Page 4 of A Matter of Murder
“Oh, don’t mind Elizabeth. She’s been involved in some rather violent business as of late, but that’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” Caroline asked. “I’ve seen the papers.”
So had Lizzie. In fact, she was convinced all of London had seen the papers. Although she wasn’t able to publicly claim credit for solving Leticia Cavendish’s murder, her name had been printed in the notice of her death, as she and Darcy had been the ones to discover her body. And then there had been the case that Lizzie had taken after that, which had resulted in a hostage crisis at the Pantheon.Danger and scandal follow the young lady solicitor wherever she goes, one rag had written.
Danger the ton might have forgiven. But scandal? Well, that was much harder to overlook.
“I don’t know why everyone must make a simple case into a grand ordeal.” Lizzie could feel her cheeks growing warm. “It isn’t as though I go searching for danger.”
“Well, you certainly don’t do anything to discourage it,” came Caroline’s muttered remark, just loud enough that everyone could hear it.
Lizzie did not, as a general rule, assign much value to Caroline Bingley’s opinions, but this remark cut deep. What did everyone expect—for her to give up her work and just sit idly at home because of some gossip?
Luckily for her, she could always count on her mother to interject with inane questions. “Jane, have you been able to findgood tradesmen this far from London? If you need a drapier, I have a recommendation from Mrs. Smith—you don’t want to use the one on Fulton Street!”
Jane led them all to the drawing room, and Charlotte fell back and took Lizzie’s arm. Lizzie squeezed her best friend’s hand. “I wish she’d find a husband already and torment someone else’s family,” Lizzie muttered, which was quite ungenerous of her and she knew it, but if one couldn’t gripe about tedious people to one’s best friend, then what was the point of friendship?
“I’m sure she feels just as trapped as you do,” Charlotte said mildly. “After all, she swears she was within moments of a proposal when—”
“I know,” Lizzie sighed. It had not been on purpose that Lizzie had spoiled Caroline’s prospects with yet another suitor, but the other girl clearly wasn’t ready to forgive Lizzie any time soon. Caroline had been in attendance at the Pantheon, and her suitor had abruptly left London following the resolution of the evening’s excitement. There had been whispers that he’d been involved in the counterfeit art scheme Lizzie had helped her client uncover and he’d left town to avoid arrest. Lizzie was of the opinion that Caroline had dodged an unhappy marriage with an opportunist, but the other young lady clearly did not share that view.
“Ignore her,” Charlotte advised. “Have you ever stayed somewhere so fine in all your life?”
“No,” Lizzie admitted with a small smile. “Repairs and redecorating aside, it truly is very impressive.”
“And can you just imagine how lovely the grounds are bound to be? We can go on long walks every day with Guy, and get far away from Caroline.”
Guy’s head tilted up when he heard his name in close conjunction with his most beloved word—walk. “All right, yes, you’re right.”
They were still lingering in the hall, and Darcy poked his head out of the drawing room. “Coming?”
Lizzie felt her smile slip as she looked at him. He’d been very quiet the entire carriage ride, and nearly impossible to read. In the last week, he’d made a habit of avoiding her gaze, but he didn’t now. Lizzie stared into his eyes—eyes that made her feel deliciously light-headed and breathless when she recalled all their shared kisses, and the quiet moments when he’d drawn her close and she’d lost herself into the depths of his eyes...
But she wasn’t thinking about that right now.
“Coming,” she said shortly.
Darcy turned and went back into the drawing room without another word, and Lizzie didn’t need to look at Charlotte to know that her friend was giving her a doleful look. “Oh, Lizzie. When are you going to put him out of his misery and forgive him already?”
“I don’t know,” she responded crisply. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Two
In Which Darcy Plays the Part of Chimney Sweep with Disastrous Results
“She’s angry,” Bingley observed as he poured amber liquid into a cut crystal glass.
“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.”
Darcy accepted the drink and barely gave the alcohol a swirl before taking a gulp. The whiskey slid across his tongue, smoother than silk. It was down his throat before he felt the burn, but he welcomed it.
Bingley didn’t know the half of it.
His friend stared at him as he sat with the aftereffects of the alcohol. “You’re being sarcastic. You’re hardly ever sarcastic.”
Darcy grimaced. Oh, the joys of long friendship—Bingley knew him almost better than he knew himself. “It’ll blow over,” he said, not sure whether he meant Lizzie’s anger or his sarcasm.
They were dressed for dinner that evening, waiting for the rest of the house party to come down. The carriage with Mr. Bennet and the younger Bennet sisters had arrived with a predictableamount of carrying on, and they’d all made polite conversation in the drawing room while Lizzie had looked everywhere but at him until Jane rang for the housekeeper to show them all to their rooms. Bingley, of course, had missed none of it, and he doubted the rest of the party was oblivious to Lizzie’s cold shoulder, either.