The Elizabeth Conspiracy

by Jennifer Joy

  Miss de Bourgh simpered, "Family always comes first."

  Mrs. Jenkinson glared at Elizabeth as if she were a willing conspirator seeking to oust the elderly lady from her position and deserving of the punishment she inflicted on the piece of game hen she mercilessly sawed her knife across. Were Mrs. Jenkinson not so involved in her own worries, she would have seen that Miss de Bourgh's comment had nothing to do with her and everything to do with Mr. Darcy.

  Miss de Bourgh added, "Do you not agree, Darcy?" with a pointed look at Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth's hackles rose in instant rebellion. Miss de Bourgh knew. How? And more important, how much did she know? Obviously, enough to torment Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth set her cutlery down before she was tempted to throw them at the vicious woman seated across from her. She refused to be used as a pawn.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam distracted his aunt by complimenting her on the meal, the pattern on the fine china, the high polish of the silver, and generally anything he could to keep her from noticing the uncomfortable triangle of accusatory glances cast about her table. At least, that is what Elizabeth supposed … and she was grateful. Like a vulture eagerly flying in circles at the sight of blood, Miss de Bourgh taunted her prey with haughty smiles and sharp glances.

  Elizabeth felt the tension radiate from Mr. Darcy in waves, and if looks could kill, Miss de Bourgh would have slumped lifeless over her plate.

  Elizabeth hated her. She despised Miss de Bourgh for adding to Mr. Darcy's burdens — as if he did not have enough of them! She detested how easily the evil lady cast off one dependent on her kindness as was Mrs. Jenkinson. And she abhorred the smug confidence with which Miss de Bourgh assumed she would get her way. And Elizabeth hated knowing that unless she was extremely cautious, she would end up playing into Miss de Bourgh's cold, calculating hand.

  As if Aunt Catherine's condescending comments during dinner were not humiliating enough, she insisted Elizabeth play for them in the music room, making free with her criticism and remarking how proficient she would have been with the instrument (although Darcy could not recall ever hearing his aunt play).

  Elizabeth bore it well, though the mischievous glint in her eye betrayed the witty retorts she had in mind but would never speak aloud. Darcy admired the way she used humor to cover over faults. He did note a particular care with Anne, and Darcy was grateful for it. The second Elizabeth underestimated his cousin was the moment Anne would attack where it hurt the most. She would snatch Elizabeth's freedom away without a second thought.

  Darcy would not allow it. He leaned against the instrument, pleased when he saw Richard do the same on the other side. Together, they would keep her out of Anne's clutches.

  She was so lovely, his chest ached. Candlelight caressed her face, casting its warm glow over the sun-kissed skin Darcy's fingers longed to trace. She held her head high even when her fingers stumbled over the ivory keys and Aunt Catherine harrumphed aloud at her error. Dozens of life-sized portraits of long-deceased de Bourghs lined the walls, observing her, watching for her to make another mistake. And yet, her courage only rose to the occasion. Not since Georgiana had played for him could Darcy recall a better performance.

  Anne sauntered over to them, seating herself beside Elizabeth on the bench. "Perhaps if I turn the pages, Elizabeth will not skip so many notes."

  Elizabeth's nostrils flared, and Darcy supposed she did not take kindly to Anne's free use of her Christian name — as if they were friends. Darcy did not like it one bit.

  "How kind of you, Miss de Bourgh," she answered, emphasizing the formal name.

  Anne's eyes narrowed, and she pinched her lips together.

  Richard teased her. "Why the sour expression, Cousin? Would you rather give Miss Bennet the benefit of your example by displaying your talents?"

  Darcy bit his tongue and cast Richard a warning glance. Anne had no talents, having used her illness as an excuse not to exert herself in any sort of worthwhile accomplishment.

  Elizabeth focused unwaveringly on the sheet of music before her.

  Anne glared at Richard — a look he happily returned. Leave it to the soldier to engage in open battle.

  As quickly as Richard had provoked Anne's ire, her expression transformed, turning Darcy cold.

  "You have given me the most splendid idea," she began, turning to Aunt Catherine and addressing her. "Mother, we simply must allow Elizabeth the opportunity to display her improved accomplishments. We must have a ball at Rosings!"

  Richard applauded. "What an excellent idea! I do hope Miss Bennet will agree to grant me the first dance. I daresay she will be popular with the gentlemen, and so I must request a turn on the dance floor while I have the opportunity."

  Darcy understood his strategy. Agreeing with Anne would confuse her. "Might I claim the honor of the dinner set, Miss Bennet?" he asked, to which he was delighted to see a dimpled cheek smile at him in an affirmative reply.

  Aunt Catherine did not look so pleased. "Miss Bennet's stay with us ends in three weeks. Unless she is willing to extend her stay further, I do not see how we have sufficient time to arrange for a ball." She looked at Elizabeth, who continued playing a lively tune.

  "I have already written to my family and do not wish to inconvenience them by changing my plans yet again," she answered.

  Anne played to her mother's weakness. "If anyone can do it, it is you, Mother. What a wonderful way for us to celebrate my improved health and display the effectiveness of your patronage on a neglected, country miss. Your attentions ought to be recognized and praised."

  Aunt Catherine resembled a trout from Pemberley's pond as she opened and closed her mouth. She never refused her daughter, but it was clear she dearly wanted to.

  Anne continued, "To ensure your efforts are not overlooked, we shall invite the Bennets so they may see how much Elizabeth has benefited from your tutelage and my association. They will be our guests of honor. Every eye will be on them and your prized pupil."

  Darcy saw raw panic flash across Elizabeth's features, but she continued playing. Darcy could say nothing against the Bennets lest he offend Elizabeth and encourage Anne, but every fiber in his being protested the suggestion. Aunt Catherine and Mrs. Bennet would get along like vinegar and oil. Mr. Bennet would ridicule everyone for his own enjoyment. Miss Bennet would attempt to establish peaceful conditions when there was no possibility for them. The youngest Bennet sisters would make spectacles of themselves under the critical eye of their hosts. And Anne would tug on everyone's strings like a master puppeteer.

  "Mr. Collins may wish to receive them at the parsonage," Darcy suggested.

  Anne scoffed. "Why would they wish to cram into the parsonage when they could stay here?"

  Aunt Catherine shook her head. "Three weeks is no time at all. We may invite the Bennets to Rosings for a dinner party."

  Darcy's triumph was short-lived.

  Anne said, "But, Mother, would you not prefer to invite all the gentry within riding distance to witness the announcement of my engagement?"

  Darcy growled, "Take care, Anne. I will never bend to anyone's will but my own."

  She hissed, "We will see about that." Rising from the bench, she trapped Darcy between herself and the bulky instrument, and said, "Is it not about time we made my engagement to Darcy public? It has, after all, been an arrangement of long-standing between you and your dearest sister, whose name I bear."

  Darcy flinched when she patted his arm. "This is ridiculous, Anne. Tell her the truth."

  "Over my dead body," she replied with a smile, fluttering her eyelashes.

  Richard pried Anne not so delicately away from Darcy's side under the pretext of discussing the matter further with Aunt Catherine.

  Elizabeth had stopped playing.

  Darcy knew his heart would break into a million pieces if he looked at her, but he could not avoid her.

  It was worse than he had thought possible. Her eyes sparkled with tears, and she breathed in deeply to hold them
back.

  "This is not going to end well for either of us, is it?" she whispered, balling her fingers into a fist. "What is your plan? How may I help?"

  A smile was absolutely inappropriate given the circumstances, but Darcy's admiration for her spirit soared. Hers were not tears of defeat, but a testament to the depth of her emotion. They were comrades in arms. To fail meant the loss of freedom for her and the loss of every hope — no matter how small — of winning her heart for him. Failure was not an option.

  Chapter 17

  Elizabeth tossed and turned all night. Her mother and her youngest sisters were experts in getting their own way, but they were never malicious in their desires nor did they attempt to interfere directly with the futures of others as Miss de Bourgh did (unless an unmarried gentleman was about … then all bets were off).

  Snuggling deeper into the warm blankets, Elizabeth pondered how to proceed over the next three weeks. She wondered how Mr. Darcy would avoid an unwanted engagement. A couple days ago, she would have thought the match perfect. Now, however… Well, he was no longer the enemy she had thought him to be. And the way he had stood beside her as she played (rather horribly) had infused her with courage — even if her fingers tangled every time he had smiled at her.

  Rolling onto her back, Elizabeth sighed when she heard someone out in the hall. Was it nearly morning already?

  Another noise, very clearly a feminine sob, had her holding her breath to hear better. A servant would be cautious to reserve her tears for the confines of her room lest she wake the household earlier than their normal hour to rise. Lady Catherine was not the sort of woman to cry where she could be observed, and Miss de Bourgh was too divested of normal human emotion to possess something so common as remorse or sorrow. That left Mrs. Jenkinson…

  Curiosity compelled Elizabeth to leave the comfort of her bed. Grabbing a shawl, she wrapped it around her shoulders, the knit covering most of her nightgown.

  She opened her door and peeked down the inky hall, a white apron and cap of a chambermaid identifying the source of the cry Elizabeth had heard. There being nobody else about, she lit a candle and made her way to the maid. The girl wrung her hands in her apron, looking down the length of the corridor to Lady Catherine's suite.

  The trim on the girl's cap shook, and she stifled another sob with her hands.

  Extending her arm out to comfort her, Elizabeth asked, "What has happened to distress you? Pray, allow me to help you."

  The girl shook her head, still hiding behind her hands.

  Another door down the hall opened, and Mr. Darcy stepped out, his white shirt loosely tucked into his breeches. Elizabeth looked away, her face blooming in a burning blush at his undress and clutching her shawl more tightly around her when she remembered it was the only thing separating her from indecency.

  "What are you doing awake at this hour?" he asked her brusquely.

  "Same as you, I suspect," she answered too snappily. Embarrassment often brought out her irreverence.

  If he had not noticed her attire (or lack of) before, he certainly did now. From her toes to where she held the shawl with a throat-strangling grip at her throat, he saw her standing barefoot in nothing but her nightdress with a flimsy piece of fabric thrown over her shoulders.

  The maid sobbed again, and Elizabeth felt foolish for worrying about herself when something had caused great distress to the girl. Mustering her pride and willing herself to look at nothing but Mr. Darcy's forehead, she said, "I heard a disturbance and came to see if I could be of assistance."

  He asked the chambermaid, "What has happened? Here, have a seat." He led the girl to the nearest chair, and Elizabeth chastised herself for appreciating the width of his back and admiring the sculpted form under the thin silk of his shirt at a time like this.

  Shaking her head and avoiding any more glances at Mr. Darcy — they were quite dangerous, you know — Elizabeth asked the maid, "Now then, is that better?"

  The girl visibly shook and, once again, she looked down the corridor in the direction of Lady Catherine's rooms. In a whisper Elizabeth strained to hear, the maid said, "She is dead."

  Mr. Darcy, who had leaned in to hear the trembling figure now stood erect with a large sigh. "I had thought my aunt Catherine would outlive us all."

  The maid shook her head. "No, not her, Sir."

  Elizabeth was puzzled. "Surely it is not Mrs. Jenkinson?" she asked. She prayed it was not the elderly woman for a lot of the strength of her argument against Anne's plan was that she already had a companion.

  Again, the maid shook her head. "No, Miss," she said, burying her face in her hands. "It is Miss de Bourgh."

  Elizabeth reached out to steady herself against the wall.

  Mr. Darcy paced, his hands in his hair. "This is very bad. We must wake Richard."

  "What about your aunt? You must tell her."

  Darcy lowered his hands to his side. "Let us see to the maid first. She has suffered quite a shock, but I am certain a cup of tea in the kitchen will do much to restore her."

  After sending her off, he pulled Elizabeth deeper into a shadow and spoke with quiet urgency. "Let us pray there is nothing suspicious about Anne's death or you and I will find ourselves in the center of a murder investigation."

  Shock lent strength to Elizabeth's limbs. "Me? I have only just arrived…" Her words trailed off as she realized how convenient it would be for her, a recently arrived guest with a motive against Miss de Bourgh, to suddenly find the source of her problems dead.

  "Anne told me her plans for you. I had decided to extend my stay so Richard and I might interfere in your behalf."

  Her legs wobbled unsteadily. "How very … gallant … of you." Gallant? Really? Could she not have thought of a better word? And then she gasped as the thought struck her. "You do not think I killed her, do you? Could she not have died as a consequence of her illness?" She knew it not to be possible as she said the words.

  "She was too much recovered from her illness to have succumbed to it." Mr. Darcy looked at her with his piercingly dark eyes.

  He had not answered her other question. "Do you think I did it?" she repeated.

  His answer was immediate. "I do not believe you capable of such treachery."

  Elizabeth knew herself to be innocent, but she was relieved to hear Mr. Darcy say as much aloud.

  He continued, "You heard the threats my cousin brought up against me last night. Now that Anne is gone, I have no way of knowing how my aunt will react to the distressing news. If retaliation is what she seeks, we are in grave danger. Fortunately, she is unaware of Anne's dealings with you, and we must keep it that way."

  Elizabeth's heart leapt into her throat. "But that puts you in harm's way, and you are every bit as innocent as I am."

  Their eyes locked, and she felt his sadness consume her.

  "Do you really believe that?" he asked.

  Before she could answer, a deep voice down the hall said, "What is all this commotion about? A soldier needs his sleep if he is to be prepared for battle."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam joined them, his expression lightening when he saw Elizabeth. "Ah, I see you are keeping good company, though might I suggest for the preservation of your reputations, that you not meet at such an indecent hour and in such a state of undress?"

  Elizabeth clutched her shawl.

  Mr. Darcy scowled at his cousin. "You know me better than that, Richard. And you will need all the charm in your possession to appease our aunt. Anne is dead."

  The colonel stopped short. "Anne is dead!" His shock turned to concern in an instant. "You had better pray Aunt Catherine discerns her death to be of natural causes. You have not told her?"

  Mr. Darcy shook his head.

  "Good. It is for the best. Leave this to me. Anne had no hold over me, nor do I benefit from her death. However, the pair of you would do best to keep out of Aunt Catherine's sight until the worst is over — especially you, Darcy."

  Mr. Darcy grasped the colonel's arm. "If I
am accused, you will protect Georgiana. You must promise me."

  Elizabeth could not help but think his reaction a bit dramatic. Why would Lady Catherine accuse her own nephew? Would she not rather avoid the scandal?

  As if he had heard her thoughts, Darcy turned to her. "With Anne's death, I not only avoid an unwanted marriage, but I inherit Rosings and all its property."

  "What? How is that possible? Would the estate not be passed on to one of Sir Lewis de Bourgh's relatives?"

  "In his case, an entailment might have been a blessing. At least it would have kept his home in his family. But he left it all to Aunt Catherine to do with as she chose once he saw they would have no more heirs other than Anne. His eldest sister had two sons who died at a young age, and Mrs. Jenkinson, as you know, is childless. He trusted his only daughter to carry on his legacy."

  "But, why you?"

  "I am the son of my aunt's most beloved sister. For her, there is no greater reason. Aunt Catherine has never recovered from my mother's death, and I fear her mourning for Anne will last until her last breath."

  Elizabeth sank into the chair the maid had occupied.

  A large inheritance. That was motive enough for any man to hang — even Mr. Darcy.

  Chapter 18

  Staying out of Aunt Catherine's sight proved to be much easier than Darcy had imagined. His own character did not allow him to simply disappear when there was much to oversee, and so he quietly made arrangements while Aunt Catherine ensconced herself in Anne's room with their maids and Mrs. Jenkinson.

  Darcy sent for the coroner. Even if there was to be no inquest, they would require a coffin. He had the servants prepare the yellow parlor for the guests who would come to pay their respects before Anne's burial. He sent a letter to Anne's London doctor, alerting him to the situation and inquiring into possible causes of death based on the little he knew. That note he sent by messenger should Aunt Catherine decide to lay Anne to rest in the family tomb at the end of the week, and should the doctor wish to determine a cause of death. Darcy supposed the gentleman would be every bit as shocked as they had been at the news of his patient's unexpected demise.