Page 54 of In Want of a Suspect

Darcy was aware that all eyes were on him. Mr. Tomlinson had an audience now, and Darcy dreaded what he’d do next. “Randall had to step in for you at court yesterday,” his supervisor said, “seeing as you didn’t deign to show up to work.”

Leticia Cavendish’s lifeless face haunted his memory. “I sent a note explaining my absence. Which case?”

He looked around for Randall, but Mr. Tomlinson snorted. “Oh, you sent a note—well, you aren’t a schoolboy anymore. Writing a note doesn’t excuse your absences!”

Darcy spotted Randall at his desk, trying his best to appear as though he wasn’t listening to this very public dressing down. “Randall, which case?”

“The Covington case, sir,” Randall said, looking up.

“Don’t call him sir!” Tomlinson snapped. “He is not deserving of the title.”

No one in the office said a word. Darcy knew what they were all thinking—no one would dare speak to Darcy like that if his father were here. But his father wasn’t here.

“The Covington case shouldn’t have gone before the magistrate until next week,” Darcy said, failing to keep the frustration from his voice.

“The court date was moved up, sir,” Randall said, then gulped. “I mean... well. Yes. It was moved up.”

“And now do you see what happens when you’re off frolicking with that woman?” Tomlinson asked.

“She is a lady, and you’d best remember it,” Darcy shot back.

Tomlinson recoiled as if Darcy had slapped him. In all the weeks of underhanded slights and abuses, Darcy hadn’t once talked back to Tomlinson. But now he didn’t care—Tomlinson could disparage or humiliate him all he wanted in front of his father’s employees, but he wasn’t about to stand by and let him disrespect Lizzie.

“Get back to work,” Tomlinson finally sneered. “And if Icatch you slacking off or sneaking away one more time, I’ll lock you in here myself.”

Darcy returned to his desk, stone-faced. He supposed that to all the men in the office, it looked as though he might be seething. In reality, he burned with shame. Because Tomlinson was not particularly wrong about one thing—Darcy had been shunning work in favor of assisting Lizzie on her case. He should have been in the office to receive word that the hearing had been moved up.

This was his job. His future. His dream.

So why was it that he was all too willing to throw it aside in favor of helping Lizzie at the drop of a hat?

Even now, as he spent the rest of the afternoon throwing himself vigorously into his work and getting caught up, he couldn’t let go of the case. Mr. Mullins was hiding something. Leticia Cavendish was dead.

And Josette—Josette was heartbroken.

He couldn’t help but think about her shock at seeing him for the first time in two years. It had almost been as great as his shock at finding her in mourning. Old Mrs. Cavendish had always been kind to him, and it felt wrong that she’d died and he hadn’t known. Despite how things had ended between him and Josette, he would have attended the funeral, at the very least. When people die, there are so many details to see to, and they can be overwhelming. He would have offered to help with the estate, the will... well, he supposed she had Mr. Hughes for all that now.

The will.

It came to him suddenly—who had settled Mrs. Cavendish’s will?

If Darcy hadn’t just been publicly scolded by Tomlinson, he would have leapt to his feet and gone straight to the records room. But he knew if he made the slightest motion away from his desk, Tomlinson would demand to know what he was doing; and some instinct told him that he needed to keep his questions to himself, at least for now.

And so he spent the next few hours at his desk, trying his very best to look the part of the busy, industrious worker. But really, he kept an eye out for Tomlinson. The man spent most of the time in his office, with the door closed while one of the clerks, Maxwell, scuttled in and out of the office, doing his bidding. Tomlinson stayed put all day, which meant that Darcy spent a long afternoon at his desk, catching up on the backlog of work and keeping one eye on Tomlinson’s office door.

He waited it out until the other solicitors stood and put on their hats to go home. He lit a lamp he kept at his desk, even as the last of his colleagues finally set down the pens for the night.Just go, he though impatiently.

Tomlinson watched him from his office door as he put on his coat and donned his hat. “Don’t think that you can make up for the last few days by staying late one night.”

“No, sir,” Darcy said, feeling a certain amount of satisfaction when Tomlinson finally took his leave.

He forced himself to wait ten minutes more before standing from his desk and stretching his aching limbs. Then he hurried to the records room and withdrew his key. Most junior solicitors were not allowed their own key to this room, but this was one advantage to being the son of the founding senior partner and heir apparent to the Pemberley legacy. Darcy let himself in and shut the door firmly behind him.

He could not come in here anymore without thinking of Lizzie. They’d been locked in this room together while working on Bingley’s case; and even now, with a lamp in his hand, he got short of breath thinking about the darkness pressing in on him, close and claustrophobic, and the feel of Lizzie’s hand taking his for the first time.

He felt himself shiver. Damn it all, Lizzie had ruined him for this room.

He was aware that he was cutting it close if he expected to arrive at the Bennets’ in time for dinner, but he pictured how happy Lizzie would be if he could procure another clue to this case. Maybe she’d be pleased enough to kiss him when no one was looking, even if it was just a quick brush of her lips against his cheek. He liked it when she took the liberty of initiating, and her eyes gleamed with a fierceness as she went after what she wanted....