arms crossed, glaring at them.

  “Christopher, you stand there barkin’ like a dog all day and we’re sure to be caught. Get in here!”

  Mr. Gladwell—Christopher—pushed Elizabeth roughly through the doorway and into a large bedchamber. Elizabeth whirled around, trying to find an escape, but it was just one, large room. A bed, two chairs by the fire, a table against the wall—and windows that opened out onto the courtyard. Panicked, she bolted toward them, hoping to cause a commotion.

  And was jerked backwards by a fierce hand in her hair. Tears filled her eyes as Mr. Gladwell held her hair so tightly strands began to break. He shook her head once, hard.

  “I warned you to keep your wits, woman. Don’t make me hurt you.”

  “Or me,” the maid said. And before Elizabeth could respond, the girl with the thick blond curls slapped Elizabeth so hard that lights burst behind her closed eyelids.

  That hurt more than Mr. Gladwell’s hand in her hair.

  “Mariah!” Mr. Gladwell growled, releasing Elizabeth. “We need her untouched. No bruises, and sheaf your knife, you fool.”

  Elizabeth watched in confusion and pain as Mr. Gladwell attempted to grab the maid’s knife from her hand, and the two scuffled in the middle of the room like—like—

  “You are siblings,” Elizabeth cried. She saw it now. How had she missed it? Though Mr. Gladwell had shorn his hair, she had spent enough time at Netherfield watching his yellow curls bob and bounce and he bowed before her.

  The maid’s longer curls were the same color and shape, and after Lizzy spoke they both froze and turned to her. Their eyes were the same: light brown, wide and…

  Cruel.

  “So you’re a clever one,” the girl said, finally giving her brother the knife and stalking over to the windows. “Best be smart now and listen to what we say. My brother may not want to gut you like a fish, but I’ve no feeling about it one way or the other.”

  “Tsk.” Mr. Gladwell sat in a chair near the fire. “Calm down, Mariah.”