Page 44 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

Chapter Sixteen

Three weeks after Lord Joseph Sturt’s tragic death, Elizabeth watched Anne take her seat at the breakfast table.

The young woman’s expression was composed, but Elizabeth noted the shadows beneath her eyes that spoke of continued sleepless nights.

Though Anne now joined the family for meals and occasionally sat with them in the evenings, something vital seemed to have dimmed within her, like a candle flame sheltered too carefully against a draft, still alight but burning low.

“Good morning, Anne,” Elizabeth greeted her gently. “Did you sleep well?”

“Tolerably, thank you,” Anne replied, accepting a cup of tea with a polite nod. Elizabeth suspected the response was her standard one, regardless of whether she had slept at all or lain awake until dawn.

Kitty entered next, her steps lighter than they had been in previous days.

She wore a pale blue morning dress that suggested a tentative return to an interest in fashion after weeks of subdued colours.

“Good morning,” she offered, with something approaching her former animation.

“It looks to be a fine day. Perhaps we might walk in the park this afternoon?”

“An excellent suggestion,” Elizabeth agreed, pleased to see this small sign of recovery in her sister. While Kitty had not known Lord Joseph as well as Anne, the shock of witnessing his violent death had affected her deeply, temporarily extinguishing her natural vivacity.

Georgiana arrived last, quietly taking her place beside Kitty. Perhaps predictably, she had found her way forward through music, spending hours at the pianoforte working through complex pieces that seemed to express what words could not.

Society had reacted with predictable patterns of horror, fascination, and swift forgetfulness to the tragedy.

For the first week, no other topic had dominated drawing room conversations throughout London.

By the second week, newer scandals had begun to displace it.

Now, three weeks on, Lord Joseph’s death was mentioned primarily as a reason to inquire solicitously after Anne’s health before moving on to more current subjects.

Lord and Lady Matlock had kept Elizabeth abreast of what was being said, the intelligence invaluable while Elizabeth and Darcy allowed their charges the time they needed to process the shocks they had endured.

Darcy entered the breakfast room, a folded newspaper under his arm. His gaze swept over the assembled ladies, lingering briefly on Anne with quiet concern before meeting Elizabeth’s eyes.

“I trust you all slept well,” he said, his formal morning greeting softened by genuine care.

Various murmurs of assent followed as he took his seat. Elizabeth poured his coffee exactly as he preferred it, a small gesture of normalcy in a household still finding its equilibrium after tragedy.

“I received a note from my uncle this morning,” Darcy mentioned after a few moments of quiet eating. “He and my aunt wish to know if we would care to join them for dinner on Thursday evening. A small gathering, just family and perhaps one or two close friends.”

Elizabeth watched the young women’s reactions carefully. Kitty looked up with interest, while Georgiana nodded slightly. Anne continued to stir her tea, seemingly lost in thought.

“That sounds lovely,” Elizabeth replied when no one else spoke. “Don’t you think, Anne?”

Anne looked up, blinking as though returning from some distant place. “Yes, of course. Aunt Margaret is most kind.”

“We need not accept if you feel it is too soon,” Darcy said, directing his comment primarily to Anne.

“No,” Anne replied with unexpected firmness. “I cannot remain secluded forever. It would be... it would be a sensible first step back into society.”

Elizabeth felt a swell of pride at Anne’s quiet courage. Though still grieving, she was making a conscious effort to move forward rather than retreating entirely into herself, as Lady Catherine might have permitted or even encouraged.

After breakfast, Elizabeth accompanied Darcy to his study, closing the door for a private conversation.

“How do you find them this morning?” Darcy asked, his concern evident in the slight furrow between his brows.

“Improving, I believe,” Elizabeth replied, seating herself in the comfortable chair by his desk.

“Kitty is beginning to regain some of her natural spirits. Georgiana finds solace in her music. Anne...” She paused, considering her words carefully.

“Anne maintains her composure admirably, but I worry about what she keeps contained beneath it.”

Darcy nodded, understanding her concern. “My cousin has spent her entire life being taught to suppress her feelings. I fear this tragedy may have reinforced that tendency rather than breaking it.”

“Yet she agreed to dinner at Matlock House,” Elizabeth pointed out. “That suggests some willingness to re-engage with the world.”

“True.” Darcy’s expression softened slightly. “Your influence has been invaluable, Elizabeth. Your patience and understanding with all three of them.”

Elizabeth accepted his praise with a small smile, though in truth she often felt woefully inadequate to the task of guiding three young women through such difficult circumstances. “Has there been any word from Mr. Hargreaves regarding the investigation?”

Darcy’s expression clouded. “Nothing definitive. He continues to pursue several lines of inquiry, but without witnesses or clear motive, progress is slow.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Harrison announcing Lady Matlock’s arrival.

They found her in the drawing room, already engaged in gentle conversation with the three young ladies.

Lady Matlock’s elegant figure and warmly aristocratic manner seemed to fill the room with calm reassurance, her presence a reminder that life continued despite tragedy.

“Elizabeth, Darcy,” she greeted them with genuine affection. “I’ve been explaining to these young ladies that Henry insists they must come to dinner on Thursday. He says the house has grown entirely too quiet without their visits.”

Elizabeth caught the diplomatic kindness in this approach, offering the invitation as something that would please Lord Matlock rather than as therapy for their grief. “We were just discussing that very invitation. I believe we are all in agreement to accept.”

“Excellent,” Lady Matlock said with satisfaction. “Nothing elaborate, I assure you. Just family and perhaps the Ashburtons, who have been asking after you all most particularly.”

“That sounds perfectly pleasant,” Elizabeth replied, noting how the countess had thoughtfully selected guests who were both kind and discreet.

As Lady Matlock continued chatting about inconsequential matters, expertly avoiding any direct mention of the tragedy while maintaining an atmosphere of normalcy, Elizabeth observed the young women carefully.

Kitty and Georgiana were responding with growing animation to Lady Matlock’s gentle social direction, while Anne appeared to be making a conscious effort to participate, though her responses remained brief and somewhat mechanical.

Later, after Lady Matlock had departed, Elizabeth stood at the drawing room window, watching as Georgiana and Kitty examined a book of fashion plates together, their heads bent close in quiet conversation.

Anne sat slightly apart, her embroidery frame before her and her needle making slow, precise stitches.

The scene presented a picture of gradual healing, of life cautiously resuming its rhythms.

Yet Elizabeth could not entirely dismiss her lingering unease.

Somewhere in London, perhaps, walked the person who had deliberately ended Lord Joseph’s life, who had coldly calculated the destruction of a bright, if occasionally ridiculous, young man whose greatest crime had been to admire Anne sincerely.

That person remained free, unpunished, while those who had cared for Lord Joseph struggled to rebuild their shattered peace.

With a small sigh, Elizabeth turned from the window, determined to focus on the present moment and the tangible needs of her family.

Time would reveal what justice could not yet discover, and until then, her duty lay in helping these three young women find their way back to life and, eventually, to joy.

Viscount Shandly always arrived at Darcy House precisely at the fashionable hour for morning calls, though his typically flamboyant attire had been tempered to something more subdued in recent weeks.

Elizabeth observed him at the drawing room doorway as Harrison announced him on the morning after the Matlocks’ quiet dinner party, noting how the young man’s theatrical flair remained evident in his gestures despite his more restrained clothing.

He had been a regular visitor since the tragedy, his concern for Kitty manifesting in a thoughtfulness that Elizabeth found both surprising and touching from a man she had initially judged as merely superficial.

“Miss Bennet,” he greeted Kitty with a bow that managed to be both correct and slightly dramatic, “I trust I find you well this morning?”

Kitty’s smile in response held genuine warmth. “Quite well, thank you, my lord. It is good of you to call.”

“Not at all,” he disagreed with a dismissive flourish of his hand. “My motives are entirely selfish, I assure you. Your company is the brightest spot in an otherwise tedious London season.”

Kitty acknowledged the compliment with a composed nod that spoke of her growing maturity. “You are too kind, my lord. But I suspect you did not call merely to deliver compliments.”