The Elizabeth Conspiracy

by Jennifer Joy

  She shook her head to clear her mind of him. When that did not work, she squeezed her eyes closed — upon which the upward curl of his lips, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, and the dent in his firm chin appeared with startling clarity in her memory. She opened her eyes, fearing what the night would bring if what she had seen was any indication of her forthcoming dreams.

  To find something so beautiful in someone so disagreeable distressed her greatly.

  "Lizzy?" Charlotte's voice pulled Elizabeth into the present. The maid could have led her into the woods and she would not have been aware of it.

  Shaking her head once again, Elizabeth greeted Charlotte, grateful to her friend for pulling her out of the quagmire of her imagination.

  The maid twiddled her thumbs while Elizabeth stopped to greet her friends. Miss de Bourgh could wait another minute.

  "I cannot stop for long. Miss de Bourgh wishes to speak with me," Elizabeth explained, rolling her eyes to show her friends that she would rather stay with them.

  Charlotte's eyes dashed over to the maid. "Promise me you will be cautious, Lizzy. Miss de Bourgh is very clever."

  Before Elizabeth could ask her what she meant, Charlotte grabbed Maria, saying, "Let us leave," and with a final cautionary glance at Elizabeth, she departed.

  What did Charlotte mean? Elizabeth's interactions with Miss de Bourgh had been limited until now. She still did not completely understand why the lady insisted on inviting her to Rosings. Why her? Why so near the end of her stay at the parsonage?

  Elizabeth's concern increased with each step she took up the stairs until the maid led her into an impressive sitting room replete in blue silk and gold braids. An intricately carved wood panel along one wall, the expansive rug padding the floor, and the cherubs painted on the ceiling added to the splendor of the room.

  Miss de Bourgh rose from the fainting couch, diminutive in the midst of the grand features of her sitting room. Elizabeth would have dismissed her presence in a crowd, but on closer inspection there was something in the tilt of her chin and the flint-like hardness in her eyes that made Elizabeth recall one of her favorite verses of Shakespeare: Though she be but little, she is fierce!

  Taking Elizabeth's hands between her own as if they were long-lost friends, Miss de Bourgh led her over to the couch and asked for a tray to be brought in.

  "Do you find Rosings to your liking?" she asked, her manner smug. Of course, she would know the answer.

  Taking Charlotte's warning to heart, Elizabeth answered cautiously, "It is impressive."

  Miss de Bourgh arched her neck haughtily, "It is the finest estate in all of England, excepting perhaps Pemberley. You are very fortunate to be here as my guest."

  "So I have heard repeatedly," Elizabeth said, not meaning to have voiced the words aloud. She added a smile to take the edge off her sarcasm.

  Miss de Bourgh's eyes narrowed. "You do not agree?" It was more a challenge than an honest question.

  "I understand I am here to benefit from your instruction, and that of Lady Catherine. Indeed, I feel much improved already after the lesson in Roman history I received from the walls in the Bow Room."

  Her flippant retort earned a small smile, and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief to learn that her hostess possessed a sense of humor.

  "Few homes can boast to have paintings done by Louis Laguerre."

  Elizabeth replied, "And the intricate carvings of Grinling Gibbons in their Baroque bedchambers."

  Miss de Bourgh laughed, a cold, calculating cackle that set Elizabeth on edge. "I see you learn quickly, Miss Elizabeth. That is in your favor. What else have you learned?"

  Elizabeth did not like to play these games. She would speak honestly and openly. "I have learned I must be cautious with you," she said plainly.

  Miss de Bourgh's smile widened, but there was no glint of humor in her eyes. "And rightly so. I always get what I want."

  Elizabeth sensed she was playing a dangerous game at which she was at a terrible disadvantage. She asked, "And what is it you want with me?"

  Miss de Bourgh looked down her nose at Elizabeth, giving her the sinking sensation she had already lost the first round.

  In a firm voice, Miss de Bourgh said, "I want you to replace Mrs. Jenkinson as my companion."

  Chapter 13

  Elizabeth's cheeks stung with the insult. She was a gentleman's daughter — not of the working class. That Miss de Bourgh considered it appropriate — advantageous even! — to offer Elizabeth a position beneath her station showed a selfish disdain for rank (of which Miss de Bourgh was all too aware and proud of her own) and a narrow-minded disregard for Elizabeth's future. She could think of no kind way to reply. Not even Mr. Darcy had offended her so deeply.

  Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth said with forced calm, "You already have a companion."

  She had thought Mrs. Jenkinson's threat to be strange and unfounded, but she had been wrong. At the time, had the elderly companion voiced it, Elizabeth would not have believed it for its absurdity. She ought to have given Mrs. Jenkinson more credit.

  Miss de Bourgh snorted. "Mrs. Jenkinson? She is old and dull," she waved off her companion as if of no account, adding, "For the first time in my life, I feel alive … and I aim to live fully. I must make up for lost time, and I need someone who can keep up. Someone like you."

  Elizabeth dreaded to imagine how someone as egocentric and devious as Miss de Bourgh was proving herself to be would choose to live. She wanted no part of it. Appealing to Miss de Bourgh's conscience (if, indeed, she possessed one), Elizabeth asked, "What would become of Mrs. Jenkinson?"

  Miss de Bourgh shrugged. "She is the younger sister of my deceased father, a widow who has been living off my mother's charity for long enough."

  Elizabeth could not believe what she heard. "Surely, you do not mean to cast her off completely. Where would she go?"

  Miss de Bourgh answered with a sigh signifying she could not care less about the future of her elderly aunt, "I will arrange for her to stay in a cottage by the sea. She will be quite comfortable there."

  After living in luxury her whole life? Elizabeth believed Miss de Bourgh capable of sticking Mrs. Jenkinson in a workhouse rather than setting her up comfortably on the coast.

  Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to end their discussion and distance herself from the despicable lady. Shifting her weight forward on the couch, preparing to take her leave at the moment the opportunity presented itself, she stated the obvious. "I am a gentleman's daughter. I am not in need of a position."

  Miss de Bourgh replied snappily, "You will when your father dies. Is not Mr. Collins to inherit?"

  Elizabeth calmed her breath yet again, though she felt the blood rushing through her body and her pulse racing. "My father boasts good health. It is very possible he will outlive all of us."

  Miss de Bourgh lifted an incredulous eyebrow.

  Elizabeth added, "Aside from that, Mr. Collins has a home and a living here. Why should he hasten to cast us out of the only home my mother, my sisters, and I have ever known?"

  Not everyone was as cold and ungrateful as Miss de Bourgh. In fact, if anyone was ever known to be grateful, it was Mr. Collins. And Charlotte would ensure he treated them with consideration.

  The scheming narcissist raised another eyebrow. "Mr. Collins is ambitious. He seeks prominence. I would not underestimate what he is capable of if I were you."

  The menacing tone in her voice in reference to Mr. Collins — a man who would praise a dish of boiled potatoes and whose greatest ambition was to give his elegant little compliments an unstudied air — was laughable. Besides, Charlotte would never allow it.

  Miss de Bourgh continued, "He was the one who told us of the negligence you suffered in your upbringing, crediting your ignorance in the ways of the world for your refusal of his offer of marriage."

  Mr. Collins had told Miss de Bourgh she had refused his offer?

  "Do not look so shocked, Miss Elizabeth. I have my ways of d
iscerning these things. He also told me your dowry is not enough to tempt a gentleman."

  Mr. Collins talked too much.

  Elizabeth wondered what else Miss de Bourgh knew. As flippantly as she could manage, Elizabeth said, "I do not want to marry the sort of gentleman to be tempted by a fortune."

  "And how do you plan to recommend yourself to the sort of gentleman you seek? You are pleasant to look at, but you are hardly a beauty."

  And you, vainglorious shrew, are well on your way to being the ugliest person of my acquaintance. Aloud, Elizabeth said, "I have never claimed to be a beauty, but I would hope it could be said about me that I possess character enough to treat others how I wish to be treated."

  "Nobody would say you lack character, Miss Elizabeth. However, gentlemen do not want to marry women outspoken enough to question their indiscretions or challenge their intelligence in any way. I will own you are witty. It is what drew my attention to you. But you must admit you have no accomplishments in your favor with which to attract an advantageous marriage."

  Elizabeth's muscles tensed, but she took pride in the control in her voice. "I do not seek any more advantage than to marry for love and to live happily."

  Miss de Bourgh scoffed again. She seemed to hold life and everything worthwhile in derision. "That is what lovers are for. Husbands put bread on the table and clothes on a woman's back. The love of which you speak is only found in novels."

  Elizabeth clenched her hands together. "I refuse to betray the man I will promise before God to love in the way you describe."

  Miss de Bourgh clucked her tongue and shook her head. "Vows are made to be broken. The only value they serve is to keep a woman ignorant of the ways of her husband, complacently obedient for the sake of honor and appearances. Why would you wish to marry and thus expose yourself to disappointment when you could accompany me and live a life of leisure and luxury?"

  "You do not mean to marry?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Why should I when I have a fortune of my own? If Mother persists, I suppose I shall marry Darcy to appease her. She can be so tiresome."

  It gave Elizabeth a touch of vindictive satisfaction to know Mr. Darcy did not intend to marry his cousin. (He never would have offered for her otherwise.)

  "I do not intend to give up my freedom easily." Miss de Bourgh arched her neck and yawned.

  That was quite enough. "Nor do I. I cannot accept your offer," Elizabeth said, standing to leave.

  She had only managed one step away from the fainting couch when Miss de Bourgh said, "You are my guest for the following three weeks, Miss Elizabeth. That is sufficient time to think on it."

  Elizabeth did not need time to think about it. To accept a position to someone without the morals and values she respected was as bad as being asked to forever surrender her chance (no matter how small that may be) to meet a gentleman with whom she would willingly share the rest of her life, building memories with each other as their family grew and their love deepened.

  All the emotion she had contained rippled through her, and she could not leave the room quickly enough. Her eyes burned, but she did not stop to rub them until she had made it past the doorway and out to the corridor.

  She charged toward her room, her vision blurred, hot with anger … until her hand smashed against her face when she smacked against a wall-like obstacle.

  Her legs buckled under her, but whatever — or whomever — she had run into reached out to catch her, folding her in his arms and adding to her misery with his familiar sandalwood smell. Mustering every ounce of strength she had, Elizabeth willed her legs not to give in on her, nor her eyes to betray her before she reached her room. She refused to cry in front of Mr. Darcy.

  His hands held her arms still even when she stepped away.

  "Miss Elizabeth, are you well? How may I assist you?" He searched her face for answers she would rather die than give him. Yes, she was that determined.

  "I am well, thank you, Mr. Darcy. I hope I did not ruin the polish of your boots," she smiled. Humor masked a multitude of faults, and right now, she needed it to get away from Mr. Darcy … away from Miss de Bourgh and her selfish machinations … away from Lady Catherine and her condescending cuts. Why had she agreed to extend her stay a fortnight?

  She huffed. She knew very well why she had done it. He stood before her looking concerned when he had no right to act as if he cared for her. Not after his horrible proposal where he had enumerated her numerous faults.

  He did not take his eyes off her face to check his boots. He did, however, release his hold on her arms, leaving her colder than she had been in Miss de Bourgh's presence.

  "If only—" he cut himself short, looking at her with a piercing intensity that stirred something she was unwilling to feel within her. Something that twisted her stomach, making her more wretched than before.

  He visibly struggled with whatever battle he waged in his own mind. Finally, he reached into his pocket and pressed a folded letter into her hand. She looked down at her palm, trying to discern where his touch began and hers ended.

  "Pray be so kind as to read this," he said gently, his eyes imploring hers.

  She could have borne his anger, but this kindness … it was contrary to everything she knew of Mr. Darcy, and it threatened to undo her before she could retreat to her room. She pulled on her hand, but it was too late.

  A drop, one single tear, betrayed her. It landed with a resounding splat on the paper, soaking into the page where he had written her name.

  There was no option but to leave immediately. "Excuse me, Mr. Darcy," she said, brushing past him and walking as quickly as she could until she reached her room and shut the carved oak door firmly behind her.

  Chapter 14

  "What did you say to her?" Darcy demanded from the doorway of Anne's sitting room. When he saw Mrs. Jenkinson, he took a step inside. It would be a cold day in Dante's inferno before he put himself in a position of compromise with Anne.

  She fluttered her hands over her heart and widened her eyes. "To whom?"

  Her feigned innocence only disgusted Darcy more. "To your guest," he said, not bothering to soften the bite in his tone.

  "Oh, Miss Elizabeth." She glanced at Mrs. Jenkinson, whose face was scrunched up in a wrinkled frown.

  Anne stifled a yawn. "She shall accustom herself to the ways of our household soon enough. Given the liberties she has been allowed to take, Miss Elizabeth is bound to balk at the restraints by which a proper lady must govern herself." Lowering her voice to a whisper, she added, "I hear she often walks about the park unaccompanied." Anne tsked and shook her head as if enjoying the out of doors was a serious crime.

  Darcy crossed his arms. "Has it become commonplace for maidens to be accosted in Rosings Park?" With the sheer number of servants Aunt Catherine employed, it would be difficult to walk anywhere unnoticed or for any danger to befall a lady without someone preventing it.

  Anne huffed. "Of course not. The ruffians know better than to trespass on our property. But still, it is highly improper and reflects poorly on her upbringing. Only one of inferior birth would allow herself such liberties. I dread to think of the improprieties allowed in such a permissive household. Her father must be an indifferent sort of man and, no doubt, her mother is vulgar indeed."

  Darcy's limbs felt like lead as his own words echoed like an unwelcome dream in his memory: Despite the differences in our positions in society — the inferiority of your birth, the indifference of your father, the vulgarity of your mother, and the mockery of all things proper by your younger sisters… I am willing to overlook all of this.

  How generous he had believed himself! Had the words sounded as ugly to Elizabeth as they did to him now? Given her reaction to his offer, undoubtedly so.

  Anne continued, "It is a credit to Miss Elizabeth that she has risen above her circumstances as much as she has. She is intelligent, and I know that with a little guidance, she will not shame her peers."

  I am willing to overlook all o
f this because I recognize in you a lady who has risen above her circumstances, using the adversities presented to her as an opportunity to improve, Darcy recalled what he had thought to be the highest compliment he could pay to Elizabeth.

  Darcy felt sick. He had insulted the lady he claimed to love — and during an offer of marriage, at that! Richard would call him a brute … and deservedly so.

  He had failed Elizabeth, turning an occasion which should have inspired joy and hope into an inquest where he had judged her deficient but, through his great understanding and mercy, had said he would accept her anyway. How pompous he had been!

  His ego crushed and his shoulders bowed with regret, a sentiment Elizabeth seemed to inspire within him of late, he determined never to fail her again. He would defend the lady who was not present to speak for herself before his cousin. "I wish she would not change," he said, meaning it with his whole, heavy heart.

  Anne scoffed, "She will if she wants to benefit from my patronage."

  "Miss Elizabeth does not need your patronage. She is a gentleman's daughter."

  Anne laughed. "What? A gentleman's daughter? Would you marry her?"

  He hesitated … and she noticed.

  Relaxing his arms at his sides and assuming his haughtiest air, Darcy said, "She would not have me. She would raise as many objections against me as you have against her." Like Richard had done to him, Darcy would allow Anne to believe what she wished without volunteering enough information for her to understand the truth.

  "Against you?" she exclaimed, crossing the room to stand closer to him. "Who would dare … unless," Anne tapped a finger against her chin, "unless she cleverly did so to strengthen your attachment through the devices commonly used by young ladies desperate to marry above their station." She watched him carefully. Too carefully.