Page 15 of Better Luck Next Time (First Impressions #3)

Chapter Fifteen

D arcy was accustomed to waiting. His entire life had been a careful exercise in patience, in restraint, in knowing when to act and when to observe.

But tonight, he had the distinct and unwelcome sensation that he was already too late.

The boy shifted on his feet, glancing around the dimly lit alley as though expecting someone to drag him back to the Ashwick household at any moment. He was young—ten at most—with a nervous energy that did not suit his somewhat husky frame. He smelled of hay and horses, and his cap was pulled low over his forehead.

Darcy did not waste time on pleasantries. “Are you sure of this, Kenny?”

The boy swallowed with an anxious nod. “She’s gone, sir. Alice.”

“When?”

“Ain’t sure, exactly. No one is. One day she was there, next she weren’t.” He sniffed, rubbing a sleeve over his nose. “Mrs. Graves—the housekeeper—she was in a right temper over it. Told the other maids Alice ran off with a man.” His mouth twisted skeptically. “But no one ever heard Alice talk of no sweethearts before. Not even once.”

Darcy inhaled slowly. A chambermaid running off with a lover would hardly make a ripple in a great house like Ashwick’s. But this? This was not an elopement.

Alice had been Lady Elizabeth’s personal maid. She had dressed her, attended her, known her habits. If anyone had guessed that Elizabeth was not on a pleasure tour with the Queen’s ladies…

“She never took her things,” the boy added. “Clothes, bonnet, all still there. They’re sayin’ she left in a hurry. Like ‘nough ’cause of that fire in the house.”

Left in hurry. Or under duress.

Darcy exhaled sharply and reached into his pocket, pressing a few coins into the boy’s hand. The stable lad looked at them wide-eyed.

“If you hear anything else,” Darcy said, “I expect to be informed.”

The boy nodded quickly. “Aye, sir.” Then, after a pause, he whispered, “You don't think she ran off, do you?”

Darcy met his gaze. “No.”

The boy nodded once, shoved the coins into his coat, and slipped back into the dark.

F itzwilliam was still pulling on his shirt in response to Darcy's knock when he opened the door. He blinked blearily at Darcy, then snorted, rolling his eyes as he stepped aside.

“Of course. I could not be set upon by a proper burglar at one in the morning. No, no, it must be my wretched cousin. Why not?”

Darcy pushed past him without preamble, stepping into the sitting room. “I need you to take over the investigation.”

Scratching the back of his head, Fitzwilliam gave a long-suffering sigh. “And good evening to you as well.”

Darcy turned, his expression like flint. “Alice is missing.”

Richard had been fumbling with his dangling cravat but paused mid-motion. “Who?”

“Lady Elizabeth’s maid.”

His brows drew together, confusion flickering across his face. “Ah, yes. No doubt dismissed over that unfortunate fire in the chambers.”

“No. I was told she ran off.”

Fitzwilliam’s head tilted slightly, curiosity sharpening. “Oh?”

“She left without her belongings. No farewells. The servants are being given the report that she eloped, but no one believes it.”

That got his full attention. Fitzwilliam straightened fully, fatigue vanishing. “How do you know this?”

Darcy did not immediately answer.

Suspicion narrowed Fitzwilliam’s gaze. “Do not tell me you have been paying off the kitchen maids for gossip.”

“A stable boy.”

A quiet curse slipped from Fitzwilliam’s lips. “Of course you have.” He ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. “So, you have been keeping tabs on her household?”

“Would you not?”

Grumbling under his breath, Fitzwilliam gestured vaguely. “Not through a bloody stable boy. You need someone who works in the house.”

“Best I could get.”

Fitzwilliam grunted. “This does not mean she has been silenced.”

Darcy’s gaze darkened. “No, but it is the likeliest explanation.”

The timing was too perfect—too convenient. The execution had come and gone. The dust was beginning to settle. Loose ends would need tying.

Fitzwilliam let out a heavy breath. “Blast it.” He grabbed his coat. “You are leaving, then?”

“At first light.”

One arm through his sleeve, Fitzwilliam hesitated. “You have not told me where you put her. Something about Hertfordshire, but that was the best I got from your mutterings.”

Darcy said nothing.

A dry laugh. “Naturally. I imagine His Highness himself asked you outright, and yet you still managed not to answer him. Why should I expect any better?”

Darcy merely lifted his coat from the chair and shrugged into it.

“You have kept her safe, I assume? Her person and her reputation?”

The mildly affronted look Darcy leveled at him was answer enough.

Nodding once, Fitzwilliam looked satisfied. “Then I shall not ask again. But when you return, I want a full account of what you find.”

Darcy inclined his head. “Agreed.”

Sinking into a chair, Fitzwilliam scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “This means I will be stuck in London, a soldier pretending to be a bureaucrat—poring over ledgers, talking to slippery men, and trying to find a money trail that does not want to be found. In short, trying to do your job, but without your… shall I say ‘duller’ personality traits to help me in the quest.”

“I prefer ‘careful’.”

Fitzwilliam exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “I hate you.”

“You will live.”

A smirk twitched at Fitzwilliam’s lips. “Well, at least this confirms one thing.”

Darcy arched a brow.

“You are thoroughly, irretrievably entangled with that woman.”

Darcy’s jaw locked.

The smirk turned into a grin. “Mother will be delighted to hear of this. I recall her going on about—”

Without missing a beat, Darcy turned on his heel. “Go hang yourself.”

His cousin laughed. “Enjoy your little country retreat.”

Darcy did not dignify that with a response.

May 24, 1812

T he first morning of sharing a room with Jane had proved surprisingly tolerable. Elizabeth had expected some measure of awkwardness, but Jane, good and decent soul that she was, had made the transition easy.

What was not tolerable, however, was Mr. Collins.

Elizabeth had suspected, upon first seeing the man lumber out of his carriage with all the grace of a collapsing wardrobe, that he would be a source of considerable amusement. And in that, she had been correct. He was a fool of the highest order, with a voice like a pompous old toad and the confidence of a man wholly unaware of his own absurdity.

He was also, she suspected, a problem.

Jane had barely said a word all through breakfast, her face carefully schooled into abashed neutrality, but Elizabeth knew her well enough now to recognize the signs of distress. A few rapid blinks. A stiffness in her posture. A deep breath taken and released too slowly, as if to calm herself.

Elizabeth had seen Jane like this at the garden party when she had looked upon Mr. Bingley and his sisters. And now, here she was again, quiet and inwardly troubled.

Collins, of course, noticed none of it. He had spent the better part of breakfast explaining, at great and unnecessary length, the supreme honor of serving under his patroness, one Lady Catherine de Bourgh—a woman apparently so lofty the stars themselves could not aspire to her brilliance, but whose name Elizabeth had never heard. Now, he had turned his attentions to Elizabeth.

“I must admit, Cousin,” he said, swallowing a large mouthful of ham before dabbing primly at his lips with a napkin, “I was rather surprised to learn of your connection to the family. My late father, Mr. Bennet’s third cousin, spoke often of our extended relations. I was under the impression that Daniel Bennet of Shropshire had no children.”

Elizabeth froze. Her hand, poised over her plate, remained motionless as she forced her expression into polite curiosity. She did not dare glance at Mr. Bennet.

“Oh,” she murmured, reaching for her teacup to steady herself, “how interesting.”

Collins nodded, chewing his next bite with great relish. “Indeed, quite interesting! I had always thought myself well acquainted with our family’s lineage. It is most intriguing, is it not, how one can be mistaken about such things?”

There was a pause—too long, too weighted.

Elizabeth swallowed. If he pressed further, what was she to say? She had constructed no backstory, no details beyond what had been hastily thrown together on the day of her arrival.

But Mr. Bennet—bless the man—only chuckled.

“Well, you must not be too hard on yourself, Mr. Collins,” he said mildly, cutting into his eggs. “Daniel Bennet was always rather a private sort, and his ventures in trade would have rendered him somewhat forgetful of his own affairs. But then, business has a way of making men rather loose with their recollections.”

Collins blinked. “Oh?”

“Indeed,” Mr. Bennet continued, his tone smooth, almost careless. “I remember some business about a venture in fishing tackle, of all things. Or was it tobacco? Something dreadful and tedious, I am sure. The last I heard, he had grown quite occupied with it.”

Elizabeth quickly took a sip of tea to hide her smirk.

Collins, as expected, took the answer at face value and nodded with great solemnity. “Ah, well. Such enterprises often consume one’s time. I have often thought that even I should not be half so devoted to my duties at Hunsford if not for Lady Catherine’s excellent guidance.”

Mr. Bennet hummed noncommittally, returning to his meal.

Elizabeth allowed herself to breathe again.

She shot a quick glance at Jane, only to find her friend’s brows drawn ever so slightly together, her gaze flickering between Elizabeth and her father. She knew something had just happened.

Elizabeth merely lifted her teacup to her lips and smiled.

Collins, wholly oblivious, continued to prattle on.

Elizabeth turned her attention back to her plate, carefully concealing her amusement behind a sip of tea. Mr. Bennet had done his part. She had no doubt he could spin an entire lineage for her if pressed, but she would rather not endure more of Collins’ questions before breakfast had even settled.

Unfortunately, the man seemed inclined to linger, all but preening as he ladled preserves onto his toast. Jane, meanwhile, sat with her hands neatly folded in her lap, her posture stiff, her expression carefully composed. But Elizabeth saw it. The slight line beside her mouth. The way she had hardly touched her tea. The faint crease of discomfort between her brows whenever Collins addressed her directly.

And then, there was Mrs. Bennet—Mrs. Bennet, who was dabbing her mouth with her napkin and staring wide-eyed at Mr. Collins, then glancing, all too frequently, at her eldest daughter.

Elizabeth frowned.

That would not do.

She set her teacup down with a delicate clink, then turned to Jane with a bright, conspiratorial smile. “Jane, would you not agree that the day is far too fine to be spent indoors?”

Jane blinked, startled. “I—well, yes, I suppose—”

“Excellent.” Elizabeth turned to Mrs. Bennet, adopting her most innocent expression. “I was thinking of walking into Meryton this afternoon, ma’am. Would it not be lovely if we called on your sister Mrs. Philips? I am certain she would be delighted to see us.”

Mrs. Bennet, who had been more occupied with watching Mr. Collins enjoy his breakfast than listening to the conversation, blinked at the mention of her sister. “Oh, well! Yes, of course, my dear! You must give her my regards. I am sure she will be most pleased. And while you are there, see if the milliner has received any new ribbons. Lydia will want them.”

Elizabeth beamed, ignoring the way Lydia perked up at the mention of ribbons. She turned back to Jane. “You will accompany me? I intend to walk very fast—good for the constitution, you see. I am afraid few can keep up comfortably.”

Jane hesitated, casting a fleeting glance at Collins. Elizabeth had to bite back a triumphant smirk.

“I… suppose there is no harm in it,” Jane murmured.

Elizabeth took her hand, squeezing lightly before rising from the table. “Excellent. I shall tell Mrs. Hill to pack us a bit of bread and cheese, in case we are delayed.”

Jane stood more slowly, fumbling with her chair. “Should we not return before supper?”

“Oh, certainly,” Elizabeth said breezily. “But who can say when we may wish to take refreshment? It might seem silly, for Mrs. Philips is never one to let guests leave on an empty stomach. I daresay we shall be well-fed before our return.”

Jane looked unconvinced, but Elizabeth had already turned to the housekeeper, murmuring a request for a small bundle of provisions. Mrs. Hill, probably accustomed to the younger Bennet girls taking such liberties, hardly batted an eye.

Half an hour later, Elizabeth and Jane stepped out into the bright new day, the warmth of the sun kissing their faces.

Of course, Meryton was not their true destination.

Elizabeth slung the small bundle of bread and cheese over her arm and cast a sideways glance at Jane. “Tell me, dearest cousin, have you ever walked the pasturelands beyond Lucas Lodge?”

Jane arched a brow. “Not in some time.”

Elizabeth’s grin turned impish. “Then let us remedy that at once.”

She linked her arm with Jane’s and set off across the fields, away from the house, away from Collins, away from anyone who might reasonably track them.

It was only as they crossed the first stile that she considered, somewhat absently, that she had neglected to tell anyone where they were going.

D arcy had scarcely set foot on Longbourn’s gravel drive before Mr. Bennet was stepping out, propping his thumbs in the corner of his waistcoat. “Mr. Darcy,” he greeted, squinting a bit against the sunlight. “You honor us with another visit. I do hope this does not mean my cousin has managed to offend you already.”

Darcy barely heard him.

He had ridden hard from London, only pausing long enough to send word ahead to Bingley that he would be returning. He had not bothered with sleep, nor with a proper meal, and he was quite certain he looked as harried as he felt. But none of that mattered. His mind was focused on one thing only.

Elizabeth.

She was here—she was supposed to be here.

And she was not safe.

He forced himself to bow in greeting, to respond with some semblance of civility. “I apologize for calling unannounced, sir. I was hoping to speak with you.”

“Ah, well. That is most gentlemanly of you.” Mr. Bennet stepped aside, motioning toward the house. “By all means, come in. Mrs. Bennet shall be pleased to boast of the company we are keeping.”

Darcy hesitated, scanning the grounds. “Is Miss Elizabeth within?”

“I believe she and Jane have gone to Meryton. But I should not expect them to be long. I believe they have gone to call on Mrs. Philips, and her company is best enjoyed in small doses.”

Darcy exhaled slowly, clenching his jaw. That was… acceptable. Somewhat. She was in a populated area. She was not alone.

But it was still a risk.

And he could not ignore the gnawing unease creeping through him.

“I do not wish to trouble you,” he said carefully. “If the ladies mean to walk back soon, I might take the opportunity to escort them home myself.”

Mr. Bennet’s eyes flickered with something sharp—something knowing. For a moment, Darcy feared the older man might press him for an explanation.

But then, to his relief, Mr. Bennet only shrugged. “As you like. Though if you mean to play the role of country neighbor, you may as well take tea before you go.”

Darcy forced a tight smile. “Perhaps another time.”

He turned sharply on his heel, remounting his horse before his tension could betray him further.

Meryton.

If Elizabeth was there, he would see her with his own eyes and make sure she got home in one piece.

And if she was not—

He was not yet prepared to consider that possibility.

T he town bustled with its usual midday activity—merchants calling out their wares, ladies clustered at milliners’ windows, a few officers in their bright regimentals tipping their hats as they passed.

Darcy ignored all of it.

He scanned the faces, searching for a bonneted figure in a pale blue walking gown, for a flash of dark curls, for that particular lift of the chin that always— always —gave her away.

Nothing.

His unease deepened, though he could not say why. It was not as if he preferred that she should be on the street, was it? She ought to be at the home of the Mrs. Bennet’s sister. He turned his horse sharply and directed it toward High Street, scanning the bustling crowd with increasing agitation.

The Philips house stood comfortably on the corner, its windows flung open to the early summer air. As Darcy dismounted and strode up the steps, the door was already opening to reveal Mrs. Philips herself, her expression shifting from mild surprise to sheer delight.

“Mr. Darcy! How very unexpected! We were just speaking of you.”

Darcy bowed stiffly, his pulse hammering. “Mrs. Philips, Mr. Bennet sent me to escort your nieces back to Longbourn. I was told they were here.”

“Oh! Well, how very neighborly of you to inquire.” She laughed, pressing a hand to her chest as if flattered by the attention. “But I am afraid you have been misinformed. My nieces have not been here at all today.”

Darcy’s stomach twisted. “You are quite certain?”

“Oh yes, quite. I have been in all morning, and had they called, I should not have failed to remark upon it.” She peered at him curiously, her brow creasing. “Is something amiss, sir? Some emergency at Longbourn?”

Darcy forced a tight smile. “Not at all. It was only a… convenience of the moment, ma’am.”

She did not look convinced. “You have been much away from Hertfordshire, have you not? I heard only yesterday that you were still in London.”

“Yes,” he said curtly.

“And Mr. Bingley was to come to Sir William’s for dinner this week. I expect you shall come with him? Oh, but we have all been most curious about you both. Will you be staying longer this time?”

“I cannot say.”

Mrs. Philips tutted, shaking her head with a knowing smile. “Well, I am sure the young ladies will be delighted by your return, particularly sweet Lydia. She is always so lively and delightful in company, would you not agree?”

Darcy barely heard her. His mind was whirring too quickly, his frustration mounting. He tipped his hat as soon as her good graces would allow, then mounted again and turned his horse toward the home of the Lucases. Elizabeth had come to town with a Bennet sister, so they might have stopped to pay a call on Maria Lucas, one of their particular friends.

It was Sir William himself who came to the door, beaming as always. “Mr. Darcy! What a surprise. A fine day, is it not?”

Darcy did not waste time. “I am looking for Miss Bennet. Has she been here?”

Sir William’s brow furrowed. “Miss Bennet?”

“Yes,” Darcy said, struggling to temper his impatience. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Understanding dawned, and Sir William let out a hearty chuckle. “Ah, I see! My dear Maria did say she had hoped to see the young ladies in town today, but alas, I do not believe they have met.”

Darcy barely muttered a farewell before wheeling his horse back toward the town. The moment Sir William’s cheerful voice faded behind him, the world seemed to sharpen—every sound, every movement, every face in Meryton now a potential clue.

He guided his horse back onto the high street, his gaze darting to the usual gathering places—the haberdasher, the bookseller, the confectioner’s, all the places where ladies might while away an hour in pleasant distraction. He scrutinized every feminine figure, every dark head in the crowd.

No sign of her.

Damnation.

Jaw clenched, he dismounted and strode into the post office. A line of customers shuffled forward, an elderly gentleman peering at his letter through thick spectacles, a shop boy balancing a parcel on his hip. The clerk behind the counter—a wiry man with an ink-stained cuff—looked up at Darcy’s approach.

“Ah, sir. How may I assist you?”

Darcy set his gloves on the counter. “I am seeking the Bennet ladies… at the request of their father. They were meant to be in town today.”

The man blinked, his gaze flickering toward the queue behind Darcy before offering a polite smile. “Goodness me! Something amiss at Longbourn, sir?”

Darcy closed his eyes. He ought to have known his request sounded suspicious, but dash it all, he needed answers. “Nothing important, sir. I was to escort the ladies home, preferably sooner rather than later.”

The man hesitated, shifting uncomfortably as he looked at the people waiting behind Darcy once more. “Ah, well. I do recall a cluster of young ladies standing outside the window earlier, but I did not examine their faces.”

That was useless. Darcy exhaled sharply, turning on his heel and striding back into the street.

The market was next. If Elizabeth had been here at all, surely someone had seen her.

He moved swiftly through the throng of merchants and customers, scanning for a familiar face. The fruit seller was haggling over the price of apples with a stout woman in a straw bonnet. The fishmonger called out his wares, waving a fat trout in demonstration.

Darcy stopped at a butcher’s stall where a pair of elderly matrons were inspecting a haunch of mutton. The butcher, a broad-shouldered man with a cleaver at his belt, straightened at Darcy’s approach.

“Sir,” he greeted. “Good day to you.”

Darcy inclined his head. “I am looking for Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She was expected in town today. Have you seen her?”

The butcher frowned, glancing toward the women beside him, as if for confirmation. “Miss Bennet? Can’t say I have. We’ve had a fair number of ladies through today, but none by that name that I recall.”

One of the matrons piped up, adjusting the ribbons of her bonnet. “Oh! I did see the younger Miss Bennets earlier. Laughing and chattering about, as they always do.”

“Yes, but not Miss Elizabeth,” the other woman added, peering at Darcy with keen interest. “She is the cousin, is she not? A very striking girl, with dark curls?”

Darcy’s jaw ticked. “Yes.”

“No, sir, I have not seen her.”

The weight in his chest grew heavier. He gave a terse nod of thanks and moved on. He stopped at the bookseller next, then the milliner, then even the apothecary. Each time, the answer was the same.

No one had seen Elizabeth Bennet.

Darcy was no longer panicked. Now, he was furious.

The pieces fell into place with slow, excruciating certainty. Either he was too late, and someone had got to her first…

Or she had lied. Blatantly. Boldly.

She had walked out of Longbourn that morning with Jane Bennet, claiming to be headed for Meryton, and then… vanished.

A reasonable person would assume the best. His mind spun with every possible explanation, every possible excuse. She would not be so reckless.

She would not be so stupid.

And yet, there was no mistaking the truth.

She had vanished… again.

And by Heaven, he was going to find her.