Chasing Elizabeth

by Jennifer Joy

  Mr. Darcy looked at her, then just as quickly looked away. Clearing his throat, he said, “You … dance very well.”

  His manners were so painfully awkward, Elizabeth thought that perhaps George was right. She would take George’s advice and give Mr. Darcy the opportunity to recant his ill-chosen words and redeem himself, or to prove her right. Elizabeth would not mind being wrong about him. Still, she could not help but goad the poor man a bit. “It is a pity I cannot return the compliment. Do you not like to dance, Mr. Darcy?”

  “I have little inclination for dancing with strangers.”

  There it was, that same unseemly pride she had sensed during the night. “Sir William introduced you to many of the families, Mr. Darcy. There is no lack of friendly people here who would be happy to welcome you to Hertfordshire.”

  Mr. Darcy fiddled with a fob that tucked into his waistcoat pocket. It led to a compass with a monogram etched on the back of the casing. He must do a great deal of traveling to carry a compass on his person. If he proved at all agreeable, Elizabeth intended to set him on the subject of his travels.

  He cleared his throat. “I do not have the talent which some people possess of conversing easily with those I have never met before.”

  Another point in George’s favor. “What a conundrum you find yourself in, Mr. Darcy, for unless you make the effort to converse, strangers they will continue to be. I wonder how you befriended Mr. Bingley … or anyone else for that matter?”

  Her question was impertinent, but she was genuinely intrigued.

  Mr. Darcy had the grace to smile, and Elizabeth noted with some satisfaction that his shoulders relaxed. She also noticed a dimple in his cheek.

  He said, “I prefer to keep my circle of friends small and made up only of those who have earned my esteem and trust.”

  Elizabeth saw the wisdom of his view, but it saddened her. She loved people, and she could not imagine walking through Meryton without greetings and friendly comments paving a welcoming path before her. “Sounds lonely,” she said, then bit her tongue because she had voiced the wrong thought aloud. Covering her error, she added what she had intended to say, “I acknowledge the wisdom in your thinking. It is a great consolation to be assured of your truest friends — to know they would never betray your trust … or offend you.” As he had offended her. Did that mean Mr. Darcy had no inclination of making friends in Hertfordshire?

  His eyebrows drew together, and Elizabeth bit her tongue once again. She had not meant to refer, even indirectly, to his earlier offense toward her, but if he meant to apologize, she could not have made it any easier for him.

  She held her breath and waited to see what sort of gentleman Mr. Darcy would prove to be.

  Turning to face her, he met Elizabeth’s eyes. They pierced hers with an intensity that made the noise surrounding them fade and the crowd disappear.

  His voice was soft and smooth, as it had been earlier that day when he had pulled her out of the mud. Elizabeth’s palms burned at the memory of his firm grip around her hands.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I must apologize to you. I was frustrated and in ill-humor when I replied to Mr. Bingley as I did. It was not my intention to insult you so much as it was a poorly executed effort to—” He paused, searching for the words, and finally concluding, “—to continue as I was.”

  And what had he been doing? Elizabeth had noticed how he stood along the edge of the ballroom floor, but she did not presume he had occupied himself as she had. She had been listening unabashedly to her father’s conversation with Sir William's eldest sons. She would rather divert her mind with a philosophical or political conversation than watch the dancers fortunate enough to secure partners. Anything to keep her mind off her own misery.

  Had Mr. Darcy been listening too? Why?

  Elizabeth did not know how long she was entertained in her own thoughts, but when she had come full circle, she found that Mr. Darcy was still watching her. His eyes searched her face, their concern far from the expression of a proud man. Proud men did not concern themselves with the feelings of others. Nor did they admit to their errors. It seemed to matter to him that she accept his apology. The idea was flattering, and it made it easier for Elizabeth to extend her forgiveness.

  “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I will accept your apology as well as your explanation for it. I will thank you in turn for not mentioning the incident of this morning to my mother and father when we were finally introduced.”

  “We are even, then?”

  She had not considered him to be in her debt and found the notion pleasing. “If you were keeping score.”

  “Always,” he said through a widening smile. Mr. Darcy had a nice smile — straight, white teeth and a twinkle that danced merrily in his blue eyes. And that unexpected dimple. “Might I inquire about this morning? Miss Lucas introduced herself after you ran off, and after observing her family this evening, I find myself perplexed. Perhaps you might offer your insight?” He stopped, waiting for Elizabeth to satisfy his curiosity regarding her neighbors rather than give an explanation for her behavior earlier.

  She did not know whether she felt relieved at his quick acceptance or miffed at his disinterest after such a pretty apology. Given her forgiving nature that evening, she chose the former.

  Perhaps Mr. Darcy’s interest lay in Charlotte. Elizabeth determined to discern if that was the case. “You wish for me to explain the Lucases to you? I will warn you, I am hardly unbiased. Miss Lucas is my dearest friend, and you would be hard pressed to hear anything against her or her family cross my lips.”

  “I surmised as much, given that you were in each other’s company at that early hour.”

  He did not press her concerning Charlotte, so Elizabeth offered, “Miss Lucas is the most sensible lady of my acquaintance. Her logic defies emotion, making her a coveted confidante and brilliant strategist.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You make her sound like a war general.”

  “And well she would do in such a role. I take your comment as a compliment to her steady character.”

  Again, his eyebrows met, and his gaze gripped hers. “Which is precisely how I meant it.”

  “Then we are in agreement,” Elizabeth whispered, her neck growing warm.

  “True friends are more valuable than gold. Miss Lucas is fortunate to have a friend who recognizes her value. How long have you known Sir William and his family?”

  Mr. Darcy turned the conversation away from Charlotte too quickly for him to hold any particular regard for her. Interesting.

  Elizabeth replied, “I have known them my entire life. My father’s estate, Longbourn, is only a short walk from Lucas Lodge.”

  “They have always been situated at Lucas Lodge?”

  “Sir William was formerly in trade at Meryton. He made a tolerable fortune, but his true pride was when he rose to the honor of knighthood by an address to the King during his mayoralty. It is a story you are certain to hear from Sir William himself eventually.”

  “I look forward to the occasion. It must have been difficult for him to remain in trade after the honor was bestowed upon him,” he observed.

  “He sold his business and residence in Meryton and removed with his family to his current estate outside the village. He has since occupied himself in being civil to all the world. He makes a splendid Master of Ceremonies, does he not?”

  Across the room, Sir William roared with laughter — perhaps not genteel in its execution but genuine in its origin.

  Mr. Darcy expressed no signs of disapproval. Elizabeth, who had been watching for them, would have noticed.

  He said, “If only everyone elevated in society were so honest. From the little I have observed, Sir William’s affability and interest in others has upset the overreaching ambition and excessive pride often felt by those who have likewise benefited from the King’s favor. However, there is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education or decorum can
overcome.”

  Sir William, evil? Elizabeth could not take the suggestion seriously. Tilting her chin and peeking askance at Mr. Darcy, she replied with a question of her own. “Is it your defect, then, to distrust everybody?”

  Mr. Darcy avoided her gaze, instead, peering at something invisible directly in front of the toes of his Hessians. “Is distrust a defect when the world is full of liars and traitors?”

  “In Meryton?” she exclaimed in a mixture of laughter and wishful thinking. “Perhaps, where you are from, you are surrounded by criminals and spies, but Meryton is peaceful. Nothing ever happens here.” And, oh, how she wished it would! Not involving liars and traitors, of course, but something exciting and out of the ordinary to break the tedium.

  “You should consider yourself very fortunate, Miss Elizabeth.” Now, he did look at her. The conviction in his firm tone and the sincerity in his expression convinced Elizabeth that Mr. Darcy knew danger.

  Interesting. He did not trust easily. He was accustomed to danger. Who was Mr. Darcy? She searched his face for clues, not knowing what she looked for but enjoying the investigation.

  He blinked, and his disposition lightened considerably. Looking about the room, he said, “I must thank Mr. Lucas for his attention to you after my blunder. He is the second son, is he not?”

  Elizabeth arched her neck to observe Mr. Darcy better. He asked a great deal of questions about the Lucases. She had to wonder why he singled them out and how he had come to choose her for his source of information. The activities of the morning could not have left a favorable impression of her on him … although his present manners indicated otherwise. Was that what this was? His effort to put her at ease by allowing her to speak of her friends?

  She would not pretend to understand him, and so she said directly, “You take an acute interest in the Lucases. Why is that, Mr. Darcy?”

  His pause suggested he had not expected her to take control of the conversation by asking a pointed question of her own. Elizabeth was too aware of her father’s conversational manipulations to not catch on to Mr. Darcy’s use of the tactic. He would extract information without revealing a single detail about himself, leaving a trail of unanswered questions and mystery behind him and robbing her of sleep when she would spend all night pondering them.

  Distrust. Danger. Mystery….

  He replied, “Mr. Bingley is a dear friend of mine, and the Lucases are his neighbors now, too. His nature is so affable and accepting, I have long since taken it as my responsibility to ensure he does not mislay his loyalties. They are too easily given.”

  In itself, the excuse was reasonable. Jane was very similar in disposition to Mr. Darcy’s description of Mr. Bingley.

  However, unlike his earlier conversation, there was no emotion in his words. It sounded odd in Elizabeth’s ears when he obviously cared about Mr. Bingley’s welfare enough to inquire about his neighbors. It was almost as if he had memorized his explanation.

  Elizabeth pushed aside her reserve, for nothing she could say about the Lucases would lower them in the opinion of a just man.

  Was Mr. Darcy just?

  Intrigued to see how he would react, to see if the sketch she was making of his character was correct, she said, “Then I will reassure you on that front. Kinder neighbors cannot be found in all of Hertfordshire. Mr. George Lucas is the second son. He and his wife, along with their three beautiful children, live at the cottage near Lucas Lodge. He is responsible for raising the best horses in the county.”

  “Was that one of his horses you were riding this morning?” Mr. Darcy asked with a suppressed smile.

  Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. He had to bring that up. “It was. He and Sir William have been generous in allowing me the use of their stable’s occupants.”

  “Your father does not have horses?”

  That was a question Elizabeth did not wish to answer. Searching for a way to redirect the conversation, she looked over the crowd until she found Mr. Bingley close to the refreshment table. He stood in the center of a cluster of laughing men and women. If Mr. Darcy had difficulty making new friends, then Mr. Bingley was his opposite. He had charmed everyone in the room. “Is there anything else you wish to know about your friend’s neighbors? Or, perhaps, you would like to explain how Mr. Bingley came to let Netherfield Park? It has been vacant for a long time, and while we were thrilled to hear it was occupied, we were surprised to learn that a gentleman would choose to leave the entertainments of London in favor of a quiet country estate months before hunting season.”

  Mr. Darcy must have sensed her thoughts. He was looking at Mr. Bingley and his group when she turned her attention back to him. Again, he hesitated to reply, his manners guarded, though he attempted to disguise it with a smile. She had seen his real smile, and this one did not reach his eyes as that one had.

  He stated an explanation for Mr. Bingley’s uncharacteristic decision. Something about learning estate management. Something perfectly reasonable. Something rehearsed. What was he hiding?

  Distrustful. Dangerous, or no stranger to danger — Elizabeth had yet to discern which. Mysterious. Secretive.

  When Mr. Darcy smoothly extracted himself from her company, it was just the spark to light Elizabeth’s imagination on fire. For the better part of the next quarter of an hour, she disregarded her thoughts as wishful fancy — a desire for some excitement in her dull life. A new way for her to distract her thoughts when she longed to run to the stables to ride with Charlotte.

  However, the facts offered enough kindling to fan the flames of Elizabeth’s growing suspicions. Her skin tingled and her pulse raced as she considered them one by one.

  Mr. Darcy’s determination to observe rather than dance or participate in conversation. His ability to extract information without revealing anything about himself. His careful thought before offering a reply. His prepared, practiced, and perfectly reasonable explanations. His sudden appearance at a place where he knew nobody at an unusual time of year. The hint of danger and mystery surrounding him….

  Could it be that Mr. Darcy was a spy?

  Chapter 7

  “A spy, Lizzy? Really?” Charlotte whispered, for if Mr. Darcy truly were a spy, it would not do to blurt it aloud for all to hear. It was the reason why Elizabeth had sought out Charlotte before her family departed for Longbourn. Charlotte could be trusted for her discretion … even if she was a touch more skeptical than Elizabeth had thought she would be after listening to her string of proofs.

  Mr. Darcy had danced exactly twice and only with the members of his party (Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst) after parting from her company. That he had waited so long to dance at all — and only after she had questioned his motives in coming to the assembly — had offered further evidence to her growing list of reasons why she thought Mr. Darcy could be a spy.

  Elizabeth knew her view might be wholly illogical, which was why she had sought out her more analytical friend.

  Now, Elizabeth felt the ridiculousness of her suspicion, but pride prevented her from dropping the issue so quickly. “I am not saying he is. Merely, that he could be. That it is within the realm of possibility.”

  Charlotte heaved an exasperated sigh. “Very well, then. If Mr. Darcy is a spy, how can you be certain he is on the right side?”

  Elizabeth nearly spouted an argument worthy of her father stating the relativity of justice and the subjectivity of right and wrong during times of war, but not even a war erased certain lines which ought to never be crossed. The line between enemy and ally, traitor and hero. How could she be sure Mr. Darcy was a British spy?

  It was a fair question — one Elizabeth did not know how to answer. “I cannot find it in me to believe Mr. Darcy a traitor.” She cringed at her weak reply. What did she really know of the gentleman? Hardly anything.

  “And this is based on an impression formed from your inauspicious encounter this morning, one brief conversation at a crowded assembly, and your interrupted observations of the past few hours?” Cha
rlotte twisted the corner of her lip and looked at Elizabeth with as much humor as she lacked judgment.

  Elizabeth sighed, her dream blown to bits with rational thought. Hopeless and defeated, she said, “I sound as fanciful as Lydia.”

  “Not at all! Lydia would not have bothered to offer proof, while you have gone out of your way to substantiate your suspicion. Had you wished to continue in your fancy, you would not have told me and risked me challenging your view … which, I suspect, is precisely why you chose to discuss the matter with me.”

  “You know me too well.”

  “Which is why I insist you not allow yourself to feel foolish. Sometimes I envy your ability to infuse excitement into the dullest situations. Perhaps I would have enjoyed this evening’s assembly more if I had your ability. Further, I will own that while your proofs were persuasive, my greatest reason for refuting your idea is the fact that a spy worth his salt would never risk his work, his very life, by arousing suspicions in clever maidens with active minds. He would have sensed your danger and done his best to stay away from you.”

  Elizabeth’s pulse fluttered. That was precisely what Mr. Darcy had done! It offered a more flattering explanation for his insult, too. He had been avoiding her. But why?

  She sighed, discouraged she should so easily fall prey to her own whimsy again. “Thank you, Charlotte. I am sure you are right about Mr. Darcy, and I thank you for disproving me so kindly.”

  Charlotte clasped Elizabeth’s hands and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “It is a romantic notion. Mr. Darcy is handsome enough to do the suspicion credit, I daresay.”

  They laughed together, and Elizabeth soon forgot her disappointment. Mr. Darcy may not be a spy, but there was no denying that his presence had sparked a change in humdrum Meryton.

  Darcy was shaken. He had asked too many questions. How easily Miss Elizabeth had seen through him! How quickly she had jumped to the right conclusion! It was all wrong. His mission was in jeopardy, and it was all his fault. Her charming, inviting manners had encouraged him to let down his guard. He had allowed her too great a glimpse into his character. He ought to have been more careful. Her humor was as disarming to him as her cleverness was dangerous.