Page 47 of These Dreams (Heart to Heart Collection #1)

Chapter forty-seven

E lizabeth had swept furiously from the study, blinded by tears and caring not who could have seen her. A few moments later found her on Lydia’s bed, shaking the frame and wetting the counterpane with her frustration. Lydia, for her part, seemed to take great pride in comforting her sister for a change, rather than the reverse, and played her role with greater seriousness than Elizabeth might have thought her to possess.

After exhausting herself for nearly an hour, and spoiling at least three of Lydia’s best handkerchiefs, she rolled wearily to a seated posture. Lydia shifted to sit beside her and pillowed her head on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Right, then, so we are to go to Cheapside?” she asked with little enthusiasm.

Elizabeth stretched her neck and gave a half-laughing, half-sobbing little groan. “I do not know. I cannot leave him, Lydia. He has suffered so much, and it terrifies me to think of it. If I were to go now, I cannot imagine how it would wound him.”

“What, do you think you will be content merely to play the piano for him and straighten his cravats when he takes a mood? You will be miserable, Lizzy, for you could not hold your tongue if you bolted a handle on it. Pemberley is rather nice, but I could do without its master.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “You do not understand, Lydia. He is a good man; he is simply not acting himself.”

“By ‘not himself’, do you mean the Mr Darcy who said you were ‘tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt’ him? Or the Mr Darcy who sits in drawing rooms staring at the floor and out the window? He seems the same to me.”

“He is not comfortable in company, Lydia,” Elizabeth sniffed and wiped her eyes again. “I thought you knew that.”

“I know how abominably rude he was at the Netherfield ball. Why, he looked right at me and never made me an offer to dance. For my part, the man is too proud to be worth my notice. I say you would be well rid of him, Lizzy. Come, let us go back to Uncle’s house on the morrow. Colonel Fitzwilliam told me earlier that if you failed to talk sense into Mr Darcy, we would only go as far as Lambton this evening and make an early start in the morning. We can be in Cheapside for spring. What say you, Lizzy? Best to go now before you are irrevocably committed.”

“Am I not already?”

“Not a bit of it! Oh, naturally we must continue to write to Georgiana—I think she will not burn your letters if you go away and her brother has none other to comfort him. It will be just like the old days for her, so that cannot displease her. And then there is the bother of Mama finding out that Mr Darcy never died, and working herself up that you let an eligible bachelor slip away. I suppose that bit about you being out all night with him and Colonel Fitzwilliam might be kept quiet. Maria wrote me just the other day that her brother John was courting Sarah Purvis, but you know, I think he is only doing so because her hair is the same colour as yours. I think it might not be too late to win him back. Yes, now that I think of it, Lizzy, you would be much better off to go.”

“And leave him! Lydia, he trusts none of the people in whom he should trust. He is not a fool, but he is not thinking clearly just now. What if he cannot see a deceiver before it is too late?”

Lydia gave a dismissive little wave. “What does that matter to you? He is his own problem, I daresay.”

“I love him, Lydia!” Elizabeth’s body shivered in a final sob, the remnant of her previous anguish, and her eyes stung with moisture again. “I do, Lydia, I love him. I cannot leave, now that he is here and alive.”

Lydia propped her arms behind herself on the bed and a smug smile shone on her face.

Elizabeth tilted her head and pinned her sister with a hard look. “I see you are quite satisfied with yourself.”

“More than you can imagine. I finally tricked you into confessing it! It has only been…” she ticked off her fingers, “six months. No, almost seven.”

Elizabeth sighed and rubbed her eyes again. “Have I truly been that obvious?”

“It was when you started talking in your sleep that you finally gave it away.”

Elizabeth stiffened, her cheeks burning. “Talking in my sleep! I could not have! Why, if you heard it, the whole of the household must—”

Lydia broke in with a fit of giggles, pointing merrily at her sister. “What a good joke! You should see your face, Lizzy. The last time I saw you so red was… well, only an hour ago, when you were fuming at Mr Darcy.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and pushed herself up from the bed. “Touché, my little sister. I shall try to make amends with Mr Darcy. I cannot promise that I will be successful, but I will try.”

“Do hurry, for I would much rather have one of Cook’s dinners than the inn at Lambton, if I can get it.” Lydia patted her stomach. “It is too bad that Mr Darcy likes plain dishes, I was so hoping for a ragout, but I suppose it is his house, after all.”

Elizabeth shook her head and almost made it to the door when she rushed back to hug her sister. “Thank you, Lydia,” she whispered.

“A nd so, Mr Darcy, the magistrate advises that the man you brought back with you be set free, for he does not appear to have any connection to the matter at hand.” Mr Jefferson completed his speech and gave his master the last page in his hand, a note from Mr Duncan at Rush Hill Abbey.

“No connection?” Darcy spun round to snatch the paper, reading it quickly and then crumpling it to feed the flames. “No connection! He was riding one of my own horses, and he claimed to have been put to the deed by the dead man! I even have a description from Miss Bennet of his appearance. There can be no doubt! Is Duncan blind, or unable to read?”

“No, sir, but a man may say any number of things under threat of punishment. Mr Duncan believes the man was simply in the wrong place, and fled out of fear for his life. We may bring charges of horse theft if you wish, but that is likely all. He suggests that we reconsider the footman, O’Donnell, for he appeared to have awareness of the ladies’ whereabouts that day, and was in the immediate area when they were attacked. The location is remote, sir. I can think of no other reason for his presence there.”

“If my own footman cannot look to my sister’s welfare without raising suspicion, but this other rogue can simply be ‘in the wrong place,’ I must wonder at Duncan’s logic.”

“He claimed to have family in Weston, sir, and by foot, it is not unreasonable that he might have taken that route.”

“Weston! He is a London rat, bred and born. Listen to his speech, look at his clothing!”

“Sir, with all due respect, the footman is Irish. Would we not do well to consider that he may have interests of his own?”

Darcy stopped before the window, fisting his hands at his hips. “Has Colonel Fitzwilliam departed?” he demanded abruptly.

Jefferson blinked. “Why, er, no, sir, I do not believe so. A carriage was ordered for him, and stood by for two hours before the horses were taken back to the stables. I believe the carriage still stands in the yard, waiting for him.”

Darcy flexed the fingers in his hand, pulsing his fist and frowning deeply. “That will be all, Jefferson. I will consider Duncan’s recommendations pertaining to Mr O’Donnell.”

Jefferson bowed shortly and left the room, but Darcy did not pay him the courtesy of watching the performance. He gazed still out the window, his vision fogged and his breath short. How was he to carry on? Elizabeth had closeted herself above stairs, and already a large, feminine trunk had been carried down. He had been too frightened to inquire as to which lady the trunk belonged. If she left with her sister….

His throat closed and he buried his eyes behind his hand. Elizabeth! He had made an ass of himself again, failing to listen and terrified of permitting a slip in what he perceived as his control over his life. What sensible woman would tolerate a man who insulted her at every turn? Was this, then, his notion of love? She did not deserve this!

He had begun to tremble again when a strong hand rested on his shoulder. Without thinking, he whirled and lashed out with his fist, only to slice empty air.

His cousin was ducking his head and shoulders, a hand raised defensively over his face. He rose slowly to his full height, a low whistle on his lips. “Too slow this time, old boy.”

Darcy snarled and turned back to the window. “What are you still doing here, Richard?”

“Waiting for an apology, but I doubt seriously that my leave from my regiment will extend so long. I ought to have listened to our aunt when she demanded that I sell my commission.”

“I have nothing to apologise for. I ought to cut you down where you stand.”

“For what? For coddling my cousin as if she were my own sister or daughter? For racing off to Portugal, or dragging that stinking corpse out of the grave to see if he was you?”

Darcy was silent, his shoulders heaving for a moment, and then he asked softly, “How did you know?”

Richard snorted. “The birth mark, of course. The one you think no one knows about, but I used to swim with you in the lake.”

“About Portugal,” Darcy broke in. “How did you know to look there, unless you had some involvement?”

“Oh.” Richard blew out a huff and ran his fingers through his hair. He glanced about, and without waiting for an invitation, dropped into a chair.

Darcy lifted a brow and observed him in silence.

Richard bridged the fingers of both hands and stared at them before he began. “It was back in ‘09. I was stationed in Porto, do you remember?”

“Clearly.”

“Well, I met this young Portuguese lieutenant—Noronha was his name. We saw one another around the card tables, that sort of thing, but during the Battle of Porto, his horse was shot. I was near at hand, and I went back for him.”

Richard’s mouth worked, his face contorting with a myriad of memories. “We were both wounded in the battle, just seriously enough to take us out of the action for around a month. Noronha was the son of an old noble family, and was permitted to return home while he recovered. I think it was more to keep up civilian support than anything else, but he managed to secure a release for me as well.”

Darcy turned back to the window. “Then you spent a month in this Noronha’s household. So far you have said little to reassure me, Richard.”

“Does the name not comfort you somewhat? He was the man to secure your release, was Captain Rodrigo de Noronha.”

Darcy snapped his gaze back. “He—and others—told me there was some old connection with you, but suggested it to be of a more personal nature, and not limited merely to you. The implication was that you were acting with your father.”

“My father?” Richard shook his head in apparent puzzlement. “The only contact Father ever had with them was that Senhor de Noronha sent Father a fine box of cigars. He never even smokes them. No, their connection is but an incidental one.”

Darcy turned about in agitation. “Then who else was there? Did this Noronha have an associate?”

Richard seemed to sneer, and looked abruptly at the floor. “Vasconcelos. I remember him. He is the monster. Noronha is just a puppet.”

Darcy straightened, his back to his cousin, and drew a long shuddering breath. “I met him,” he answered shortly.

“I do not doubt it. I was told they wanted some deed from you, but I had no idea what they were talking about. Do you?”

Darcy could not answer the question directly. He stared out at the shrubberies, his fingers twitching. Richard, wisely, did not press him for an answer.

“Who told you?” he asked in a weak, breathy voice.

“Who? Noronha, of course.”

“And you have never yet told me how you connected him to my disappearance.”

“Well,” Richard sat back and crossed one leg over the other knee. “I did what any self-respecting earl’s son does. I hired a private investigator, because I wanted to find out who had killed you and run him through myself. Believe you me, it would have been far less trouble to leave you in the grave.”

“And?”

“Noronha has a small shipping line, a family business for at least a couple of generations. My investigator turned up the name of one of his ships. That is all.”

“All! You cannot honestly tell me that you would abandon Georgiana and set sail for Portugal on so slight an inducement!”

“I did not abandon her! I found Miss Bennet, did not I? She has done better with her than I could have, for Georgiana was starting to take on the business of the household before—”

“Before someone attacked her!”

“I was about to say, ‘before Aunt Catherine returned,’ but yes, I suppose that was the same day.”

Darcy hissed and turned back to the wall. “Our aunt has made no secret of her ambitions. She wants Pemberley as a jewel in her cap, and could not get it through me.”

“Darcy! You do not mean to suggest that our aunt would conspire to have you taken. Naturally, it has occurred to me as well, but what could she gain by it?”

“Control, of course. It would matter little to her that you are not her natural son; she would have ruled you utterly.”

“Now that is where you are mistaken! She wished for me to wed Anne, and for Georgie to marry some viscount. It was my father who promoted an engagement to Georgiana. He was responsible for that announcement, I am sure of it, attempting to force my hand! He had no idea that I was not in the country, for Miss Bennet and her uncle managed things well in my absence.” He grinned rakishly. “Gardiner even agreed to post a letter about a week after I sailed, so Father never missed my correspondence.”

Darcy’s fists clenched. “I have heard enough! Even were you not intentional, you have been complicit, Richard. Edward Gardiner has gained substantially by these affairs.”

“Darcy!” Richard was rubbing his forehead, “Gardiner told me when I first approached him that he had a new business opportunity that would demand much of his time. It had nothing to do with you! Why, I even have a letter from him here somewhere, talking about this new textiles agreement he has with a merchant in Brussels. Egad, how conceited are you, that you assume everything is about you?”

Darcy inhaled slowly, closing his eyes. Those had been Elizabeth’s words, almost verbatim. In his early days as master of the estate, he had learned that if two people he trusted advised the same, it was likely a wise course. The question remained: did he trust Richard?

“Darcy, you must let me help you,” Richard’s voice now pleaded. “Two heads are better than one, they say.”

“Richard,” he slitted his eyes open, gazing thoughtfully out the window. “You mentioned that you knew Captain Noronha, and that he was the one who released me. That is not the whole truth of the matter, for there was another.”

He turned to see his cousin’s face suddenly bloodless. His mouth gaped helplessly for a breath, then he seemed to swallow and stare at the floor. “The captain’s sister,” he answered brusquely, and spoke no more.

“And she was married to the son of the very Vasconcelos of whom you spoke. Are you still so certain that the connection is innocent? Perhaps the affair had gone sour, and I was desired to return home at precisely this time to complicate matters for whomever Vasconcelos had previously taken as his partner. Perhaps you have been blinded yourself, Richard.”

Richard bolted to his feet, trembling with a fierce rage. “The lady is innocent! What is more, she is as much a victim of Vasconcelos and Noronha as yourself, if not more so. Do not you dare profane her name with such slander!”

Darcy stiffened in surprise, stepping back toward the safety of his window alcove. “You do not consider the connection suspicious?”

Richard turned about, as if searching for something to throw, and then settled for a sound punch to the pillow on which he had sat. “Forget I ever offered to help. My carriage leaves immediately. Give my regards to Georgiana and Miss Bennet.” And with that, he stalked out, muttering curses all the way.