Chapter Five
Darcy reached to steady Elizabeth, concerned by her sudden pallor, but before he could touch her, she was off, nearly running in the direction of her cousin, slippered feet sliding slightly with the force of each step.
Darcy started after her, his gait more deliberate.
Tavistock’s posture relaxed when he saw Elizabeth, and the marquess held out his arms. She launched herself into them, though by the time Darcy had reached them both, she had pulled away.
“Aunt Olivia?” she asked, her voice pinched and tight. Darcy’s heart broke a little, hearing in Elizabeth’s question an echo of a young Georgiana. Papa will recover, will he not?
“Lizzy, Olivia is fine,” Francis reassured her, but his expression remained serious. “She has had a bit of a fright.”
“Tavistock,” Darcy replied, wishing he could embrace Elizabeth as her cousin had. “What brings you to Hertfordshire so late?”
The marquess eyed him cautiously. “Darcy. I was told you would be here. Has your business with Elizabeth been concluded?”
“Yes, yes,” Elizabeth said impatiently. “We are betrothed, though it has not been formally announced.”
“Excellent. Congratulations,” Tavistock said brusquely. “Darcy, would you ask your friend if we might use his study? I need to speak with Mr. Bennet right away.” He paused before adding, “You should join us.”
“Francis,” Miss Elizabeth said, balling her hands into fists. “What is going on?”
“Not here, Lizzy,” her cousin said firmly. “Let us collect your father and then we can discuss this in private.”
Darcy nodded. “Of course. I presume you do not wish your presence noted?”
Tavistock nodded.
Darcy turned to Elizabeth. “Let us find your father and Bingley,” he said gently.
“Oh,” Tavistock said suddenly, “Is your Fitzwilliam cousin here? Not the viscount, the soldier?”
Darcy’s stomach clenched, and he felt his stoicism returning for the first time in over a month. His mask dropped into place. “He is.”
A fleeting grimace appeared on his face before Tavistock issued an order. “Bring him.”
When they entered the room, Elizabeth slipped into the crowd to search for her father.
From a distance, she saw him seated at a table with her mother, Mrs. Cleopatra Bingley, Lydia, Jane, and Mr. Bingley.
Mrs. Bingley had plucked a vibrantly green feather from her turban and was examining it with her mother.
As she watched, Mrs. Bingley reached up to her turban to pluck another and hold it out for comparison.
Not far away, Mr. Fitzwilliam sat at a table with Mr. Goulding, Miss Bingley, Mary, and Kitty.
At that moment, her father happened to glance up and meet her eye. Elizabeth was grateful when his own eyes narrowed and he made his excuses. Nobody seemed to be bothered by his absence, as even over the rather loud hum of conversation she could hear her mother’s raptures.
“Oh, I have ever so many plans for the wedding, Cleopatra,” she was saying, while Lydia tried to speak with an embarrassed Jane and Mr. Bingley.
Only Mrs. Bingley was listening, but it did not dissuade her.
“How grand it shall be! Just imagine! The flowers!” She rested her hand lightly on Mrs. Bingley’s wrist. “The feathers!”
Mr. Darcy watched her father disappear into the crowd before he made his way over to Mr. Bingley. He leaned over and made his request quietly. Mr. Bingley nodded and stood.
“What is it, Lizzy?” her father asked as he reached her side.
“Francis is here,” she said, her heart in her throat. “He wishes to speak with you.”
Her father frowned. He briefly laid a hand on her arm and then brushed past her on his way out of the room.
Mr. Bingley said something to his sister, then left through a different door.
Mr. Darcy made a small motion with his head to Mr. Fitzwilliam and then tugged at the side of his coat once, where his watch chain normally hung.
Mr. Fitzwilliam saw the gesture, she was sure of it, but he did not react.
After speaking to a few guests in a bid to waste time, Mr. Darcy turned away and led her back out to the hall.
Elizabeth took a shaky breath as they stepped into the study. Francis, Papa, and Mr. Bingley were already there, waiting.
“Fitzwilliam will be along,” Mr. Darcy said in response to a look from Francis. “We could not all remove at once.”
“Tavistock,” Mr. Bennet said quietly, “this is Mr. Bingley. He is the current master of Netherfield and is betrothed to Jane. Bingley, this is the Marquess of Tavistock.”
Mr. Bingley bowed. Francis studied him for a moment, then took a letter from a pocket inside his coat. He held it out to her father. Mr. Bingley joined him.
“Olivia received this today in the post. She was taken ill soon after.” He turned his attention to Elizabeth. “She had an attack, but she is well, Lizzy, resting. However, you know she has not been herself, even before this shock, and she needs to see that you are well.”
Elizabeth swallowed a growing sense of dread.
She had hoped for her few remaining weeks in Hertfordshire to be spent with Mr. Darcy and her sisters, enjoying her engagement.
Once she left for London, her life would change in more than one way, and her aunt knew it.
Aunt Olivia would never cut her visit short unless there was a very good reason.
She expected to see the message next, but Mr. Bennet handed it to Mr. Darcy, and she watched his stony features turn to granite. He moved to give the letter back to Tavistock. Elizabeth cleared her throat and held out her hand.
“Mr. Darcy, if you please,” she said. He hesitated, but her hand remained out. “This directly affects me, sir. Keeping me in ignorance is hardly helpful.”
As she watched Mr. Darcy, he seemed to recall something, and he reluctantly passed the letter to her. Behind her, the door opened and shut, but Elizabeth was focused on the handwriting. Masculine hand, tight, angular letters. There was nothing of grace or civility in the hand, and only two lines:
Mrs. Russell,
One will die and one will mourn. Where is your niece?
“What is the plan?” Richard asked, his voice hard, flat, and very close. Elizabeth realized he had read the note over her shoulder.
“My father wants Elizabeth back in London where we can reunite her with Olivia and keep them both safe,” Francis replied. “The moon is bright. We have lanterns on the coach and fresh horses. We should be on our way shortly.”
“Are you sure that is safe?” asked Mr. Bennet. “The note asks for Lizzy’s whereabouts. If he does not know where she is, perhaps she should remain in the country.”
Francis grimaced. “Lizzy’s family ties are not widely known in London, Bennet, but they are not a secret, either. If he does not already know about Longbourn, it will not be difficult to discover. I do not mean to offend, but…”
“We do not generally require guards, Tavistock,” her father said, all traces of humor from earlier in the evening now gone. “I understand.”
“I left men at Longbourn when I stopped there, and with your permission, they shall remain.” Francis laid a hand on her father’s shoulder.
“While Lizzy is a Russell, we shall not leave her Bennet family unprotected.” He pulled away as Elizabeth offered him the letter.
“Both my father and I suspect this is a threat that shall precede a letter of extortion rather than a physical confrontation. But we do not intend to take any chances.”
Mr. Bennet nodded, brow furrowed. He turned to Elizabeth with regret, took her by her hands and kissed her forehead.
“I have very much enjoyed having you home with us, Lizzy,” he said.
“I will tell your mother and sisters when we return home.” He gave her a sad smile.
“Lydia will be pleased to stay at Netherfield a little later.” In a rare show of affection, he rested his forehead against hers.
“Goodbye, Elizabeth. Go with God, my love, and write us when you are safely at St. James’s. ”
“Thank you, Papa, I shall,” she whispered, breathing in the comforting scent of wine and pipe tobacco. “I love you. Please make my farewells to Mama and the girls. Tell them I shall write.”
Mr. Bennet nodded, misty-eyed, and left the room.
“I shall remain and assist Mr. Bennet at Longbourn, unless you have another task for me,” Mr. Bingley stated.
Tavistock shook his head. “That would ease my mind considerably, Mr. Bingley.”
Mr. Bingley nodded. “Take all the time you need here. I must return to my guests before my absence is noted.” He smiled encouragingly at Elizabeth. “I will take care of your sisters, Miss Elizabeth.”
“I thank you, sir,” she said, grateful. Mr. Bingley gave Darcy a stare that conveyed something—she was not certain what—and then was gone.
As Mr. Bingley closed the door behind him, Tavistock turned to Darcy. “I assume you will wish to ride in the carriage with Elizabeth?”
Darcy nodded. “I will. I require but a short time to change.”
“Mr. Fitzwilliam,” Tavistock said, “I should like you to join the outriders, if you would be willing. My best man remained in London with the family. You were in the rearguard, were you not?”
“I was, my lord,” Richard replied with a small bow. “It would be my honor to help escort Miss Russell.”
Elizabeth’s head began to swim with everything that was happening. She wanted to ask the men to stop, to give her an opportunity to think, but competing with that desire was an overwhelming need to reach her aunt.
Francis stepped to her. “Lizzy,” he said gently, “I have read your letters. I know how much you came to enjoy being anonymous here in Hertfordshire, particularly this autumn. But that time is done.” He looked in her eyes.
“You are a Russell. It is time to take back your name and all it demands of you.”