B00CO8L910 EBOK (12 page)

Darcy sighed. “I will tell you what I know if you will allow me to apologize for my hurtful and presumptuous actions last autumn.”

That he wished to apologize and appeared to regret his actions rendered her speechless, and she could only manage a weak nod.

“I was wrong, I admit, in acting to separate your sister from my friend. At the time, I did not think she had feelings for him, and I did not wish him to connect himself with someone who did not love him. I thought that your mother — forgive me, I can see that it pains you to hear it — had mercenary motives in the match. That I also wished to remove myself from Hertfordshire, I shall not deny, but not for the reasons you may assume.”

“What other reason could you have?” She was all curiosity. In the past few days, she found herself intrigued about the man who seemed so changed from before.
I am only curious,
she tried to convince herself.

His steady gaze caused her heart to beat rapidly, and a sensation she could not explain reminded her of similar feelings during her stay at his house in Town.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Can you not guess, Elizabeth?”

She barely managed to look away at his use of her Christian name. She felt discomfited and still could not fathom what he could mean by it. Recognizing her discomfort, he cleared his throat to address her with some composure.

“As for Bingley, I believe your sister is quite safe from him unless of course she would not welcome his attentions now . . . after both our actions last autumn.”

Elizabeth looked up. “I will not betray my sister’s confidence, but I believe that, if he is in earnest, then he will be most welcome in the neighborhood.”

“He is devoted to his mission, I assure you, and has only the most honorable of intentions,” he said with significance.

Elizabeth’s smile was bright and beautiful. It was the biggest smile he had seen grace her features since before Lydia’s death. His heart beat wildly, and he was lost to her all over again.

“I am pleased to hear it, sir.” Her smile faded. “He will have to wait, you know, as we are all in mourning. It would not be proper.”

“I know.”
More than you know, Elizabeth!

Then a thought came to her, and she looked at him in horror. “Please do not think that any of us, that Jane, could ever forgo propriety in lieu of a chance for happiness!”

Darcy shook his head. “I could not think any of you capable of that. It would not be honorable for any man to be so indelicate as to ask that of a lady in mourning.” He paused, feeling his own conviction behind the words. “Bingley will wait until it is proper and pay his addresses to your sister then — if it pleases her.”

Elizabeth was relieved at his assurances. Oddly, she felt more relieved that he did not think so ill of her family. Loath to interrupt their companionable silence, he was conscious they might be missed. “Have I satisfied you, Miss Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth startled but turned to him with a half smile. “Not quite; I have one more thing.” She reached below the bench to retrieve a small package wrapped in paper she had hidden earlier in the day. She handed it to him.

At the look of confusion on his face, she teased, “Oh do not be so missish, Mr. Darcy. I am only returning what is yours.”

He chuckled softly. “I shall not swoon at your gift, I assure you . . . ”
my dear.
“I was only . . . confused. And now a bit curious.” He raised an eyebrow at her as he turned the package in his hands.

She covered her mouth to hide her mirth. “Then you may as well open it.”
Who knew Mr. Darcy had a sense of humor
?

As he pulled at the hemp cords of the packaging, the paper fell away to reveal four freshly laundered and starched handkerchiefs with his initials on them and one with his sister’s. He laughed at the sight.

“I told you I was accumulating quite a pile. For the sake of our housekeeper and our linen closet, I found it imperative that I return them right away, sir.”

Darcy smiled at the mischief in her eyes. “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I would not want to overwhelm your linen closet.” He found himself slightly disappointed that she had not kept even one. He had wanted to give her so much more than a few scraps of cloth — say, perhaps all his worldly goods.

“You can understand why I could not return them in front of my family.”

“I do.” He paused, considering for a moment. “I have a gift for you, too, Miss Elizabeth.”

She looked up sharply and shook her head even as he placed a small book in her hands. It was a beautifully bound journal, obviously expensive and of the highest quality. She brushed her fingers along the spine and then flipped through the blank pages.

“It is so you can write down your feelings regarding your sister. My aunt gave me a mourning book like this when my parents passed, and I found it quite therapeutic.”

A tear escaped her eye as she pushed the book back into his hands. “I cannot accept it, Mr. Darcy. You know it is not proper for me to accept a gift from you. We are not . . . We do not have an understanding.” She swallowed, attempting to quench the emotions swelling in her breast for such a thoughtful gift.

With disappointment, he replied, “You gave me a gift; can I not give you one?”

“Mr. Darcy . . . ” She drew a steadying breath. “I cannot. I am sorry. I thank you for your consideration, but indeed, you know it would not be proper for me to accept it.”

He knew she would not be persuaded but endeavored once more. “I thought we had decided to discard propriety for this meeting.”

His voice was kind, but she shook her head. He acquiesced and returned the book to his breast pocket.

She smiled with unshed tears. “And I must also thank you for your hospitality earlier this week as well.” She paused with indecision and then straightened her shoulders as she continued. “I am lucky to count you among my friends, sir.” She was surprised how much she meant it too. Despite the way he frequently infuriated her, she did indeed count him a friend. As she tended so frequently to misinterpret his actions, she wondered whether her previous assumptions about him had been in error.

What joy her words brought him! He could kiss her for them. When she said such things with such sweetness to her tone, he wondered how he had ever thought she was anticipating his proposal back in Kent. He could see the difference now.

“Anyone admitted to the privilege of your presence, Miss Elizabeth, could not wish to be called less,” he said tenderly. Seeing her wet eyes, he instinctively reached in his pocket for his handkerchief and held it out to her.

She began to laugh as she shook her head, pushing his hand away. Elizabeth pulled out her own from her pocket, waving it, and cried with mock indignation, “That will not do, Mr. Darcy! How am I ever to keep out of your debt if you persist in throwing your linens at my person?”

Darcy threw his head back and laughed openly at her words. When he looked at her again, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her sweet, impertinent lips. “You found me out, madam. I wished to enslave you through twelve inch-square pieces of cloth.”

“It will not work, sir. I am keen to your plan now.” She laughed, feeling the natural release of her weary emotions. “I think we had better go in. We will be missed soon.”

“Of course. I will go first.” He stood, bowed to her and walked around the side of the hedge towards the house.

She left a few minutes later after a quiet cry, reflecting on the tumult of her mind regarding Lydia’s death, Mr. Bingley’s intentions and, of course, Mr. Darcy’s most solicitous almost-gift. Upon entering the parlor, she noted that everyone seemed occupied and her absence had gone unnoticed. She found Mr. Darcy standing in a corner speaking to one of her neighbors. Their eyes met briefly before she joined Jane and Mr. Bingley on the other side of the room.

When the gentlemen from Netherfield took their leave, she could not meet his eyes when he murmured his good-byes and bowed over her hand. With regret, she watched his broad shoulders as he left Longbourn and wondered when she might see or hear from him again.

It was then, with no small amount of surprise and curiosity that, upon returning from her afternoon walk two days later, she spied Mr. Hill receive a large package from a delivery boy, addressed from Mr. Darcy to her father.

Chapter 8

Elizabeth could not constrain her eyes from wandering repeatedly to the package on the side table of her father’s library. Unopened, it glared at her, and she was wild to know its contents. She brought a cup of tea to her mouth in another attempt to distract herself. She sat with her father in the early morning hours as she had often done over the years. They would share a cup of tea, read and visit together. This morning was no different — except for that blasted box!

Her eyes betrayed her again as they moved to the side table.
What could it be?
It was driving her mad that her father had not yet opened the package, and it had been delivered more than a week earlier! It was none of her business; she was sure. And she kept telling herself that. Once again dragging her eyes away from the package, she sighed into her cup.

Asking her father about it would surely arouse his suspicion. Frustrated and unable to do anything but think and look at the package, she politely excused herself from her father’s company and left for a walk.

The expectation of the pleasant exercise her walk would bring was essential if she were to accomplish the job she had set for herself that day. Indeed, she needed the exercise to help her forget about that box, too —
and the man who sent it!
if she was being honest with herself. He had intruded upon her thoughts far more than was comfortable. It was all because of that mysterious package; she was sure of it.
Why else would my mind choose to think on him?

But that day she could not dwell on Mr. Darcy and his peculiar behaviors or his disturbing words while he was lately with her. It had been almost a fortnight since her sister’s death, and she had determined that she alone would take up the task of cleaning Lydia’s room. Nobody had ventured into that room since the day of the accident as Lydia had remained in the sickroom on the main floor. It was too painful for any of her sisters, and especially her mother, to consider entering the room. Elizabeth knew it to be a taxing undertaking, considering her own emotional stores; nevertheless, it must be done.

She set out at a brisk pace, hoping to bring peace to her mind and strength to her heart for the grim day ahead.

* * *

He was disgusted with his surroundings — and even more so with the lack of punctuality of the person whom he was to meet — and Darcy’s mood was taking a decided turn south. He dared not touch the soiled tablecloth covering the wobbly table in front of him. He had barely summoned the courage to order a glass of brandy from the grubby looking bar maid; her suggestive propositions and unwashed odors were making him ill.
Where is that blasted man?

After eyeing the glass suspiciously and reminding himself why he must bear these mortifications, he tentatively took a sip of his drink. Upon his arrival at Netherfield, Darcy had sent his valet to gather information about Wickham or his whereabouts from within the exclusive, secretive world of the servant class. Some hard-earned confidences led Darcy to this fetid part of London.

It was not much of a surprise, considering there was no other place Darcy thought the man could be so well hidden. His man also discovered that the scoundrel, instead of simply disappearing to London, had slipped away with bit of muslin; the now-missing servant girl from the Meryton Inn had boasted that Wickham wished to marry her. Darcy knew better.

He took out his watch and looked at the time again. Regretting the action almost immediately, he groaned and then returned it to his pocket. He felt several eyes upon him, eyeing the gold chain of his watch fob still visible. He should have known better than to draw attention to himself in such a way. His valet had taken careful measures to dress him in less than auspicious clothing in an attempt not to stand out. He sat up, straightened his shoulders to show their broad, sheer strength, and glowered at a few patrons, intimating they should reconsider their interest in him.

Darcy was yet hopeful that Wickham had merely left Hertfordshire to avoid his mounting debts. There had been no evidence Wickham was responsible for Miss Lydia’s death. It was only a sinking feeling in his gut that told him otherwise. He wanted to believe his instincts were wrong because, if his former friend had a hand in Lydia’s death, Darcy’s own hopes for a particular member of that family would surely be lost. For who would connect themselves with someone who could have prevented her sister’s death when he had the chance simply by revealing the character of the man responsible?

He was investigating for Elizabeth’s family as much as he was for his own hope of happiness. His valet’s work had taken him thus far to meet a man who claimed to know Wickham’s whereabouts. Darcy was there instead of his man because the informant was at least clever enough to recognize when he might get some blunt for his knowledge, refusing to meet with anyone other than the gentleman wishing for the information. At least his identity was concealed. The last thing Darcy needed was for Wickham to hear that he was looking for him. That would only cause Wickham to burrow himself deeper.