The Elizabeth Conspiracy

by Jennifer Joy

  Several times, Darcy passed by Anne's bedchamber door. He paused to listen, but only heard silence. His concern for his aunt grew the longer she remained enclosed in the room.

  Darcy was in Uncle Lewis' study, partaking of a glass of liquid fortification with Richard, when Aunt Catherine called for the colonel. Darcy instinctively rose to join him.

  "I will see to her, Darcy. You had best stay here. She will be relieved, I hope, that you have seen to the arrangements." Richard stood in the doorway until Darcy sat back down.

  In his mind, Darcy knew his cousin was correct — that of everyone in the house, he was certainly the one with the most motive to have rid the earth of Anne. What disturbed Darcy the most was how little sadness he could muster for her. She had made so many miserable, and Darcy did not doubt but that she had made many enemies over the years.

  He did, however, pity his aunt. She was truly alone now.

  First, with the death of her beloved sister, Darcy's mother, Lady Anne. Next, with her own husband whom she had married for the express purpose of having companionship and a large property. And now, her own daughter whom she had loved blindly these many years.

  The questions that had tormented Darcy all morning reared their ugly heads, and the air became too thick to breathe. What was worse, he had not seen Elizabeth since sunrise.

  Darcy left the stuffy study for his room. A chill gripped him in the hall as he passed the door to Anne's room. Death settled heavily over Rosings, leaving Darcy cold in the dim corridor.

  What had happened to Anne? As much as Darcy wished it to be true, he could not believe she had died from her illness. That she would take her own life was out of the question. That only left one other possibility… Anne had been murdered.

  Darcy had not yet entered his room when Richard departed from Aunt Catherine's side.

  "How is she, Richard?" he asked.

  Richard sighed, motioning for Darcy to follow him downstairs. "Let us go out of doors for a moment. There is much to ponder."

  They crossed the lawn in the direction of the glass garden houses. Darcy flexed his shoulders in the afternoon sun, soaking up every inch of warmth into his black coat.

  Finally, Richard spoke. "As we had suspected, Aunt Catherine is not taking this easily. She is uncommonly quiet, and I fear she has set all of the servants on edge. It is quite out of her character."

  Darcy clenched his fists. While he had mourned the loss of his mother, much more so than his father, the demands of society had prevented him from mourning properly. All the black crepe in the world could not cleanse his soul of the sorrow and the loneliness tears eventually granted him. He sympathized with his aunt for the days and weeks which would follow until enough time had passed for the ache to dull and the emptiness to fill. As he walked through the gardens beside Richard, he dreaded all the flowers that would soon fill the yellow parlor, their sweet perfume a painful reminder of their reason for being there. Darcy never kept vases of flowers in the house at Pemberley.

  He said, "The doctor will arrive on the morrow or very soon afterward. He may be able to provide more insight than the coroner."

  Richard grunted, "If Aunt Catherine agrees to allow him to examine the body." He stopped, raising one hand to rub his face, his finger scratching over the stubble of his unshaven chin. "I do not know what to make of it, Darcy. If Aunt had any doubt about Anne's death, she would have to allow the coroner to examine the body and perform an inquest. That she refused him entry when he came to deliver the coffin suggests she suspects nothing untoward."

  Not once during the day had Darcy heard his aunt raise her voice in her normal shrill tone, an occurrence which caused him no small amount of alarm.

  Richard continued walking, and Darcy was pleased to see the conservatory before them. While it had been a scene of embarrassment for him, it had also been the place where Elizabeth had first smiled at him. What he would give for a ray of her sunshine and happiness in the dreary confines of Rosings.

  Darcy felt a weight lift off his shoulders as he stepped inside the conservatory. The fountain eased his mind and slowed his pulse until Richard said, "Miss Bennet, what a pleasant surprise to meet you here!" He bowed to the lady who stood on the other side of the fountain, spinning on his boot heel and winking at Darcy as he did so.

  Had Elizabeth not been observing him, Darcy would have punched his cousin in the arm. Once again, he had fallen into Richard's trap. Not that Darcy minded much.

  She did not wear a bonnet, a fact which disturbed him greatly. He hated to think he had left her without anything appropriate with which to cover her head. He would never forgive himself if she caught a chill due to his clumsy fingers.

  "I do hope your bonnet was not beyond repair," he said.

  Her eyes danced in mischief and twinkled like stars when she smiled. "Why do you ask, Mr. Darcy?"

  He shuffled his feet. "I do not recall seeing you with another bonnet."

  "You do not think I possess more than one bonnet? What a poor creature you must believe me to be!" she teased.

  "It is not that," he began, not knowing how to continue without inserting his boot deeper in his mouth and struggling not to think of her how he had last seen her, with nothing on but a nightgown and shawl.

  "Mr. Darcy, I am in possession of more bonnets. I only thought it a kindness to remove the colorful flowers out of respect for Lady Catherine."

  "Oh," he eloquently said, grateful for her consideration and failing miserably not to recall the way her nightgown had clung to her figure. He reached up to loosen his cravat.

  Completely unaware of the discomfort she caused him, she added, "That, and I thought it best to hide my remaining bonnets during my stay to prevent you from crushing another."

  Richard roared with laughter, and while Darcy could not quite bring himself to laugh wholeheartedly at his own expense, he could not help but smile at the teasing manner with which Elizabeth greeted him. Darcy would forever be reminded not to take himself too seriously every time he saw a bonnet. Until women adopted a new fashion, humility would be forced upon him at the sight of straw and primroses.

  He covered his embarrassment and the heat covering his face with a deeper smile, shaking his head at his foolishness. "That was a most unfortunate incident, and I fear my attempts to fix the mess I made only served to make it worse. I do apologize."

  Elizabeth tilted her head and arched an eyebrow, looking like an imp in need of a thorough … Darcy reined in his thoughts before he acted on his impulse and kissed her until she was breathless.

  "An apology from Mr. Darcy? I had not known such a thing to be possible."

  Darcy had not either. And yet he found the words surprisingly easy to utter. Her humorous reception of them made his admission easier to swallow.

  Richard cleared his throat loudly. "I have taken a sudden interest in horticulture, and I see a splendid specimen requiring my examination beyond the potted lemon trees against the glass wall."

  Darcy followed his gaze to the opposite end of the building. Richard could not have placed himself farther away from them had he decided to depart from the room entirely — a poor chaperone, at best. And Darcy felt the need for a chaperone. For the first time in his life, he did not trust himself.

  Chapter 19

  Colonel Fitzwilliam hid behind a grouping of potted fruit trees and began examining the leaf that had captured his attention, looking up at Mr. Darcy on occasion as if to say, "Get on with it then."

  Elizabeth attempted to check her smile, but the blush covering Mr. Darcy's face was too precious not to appreciate to the full. It brought her comfort to know that even the lofty families of the higher circles suffered embarrassment at the expense of their relatives. She and Mr. Darcy were not so different after all.

  Mr. Darcy motioned to a set of wicker chairs placed between two palms shaped like fans.

  She waited for him to speak, but took pity on him when she saw how he struggled. Perhaps she ought not to have teased him.
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  Taking on the serious matter at hand, she asked, "Were you very close to Miss de Bourgh?"

  He shook his head, saying thoughtfully, "I never was, and it pains me to admit I do not feel her loss any more than I would mourn over the loss of a stranger. She was … difficult."

  Elizabeth smiled softly. "That is a kind way to put it."

  "It is unseemly to speak ill of the dead, and I would no sooner malign her name without her here to defend herself than I would while she was alive."

  Elizabeth respected that. "I find it is more a courtesy for the living than for the dead. Lady Catherine loved her daughter and, I have no doubt, feels her loss considerably."

  "She was blind to Anne's faults, and I fear she is greatly distressed at her loss."

  Elizabeth imagined how her own mother would react if she had only been blessed with one daughter and that daughter were to die before she could fulfill her maternal duty of seeing her happily settled. It would distress her immeasurably. And her mother had four other daughters, a sister nearby, and a husband to offer comfort. Lady Catherine had no one.

  "Has she come out from Miss de Bourgh's rooms?" she asked.

  Mr. Darcy sighed deeply. "She has not. I have attempted to ease her burden by seeing to what arrangements I can, but she knew Anne and I were not on agreeable terms. It would not surprise me at all for her to demand I quit Rosings the moment she leaves the room."

  Elizabeth had her doubts. "Surely, you do not believe she would think you capable of causing permanent harm to your own cousin. I would think that at a time like this, she would rather keep you near. She is alone now."

  Mr. Darcy ran his hand through his thick, wavy hair, his familiar scent of polished leather and sandalwood soothing her senses and wreaking havoc on her pulse.

  "I worry for her. She did the same thing when my mother died. They were very close." He swallowed hard.

  Elizabeth held her hands together to keep from reaching out to him. She had thought him indifferent, but the man sitting opposite her deeply cared for the people he loved. She had sensed his vulnerability in his letter and now, seeing him grappling with his emotions, she was convinced he was not the cold, uncaring man he portrayed himself to be.

  "I have not been able to thank you for your letter," she began.

  Mr. Darcy's eyes met hers so she forgot what she had meant to say next.

  "I hope you alerted your father to the dangers to which Wickham could expose your sisters," he said.

  "Not knowing what else to do with myself, I have spent all of my morning writing letters. I did write to my father, making sure there was no connection between your sister and Mr. Wickham's indiscretion. I only hope he will take my warning seriously and act to protect my sisters."

  She had also written to Jane, but had decided it best to leave out the news of Miss de Bourgh's death. Elizabeth did not want to add to her sister's sadness by burdening her with more trouble.

  "For your sisters' sakes, I pray he does as well."

  "Mr. Darcy, I—" Elizabeth stopped short. How could she possibly express the depth of gratitude she felt toward him for exposing Mr. Wickham's sin for the protection of her own sisters at the expense of his pride?

  She felt his intense gaze on her, and she knew how important her words were to him.

  "I have four sisters whom I love very much. If anyone were to attempt to threaten their happiness — and especially for their own selfish purposes — I fear I would not react as mercifully as you have done."

  Mr. Darcy tightened his fists as if he wished to punch something. His eyes hardened, lending him a dangerous aspect that captured Elizabeth in the passion of his ferocity. "You cannot know how many times I have wished to run him through with a sword, to pierce his heart as thoroughly as he broke my sister's."

  That was more in line with what her own reaction would have been. "I burned it," she said, adding, "I do not take the trust you have bestowed upon me lightly, Mr. Darcy, nor the implications toward your sister if the knowledge of her involvement with Mr. Wickham were to become known. I will not abuse your trust. My honor forbids it as does my gratitude to you."

  She held his gaze steadily, determined he believe her unwavering resolve to keep his secret safe.

  He exhaled, whispering, "I thank you." He shifted his weight, the muscles on the sides of his jaw tensing as he rubbed his hands over the top of his breeches. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Miss Elizabeth, I was not very kind to you at the Meryton Assembly. Since uttering those hateful words, I have attempted to justify them, blaming my concern for my sister, my own ill-humor in attending an event to which I did not wish to go, and even the loudly spoken ambitious wishes of Mrs. Bennet…"

  Elizabeth shook her head at the memory. Her mother had been overly pleased at the news of two gentlemen of fortunes attending the assembly and had convinced herself that they had come to Meryton for the sole purpose of marrying two of her daughters. When Mr. Bingley had asked to dance with Jane more than once, she was certain of it. "My mother does not believe in keeping her thoughts to herself. It is, I believe, the greatest wish of every mother to see her daughters happily settled," Elizabeth said in her defense.

  Mr. Darcy raised his palm in a gesture of peace. "Please do not misunderstand me. I do not mean to criticize. While such open speech is frowned upon in society, I prefer honesty and openness above subtle manipulations and sneaky disguise. Perhaps Mrs. Bennet is wrong to speak her wishes aloud, but I find her to be sincere. And that is a quality I greatly admire. Given what you have observed of my relatives, I am certain you can see why."

  Elizabeth gawked open-mouthed at Mr. Darcy. Had he not thoroughly insulted her family only days before? And now, he had not only found a quality to admire about her mother, but he had compared his own relatives to hers and found them wanting? She was speechless.

  He continued, "You are correct to question my conduct. I did not act as a gentleman ought to have done, and for that I apologize."

  What could she say to that? Mr. Darcy had addressed her only remaining complaints against his character in such a manner contrary to her previous impression of the gentleman (for yes, he was a gentleman from his perfect, wavy hair to the toes of his polished Hessians), all she could do was admire him.

  And then guilt consumed her. While she had, at the time, had cause to reply as fiercely as she had done, she deeply regretted it now. She did not understand what had happened to effect such a grand change in Mr. Darcy. He was not the haughty man who had offered her his hand in marriage two days before.

  Smacking her palm against her legs because apologizing was all the more difficult to do when one knew oneself to be in the wrong, she said, "I accept your apology on one condition."

  He sat forward in his chair, ready to jump to action. His eagerness both humbled her and softened her heart toward him.

  She continued, "Pray accept my apology."

  He shook his head as if to interrupt her, but she continued, "I misjudged you, allowing myself to be influenced by a stranger undeserving of my consideration. I spoke to you in anger of things which were none of my concern and which turned out not to be true in the least. It is my nature to lighten the burden of others with humor, and yet I was unkind to you. I am sorry, Mr. Darcy."

  It struck her that had she known the truth before Mr. Darcy had proposed, her answer might have been quite different. Her breath caught in her throat at the realization of what she had forever lost. He had promised never to bring up the subject again, and she did not doubt Mr. Darcy would keep his promise. More was the pity. Not that she loved him just then … but perhaps she might have been able to.

  She watched his chest heave up and down, her words only adding to the tension growing between them. Not knowing what else to say or do, she chewed on her lip and clasped her hands together in her lap.

  Mr. Darcy, too, looked away. In a low voice, he said, "May I suggest, if it is agreeable to you…"

  He paused, and Elizabeth's heart fluttered in her throa
t.

  "…that we begin anew."

  She nodded, perhaps too eagerly.

  "I should very much like to be your friend," he said.

  Elizabeth's heart crashed back into her chest, but the disappointment she felt was softened by the promise of hope in his suggestion. Mr. Darcy may never propose marriage to her again — indeed, her mind reeled to remember how she had hated him with a vengeance only two days before — but he was a worthy friend.

  Their eyes tangled, and only the sound of approaching boot heels pounding over the smooth stone of the floor pulled her out of the dark depths he permitted her to glimpse. For the first time, she really saw him. His guarded reserve gone, she saw a man she was in immediate danger of loving very much.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, "What do you plan to do now, Miss Bennet? Will you return to your family in London a week hence as you originally intended?"

  It was a good question, and one she had spent a good part of the morning pondering. She glanced at Mr. Darcy. Did he wish her to stay? One could hope.

  "I made the agreement to stay longer with Lady Catherine, and I suppose I should wait for her to decide if I should remain as her guest or not. She may very well wish me gone." Unless the great lady feared loneliness more than the constant reminder of having her daughter's guest in her home.

  The colonel grimaced. "We will not know until she departs from Anne's side. It is kind of you to put yourself at her disposal."

  Mr. Darcy rose as did Elizabeth, running her fingers over her skirts.

  He said, "We should return to the house. I do not want to be away when Aunt Catherine leaves Anne's bedchamber." He held his arm out for Elizabeth to take, asking, "Shall we?"

  "We shall." She rested her hand on top of his arm, his nearness filling her with the strength to face whatever lay ahead and … dare she say it? … fondness.