Page 3 of In Want of a Suspect

The officer laughed as if he found Lizzie’s words humorous. “You wouldn’t be saying the same if they were sleeping on your doorstep.”

Darcy stepped forward and Lizzie recognized the coiled energy in his stance. “Even so, I think we can agree, as gentlemen, that the ladies need not be exposed to this sort of conduct.”

For a suspended moment, it was unclear how the tall officer would react. His expression was slack with shock, and Lizzie felt her stomach tighten unpleasantly. But then, so quickly that she almost missed it, the slight officer yanked the cart out of the mud, sending the woman’s wares clattering.

The noise broke the moment, and the poor woman jumped forward, pushing her cart. “Merci,” she murmured. “Merci.”

She hurried away quickly, and Lizzie felt both a pang of regret that she couldn’t offer more help to the woman and relief that she was away from the tall brute. The officer who’d freed her cart from the mud stepped aside and turned his face away from Lizzie, so she assumed he was likely as uncomfortable about the exchange as she. And yet, would he have intervened if not for Lizzie and Darcy showing up when they did?

Coward, she thought.

“Where are you headed?” the tall officer barked out, his eyessettling on Lizzie and Darcy as though they were little more than another obstacle in his path.

“The storehouse of Mullins Brothers, wool merchants,” Darcy said smoothly.

“And I don’t suppose you have a card, do you?” he asked. “Considering you’re ‘on official business’?”

Lizzie disliked the sarcasm in his tone, but she extracted her card from her reticule with a calm she didn’t feel inside. She presented it to the taller man, who took it from her with a small smirk. The slight officer didn’t even glance at it, she noticed, fastidiously looking down the street.

“‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Solicitor. Longbourn and Sons,’” the incredulous officer read. “Is this a joke?”

At the sound of her name, the other officer looked in Lizzie’s direction. She caught surprise on his face, but she refocused her attention at the man in front of her.

“No joke,” she assured him. “And as my partner said, we are on official business—”

“I’ve never heard of a lady solicitor,” the tall officer spat. “Seems like some sort of scam to me.”

Lizzie was, unfortunately, familiar with this type of reaction. It usually preceded some kind of absurd runaround wherein she was questioned ceaselessly about the exact nature of her role, how she became a solicitor, and whether or not Longbourn was aware she carried these cards. It was all quite tiring, and no amount of patience or logic would fend off these inquiries. She’d simply have to endure them, and hope that by name-droppingthe magistrate she might be able to convince them that her business was legitimate.

But before she could mount her defense, Darcy cleared his throat. “What are you suggesting?”

“I don’t suppose you have a card as well?” the officer asked, sarcasm dripping from his words.

“I do,” Darcy said, although he made no move to offer one. “Mr. Darcy, of Pemberley and Associates.”

The soldiers straightened just the slightest. Longbourn & Sons might have been reputable, but they were small. The Pemberley name—nay, the Darcy name—carried far more weight.

“Well, then,” the taller soldier sputtered. “Down this street two more blocks, and then take a left. You should be able to see it up ahead.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said coolly, and tipped his hat. “Good day.”

Darcy took Lizzie’s arm and they sidestepped the officers. As she swept past the slight officer, she caught his gaze unexpectedly. His eyes were light brown, as unremarkable as his sandy, brownish-blond hair. She had the unsettling feeling that his eyes were far older than his face, but before she could take in further details about his appearance, she and Darcy had left them behind.

Lizzie sighed with impatience, but when they were out of earshot, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

She smiled a little then, because Darcy knew exactly what she was thanking him for. It wasprobablytrue that Lizzie couldhave charmed them into giving her directions and letting her go on her way. It was also true that the tall one could have decided his afternoon’s duty was to make Lizzie’s life very difficult by hauling her all the way back to Longbourn and demanding to speak to her father. (That had happened once, and it had been humiliating.) And it wasalsotrue that she was in a hurry and Darcy using his name and social clout had hastened the process.

Lizzie didn’t like any of this. But she had grown to appreciate that Darcy’s presence, at least, made things easier. And unlike other gentlemen who might remind her of how useful they could be, Darcy never made her feel as though she needed him in order to do her job.

“For asking for directions, obviously,” Lizzie teased. “I am sure that was a blow to your ego.”

“My ego has suffered greater indignities,” he assured her. “Although next time, promise me we can take my carriage.”

“Maybe,” Lizzie conceded, a smile lighting her face.

It was moments like this, when he was acting grave as he teased her, and when he showed more patience for her misadventures than any person ever had, even her beloved sister Jane, that Lizzie felt a swell of emotion bubble up inside of her. She let herself feel it, but not name it. Putting it into words felt risky somehow.