Page 33 of Elizabeth in Scotland (Elizabeth and Darcy Abroad #2)

As the clock struck eleven on a grey and drizzly morning, Elizabeth sat in the library, reciting the riddle that Mr Campbell had given them over and over in hopes of finally solving the mystery.

Though she had come to the library directly after breakfast, she had little progress to show for it — or rather, none at all.

With a frustrated sigh, she stood and paced before the large windows, which were letting in a fair amount of light despite the gloomy weather.

Summer was half over, and the woods and gardens would soon show signs of autumn.

Elizabeth would not have minded staying on for several more weeks to see the changes that a new season would bring, had it not been for the knowledge that each passing day increased the danger that Mr Darcy would solve the riddle first.

“Think, Elizabeth,” she scolded herself quietly. “You must think!”

Someone cleared their throat at the archway that led into the library.

Elizabeth turned quickly to see who had interrupted her solitude.

She breathed a sigh of relief that it was Miss Darcy and not her brother who had stumbled upon her as she talked to herself in low growls.

“Ah, Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth greeted her, giving her a quick, friendly bow.

The young woman returned the gesture and motioned for her to sit down with her in a cosy little reading nook. “I am sorry to disturb you,” Miss Darcy said.

“Oh, you could never disturb me,” Elizabeth smiled. “How are you this morning?”

“I am well,” she replied, looking a little nervous. “I have come with a small boon to ask of you.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Oh? And what is that? I shall be glad to help you if I am able.”

“I should like to know if you would approve of us using our first names with each other. You have become such a dear friend to me that it feels strange to address you formally as ‘Miss Bennet’.” Miss Darcy looked away for a moment, shy at the request, no doubt.

It was no small thing to put aside the strict rules of etiquette and take such a step.

“If you did not object, I should so much like to call you simply Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth was touched by her young friend’s words. “I should be very happy to put aside stiff formalities, and call each other by our first names,” she replied. “You have become very dear to me as well, Georgiana.”

“Oh, Elizabeth, I am so happy. Thank you,” Georgiana gushed. She took Elizabeth’s hand in hers and clasped it firmly. Letting go, she reached into her reticule and pulled out two small boxes. She handed one to Elizabeth. “This is for you.”

Elizabeth was awestruck. “For me? Georgiana, you should not have.”

“I wanted to,” she said. “And it will go so well with your tartan.” Georgiana watched excitedly as Elizabeth took the lid off the dainty box to reveal a beautiful silver pin moulded in the shape of a Scottish thistle.

Her mouth dropped open in shock. “Georgiana, this is too fine. You are far too generous.”

Georgiana lifted the box off of hers and revealed that they were matching pins.

“I saw these in the shop the other day when my brother and I went to town, and I just had to have one. I thought you would like one too. Now, no matter where we may be in this world, we can look at these and know we have a true friend somewhere. If ever you feel low, you must simply touch the thistle and remember that I am thinking of you and wishing you the very best.” She smiled, and Elizabeth smiled back, touched to the heart.

She could not very well refuse the gift, even though it must have cost a pretty penny, given the amethysts laid into the feathery purple spikes of the Scottish thistle.

The thistle was an unconventional beauty, resilient and able to grow almost anywhere.

It represented the hardiness of the Scottish people, the will to carry on no matter what circumstances arose.

Perhaps their friendship could grow to be like that, each protecting the other as they weathered life’s storms.

Though she knew it was rather forward, Elizabeth leant forward and hugged Georgiana. “I thank you with all my heart, Georgiana. You are a wonderful friend,” she said. “Although I do not know how I can ever repay you.”

“You need not worry on that account,” Georgiana said brightly, “for I did not purchase them myself. We actually have my brother to thank for the pins. He intended to buy one for me, and when I said I would use my own money to buy a second for you, he would not hear of it. Nothing would do but for him to pay for both himself.” She stood.

“Well, I am off to practise my concerto. I shall leave you to your research. I could see you were quite enthralled with the riddle when I came in.” Georgiana smiled, bowed, and left before Elizabeth could say anything more.

Shaken, Elizabeth looked down at the pin, shining against her palm.

Mr Darcy had purchased the pins? She was not sure it was entirely proper for her to accept the gift now, knowing it was Mr Darcy who had bought it for her, even though it had been given it through his sister.

She bit her lower lip as she studied the gift with its sparkling jewels.

It was exquisite, and she would not want to seem ungrateful by giving it back to Georgiana.

She had seemed so excited to give it to her.

Not only that, she liked the pin too well to wish to give it up. It was so beautiful, not only because it glistened in the sunshine as she turned it back and forth to catch the light, but for what it represented — the unshakable bond between her and Georgiana.

No, she could not give it back, even if Mr Darcy had used his sister as an intermediary to give the gift.

Her heart swelled at the thought that he had been the true gift-giver.

What could it mean? She hoped and feared she knew, then feared still more that it might mean nothing at all.

Surely Mr Darcy was only being an indulgent brother.

But if not, if he thrilled to think of her wearing his gift as she did…

“Stop this,” Elizabeth said under her breath and replaced the pin in its box.

She stood and paced back and forth. Of all the thoughts swirling through her head before Georgiana had come in, they were all in a jumble of distraction now, wondering if Mr Darcy meant more by the gift than was apparent.

To accept jewellery from a gentleman who was not her fiancé was to invite scandal.

Not to mention heartache, for such a gift could not help but encourage her to dream daring dreams. She shook her head, scolding herself silently to leave the matter lie before she ended up with a broken heart.

Nothing could come of her feelings for Mr Darcy.

He was far above her in wealth and connections.

Surely he would never lower himself to take a wife who could bring him so little.

“You must stop thinking of him and put your mental energies on the riddle,” Elizabeth said aloud to herself.

Elizabeth stowed the gift box in her reticule, then went back to reciting the riddle aloud.

Perhaps a quarter of an hour later, Mrs Graham entered the room with a feather duster in her hand. “Oh, Miss Bennet. Forgive me, I did not know you were in here,” she said. “May I dust, or would I disturb you? I can come back later.”

“No, by all means. I was only trying to work out Mr Campbell’s riddle.”

“Was that Robert Burns you were reciting just now?” Mrs Graham asked as she started removing books from the nearest shelf and running the duster over the surface of the mahogany shelf. “He is one of Scotland’s finest poets, I assure you.”

“Robert Burns, you say?” Elizabeth asked eagerly.

“Yes, that poem you were reciting. I believe it is one of Mr Burns’s fine pieces.”

Mrs Graham continued to dust, moving down the shelf and out of sight.

Elizabeth’s heart was beating fast. Had the housekeeper unwittingly given her the hint she needed to solve the final riddle?

She walked down the shelves, searching for Mr Burns’s name among the many spines.

Finally, at the rear of the library, she found a volume of poetry by Robert Burns.

She flipped through several pages before her eyes fell on the familiar lines of the riddle that she had been repeating like a madwoman ever since Mr Campbell had given the riddle.

“Tam o’ Shanter…” Elizabeth breathed as she read the title of the poem. Her mind suddenly sparked with a memory. “Of course! A tam o’ shanter is a type of hat!”

Her excitement was such that Elizabeth hardly paused to set the book on a table before racing out of the library.

She went to the front door, where a coat closet held various wraps and hats.

Elizabeth opened the door. At the very back of the closet, hidden behind several layers of coats, she found a woollen cap hanging on a hook.

The flat, oval-shaped cap was made of wool tartan and had a pompom in the centre.

Elizabeth took the hat down with shaking hands.

It felt heavier than it ought, and when she turned it over, she saw that the key rested inside.

She let out a gasp, for she had solved the riddle at last. The Bennets would inherit.

Suddenly, her elation died. What if Mr Darcy contested the win since Elizabeth had been the one to discover the hiding place instead of Mr Bennet?

Stupid woman! She should have first gone to her father and told him of her suspicions of the hiding place.

But there was nothing for it now. She could not lie and say her father had been the one to discover it.

She tucked the key into her pocket and resolved to tell the truth.

If the win was forfeited thanks to her brashness, then so be it.

But she would not have it said that the Bennets had won Strathalt House with a lie.