by Jennifer Joy
“You are not harming her in any way by refusing to marry her?”
“No. She would not have me even if I were to offer for her.” He shook his head and grinned. “Anne is much more pragmatic and opinionated than I had believed her to be. She told me she would sooner marry an old man with dulled senses so she might have the dignity of becoming a rich widow rather than the worry imposed by society’s expectation that she provide an heir.”
“She said that?” Elizabeth’s eyes glistened in merriment, her melancholy washed away. “What would Lady Catherine say?”
Darcy’s heart soared at the evidence of her returned humor. “She would suffer an apoplexy, rendering her mute.”
“You should be so lucky,” Elizabeth laughed.
Smiling, Darcy said, “It would be a sort of reward.”
Darcy saw the remorse creep across Elizabeth’s smile. “I should not speak the first thought to cross my mind. Lady Catherine might set herself up for ridicule, but I cannot poke fun at her determination to protect her daughter. Her loyalty deserves the highest praise. Not my mockery.”
“Which is why I do not — nor will I ever — cut her off. While her company requires an excessive amount of forbearance, she will always be welcome at Pemberley.”
Before Darcy could concern himself with Elizabeth’s thoughts on the matter, she said, “As well she ought to be. Family is family, no matter how bothersome they make themselves.”
Darcy discerned the moment her thoughts turned to her own mother. Or so he would assume. He could ask, in which case he would be certain. “A good deal has happened of late. How do you fare?”
As she told him about Lady Lucas, the mantel clock, and her altercation with Miss Lucas, Darcy was grateful he had asked.
Lord Harvisham had been correct. Darcy knew nothing. But he would learn to manage his deficiency. He would learn for Elizabeth. Oh, how he loved her.
Chapter 23
With her burden lightened, Elizabeth’s humor returned enough for her to realize how ridiculous she must have seemed. What woman in her right mind would pummel the chest of the man she loved while crying ugly tears, making her eyes red and puffy? Stuff and nonsense! Why did she have to realize how deeply she loved him when she was at her absolute worst?
She peeked over the edge of his handkerchief, expecting him to look repulsed at the outcome of her hysterical weeping.
He reached out to her, and she gave her eyes a final dab before he could pluck the handkerchief away. To her surprise and great relief, he smoothed her hair near her cheek. His fingers brushed against her hot skin and her breath caught in her throat. Evidently, William’s affection was not to be dissuaded by a swollen, runny nose.
Had Lady Catherine been there to witness her outrageous display of emotion, she would have had to swallow her past insults against Elizabeth’s use of “feminine charms” to entice her nephew. There was nothing charming about her present appearance. Oh, the irony.
“If ladies were allowed into Gentleman Jackson’s, you would do your sex proud,” teased William.
“Why are only men allowed such diversions? Mind you, I did not enjoy punching you.” Now, that was not entirely true. Even in her sentimental state, she had felt the firmness of his body against hers. When he had wrapped his arms around her, she had not resisted. Reining her thoughts in before she added a ruddy blush to her already appalling appearance, she added, “I hardly knew what I was doing. But I cannot help but think of the advantages of a lady knowing how to defend herself properly.”
His smile disappeared. Did he think her comment too improper?
“Between your fists, your scream, and your sharp teeth, I have confidence you would manage as well as you have always done.”
He did not believe her overly bold. Slowly, she let out her breath.
William continued, “I do hope, however, that you are never again in the position to need those particular weapons. Elizabeth, I know it is unreasonable of me to ask … I know what your response must certainly be, and yet my concern for your safety requires me to beg you to distance yourself from this investigation.”
“You know I cannot.” Until her mother’s killer was found, she could not rest. She chewed on the corner of her mouth. “I believe myself to be in real danger.”
His semblance darkened. “Has anyone attempted to cause you harm?” His fists clenched and his body tensed.
Would she could conceal the truth of her suspicions from him. Would she could spare him the offense of believing his aunt capable of murdering her mother. But even with Lady Lucas’ clock and sudden illness, Elizabeth was not convinced of Lady Catherine’s innocence.
“Elizabeth, please, you must tell me.”
“Lady Catherine gave me every indication of being capable of ending a life to suit her own means. If she murdered my mother to ensure her plans, what is to prevent her from killing me as well?”
“My aunt is all bluff and no bite.”
“How am I to know that? She breathed threats on our first meeting.” Elizabeth did not trust her. Lady Catherine was capable of inflicting as much damage as she desired.
“She is frail. I doubt she had strength enough to do … what was done.”
Elizabeth gasped. How easily he excused her! “Passion fuels strength, and if Mother had attempted to effect her plan, your aunt would have done anything to prevent it.” She folded her arms.
“Plan?” he asked.
Oh, her careless tongue. She had hoped to never have to admit he had been right to assume she had gone into Meryton to interfere. Not in the manner in which he had thought, of course, but he may not see it that way. She was already treading on thin ice with her suspicion against his aunt.
Elizabeth sighed. There was no avoiding the subject now. They had experienced too many misunderstandings to wish to suffer through another. “At the breakfast table the morning of the parade, Lydia expressed the concern that Lady Catherine, who was soon to be a guest at Netherfield Park, would arrange a compromise between Miss de Bourgh and yourself.”
“If you recall, I do not admit defeat so easily — even when I was agreeable to the idea of marrying you.”
Was? What about now? Was she reading too much into his choice of words? How much easier it had been when she did not care so much! Now, everything seemed to have a double meaning.
Choosing her words carefully, fearing she had already said too much, Elizabeth countered, “Without witnesses to speak up, we were free to choose how to react once we left Mr. Bingley’s library. I doubt Lady Catherine would go to the trouble of entrapping you unless she could do so thoroughly.”
He stared out over the pond, the breeze ruffling his curly hair. Was he angry? Disappointed? Or worse — indifferent?
“I believe her capable of such treachery, but Anne would never agree to it. I have learned never to lower my guard while in the company of my aunt, and I will not underestimate her now.”
Elizabeth’s fingers chilled. “Will Lady Catherine always oppose your freedom to marry whom you choose?” William’s assurances had satisfied her conscience where Miss de Bourgh was concerned, but Elizabeth now realized how that only solved one small piece of the puzzle. There was still the fire-breathing dragon to conquer.
William captured her with his intense, brown eyes. “It is why I must be certain of my choice.”
She dearly wanted to ask, “And are you?” but she feared his answer. She had been so much trouble already.
“Would she be able to interfere?” she asked instead.
“She may attempt what she will, but I am not easily deterred.”
That, Elizabeth believed. If there was anyone in England more stubborn than she, it was Fitzwilliam Darcy and — perhaps, what most concerned her — Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
An unexpected voice startled Elizabeth. "Mr. Darcy, how very good to see you again. I must take this opportunity to thank you for sending for me. The offer of your carriage was most kind and gives you credit. Of course, one would e
xpect as much from the nephew of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh." Mr. Collins joined them, appearing from nowhere. She had not heard a carriage.
Mr. Collins bowed, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief at the exertion when he stood erect again.
"Mr. Collins," acknowledged William. "You came earlier than I suggested."
Another more insightful man would have heard the complaint, but not Mr. Collins. Taking William's comment as a compliment, he bowed again, his red face beaming with pleasure. "When I received your message yesterday, I hastened to make the necessary preparations so that I might join my grieving relatives and offer them comfort. Upon learning how Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh are also residing at Netherfield Park, I hastened all the more so that I might put myself at the disposal of her ladyship, should she require my assistance, and your good self, not to mention my defenseless relatives at Longbourn. The grave tragedy to befall Mrs. Bennet demands another male presence at Longbourn to ensure the safety of the ladies."
Elizabeth shut her mouth so tightly, her teeth ground.
Mr. Collins, the great protector of defenseless damsels in distress managed to poke himself in the eye with his damp handkerchief.
William's lips twitched but, in an amazing display of self-possession, he kept his voice on an even keel. "No doubt, Mr. Bennet will be pleased to hear of your concern for his family."
Mr. Collins agreed wholeheartedly and was about to launch into another elongated speech preceded by yet another acquiescent bow and a deep breath, when William added in a grave tone, "I must return to Meryton immediately to report to the magistrate. Lord Harvisham will want to know of the recent developments." His ample use of titles prevented Mr. Collins from detaining him any further, and they returned to the front of the house where a groom waited with Mr. Bingley’s and William's horses.
The gentlemen mounted, and Elizabeth watched them trot down the drive. William turned to her just as he reached the lane. The look he gave her infused her with hope that all would be well. His determined countenance matched her own, making her more resolved than ever to get to the bottom of her mother's murder and hold on to William's heart.
Bingley departed for Netherfield Park, leaving Darcy to continue into Meryton. He found Richard at the stables.
"Richard, what brings you here?" Darcy dismounted, handing the stable boy his reins.
"I have some disturbing news. I am glad you are here, for I would prefer for you to know of it before I have to relate the whole to Lord Harvisham." Richard rubbed his hand over his face.
"You have called at Lucas Lodge?" inquired Darcy.
Richard stood at attention. "Yes. How did you know?"
Darcy sighed. "I have only just arrived from Longbourn. Never could I have imagined Elizabeth as distraught as I saw her a few minutes ago."
Bowing his head, Richard said, "Aye. Charlotte — er, Miss Lucas — was as upset as a woman with tempered nerves will allow. You do not believe it, do you, Darcy?"
"I do not know what to believe, Richard. That the truth may prove to be painful for us to accept is a real possibility. For our sakes, and especially for Elizabeth and Miss Lucas, I wish it not to be true. I will reserve my judgment until proper, indisputable proof is provided."
Richard nodded. "That is all we can do."
Walking across the square, they hesitated before the inn's front door.
Sucking in his breath, Darcy said, "Let us not delay the inevitable." And of one accord, they went inside Tanner's inn in search of Lord Harvisham.
Chapter 24
The following morning, Elizabeth asked for coffee. Her eyes burned from the long, sleepless night. Her dreams had been invaded by Lady Catherine objecting at the final reading of her banns. Then, when William decided to apply for a special license, who would turn out to be an intimate friend of the Archbishop of Canterbury than Lady Catherine? The license was refused, and there was nothing to do but elope to Gretna Green. And still, Lady Catherine found ways to prevent them from traveling at every turn.
Charlotte had been there, too. At the services, in London, at every inn they stopped at…. She said nothing, but her accusatory stare hurt Elizabeth's conscience, making her feel unworthy of the happiness she sought with William. How could she ever be happy again when she was the one to send Lady Lucas to the gallows as a murderess? It could not be true!
Sitting with her hands wrapped around her steaming cup, Elizabeth warmed her fingers, missing the lively conversation she had always known around the breakfast table. There was no rustling of Father's newspaper. He was still ensconced in his study with three days of stubble covering his cheeks. None of her efforts had roused him since Mother’s burial.
Mr. Collins, taking it as his God-given duty to comfort to his cousins, had spent a good deal of his time attempting to converse with Father the previous afternoon. Feeling his efforts had been met with great success, Mr. Collins had satisfied himself with the acquisition of two nods and a grunt in reply to his one-sided conversation.
Elizabeth had hoped Father's extreme dislike for Mr. Collins would move him to show some reaction, but his eyes had merely glassed over and he sat in his own world of what Elizabeth could only imagine were memories and, quite probably, regrets.
There was a knock on the front door. Elizabeth looked at the clock. It was too early for callers.
It was Charlotte. She hastened into the breakfast room, leaning on the back of a chair as she tried to slow her breaths enough to speak. Elizabeth rose immediately and Mrs. Hill insisted Charlotte sit — an offer which was refused.
"There is no time. I promised I would tell you directly if I learned anything, Lizzy. And it is the worst news." When Charlotte's eyes clouded with tears, Elizabeth's alarm increased. Her friend was not inclined to displays of emotion.
Mrs. Hill pulled out the chair for her, and reached for the teapot.
"I thank you for your attentions, Mrs. Hill, but I cannot be away long." Looking at Elizabeth, Charlotte asked, "Will you come with me?"
"Of course," Elizabeth said, already moving to the hall while Mrs. Hill scurried to fetch a wrap.
They left Mrs. Hill with her ink-stained hand over her heart, guarding the doorway as if she could prevent any more evil from befalling her family.
"What is it, Charlotte? What have you learned?" Elizabeth struggled to keep her friend's pace.
For a moment, Elizabeth thought Charlotte would break into a run. Instead, she stopped short, blurting out, "Mother confessed," and then continued on at her rapid clip.
Elizabeth's heart leapt up into her throat and dread filled her bones. "She confessed?" No, no, it could not be! Every fiber of her being pronounced it a lie. But why would Lady Lucas lie? And especially about a murder.
"Come on, Lizzy, Lord Harvisham is on his way and I want to be there for Mother. She is beside herself and I fear for her."
Elizabeth's thoughts had slowed her feet. She had many questions, but Charlotte was in no position to answer them at that moment, so great was her concern for her own mother.
What a dear friend. Even with her familial loyalty, Charlotte had kept her promise.
For her sake, Elizabeth would do everything she could to be present at Lady Lucas' interview. She would not believe her confession unless there was sufficient evidence to condemn her. She prayed with all her soul that Lady Lucas' claim was unfounded, and she only required some rest. Already, Elizabeth formed excuses which she would express to ensure the revelation of the truth. Could it be Lady Lucas had suffered too great a shock?
Sir William paced in the entrance hall when they rushed through the open door at Lucas Lodge. The servants disappeared into the shadows of the dark halls with somber looks.
"Has Lord Harvisham arrived?" asked Charlotte.
Sir William had no time to answer before they heard the creaking and jingling of a carriage approach.
Charlotte said, "I cannot wait to receive them here. I must go to Mother. She is waiting in her sitting room, and
the maid knows to bring in a tray once everyone is settled."
Her attention to detail under duress impressed Elizabeth. Charlotte's father, on the other hand, did not react so calmly under the pressure placed upon him. His hands shook until he clenched them together in front of him. Elizabeth heard the tremble in his breath.
Turning to him before Lord Harvisham had descended the carriage, Elizabeth said, "Lord Harvisham is a fair man. In every way, he has proved himself to be sensible and thorough in his inquiries. I have every confidence he, with the assistance of Mr. Darcy, Mr. Tanner, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, will discover the truth and send the real culprit to trial."
"Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I requested for Mr. Thorne to come with them. He is a familiar face and his presence will comfort my wife."
Boot steps clomped up the steps and Lord Harvisham entered the entrance hall flanked by William and Mr. Tanner on one side and Colonel Fitzwilliam and the vicar on the other.
Bows were exchanged, as well as the few pleasantries expected (and which seemed entirely inappropriate on such a dismal occasion).
Nobody questioned her presence, nor did Elizabeth draw attention to it, remaining quiet and attempting to blend in with her surroundings — not a difficult task with her drab mourning clothes and the dark halls of Lucas Lodge.
Lady Lucas rested on a fainting couch, a vial of smelling salts on a table within reach. Her lady's maid stood over her, fanning Lady Lucas' face. Chairs had been brought inside the room, set around in a circle as if she were already facing a judge and jury.
Lord Harvisham pulled his chair forward. "Sir William, I am certain your wife would much prefer for you to sit beside her than next to me. Whatever she has to say today, it takes a great deal of bravery for one to admit to a wrong."
Elizabeth stood by Charlotte off to the side, affording them both an undisturbed view of Lady Lucas as well as the gentlemen facing her.
"Lady Lucas, before you tell us why you have called us here this morning, is there anyone in the room, other than myself and Mr. Thorne, whom you would rather not overhear your confession?"
