A Matter of Honor

by Abigail Reynolds

Her aunt tilted her head to the side, her brows gathered. “It sounds to me as if you need to talk to Mr. Darcy rather than run away from him. Ask him to stay away from you.”

  “It does not work. He thinks he knows better than I do.” If she told him about Mr. Collins’s threats, he would try to fix the situation, and that would only make matters worse. Disastrously worse. “It is better for me to disappear. It will not be for long. I could even stay in Edinburgh if there were somewhere to go. I could just remain inside.”

  “You could do that here.”

  She had already thought of that. “Mr. Fitzpatrick would know I was here, and Darcy is his friend. It is better if he knows nothing of this.”

  “Well, my dear, you seem to be determined, even though I do not think it necessary. Still, if you want to disappear, I have just the place for you.”

  “You do?” That had been Elizabeth’s greatest worry. Scotland was still foreign to her, and she did not know where a woman could go alone safely.

  “I have an estate north of Glasgow, out in the Highlands. No one ever goes there. I have thought of selling the place, but it was so dear to my husband that I cannot bring myself to do it.” Aunt Emmeline’s gaze was far away. “You could be of service to me, too, by making certain it is being well run. And you should take Timothy. The doctor said he might benefit from country air.”

  Oh, to be in the countryside again, after all these months in Edinburgh! “That sounds perfect. How soon can I go there?”

  Aunt Emmeline laughed. “Not this very moment! I will have to send word ahead of you so that they can prepare.”

  “I do not need any special care, just my privacy.” And freedom from fear of discovery.

  “The staff there have their pride. Give them two or three days to make ready for you.”

  Two or three days. But what if Darcy came back sooner than that? She would just have to pretend to be ill and unable to receive him. She must never see him again, regardless of what she felt. And at the moment, she felt altogether too much.

  THE LETTER ARRIVED two days after Hogmanay, but Darcy left it sitting unopened on his bedside table for a day after it came. It had been forwarded to him from London, but the original direction was in Bingley’s handwriting. Darcy was reluctant to read it. After all these weeks of forcing himself to accept that Bingley had questioned his honor, he did not want to reopen newly healed wounds. He already knew what it must say. Jane Bennet would have told her new husband the truth about him, and now Bingley was ready to believe his story, at least until the next time he decided to doubt Darcy’s word. He did not want to hear it.

  In the end he only opened it in the hope that it might have some word about Jane that he could report to Elizabeth. He broke the seal with a muttered oath.

  It did not even look like one of Bingley’s letters. There was not a single blot, and his handwriting was unusually tidy. At least he had gone to the trouble of making a fair copy.

  It began as he had expected with an apology for disbelieving him. Bingley claimed he had known it was a mistake almost right away, but his anger over Darcy’s proposal to Elizabeth kept him from trying to mend the breach. It was perhaps the best Darcy could expect, since Bingley was not born a gentleman.

  You may have heard that Miss Bennet is now Mrs. Bingley. She has revealed to me that she believes Miss Elizabeth is in Edinburgh. We intend to travel thither to look for her once the weather is more clement, perhaps in April or May.

  It ended abruptly with Bingley’s signature.

  Darcy opened his writing desk and pulled out a sheet of paper.

  I have been in Edinburgh since November after learning the same information. It took me some weeks to locate Miss Elizabeth as she is using a different name. She is well and seems content living with her aunt. She has received no news from Longbourn since her departure, and was unaware the gossip had reached Meryton until I informed her of it. I gave her a copy of your wedding announcement which brought her great pleasure. When I see Miss Elizabeth next, I will ask her if she wishes for me to give you her address and new name. As for the rest, we can discuss it on my return to England, but I do not know when that will be.

  Perhaps he would learn the answer to that question when he had the chance to speak to Elizabeth.

  “I AM SORRY, SIR. I regret to inform you that Miss Merton is once again not at home.”

  “I am here to see Mrs. MacLean, not Miss Merton.” Darcy did not add that he knew for a fact that Mrs. MacLean was indeed at home. That would come later if it was needed. He had not traveled all the way to Scotland to give up in an attempt to be polite to a butler.

  The butler opened the door wider and stood beside it. “Very good, sir. If you would wait here, I will see if Mrs. MacLean is at home.” He bowed and walked off.

  Darcy merely nodded. At least he had got inside the door this time.

  “Mrs. MacLean will see you now.” The butler showed Darcy to the drawing room and announced him.

  Mrs. MacLean rose to her feet and curtsied elegantly. “My dear Mr. Darcy! How charming of you to call. I thought of you often since you became our first-footer. Do sit down and tell me what you have been doing since Hogmanay.”

  Her cordial greeting caught Darcy off-guard. “I have been doing very little apart from being turned away by your butler.”

  “Turned away? You must have misunderstood. I would never turn away a fine young man like you.”

  He had forgotten he was dealing with an actress. “I first called to see your niece on the second of January and was told she was unwell and not receiving callers. I received the same message on each of the next three days. Since then, I have been told she was out. Today I asked Jasper Fitzpatrick when I would be most likely to find Miss Merton at home, and he told me she had left Edinburgh shortly after Hogmanay.”

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Did you know I asked him about you? He said that you sometimes had no patience for social niceties, but that you were an honorable and trustworthy fellow.”

  He did not care what Jasper had said. “How very kind of him. There, I have performed a social nicety, so may I impose upon you to tell me where Miss Elizabeth is gone?”

  Mrs. MacLean opened her fan and waved it languidly. “I would love to oblige, but I am uncertain why I should tell you that, given that Lizzy has clearly gone to a great deal of trouble to avoid your finding her.”

  So it had been deliberate, even after their conversation on New Year’s Eve. He would need to be more careful in his approach to Mrs. MacLean. “As you know, Miss Elizabeth’s reputation in England is damaged because of her connection to me. Her family is suffering for it. None of the neighbors receive them now, and her sisters are tainted by what is thought to be her shame.”

  Mrs. MacLean’s eyebrows rose. “I had understood her family was not affected.”

  “You were misled,” Darcy said grimly. “I returned to the neighborhood in the autumn and saw how they were shunned. Her family’s situation might have improved now that her eldest sister has married, but that marriage only took place because Mr. Bingley felt indirectly responsible for their troubles since he had brought me there in the first place.”

  “That is unfortunate, but I wonder why you are telling me this.”

  “Because all of this could be fixed if Elizabeth agreed to marry me. I understand she would prefer a different husband, but I am the one who can restore her family’s respectability. I do not understand why she runs away rather than discuss the matter. If she is so firmly resolved against me, all she needs to do is to say so.”

  Mrs. MacLean fluttered her fan. “People who run away are generally frightened of something.”

  But why, damn it? “She has no reason to be frightened of me.”

  Mrs. MacLean nodded. “I agree, and, what is more, I do not believe she is frightened of you. The question, then, is what has frightened her, and that is a question only she can answer.”

  Darcy ground his teeth. “It is a pity, then, that I cannot ask her.�
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  “It does place you in a difficult position.” She set aside her fan and glanced at the window. “I am so glad the days are growing longer again. Soon it will be spring. It is a beautiful season in Scotland. I particularly enjoy visiting my Highland estate in the spring when the flowers are in bloom.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. Her sudden talk of the weather had to be a dismissal. She did not intend to help him, despite his clear reasons why Elizabeth should marry him. This was a pointless conversation. “I thank you for your patience, Mrs. MacLean. I will trouble you no longer.”

  “Oh, will you abandon me so quickly? I think you would enjoy my estate. It is in the hills north of Glasgow. It would be a great pity for you to leave Scotland without ever seeing our Highlands. My husband loved it because his family is there, but I was very fond of the views.”

  Why was the woman babbling on about her estate? He only wanted to know where Elizabeth was.

  Oh.

  “Is your estate far from here?” The Highlands were reputed to be a vast wilderness.

  Mrs. MacLean beamed at him. “Some ninety miles, but the roads are not good, especially at the end. First you go to Stirling, and then on to Aberfoyle. Have you read The Lady of the Lake? It is set near there.”

  Stirling. Aberfoyle. He tucked the names into his memory. “How would one find the way from Aberfoyle?”

  She waved her hand. “If you ask for Kinloch House, someone will tell you the way.”

  “Perhaps someday I will have the honor of visiting it.” His exultation at finding Elizabeth’s location suddenly vanished. He still had to convince her to marry him. If only he knew what had frightened her! “Should I ever have the good fortune to find Miss Ben – I mean Miss Merton, have you any advice for me?”

  “My dear, a lady’s advice on these matters may cause confusion. I will only suggest that you recall you are in Scotland.”

  He blinked. “I am well aware I am in Scotland, but I fail to see the relevance.”

  She leaned forward and tapped his knee with her fan. “Marriage in England is such a complicated matter. Banns, family approval, being of age – why, it is a wonder anyone ever manages to marry there. It is much simpler here, where the nearest clergyman might be a day’s travel away. Anyone can marry you. I believe the blacksmith on Gretna Green does a fine business in weddings.” She dropped her voice. “It is enough even to claim you are married. If both of you claim before witnesses that you are married, then so you are.”

  Darcy nodded slowly. “That is interesting counsel. I thank you.”

  DARCY STUDIED THE LARGE map of Scotland that Ramsay had spread across his desk.

  Ramsay pointed to a spot on the map. “We are here. It is half a day’s journey by stage to Stirling, but from there you will likely need to hire a guide to take you the rest of the way. The Highland roads are better suited to carts than to fine carriages.”

  “I can ride to Aberfoyle and ask directions as I go.”

  Ramsay looked up from the map. “I cannot advise it. This is the hungry season in the Highlands, and a lone English gentleman would be a tempting target for brigands. It would be better to hire a local to take you there. Did you bring pistols with you? I can loan you mine. You will want to be armed.”

  “You make it sound as if I am going behind Napoleon’s lines. Surely it cannot be so bad.”

  “Worse, in a way. Many Highlanders consider the English to be heartless monsters, not without reason. You cannot judge the Highlands by what you have seen here in the Lowlands. I would feel better if you hired a guard to travel with you.”

  “I cannot think it is so very dangerous if Mrs. MacLean was willing to send Elizabeth there.”

  “She would not have sent her alone. She was no doubt surrounded by Scots for the entire journey.”

  He sighed. “Very well. I will hire a guide.”

  Chapter 8

  “THERE IT IS, MISS MERTON,” called the coachman. “Kinloch House.”

  Elizabeth looked in the direction he pointed. A white house built in a Palladian style, no larger than Longbourn, stood on rising ground high above the loch. Under the gray sky, it looked something less than welcoming, but anything with a roof that allowed her to stop traveling sounded like heaven. Mr. Darcy had said at Hunsford that fifty miles of good road was an easy distance. She now knew that ten miles of bad road in winter was a very long distance indeed.

  They crossed the river on an old stone bridge and drove along an even less traveled track following the bank, below hills covered with some sort of shrub. Small enclosures separated by dry stone walls lined the lane. Farm fields, by the look of the tilled soil, now barren in winter. A cluster of cottages stood on the heath above them. She had seen fewer cottages or farmers than she had expected on this journey, only a sad string of common folk carrying their few belongings down the road. Gypsies, most likely. The Highlands seemed to be populated primarily by sheep.

  The lane to the house was winding and steep, but the view across the loch to the mountains was impressive. She would enjoy that. The house, surprisingly, appeared in good condition from the outside. Elizabeth had been prepared for it to be ill maintained since no one had been in residence for years, but the ivy was neatly trimmed back and the shrubs had been shaped recently. No fallen leaves spotted the lawn. Was all this effort a show for her benefit?

  Elizabeth reached across to shake Timothy’s shoulder. “Time to wake up. We are here.”

  The boy rubbed his eyes. “Already?” he asked blearily.

  “At last might be more appropriate,” said Elizabeth. The bumpy ride might not have kept Timothy from falling asleep with his head on his nurse’s lap, but Elizabeth felt as if her very bones had been jostled apart. And that was without counting the fright she had taken when the carriage had been halted by an armed man who had then inexplicably permitted them to pass unmolested.

  The driver pulled up in front of the portico and helped Elizabeth out, leaving the groom to deal with Nurse and Timothy. Two stableboys ran up to hold the horses. The coachman raised the door knocker and let it fall.

  A neatly dressed elderly man with a narrow moustache, presumably the butler, opened the door. “Miss Merton, welcome to Kinloch House.” He held the door wide open, revealing two lines of servants awaiting her inspection, just as if she were the mistress of a great English house. My, there were so many of them! More than at Longbourn certainly, but perhaps the housekeeper had hired extra help upon learning that Elizabeth would be coming. A tardy maid hurried to take her place at the end of the line.

  “Miss Merton, may I present the housekeeper, Mrs. MacLaren?”

  Elizabeth smiled at the housekeeper apologetically. “I am sorry to be such trouble. I told my aunt I needed nothing special here, just a few rooms cleared of holland covers.”

  “Kinloch House is always ready for the family to visit,” said the housekeeper with pride. “I trust you will find everything satisfactory.”

  “You are very kind, Mrs. MacLaren. There is a little boy in the carriage who will need to be carried to the nursery.”

  The housekeeper curtsied. “I will send someone to help him. Miss Merton, may I present the butler of Kinloch House, Mr. MacLaren? And this is our steward, Mr. MacLaren.”

  Taken aback, Elizabeth asked, “How do I tell you which Mr. MacLaren I wish to speak to?”

  “MacLaren the butler or MacLaren the steward will do. Almost everyone in the glen is a MacLaren. We have a few Campbells and a Stewart or two, but mostly MacLarens. May I present the upstairs maids, Margaret, Jean, and Janet? All MacLarens, of course.” She continued down the line.

  Three upstairs maids in a house no one lived in? Six footmen? No doubt there were dozens of gardeners keeping that lawn free of leaves. This must be costing her aunt a fortune. The steward and housekeeper were likely employing every person in their entire families. But Elizabeth smiled at each servant, even the ones who looked at her anxiously, before being taken to a scrupulously clean bedroom with
a large four-poster bed. A coal fire burned in an absolutely clean fireplace. Had someone scrubbed it out before lighting it?

  “This will do nicely,” Elizabeth told the housekeeper.

  ELIZABETH HAD PLANNED to bring her lady’s maid from Edinburgh to Kinloch, but the girl had taken ill just before their departure, so Elizabeth had assured her she could use one of the maids already at Kinloch House. She would not need to keep up a stylish appearance while hiding in the Highlands, after all.

  Margaret, the parlor maid who had been assigned to serve her, timidly helped her into a warm woolen day dress. Elizabeth peered out the window as the girl fastened the last buttons.

  Elizabeth frowned. “Margaret, it is the dead of winter and nothing is growing. Why are there four gardeners working in the garden?” Being overstaffed was one thing, but this was ridiculous.

  Margaret came and peeked out the window. “Clearing the paths, miss.” Her voice trembled.

  “Surely that could wait until spring.” Elizabeth watched the maid closely.

  The girl glanced away and began to tie back the bed curtains. “The head gardener might be able to tell ye. He’s a gruff old fellow, my uncle’s wife’s father. My uncle wanted to be a gardener, but he would not take him, so my uncle become a tanner. Tanning makes his clothes stink, and my mother will not let him in the house until after he has washed thoroughly, but his tanned sheepskin is beautiful, better than aught from Glasgow.”

  The maid had not been babbling about inconsequential things until Elizabeth started asking questions. Was it an attempt to distract her from asking about the gardeners? “How are you at dressing hair?”

  Margaret’s eyes widened in alarm. “Och, I am no lady’s maid, but I will do my best, if ye wish.”

  Why was the girl so nervous? “I can manage it myself. After all, I do not need to look particularly elegant here, do I?”

  “Ye will always look elegant, miss.” But the maid’s expression was woebegone.