Page 59 of Count the Cost (The Secrets of Elizabeth Bennet #2)

D arcy looked up from his correspondence at the knock on the door. “Enter.” His butler came into the room quietly.

“Miss Darcy asked if I would enquire if you are ready to dine soon, or if you wish her to delay dinner?”

Darcy glanced at the clock in surprise. His letters were taking much longer than usual, mainly because of the continued vision of a pair of fine and intelligent eyes haunting his thoughts.

“Please tell her I will make ready at once; she may expect me within ten minutes.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Oh, and Mr. Jones, please remind me at half past five each evening in future.” He would not keep Georgiana waiting again.

He hurried up the stairs where Mr. Maunder was waiting and rubbed his chin. “Perhaps I will not shave this evening, Maunder. Just assist me with evening clothes.”

Ten minutes later he hurried downstairs and turned into the drawing room.

“My deepest apologies, dear sister.” He bowed over her hand.

“I have told Mr. Jones to remind me ahead of time in future so I will not keep you waiting again.” He turned to the tray and picked up the decanter.

“A small sherry, or would you rather go straight in to dine?”

“I think we will dine at once,” Georgiana said and took his arm. “I would not like to delay the cook further.”

“Of course.” Darcy was delighted at his sister’s increasing confidence over Christmas. It had been good for her to spend these months with his Aunt Alice. She had helped Georgiana recover from the shattering blow of Wickham’s perfidy, and now they could perhaps move on into the future.

They conversed quietly over their meal and returned to the drawing room together for coffee.

Georgiana placed her jade shawl over her shoulders and Darcy smiled at it.

“I admire your shawl very much,” he remarked.

“It suits you to perfection.” Miss Bennet would be pleased to see that Georgiana is still happy to wear it.

She was right that it is important for her to feel special.

He pushed the thoughts of her away, he must not allow her into his mind.

“Thank you, William. Did you notice how admired it was when we called on the MacLeod’s this morning?” She pulled it more closely around her, and he smiled again.

“I did.” He noticed the stitching again, how restrained and nearly invisible it was, and something stirred in his mind. The subtle shifts in colour as the candlelight flickered; the pattern. I have seen this before .

“May I look more closely at this, Georgiana? I don’t recall having the opportunity to see it properly.”

“Of course!” She sounded delighted, and slipped the shawl off and gave it to him.

The threads shimmered in the light as he gazed at the design. A spray of foliage and a few flowers along the stem, faint, dignified, without contrasting colours, and his mind went back to the crimson gown worn by Miss Bennet at that first assembly.

The stitches, the pattern. They were very similar.

Miss Bennet had said her aunt had gifted her the fabric, but the style of the gown was not the town fashion that Gardiners would sell.

Miss Bennet would have had the gown made up locally, wouldn’t she?

But the stitching must have been done after the gown was made up.

How else could it have curved so beautifully down her shoulders and around her — he swallowed — her décolletage?

“William?” His sister sounded unsure, and he returned to himself, and smiled at her, holding out the shawl for her to slip it around her shoulders again. How long had he been holding it in silence, buried in memories of her ?

As he escorted her upstairs to her chambers and moved on to his own suite, he tried to dismiss it as a coincidence; surely that was all it was?

He sat before the fire in his nightshirt and banyan, recalling times he’d been in company with Miss Bennet. He reflected on what he had learned in the past, and what it meant now he thought he might know more.

Smiling slightly, he recalled the supper at the Meryton assembly. It felt long ago, yet was scarcely four months past. However, a lot had happened since then.

But he remembered when he had lightly said that the prices at Gardiner’s were extortionate, and she had defended them quite fiercely — and very convincingly.

He had never before thought a young lady would have such a deep knowledge of pricing, acquisition costs, and the cost of exclusivity.

And then she had described how important it was that one’s wardrobe could make one feel special, and that he realised she had used those very same words as Georgiana.

He searched his mind for other things he could recall.

But Miss Bennet was adept at diverting conversation if they had turned to her aunt and uncle, or how she spent her time in town.

Frowning, he wondered why she did that. What could she possibly have to hide?

And what exactly did she do in town as she spent so much time there?

The orphanage, of course. And he supposed she assisted her aunt and went on calls and excursions with her and sometimes their children.

She would certainly not take the risk of getting involved in Gardiner’s business any closer than perhaps having the choice of fabrics and items before the rest of society. She was far too clever to take that risk.

He sighed, finished his drink and went to bed.

The next morning he went to his estate office to meet Mr. Reed and plan the spring planting as they always did. It was well ahead of time, but the tools and seed had to be checked so all was ready when needed.

He was tired. As always, his sleep had been disrupted by thoughts of Miss Bennet, and last night especially so. He felt himself on the verge of some unnameable fear, and he didn’t know what or why.

He pulled his attention toward his steward. “I am sorry for my inattentiveness, Mr. Reed.”

“It is well, sir. Everything is well in hand and the weather has been kind so far this winter, so no damage needing unexpected repairs.”

He smiled at his employer. “My nephew went back to town yesterday. He has taken some more samples of the tooling work the tanner can offer. And he was pleased to find Miss Harper in the village is talented with her painting. He has purchased a small painting from her to show his employer.” He laughed.

“His work keeps him very busy, darting all around the country — and he never knows what he is going to be required to do next. But it suits him well. Now he will stop in the midlands on his way to town. He has been asked to source experienced luthiers, of all things! Apparently, there is going to be a demand for quality harps of different sizes for children, or some such folly. Although I understand his employer has never yet made a mistake in sourcing goods that will be welcomed in society.”

The silence stretched out, and Reed looked a little uncomfortable. “I am sorry, sir, to talk about things outside Pemberley’s purview.”

Darcy shook his head. “It is not that, Mr. Reed. It was another matter entirely.” He stood up. “Well, I must not keep you.”

It was only a few minutes later that he was shut in the library with strict instructions not to be disturbed. He must think.

Miss Bennet at the house party. Darcy recalled her sudden stillness at the sound of the harp being played in another room. He recalled her pertinent questions when he mentioned the setback Georgiana had had when moving from a child’s toy harp to a full-sized instrument.

He swallowed and went to the tray to pour himself a glass of water from the carafe. He must keep a clear head.

Surely it could not be a coincidence that she had been so interested in the harp, and the difficulty in moving from a child’s harp to an adult-sized one.

Suddenly, he recalled that she had excused herself a moment later. Was that to consider what had been discussed? Was it not just a passing curiosity, but — something else?

She had been assessing what she had heard for some reason. And now Reed’s nephew was searching for luthiers who could make different-sized harps.

No, not a coincidence.

He could not explain either to himself, or his sister, why they were returning to London even before the season was properly under way. But he had to go. There was something nagging at him. And it was important.

The pull of Miss Elizabeth Bennet was always there, in his mind. There was something he did not know. He thought he might have discovered it, but he could not be certain. He needed to know.

Four days later, he was browsing in Hatchard’s when he heard a familiar voice. “Good day, Mr. Darcy. I might have known you would frequent bookshops.”

He turned cautiously. “Good morning, Lady Palmer.” He bowed. “I hope you are well.”

“Indeed.” She inclined her head graciously. She was sitting on a chair by the counter and he smiled.

“Might I assist you in finding what you wish?”

She laughed. “No, I am merely here to collect an order. It is being brought from the back for me.” She tipped her head on one side. “I expect you went to Pemberley for Christmas?”

He nodded. “I have only just returned. There is much business.”

“As always.” She smiled. “I miss the slower days of autumn. I see much less of people.” She sighed. “Even Miss Bennet can no longer come to the orphanage as often as she used to. She has taken a country house, so there is the journey to consider, especially with the early darkness.”

Darcy raised his eyebrows. “Taken a house? Has she not remained at Longbourn?”

Lady Palmer’s gaze saw much more than he wished to show. “No, she has moved into Oakfield Park, near Blackfen and Blendon. Not too far out of town, yet quiet and private.”

Oakfield Park. Darcy knew it. He had heard that the house and surrounding grounds were up for lease without the estate farms.

If anyone else had told him that Miss Bennet had leased it, he would not have believed them. But Lady Palmer would know. Of course she would.

He bowed distractedly and took his leave.

It all made more sense now. Georgiana’s shawl, and the same style of embroidery on Miss Bennet’s deep crimson gown at the Assembly.

Her knowledgeable talk about exclusivity, acquisition costs and elevated prices.

Reed’s nephew and his searching for harps, so soon after Miss Bennet listened to him talking about child-sized harps at the house party.

And now, Lady Palmer telling him that Miss Bennet had leased Oakfield.

A respectable inheritance could not give the income required for that. But a wealthy businessman — or woman, could. He tasted bile in his throat.

She was utterly brilliant, he knew that already. Courageous, too. She had to be to have done what she had. Her independence, her inner sense of self-worth — it all made sense now. To have conceived this business, to nurture it and to keep it alive and growing in utter secrecy.

He was in awe of it all, of her .

A moment later, his pride in knowing her collapsed. She didn’t trust him. She had prevaricated, diverted conversations, hidden things about herself.

She had let him believe she was a country miss, a woman without connections or fortune. No matter that few other people knew; she did not think he was worthy of her trust.

She must know how he felt about her, even if he hadn’t been able to see it for himself. Now he did. He loved her. That was why he could not drive thoughts of her from his mind. And the knowledge that she didn’t trust him struck like a dagger at his heart.

Admiration and anguish. How could they coexist in one mind, one heart?

He must get home. He must think. And then he would confront her; hear it from her own lips. Tomorrow. He could not do otherwise.