by Jennifer Joy
Chapter 20
The rest of the day passed much as the morning had, with everyone taking to their rooms, walking softly when they did venture out, and speaking in hushed tones with anxious glances toward Anne's bedchamber. Darcy flinched every time he heard a door open or shut. He ran out to the hall several times in the hopes of seeing his aunt. But hours passed, and she did not make an appearance. She even refused to see Mr. Collins, though he called several times.
Sunday was bleak. Thick, gray clouds loomed over the dreary house.
So many times had Darcy rushed out to the hall to see his aunt, he nearly missed her when she finally did depart from Anne's room.
"Aunt Catherine—" he said as she breezed past him without so much as an acknowledgment, leaving Darcy standing alone in the corridor looking after her. Not even the maid looked up from the floor, but she followed her mistress into her rooms and shut the door firmly behind them.
Darcy looked down the opposite length of the hall and saw his cousin. Richard shrugged his shoulders, but he could not hide the concern in his face. Aunt's cold reaction did not bear peaceful tidings.
An hour later, she emerged from her suite fully dressed for services and insisted that her carriage convey the guests in her home to the parish church. She barked orders at the servants, and she allowed Richard to hand her into the carriage, but she said nothing to anyone else.
Elizabeth clasped her hands tightly in her lap and chewed on her bottom lip. Richard cleared his throat several times, but seemed at a loss as to what to say. Darcy collected his arguments, for he was certain he would need them when his aunt eventually spoke. The longer her silence grew, the more certain he became of his need to defend not only himself but Elizabeth as well. That was what concerned him the most.
Mr. Collins provided some comedic relief during services, being alternately overjoyed to see his patroness and grieved over her loss. He could hardly contain his elation when Aunt Catherine situated herself between his cousin and Darcy, although Darcy knew it not to be a gesture of favor but of control. She had them on a short rein, and there was only one reason to explain her frigid oversight….
Aunt Catherine endured the other parishioners' offers of condolences with grave forbearance, pinched lips, and curt nods until she ushered their group back to the carriage.
The house was within view when she finally deemed to speak. Her voice cracked like a whip in its sharpness. "I wish to see all three of you in my drawing room before the quarter of an hour has passed."
The carriage door opened, and the footman helped her out, leaving Darcy, Richard, and Elizabeth exchanging nervous looks.
"Fitzwilliam, I need you!" Aunt Catherine exclaimed.
Richard clambered out of the coach and rushed to her side with a bewildered expression.
Darcy alighted, assisting Elizabeth out of the coach.
In a whisper, she said, "I have been on pins and needles all morning. It is almost a relief she has spoken, but what do you think she intends to do?"
Darcy had not the faintest idea, but the knots in his stomach predicted it would not be good. "Whatever it is, I wish it done without delay. Anything is preferable to this uncertain anguish."
Elizabeth seemed to take courage in his words, stiffening her spine and lifting her chin to the becoming angle that always made him want to kiss the tip of her pert nose. He focused on the bottom of Aunt Catherine's hem disappearing through the entrance hall to prevent himself from making an inappropriate — and most likely unwanted — gesture. Elizabeth looked at him differently now though. She blushed whenever he offered her his arm, the pink blossoms in her cheeks lending a pleasing shimmer to her warm eyes. Could she ever love him as much as he adored her?
He turned to her in the entrance hall and managed to smile, though he was certain it was a weak one. "I will see you shortly in the drawing room."
She tried to return her usual cheer, but her expressive nature was too honest to conceal her apprehension. He watched Elizabeth as she ascended the stairs, imagining how graceful she would appear at his home in Pemberley. That she would win over the hearts of his servants and tenants before a fortnight had passed, he was certain. She had won his in one evening.
Precisely at the time Aunt Catherine had requested their presence, Darcy entered the drawing room with Richard and Elizabeth. As was her custom, Aunt Catherine let them stand before her for a considerable time before allowing them to sit in the three chairs facing her. Mrs. Jenkinson sat on the couch, the empty space between the ladies a blatant reminder of Anne's absence.
Aunt Catherine looked at each of them coolly before she spoke. "You can be at no loss as to why I called you."
Darcy's patience snapped. Would she prolong their suffering? "As to that, Aunt Catherine, you are mistaken."
She flared her nostrils and stabbed her cane with a crack that pierced through the rug on the floor. "Anne was murdered. I am certain of it."
Darcy moved forward in his chair. "What proof did you discover?" he asked eagerly.
"Nothing happens in this house without my knowledge. My dau—," her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard before she could continue. "Anne's health was improving. For the first time in her life, she felt well enough to make plans of her own. We were to enjoy a London season together." Aunt Catherine grasped her cane with both hands, visibly struggling to maintain her composure.
It pained Darcy to see her so nearly undone. However, he marveled at how little his aunt knew of Anne's plans. Would she believe it?
Elizabeth said, "Please, Lady Catherine, if there is any way in which we may be of assistance to you, I am certain I not only speak for myself but for your nephews when I beg of you to allow us to help."
Aunt Catherine's eyes snapped to Elizabeth. "You impertinent child! What makes you believe yourself more qualified to see justice served to my murdered daughter than me?"
Elizabeth was smart enough to know not to reply.
In a voice Darcy had only heard Richard use with his own mother and his most beloved horse, Richard said, "Tell us what you wish us to do, Aunt, and we will see to it. Do you wish for me to fetch the coroner and the constable so they may do an inquest?"
"No! I do not wish for strangers to roam around my home or to inspect Anne as if she were a commoner. The magistrate is taking the waters at Bath and will not return for another week. I aim to apprehend the murderer responsible for Anne's death and hand him or her over on his return."
Him or her? A shiver ran through Darcy's limbs.
"Do you wish for me to send for an inspector? I know of a discreet man several of our peers have used with satisfaction," suggested Richard.
"Absolutely not! This is a family affair. I will not have a word of this spread nor will I allow it to become fodder for the newspapers when any fool would discern that the most likely suspect is my own nephew." She looked pointedly at Darcy.
Darcy had prepared himself for the accusation, but that did not make it any less devastating to bear. He returned her piercing stare. He had nothing to hide.
Him or her, Aunt had said. So long as the strength of the evidence (which Darcy had to admit was damning) kept Aunt Catherine's accusations far from Elizabeth, he would endure his aunt's suspicions for her sake.
He answered his aunt's challenge. "I have never made a secret of my lack of feelings for Anne. I never hid my intentions to choose my own bride rather than marry her."
Aunt Catherine snapped, "I suppose you did not like it much when she suggested your engagement be announced at the ball. You would have had no choice in the matter but to marry her once it became known to a crowd of people."
He said calmly, "I would have prevented her from making such an announcement in the first place."
Aunt Catherine raised the pointy end of her cane at him, her face turning a startling shade of red. "By all rights and purposes, you did just that."
"I did not kill Anne," Darcy growled through clenched teeth. It was growing impossible to keep possess
ion of his control.
Aunt Catherine lowered her cane. "That is what I aim to determine before the week ends. You are the only son of my dearest sister, my beloved Anne, but do not think for a moment that our familial connection will spare you from the hangman's noose if I determine you are guilty." She shook with passion.
"Surely, Lady Catherine, you must have more suspects in mind than Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth exclaimed.
Oh, that she would remain silent lest she draw more attention to herself, Darcy prayed.
Aunt Catherine raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "And why do you suppose I insist you stay until my investigation is complete, Miss Bennet? Or do you think I am capable of easily overlooking the fact that my only daughter died on the evening of your arrival at Rosings? I do not know if you had a motive against her, but I will find it if there is one."
Darcy groaned inwardly. One word was all it would take for Aunt Catherine's suspicions to shift from him to Elizabeth.
Darcy tried to draw his aunt's attention back to himself. "What do you want us to do, then? Sit idly by while you determine our fate? If you have reason to believe Anne was murdered, would your investigation not meet with greater success if you allowed us to assist you?"
Whether she gave him permission or not, Darcy was determined to find the truth.
"And give you the perfect opportunity to hide what evidence there may be if you are indeed guilty? I am not a fool, Darcy. Fitzwilliam is the only person I trust in this room, and I will guarantee his loyalty to me by offering him a reward he will not refuse."
Richard balked. "I cannot be bought. I will assist you of my own free will because I do not believe Darcy guilty of committing such a horrible crime against our cousin, no matter what threats she made against him. It is in all of our best interests to find the person responsible and see justice served."
Aunt Catherine dismissed his protest with a depreciatory wave. "I have already sent the letter to my solicitor, so there is no need to be contrary Fitzwilliam. However, your reaction pleases me greatly and I trust you will not allow Darcy or Miss Bennet to leave the property. I have already instructed the servants not to let either of them out of their sight."
Darcy tried to give consideration to his aunt's tumultuous emotions, but his blood boiled. She would hold them like criminals at Rosings without offering any proof on which to base her suspicions? And she had called Elizabeth "insolent"!
From the corner of his eye, he saw the set of Elizabeth's jaw and the tension in her squared shoulders. She looked every bit as determined as he felt.
Darcy's motivation was high … for until he discovered the truth of Anne's final hours, Elizabeth was in danger and they were prisoners at Rosings.
Chapter 21
Elizabeth paced in her room until well past dark. She treasured her freedom too much to allow someone like Lady Catherine de Bourgh to jeopardize it. Who did she think she was, acting like a Newgate guard? And then there was Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth did not believe for a moment he had murdered his venomous cousin merely to escape from an unwanted match.
For one, intelligent individuals would never murder someone after a verbal dispute with witnesses — and Mr. Darcy was no fool. Second, had he held so little value for life, he would have found a way to dispose of Mr. Wickham and forever silence the blackguard.
The fact that Mr. Wickham was still alive was, in Elizabeth's mind, a strong testimony to Mr. Darcy's innocence.
Well, Lady Catherine could regard them with all the suspicion she dared (which was quite a great deal given her blunt speech after services), but Elizabeth refused to twiddle her thumbs while her independence and reputation stood in the balance. The great lady may be content to watch her nephew hang to appease her own grief, but Elizabeth would not stand for it. She had a plan.
Donning her darkest dress, she grabbed a hairpin and crept down the pitch black corridor toward Miss de Bourgh's bedchamber. If Lady Catherine would not provide any clues, Elizabeth saw no other option but to find them herself.
Running her fingers over the wall, she felt for the intricate carvings on Miss de Bourgh's door and then the cold iron of the knob. Carefully, she twisted it only to have her suspicion confirmed. It was locked. It would be imprudent to leave a door unlocked with murderers in the house, Elizabeth thought saucily.
But she was prepared. She had a hairpin. What she would give for a candle. Fumbling in the darkness, every scratch and scrape echoing down the empty hall, she wished she possessed the same level of talent her younger sisters had when they broke into rooms they had been told to keep out of. No matter how many times Cook changed her method of securing the pantry, Kitty and Lydia always got the last of the treats hidden within.
"What are you doing here?"
Elizabeth pounced up to a standing position at the sound of the low baritone behind her and lashed out at the speaker with her hands.
It was not until her hairpin-wielding hand made contact with something solid that she realized who the intruder was. He was close enough, his sandalwood and leather scent flirted with her senses.
"Mr. Darcy, you startled me," she said, retracting her hand from his person before she embarrassed herself further. It was not proper for a maiden to think of the contrast of a gentleman's chiseled form beneath the soft linen over which her fingers had brushed. Just the thought sent a shiver down her spine and momentarily shook all intelligent speech from her brain.
"I apologize, but that does not answer my question. What are you doing here?"
She was grateful for the darkness disguising her hot cheeks. She did not know how to reply until it occurred to her that Mr. Darcy had no more reason to be roaming the halls of Rosings in the wee hours of the morning than she had. Crossing her arms and recovering her wit, she said, "I might perhaps answer your question if you will answer what you are doing here."
"The same thing you are, I fear," he whispered.
She heard the displeasure in his tone. But what had he expected her to do?
She felt something brush past her cheek and over her hair, and Mr. Darcy said, "My apologies, Miss Elizabeth. Would you kindly step to the side so I may open the door?"
His politeness did nothing to conceal his obvious desire for her to leave. She planted her feet wider. "It is locked," she said smugly. Unless he had a better plan, he needed her and her hairpin.
"I have the key," he said.
Well, so much for that. "The key?" she asked as she stepped to the side, more out of astonishment than cooperation.
"I asked Mrs. Beeton for it. She is convinced of my innocence and did not hesitate to lend it to me," he said, the metal keys clicking in the door.
Why had she not considered that? Of course, Mrs. Beeton had no reason to trust her — whereas she had probably known Mr. Darcy since he was in leading strings.
Elizabeth was quick to reassure him, "I know you did not do it just as certainly as I know I did not. But it was frustrating how Lady Catherine seemed so certain against you, and yet she offered no proof on which to base her suspicion."
"So you felt it appropriate to break into the scene where Anne was last known to be alive?"
Elizabeth huffed. "You would bring up propriety at a time like this? When your aunt has threatened to watch you hang?"
Elizabeth felt a puff of drafty air wave past her. The door was open.
Unwilling to turn away, she shoved the hairpin into her hair and charged forward before he could ask her to leave.
"Speaking of which," Mr. Darcy said so near, she felt his breath ruffling her hair and the warmth from his body.
She ought to have stepped away, but her feet refused to budge. Her muscles went limp so that she thought it a miracle she did not melt into the carpet on Miss de Bourgh's bedchamber floor.
He continued, his velvety baritone like smooth satin against her raised face, "We must not be seen together. I will wait by the door while you search."
How gentlemanly. And pleasantly unexpected.
Elizabeth wait
ed for him to step away, her limbs stubbornly stuck in place as she pondered Mr. Darcy's finer points … and she waited some more, his breath puffing against her cheeks.
"Mr. Darcy, perhaps the darkness has disoriented you. The doorway is over there." She raised her hand to point, the linen of his shirt brushing over her knuckles and sending shivers down her arm before she realized he could not see where she pointed. She really ought to have brought a candle.
He caught her hand in his, pressing it to his chest so that his heartbeat pounded against her palm.
"Oh my," she gasped, the intimacy of her hand cradled between his bare hand and his chest mesmerizing her. She rose to her toes, pulled up by a force stronger than her logic and wobbly knees, a spell cast upon her by his nearness and the essence she would forever associate with Mr. Darcy. His breath tickled the hair by her ear.
He leaned down to her, his smoldering eyes captivating her in their warming glow. Her every nerve was on fire.
And in a crash, she jumped back at the realization that the flame reflecting off his pupils was quite real. Someone had brought a candle.
Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled quietly, a lamp in one hand. "Now, that was a pleasant sight. I am sorry to have disturbed your," he waved his hand in the air as if grasping for the right word, "moment," he concluded.
Elizabeth wished the floor would open up and swallow her. She would have kissed Mr. Darcy in a dark bedchamber. No, she could no longer think of him so formally. Darcy? No, that was what his relatives called him. Fitzwilliam? No, she did not wish to think of him and the colonel at the use of their shared name. William … ah, she liked the sound of that.
Both gentlemen stopped their discussion abruptly and stared at her.
Dear Lord, had she voiced her thoughts aloud? "What?" she asked timidly.
"You said my name. You called me William." He did not seem displeased at her presumption, but, oh, the mortification!
Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut like she used to do when she was little girl and wanted to disappear. Only she was old enough to know it did not work.
