The Honorable Mr. Darcy

by Jennifer Joy

  “I hardly expected you to ask me to dance this evening, Mr. Darcy. We have successfully avoided the activity until now,” she answered dryly.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Lowering her voice, she said, “Yes, I do, and I thank you to speak no more of it. Unless you do not fear discovery?”

  He could read the anxiety in her eyes as plainly as if she spoke the words aloud. If their compromise were found out, they would have little choice but to marry. Why was the idea of a union with him so repulsive to her? Even worse, why could he not shrug her poor opinion of him off as he did with everyone else in society?

  It pained him to know the relief he would see in her widened, dark brown eyes. “I think you are safe, Miss Elizabeth. Only Miss Bingley noted my reentry into the house.” He wished he could have looked away, but he saw it nonetheless. The profound relief.

  “Then we are safe. She would be the last person in the world to reveal her suspicion if, indeed, she puts all of the pieces together.”

  Darcy doubted Miss Bingley capable of such strenuous mental exercise.

  He winced when their gloved hands touched. Miss Elizabeth’s bite had been as sharp as her mind always was.

  “Are you quite well?” She narrowed her eyes, her eyebrows furrowing in concern.

  “I am, thank you.”

  “I do not believe you, sir,” she said softly.

  “Do your sympathies always extend to the injured?” Maybe she would like him better were he to adopt a limp.

  “Someone ought to champion their cause. Too often, the defenseless suffer meaninglessly at the hand of the powerful. It is an injustice I despise.” Her eyes sparked, and her voice trembled with the depth of her feeling.

  “We are not so different then,” he said under his breath. She would not understand him, but he so badly wanted her to.

  He saw the curiosity spread over her expressive face. He also saw her chew on her upper lip before her jaw opened completely. “Oh! It is my fault. How could I have forgotten so quickly?”

  Giving a quick look about them to see if anyone could overhear, he said softly, “That you bit me?”

  She nodded her head, bowing it lower than she needed to. “I am sorry.”

  “Miss Elizabeth,” he said her name to gain her full attention. “It was nothing more than an instinctive reaction, and one of which you should feel no shame. If anyone were to attempt something so foolish as to assault you, I have every confidence you would soon free yourself.”

  “But you did not let go.”

  If only he could tell her how it had taken every ounce of strength in his possession to hold her as he did, she would take more confidence in her tactics. Though her teeth sunk through his glove and bruised his fingers, he had been proud of her. Only the greater fear of compromising a lady whom he had begun to admire— a lady whose favorable opinion he was determined to win— had prevented her from shouting aloud and revealing their compromise. He could not do that to her. Not even when she fit so perfectly in his arms…

  Clearing his throat, he said, “You would have lost your freedom to choose. What is a bruised finger in comparison?”

  He could not read her expression. It was not one he had seen before.

  She took care not to jostle his hand as the dance continued, and her care warmed Darcy’s heart. It carried him through the next few hours of tortuous socializing until Bingley’s ball came to an end.

  Mother insisted they be the last guests to leave. However, when the sun dawned a new day and the other guests had gone, she could no longer postpone their departure.

  Their wraps procured and their carriage ready to convey them home, Elizabeth paused in the entry hall while Mother dawdled. Through the open door, she saw three riders approaching at a rapid clip.

  It was difficult to mistake Mr. Stallard, with his prancing blood horse and gleaming beaver hat. Joining him was Colonel Forster, also easily identifiable with his decorated scarlet regimental coat. The other rider was the village constable and innkeeper, Mr. Tanner, who sat atop a black horse as large as he.

  Father greeted the gentlemen as they stood on the threshold. “You have arrived late for the festivities, but I daresay there is still some punch to be had.”

  Mr. Tanner said in his rough baritone, “I was not invited.” He seemed pleased to cause discomfort and offered no further explanation.

  Mr. Bingley joined them. “An oversight I shall not repeat again, sir.”

  “I am accustomed to being overlooked, Mr. Bingley. It is my lot,” Mr. Tanner said bitterly, looking to the gentlemen accompanying him to speak.

  Colonel Forster cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, we have come here to inquire if we might have a word with Mr. Darcy. Privately.”

  On hearing his name, Mr. Darcy stepped forward.

  Again clearing his throat, Colonel Forster said, “You see, sir, we require your assistance in a matter of grave importance and extreme delicacy.” He looked at the crowded threshold.

  Elizabeth, taking his hint, encouraged her sisters to continue down the stairs.

  Mr. Tanner, impatient, added, “Can you account for your whereabouts last night, Mr. Darcy?”

  Mr. Stallard shot him a disapproving glare. “Calm yourself, Mr. Tanner. No accusations will be made until we gather more information, and I thank you to allow your superiors to ask the questions.”

  Mr. Darcy’s brow furled, his eyes darting between the two men. Addressing Mr. Stallard, he said, “I was here all evening.”

  “As I suspected, Mr. Darcy. Now all we need is for someone to serve as a witness you were here at the hour of midnight. I trust that we will have no difficulties doing so,” Mr. Stallard added with a smile of relief and an assured look at Mr. Tanner.

  Elizabeth held her breath, her foot pausing over the last step. She knew exactly where Mr. Darcy was at the hour of midnight. He shot her a look so fierce, she clamped her lips shut.

  Mr. Collins stepped forward eagerly. “As the rector of Mr. Darcy’s beloved aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I can vouch for his superior character.”

  “Can you vouch for his presence?” retorted Mr. Tanner.

  Mr. Collins’ stature shrunk before the intimidating presence of Mr. Tanner, but to his credit, he did not back down. “If it pleases Mr. Darcy, I would be honored to stay behind to offer my full support and insight.”

  Colonel Forster, motioning to the rest of their group, said, “Perhaps we should allow Mr. Bingley to see to his guests before we continue with our questionings. This is a sordid affair and not fit for the ears of the ladies.”

  Elizabeth’s skin prickled. Sordid affair? What had happened? Why had they come to question Mr. Darcy? She looked at him again, but he offered his arm to her and handed her into the waiting carriage in silence. Nor did he give an answer to Mr. Collins, who remained behind, content to be of service to Lady Catherine’s relation whether he was given leave to do so or not.

  Mr. Tanner did not hold by such delicacy of manners. He called out loudly enough for her to hear, “Take care to watch over your household, Mr. Bennet. There is a murderer among us.” He looked pointedly at Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth felt Mr. Darcy’s hand tense before he let go of her and saw her own astonishment reflected in his expression before the coach pulled away.

  Chapter 6

  Darcy watched the Bennet’s carriage roll down Bingley’s drive.

  “Bingley, may we use your study?” he asked, his voice sounding strange and distant in his own ears.

  Bingley nodded his head enthusiastically. “Of course. This does not seem to be the sort of conversation to be overheard by the ladies or the servants.”

  “As you please, sirs, but I would wager that most of Meryton believes Mr. Darcy guilty,” said Mr. Tanner with a smirk.

  Darcy tried to remember Mr. Tanner. He did not have the rough features of a commonplace man. His straight nose and high cheekbones looked more aristocratic. To Darcy’s knowledge, he had done nothing to deserve such M
r. Tanner’s derision. He had not conversed with the man. If only his manners matched his appearance.

  Leaving the Hursts and Miss Bingley to do what they would, the men sat in a circle around the fireplace in Bingley’s study— all except Mr. Collins, who hovered in the center of the group.

  “Will you not take a seat, Mr. Collins?” suggested Bingley.

  The clergyman bowed. “I thank you, sir. Your offer is most affable, but I feel that it is my duty to observe every detail and would be hard pressed to do so from a seated position.”

  Mr. Tanner said, “Take care not to stand too close to the fire lest you scorch your breeches.”

  Clearing his throat, Colonel Forster said, “We have come here this morning merely in a search for information. No accusations are being made.” He looked pointedly at Mr. Tanner, who crossed his thick arms and sat back with a scowl.

  Colonel Forster continued, “A soldier under my charge, Lieutenant George Wickham, was found murdered in the barracks.”

  Darcy froze. While a weight lifted off him, his stomach clenched at the loss. This was not the manner in which he wished to be free of Wickham. “George Wickham?” he asked, to be certain.

  Mr. Tanner’s stare bored into him. “Yes. One of the soldiers on duty heard a shot fire at midnight. He performed a search in the area from which the shot sounded and found Lieutenant Wickham dead— shot in the chest.”

  “Was nobody else around? Not all of the officers were here last night. For a certainty, someone must have seen something significant,” suggested Bingley.

  Colonel Forster shook his head grimly. “The lads who were not here with us were equally occupied at the tavern. Most did not even hear the shot.”

  Mr. Stallard added, “Too many of them were in their cups to offer any assistance at all. One detail worthy of mention is that upon searching through his officers’ kit, we did not see his pistol. We are left to assume Mr. Wickham was shot with his own weapon.”

  Colonel Forster shifted in his seat. “It is our understanding, Mr. Darcy, you had an altercation with Mr. Wickham in his tent yesterday. Do you remember seeing his pistol?”

  “Yes. He was polishing it. Who witnessed our disagreement?”

  Shoving his head down so his double chin pressed against his chest, Colonel Forster said, “Mr. Denny, who is— er, was— a close friend of the deceased, saw you enter the tent.”

  Darcy’s pulse drummed in his ears. “Did he tell you what he heard?” He had been careful to keep his voice down, but Wickham had not.

  “He did not. Mr. Denny only mentioned hearing Mr. Wickham’s voice raised and seeing you depart in an agitated manner for the stables.”

  “Is that why you killed him? Over a quarrel?” accused Mr. Tanner openly.

  Mr. Collins tripped over his feet as he turned too rapidly to face the constable, nearly landing in the man’s lap. “My good sir,” he said, righting himself, “it is preposterous you should come here to question Mr. Darcy when it is apparent that this is the first he has heard of the unfortunate incident. As a member of a highly esteemed family, I would think him above suspicion.”

  “You do, do you?” boomed Mr. Tanner. “You assume that Mr. Darcy is incapable of committing a crime merely because he has been fortunate enough to be born into a wealthy family in the first circles? You must not read the paper, Mr. Collins, or you would know that those in the highest positions of society are the very ones who commit the most heinous acts.”

  Puffing up like an agitated rooster, Mr. Collins replied, “Let me assure you that as one charged with maintaining the delicate balance of moral purity in my parish, as entrusted to me by none other than Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am well aware of the current events which might tarnish their minds. It is my duty to know of such evils so that I may protect my parishioners from their influence. However, I fail to see how you have the audacity to come here and accuse Mr. Darcy of a sinful act he could not possibly have committed.”

  Though grateful for Mr. Collins’ blind faith in his innocence, his arguments stood on fickle ground.

  “Can you personally account for Mr. Darcy’s whereabouts at the hour of midnight? Can you swear on it before God?” asked Mr. Tanner. “Can you, Mr. Bingley?”

  “Of course, he was here all evening,” offered Bingley. “He danced with several ladies during the evening. However, you will be hard pressed to get anyone to say with absolute certainty that they observed any one person at a particular time at a crowded ball.”

  Mr. Stallard sighed loudly, “I agree that we ask what is impossible, Mr. Bingley, but it is the only way we can clear Mr. Darcy of suspicion. It is believed throughout Meryton that Mr. Wickham suffered a grave injustice at his hand,” he paused, holding his hands up. “Whether it be true or not is beside the point. We only seek the truth where it bears insight on the murder of Mr. Wickham. I see no merit in it, but the villagers hold strong prejudices against you, Mr. Darcy, and we would do well to clear your name of any blame before the inquest. There are some among us who would not hesitate to send a gentleman of the first circles to the gallows.”

  Some, like Mr. Tanner.

  Darcy held his breath. Only one person knew where he was at that hour.

  “I did not kill George Wickham. On my word as a gentleman—”

  “A gentleman?” Mr. Tanner scoffed. “Are we to accept your word merely because it is you who gives it? I think not, Mr. Darcy. The fact is, you are our primary suspect. We know all about your confrontation with Mr. Wickham the very morning of the ball. Several villagers watched you storm out of the barracks and many of them have agreed that you appeared infuriated enough to act in a passion.”

  “We had a disagreement. That much is true.” He forced himself to breathe slowly, though his blood pounded in his head.

  “What was the disagreement?” asked Mr. Tanner.

  “I am not at liberty to discuss the matter, but Mr. Wickham was alive when I left him,” Darcy said, leveling his glare at Mr. Tanner and holding it in a battle of wills which the constable seemed determined to win.

  “Gentlemen, as of yet there are no accusations being made. Might I remind you, Mr. Tanner, that as the magistrate, I am in charge of this investigation with the collaboration of Colonel Forster as the commanding officer of this regiment? You are to assist me in your role of village constable, but I will conduct matters as I see fit. You answer to me.”

  Thank God the magistrate had some sense.

  After a grudging nod from Mr. Tanner, Mr. Stallard continued, “Now, Mr. Darcy, do you have anything to say about your whereabouts at midnight? Are there any witnesses who might vouch for your presence here, at Netherfield Park, within fifteen minutes of that hour?”

  Darcy would not lie, nor induce his friends to lie. Nor would he involve Miss Elizabeth in the infuriating mess either. “I did not leave Netherfield Park. You may question whom you please.”

  “I am relieved to hear you say that, Mr. Darcy.” Colonel Forster turned his attention to Mr. Bingley. “Do you have anything to add?”

  Bingley’s ears turned bright red, but to his credit, his complexion remained cool. “I saw Darcy throughout the evening, but I cannot say precisely where he was at midnight. I am certain that he was here just as I am certain that you will find someone to confirm it.” He looked apologetically at Darcy, but what else could he have said? Nobody save Miss Elizabeth knew where he was. And why should they? Who watched the clock so closely at a ball?

  “Very good, Mr. Bingley. Now, may I ask if we might question the females in your household— with your presence, of course? Or would you prefer that we return at a later time?” asked Mr. Stallard.

  “We had best have it done now. If anybody noticed Darcy’s whereabouts, it would be my sister,” said Bingley with a confident smile.

  Darcy tried to look as pleased as his friend felt. Miss Bingley had noticed him enter the house after being out of doors. Her testimony may prove more detrimental than helpful.

  They stood, everyon
e excepting Darcy and Mr. Tanner in high humor.

  As they neared the door, Mr. Tanner said, “Might I suggest, Mr. Darcy, that you not attempt to travel beyond Meryton? It would be particularly unwise for you to depart until we have brought the murderer to justice. And trust me, sir, I will see the guilty party hang.”

  “As will I,” Darcy growled back. He had bigger concerns than the threats of Mr. Tanner. He had to discover who murdered Wickham or else take the fall.

  Elizabeth paced around the drawing room at Longbourn. She could not sleep as her sisters did, nor could she sit quietly enough to suit her father. Banned from the study and unwilling to wake Jane in their bedchamber, Elizabeth paced around the drawing room.

  Had her thoughts not taken such a serious turn, she would have laughed at the irony of her anxiously awaiting the return of Mr. Collins. Of course, it was not the man himself she wished to see, but rather the information he possessed. She could only hope that his presumptuous over-importance would allow him to share what he had overheard.

  The soft crunch of gravel in their drive alerted her to the arrival of a carriage. It was Mr. Bingley’s. How good of the gentleman to lend the use of his carriage to Mr. Collins. He would make a kind husband to Jane… if he had not been offended by her family’s outrageous behavior of the evening before. Elizabeth shivered at the recollection. Mr. Darcy had heard it too. He had looked on in acute disgust. And yet… he had asked her for a dance, and he had been amiable.

  Hastening to the couch, Elizabeth grabbed the needlework near her and pretended to occupy herself with it. The door opened, and Mr. Collins entered the hall. He saw her.

  “Cousin Elizabeth, might I inquire if Mr. Bennet is awake?”

  “He is in his study. Might I inquire why?”

  “There is a matter of grave importance which I wish to discuss with him. No time must be wasted.” He marched down the hall and knocked on Father’s door, leaving Elizabeth aching with anxiety.

  Falling in behind him, she thought to gain entrance into the room. Indeed, when Father answered the door, he opened it wide enough she felt her presence welcome. However, Mr. Collins was not of the same mind.