Page 23 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)
“My cousin has spies in the kitchen at my house,” he said to John before looking at Elizabeth.
It was a droll look, one that created a familiarity between them when she recalled his meaning.
Spies in the kitchen! She had used those very words when they last spoke in Hertfordshire, more as a threat than as a gesture of connexion.
Clever man, turning her own words back on her.
She gave him a small smile, more warmed by his joke than she wished to admit, and returned to the conversation, led mostly by the colonel’s answers to John and his sisters and his enquiries to herself and Jane about their stay in London.
By the end of the call, she felt the full effect of his military training.
He had learnt the names of their sisters, their foibles and their fancies, her mother’s pride in her table, her father’s joy in his books, and their own preferences for spending their time here in town.
“I understand Longbourn is a lively household in a friendly town and my cousin made himself at home in your father’s book room.” Colonel Fitzwilliam gave Mr Darcy the side eye. “I must say I am not surprised. He prefers the charms of books to those of society.”
Like her sister, Elizabeth rewarded the colonel’s jibe with a small if uncomfortable smile. Mr Darcy appeared accustomed to his cousin’s teasing and did little more than raise an eyebrow in reaction before observing,
“And I am the long-suffering one.”
He had little more to say in the remaining minutes of the call, but as the men stood to leave, Mr Darcy looked at her steadily. “Again, I thank you for ensuring Mr Gardiner receives his parcel. I was remiss in not returning it to him last evening.”
“Of course. I shall hand it to my uncle myself rather than rely on another go-between.”
His nod conveyed some understanding of her reference.
“May I ask, Mr Darcy, although it has been but a few days, did you find my family in good health? Most particularly my father?”
For a brief moment his eyes reflected unease, but his reply was earnest. “I met your mother and sister Mary, and they were in good health. Your father remains fatigued, but he was in good spirits, I assure you.”
He pressed her hand and a rush of warmth from such an intimate expression of reassurance flooded through her. Elizabeth’s cheeks burned as he gave her that small, familiar half-smile, bowed his head, said his thanks, and made his farewells.
As the door closed behind the men, she fell onto the settee, looked at Jane, and burst out laughing. “That was more exhausting than a trip to the park with the children!”
“It was quite an interview,” Jane agreed. “I do not believe I have ever encountered a more inquisitive man. Colonel Fitzwilliam asked more questions than even John.”
“The army is fortunate to have such an interrogator in its ranks.” Her thoughts on the colonel took many directions. He is the son of an earl. Did he come here merely to be amused by the lives of country folk set loose in town? Or to mock his cousin as well? Mr Darcy did not appear to mind.
“Lizzy, what did Colonel Fitzwilliam mean about Mr Bingley, forever off chasing something?”
“It is a horse he chases!” she teased. “Can you find fault with a man who is diligent in collecting his winnings?”
Once she saw her sister’s relief and her attention turned back to her little cousins, Elizabeth sat down with the parcel that prompted Mr Darcy’s unexpected visit.
She pulled off the string and unwrapped a corner to find only an unremarkable volume in Latin, which she recognised from her father’s bookshelves.
A thick packet of papers, bound with a letter to her uncle addressed in her father’s hand, was tucked inside the book.
Much as she respected Mr Gardiner, he was not a university man.
Her father read Latin when he had to, but this book had gathered dust; she could not recall ever seeing it out of its spot on the high shelves.
What would Uncle want with this book? Why did Mr Darcy say he was returning it to him?
Realising she had unwrapped a parcel not meant for her eyes, Elizabeth quickly put the paper back in place and re-tied the string. She knew she had not seen the last of Mr Darcy, and to her surprise, she was pleased to realise it.
The Colonel’s interrogation continued in the carriage.
“Cheapside. You took me to Cheapside to do a favour for some forgetful country squire?” He snorted.
“The eldest Miss Bennet is a beauty if a little dull. She is good with children; I doubt there is much of a dowry, but she would do well on the arm of a widower. The other was quite charming, though she seemed to be in a pique. She could not take her eyes off of you whilst you appeared unwilling to look at her. Did you wrong her back in that backwater? What is your story there, idling in the monkery?”
“You cannot imagine I have a ready answer to any one of those insolent questions.” Darcy kept his attention to the streets outside the carriage window.
His thoughts were preoccupied with his own set of questions, most particularly on the trickery Mr Bennet had perpetuated on him—a well-played manoeuvre to ensnare him into marriage with his favourite daughter.
Had she any notion what her father had done?
Had Mr Bennet confided any of his plans in her?
She appeared surprised by his appearance at the Gardiners’ home, yet just yesterday before dinner, he had delivered to her a letter from her father. What exactly had he written to her?
Fitzwilliam’s exhausting interrogation lasted through their meal at the club and until Darcy’s carriage dropped him at his parents’ home.
Darcy felt confident he had thwarted most questions, averring that the country was indeed a dull place and Bingley indeed proved himself as needy as ever of a friend’s sound advice and judgment.
“Darcy, once I inform my father and stepmother you are in town, I shall be badgered endlessly with questions. It will be far worse than the inquisition I have made you suffer. Ask Mrs Blake to have my room prepared, won’t you?”
Much as Darcy wished to be alone, he could not refuse his cousin. He would, however, refuse his uncle and aunt. He could not say whether he would refuse Mr Bennet, but the memory of how pretty Elizabeth had looked in her light green morning gown was intruding on his deliberations.