by Jennifer Joy
She looked at Mr. Darcy for an explanation. His jaw was set, but he mumbled through his teeth while his eyes searched. “Nobody there. No clear shot from there either,” he said as calmly as if he were reading from a list. Mindlessly, he ran his hand through his hair, patting his head, as he muttered, “My hat,” and began searching around them.
Elizabeth plucked it from a nearby hedge, prompting another “Get down!” but this time accented with a “Blast it all!”
Mr. Darcy snatched the hat away from her but not before she saw the hole. It was impossible to miss, being as wide as her finger.
Her breath caught as the pieces fell into place. “Your hat was shot! Someone shot at you! You could have been killed!” she gasped.
Mr. Darcy inspected his beaver hat, turning it around in his hands and tracing the holes with his fingers. “The lead came in this way and took its exit through here, which means…” He met her eyes. His skin was pale.
Elizabeth pressed her hand against her throat, trying to calm her racing pulse and roiling stomach. She thought she knew what Mr. Darcy had been about to say, and if he would not voice it, she would. “Which means I am fortunate it was only your hat that suffered a tragedy today, and not me.”
His eyes darkened. “It could have been you,” he whispered. “Blast it all, it could have been you.”
Elizabeth shook her head. She was perfectly fine, only a bit shaken. What she did not comprehend was Mr. Darcy’s reaction. He was the one who had been so nearly shot! Instead of yielding to panic, as most people in their situation would, he had immediately assessed the circumstances, taking shelter in the safest position available and shielding her with his own body when the shot had clearly been meant for him.
He was the one in danger, and instead of normal fear or shock, she sensed anger. It emanated from him, tempering her alarm and giving way to an intense desire to understand why someone would shoot at Mr. Darcy. Could it be that her fanciful instincts had been right, and the man crouching in front of her, protecting her, was, indeed, a spy? She could hardly believe it. Spies did not come to Meryton.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He looked away, his eyes once again scanning their surroundings. “We cannot stay here.” His face was devoid of expression, his voice distant.
Elizabeth tried to look about, but the width of his back blocked most of her view. “Is it safe to leave?”
“It is safer to move than to remain in one place. We have the high ground, but there is little protection in these fields. Whoever fired that shot is either a poor marksman, or they only meant to give me a warning.”
“A warning? For what? How do you know this?” she asked.
The muscles at his jaw clenched. “I would rather not wait around until the shooter becomes more serious. Let us go.”
They raced back to Netherfield Park, but Elizabeth took little pleasure in it.
Who was Mr. Darcy, and what trouble was he in?
Chapter 14
Darcy dismounted as his gelding skidded to a halt. Several servants stood in front of the stables, gaping and staring. Given the frantic pace with which he and Miss Elizabeth had approached the house, Darcy hardly blamed them.
Tossing the reins to the stable boy, he instructed, “See that the horses are cooled down properly. Oakley will help you as soon as he returns.” He had sent his groom to find where the shot had been fired. If there were any clues left behind, Oakley would see them.
Darcy stepped around Miss Elizabeth’s horse. He could not look at her. Of all the people he could have endangered, it had been she. Most females would have fainted. Not Miss Elizabeth. Her insatiable curiosity demanded answers, and blast it all if he did not want to give them to her.
She deserved an explanation after what she had experienced. And yet, he must deny her. His was a secret too dangerous to tell, nor was it his alone to guard. He had sworn he would not reveal his role to anyone — not under capture, torture, or threat of death. Not even his sister knew. Had Darcy realized how long the war would last, he might not have agreed to join Richard so readily. He had no way of knowing how his secrecy would impact his life … and that of others.
Darcy shook his head. Wishing things were different helped nothing. He had chosen his path, and he must live with the consequences of his choice.
He held his hands up, a silent gesture of assistance.
Miss Elizabeth kicked her foot out of the stirrup and leaned forward to balance herself against his shoulders. Sweet jasmine enveloped him, making his head spin. The rich fragrance had always reminded Darcy of tropical climates, and with Miss Elizabeth’s keen desire to see the world, he was not surprised she preferred the exotic scent of places she had never been nor was likely to ever visit.
He looked up at last, and though her eyes reflected concern, she smiled at him. His heart clenched. So long as there was a war and she remained under her father’s protection, she would never have her heart’s desire. Darcy, on the other hand, only had to complete this last mission, and he could go where he pleased. He could return home.
It was not just.
Placing his hands around her waist, he carefully set her down. He noticed how large his hands were around her middle, how the soft velvet of her blue riding habit felt against his fingers. She was light, and soft, and delicate in his arms, and his heart yearned to protect her while his stomach felt sick all over again at the possibility that she might have come to harm because of him.
How could he keep her safe when it was his very presence which put her in danger?
“Mr. Darcy, you are in trouble. Please, let me help you,” she said.
A cold sweat sent a tremble through him. His heart would convince him to protect her. Dread coursed through his veins. He had gone so far as to think, even briefly, that he could give her what she most wanted. Blast it, the journey to Pemberley would offer more opportunity to travel than she had experienced in her lifetime. But he was not free.
He could not trust himself. It was imperative he depart immediately upon a thorough search of the grounds and surrounding area. He would go to London. He would follow the tidbit of information Miss Elizabeth had given him about the new trainer at Lucas Lodge stables. Mr. Robson. If there was a trail of money, it would most assuredly lead him to London.
“Mr. Darcy?” Miss Elizabeth repeated, her arms crossed over her chest.
He jerked away from her, jumping backward and removing his hands from her waist. He had held her too closely for too long. Her annoyance was justified. “Miss Elizabeth, I am sorry. I apologize—”
“I do not require an apology, Mr. Darcy, when it is answers I seek. You are in trouble, and I wish to help you, but I need to understand before I can be of any use.”
He sighed in relief. He had not offended her, but he could not accept her offer. Not from her. Not ever. He cared for her too much. How had that happened?
She awaited a reply. Her eyes twinkled, bright with exercise. Her lips, which she chewed and worried, were as red as cherries. Her hair curled wildly around her shoulders. He would have to find her bonnet before he left. He did not want her roaming the fields alone. Not with a shooter on the loose.
Darcy groaned. Now was not the time to muse. Now was the time to act. Once he put himself to work, his thoughts would clear. He would go to London, and after a couple of days, Miss Elizabeth’s hold on him would loosen. After a while, the inquisitive sparkle in her eyes and her nibble-reddened lips would dim from his mind until one day, he would not think of her at all — a prospect which left him empty and numb. It was necessary. As was her prompt departure from Netherfield. “You must leave this place as soon as you can.”
Miss Elizabeth tightened her arms around her, her hands balled into fists. She did not like his reply, but it could not be helped.
When she started biting her lips again, Darcy was reminded of the urgency with which he must distance himself from the scheming lady. He would take Wilson and Oakley with him, leaving the footman
and gardener to ensure that no threat remained after he departed for London. Looking behind Miss Elizabeth, Darcy addressed Bingley’s groom. “Ready the chestnut stallion and two others.”
“Your groom! The one who rode with us. Where is he?” Miss Elizabeth’s eyes shone eagerly. Her wish to be of assistance, her resolve to involve herself despite his constant discouragement, confirmed to Darcy that leaving was the best course.
“He went to find the shooter. I expect him back shortly.” Darcy offered nothing more. Taking Elizabeth by the elbow, he spirited her to the house, his eyes scouring their surroundings. Once they reached the landing, he grasped her hands — a precarious gesture given his current state but one he considered necessary in conveying the gravity of what he was about to suggest. “Is Miss Bennet well enough to return to Longbourn today? I wish to see you safely to your family.”
“She was too weak to sit up this morning.”
His gritted his teeth. “It cannot be helped. I will leave Wilson here to assist you safely to your family when she recovers.” There was no one he trusted more. Wilson would protect Miss Elizabeth with his life, and he could be trusted to give a complete and accurate report to Darcy when he joined him in London. Very little escaped Wilson’s notice. If there was any danger to the Bennets, he would sense it.
Miss Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “You really do plan to leave, then. Where are you going?”
Would she miss him? Darcy shook his head and let go of her hands, shoving the thought away. So long as he was a danger to her, he had no right to encourage her affection.
“I must go to London. Promise you will speak of this to no one.”
“I give you my word.”
“And I trust you will keep it.” He swallowed hard, then with a bow, he said, “Goodbye, Miss Elizabeth.”
He turned to the stairs before she could ask any further questions. Before he could change his mind and stay. This was the right thing to do. He had to complete this mission. Her safety must come first. Miss Elizabeth would be safer at Longbourn.
Bursting through his door to see Wilson polishing his Hessians, Darcy said, “We need to ride.” He tossed his hat to the valet by way of explanation.
Wilson blew a low whistle. “Warning or missed shot?”
“That is what I mean to find out. Oakley is already surveying the area, but we must make inquiries in Meryton. Perhaps a suspicious stranger has appeared in the village or someone saw a man riding through after the shot was fired. I need answers, and I need them now.”
“You must be close to discovering the truth for someone to aim at you, sir. People get desperate and act rashly when their secrets are soon to be found out.” Wilson rose, hobbling over to Darcy’s wardrobe and pulling out a clean coat. “Let me help you change first, sir. We do not need to arouse suspicions amongst the villagers.”
Darcy looked down. The knees of his breeches were damp and stained. His coat had a tear in the sleeve. Shrugging out of his coat while Wilson pulled the sleeves, he said, “We will ride over the property until we join Oakley. Depending on what he has found, we will continue to Meryton. Then,” Darcy groaned. He had been about to say Wilson would remain behind to see the Bennet sisters home while he and Oakley continued to London. But he had overlooked one important detail. Miss Elizabeth had told him of Lucas Lodge’s new trainer, and Darcy knew Richard would ask — and rightly so — what else he had found out from the stables. He could not continue to London until he had at least made a pretense of searching for other clues at the stables. And he could not very well do that in the light of day.
Frustrated he had been so intent on leaving Netherfield he had nearly neglected to inspect a key piece of evidence, Darcy continued grimly, “We will wait until nightfall to see what we can uncover at Lucas Lodge stables. They have a new trainer, none less than Robert Robson. I want to confirm his recent hire and see if there is anything else we might be able to learn.”
Wilson held up another coat. “Do you have someone on the inside?”
Darcy remembered the talkative stable boy. “No, but did you know that one of Bingley’s stable boys came from Lucas Lodge? I mean to have a word with Bingley to see about sending him back for a time.”
Wilson brushed the lapels. “That may not be necessary. I learned from the groom — Mercer — that a mare is soon to drop a foal. If the lad was at all attached to the mare or if he is a curious sort, it would be easy to arrange. Mercer will be happy for the extra hands to fetch linens and clean water. He would not send the boy away.”
“Excellent. I have no doubt the lad will be a valuable source of information.”
“I will see to it immediately, sir.”
“Good. Gain the boy’s confidence, then you and I will go to Lucas Lodge stables tonight. He will not be so suspicious of your presence then, and you can ask what he knows while I see what else I can find inside. At daybreak on the morrow, Oakley and I will depart for London. I have a charge of the utmost importance to entrust in your care, Wilson.”
Wilson stopped brushing to give Darcy his full attention.
Taking a deep breath, Darcy continued, “Miss Elizabeth was with me when I was shot at, and while I have no other reason to believe her in imminent danger, I do not wish to take any chances. Will you keep a watch over her? And when Miss Bennet is well enough to return to Longbourn, will you see them safely returned to their family?”
Wilson stood taller. “I will not let you down, sir. I will keep watch until there is no more danger.”
“Thank you, Wilson. Once she is returned to Longbourn, her father will keep her there. You can then join me in London … unless you sense your continued presence is required here. I trust your discretion.”
After Wilson made him presentable, Darcy departed. He looked in the direction of Miss Bennet’s sickroom, but he saw no sign of Miss Elizabeth. His treacherous heart had hoped he might.
Chapter 15
Elizabeth did not set foot outside the rest of the day. She kept Jane company, conversing about the many kindnesses of Mr. Bingley and reading aloud.
However, had Jane asked Elizabeth what she was reading, she could not have told her. Words could not hold Elizabeth’s interest when her thoughts were full of Mr. Darcy and the hole in his hat.
Why would he not let her help him? Why the secrecy?
Why did she care?
A knock at the door distracted Elizabeth from drawing any unsettling conclusions. It was not Emily. She would have entered after her usual five taps.
Could it be Mr. Darcy had come to explain the strange events of the morning? Elizabeth rose to answer, holding her breath in expectation.
Dark curls and a brooding brow did not greet her. She tried not to show her disappointment at the sight of ginger hair and a bright waistcoat instead.
Mr. Bingley swayed weakly in front of the door, holding on to the casing to balance himself. He was as ghastly pale as Jane had been the day before. His grooved forehead and knitted brows gave him the doleful appearance of a sad puppy.
He must have used all of his energy dressing to check on Jane and had little left to hold himself upright. “Is Miss Bennet improved?” he asked between labored breaths.
Elizabeth burst with sympathy. Opening the door wider and stepping aside to allow him a glimpse inside, Elizabeth said, “She is, thank you, Mr. Bingley.”
“Good. I am relieved to know it.” His tender gaze fixed on Jane, and had he been any stronger, Elizabeth was certain he would have exchanged a few pleasantries with her sister. But Mr. Bingley had not recovered enough. He leaned against the doorway, his strength visibly spent.
Elizabeth reached forward at the same time Mr. Bingley’s valet did. She had not noticed the man standing on Mr. Bingley’s other side, and she appreciated his presence and attention to his master.
“Mr. Bingley, please rest. Here is a chair,” she offered.
“No, no. I must use the little stamina I have left to return to my room. I just … I just needed to know sh
e is better. To be near. That is all.” Mr. Bingley supported himself against his valet, and slowly, they retreated down the hall.
What a lovely man.
While Elizabeth was overjoyed that such a fine gentleman expended himself on behalf of her sister, a gentle ping of jealousy made her wonder if she would ever inspire the same selfless interest in a man. A man such as Mr. Darcy.
She turned to Jane. Her cheeks were rosy pink; her eyes, a brilliant blue.
Elizabeth smiled. “He just had to see you.”
Jane’s blush deepened. She praised Mr. Bingley’s fine qualities and amiable character until, once again, she succumbed to a tranquil slumber. Her dreams would be pleasant, and Elizabeth had no doubt she would wake greatly improved. One day more, or perhaps two, and Jane would be well enough to return to Longbourn where their mother would refuse to receive them from Netherfield Park before the completion of a week.
Elizabeth might have been tempted to extend their stay for the sake of Mr. Bingley and Jane’s blooming romance, but it would be foolhardy to ignore Mr. Darcy’s warning.
She chuckled. The gentleman would simply have to do without his valet until Tuesday. The idea of Mr. Darcy struggling with his cravat gave her pleasure. It satisfied her sense of justice knowing he would experience a level of harmless discomfort when he refused to confide in her even after the morning’s ride had irrevocably involved her in whatever scheme had brought Mr. Darcy into her life.
How could she protect herself if she remained in ignorance? Elizabeth refused to allow a gentleman she had known for less than a full week, no matter how honorable she hoped he was, to be her sole source of protection when her dignity demanded self-sufficiency.
She was not weak, nor were her sensibilities too delicate. She proudly possessed a curious mind capable of more comprehension than society granted … or approved of. They patronized informed ladies, discounting their opinions and demeaning them for having an original thought.
