Chapter Sixteen
T he underlined passages had served their purpose well over the past week—each exchange deepening the game between them, building something clever and unspoken, a connection carefully stitched between pages and margins.
But now, Elizabeth wanted to play in earnest.
She had always relished a challenge. It was what drew her to wit and wordplay, to debates with her father, to teasing remarks that danced along the boundaries of propriety without ever quite transgressing them. She enjoyed testing the mettle of her conversation partners, pressing just enough to see whether they would press back.
Mr. Darcy, for all his reserve, had proven himself remarkably adept at doing just that.
Aunt Gardiner, sitting nearby with her embroidery, lowered her needle and peered over her spectacles with a knowing look.
“What is that look, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth, reclining against her pillows, feigned innocence. “What look, Aunt?”
“The one that always precedes trouble.”
Miss de Bourgh let out a quiet huff of amusement from her seat near the window, where she had been idly flipping through a book of poetry.
Jane, who had been writing a letter to their father, sighed but smiled. “Oh dear.”
Elizabeth grinned, tapping her fingers on the well-worn cover of the book on her lap. A slight twinge from her ribs made her wince, but she ignored it. The continued soreness after an entire week of rest was an irritation, but the confinement was far worse.
She glanced down at A Collection of Conundrums and Riddles, Old and New , which she and the other ladies had been using to quiz one another and pass the time. Charlotte had been to visit and had solved a few of them as well, but she had now returned home, and Miss de Bourgh had taken her place.
Alas, riddles for the sake of riddles were no longer enough.
Miss de Bourgh arched a brow. “You mean to send Darcy a conundrum?”
Elizabeth flipped the book open idly. “Precisely.”
Aunt Gardiner, ever practical, gave her a sharp look. “You are not going to underline an entire conundrum, Lizzy. Miss de Bourgh must have some of her books left unmarked.”
Elizabeth tapped her fingers thoughtfully against the cover. “Then I shall compose one, and Colonel Fitzwilliam might read it out.”
“No writing, Lizzy,” Aunt Gardiner reminded her, her voice fond but firm. “We are already ignoring too many rules of propriety as it is.”
Elizabeth sighed dramatically but could not entirely hide the twinkle in her eye.
Miss de Bourgh, who had been watching this exchange with quiet amusement, tilted her head like a curious bird. “Then how shall he receive it?”
Elizabeth sat up straighter, adjusting the blanket over her legs, eyes bright with inspiration. “I shall tell it to you, Aunt, or to Miss de Bourgh, who will tell it to the colonel, who will take it to Mr. Darcy.”
Miss de Bourgh shook her head slowly, her expression schooled into mock indifference. “I do not know why I allow myself to be drawn into these things,” she said as she stood, smoothing out her skirts. “But I cannot help but be entertained by the two of you.”
Jane pressed her lips together to contain a smile. “That makes two of us.”
Aunt Gardiner let out a long-suffering sigh. “Three.”
Elizabeth grinned, enjoying every moment of this conspiracy.
The house had settled into a comfortable sort of rhythm these past days. Though she had long since tired of being confined to her room, and though she still woke in the smallest hours of the morning, heart pounding from dreams she could not quite recall, the presence of her aunt, of Jane, and even Miss de Bourgh had kept her from dwelling overmuch on the darker parts of her mind.
And Mr. Darcy? She did not dwell on him, either. She only happened to think of him quite often, that was all. He was so willing to enter into her little games. He did not think them—or her—foolish. In fact, he possessed a playfulness she would never have expected last autumn, and it was a trait in him, along with his sense of humour, that she rather adored.
She laced her fingers together and spoke with deliberate clarity. “You must remember it carefully. The riddle is simple: ‘The beginning of eternity, the end of time and of space, the beginning of every end, and the end of every place.’”
Jane, who had been sipping her tea, suddenly set it down with a soft clink and tilted her head. “Oh! I think I know this one.”
Aunt Gardiner arched a brow. “Do you? I confess I am uncertain.”
Elizabeth smiled smugly. “Well, we shall have to wait and see if Mr. Darcy is clever enough to solve it.”
Miss de Bourgh asked to hear it twice more, then gave a measured nod. “I shall repeat it to Richard exactly as you have said it to me.”
Aunt Gardiner exhaled deeply, giving Elizabeth a pointed look. “And you have faith that he will repeat it exactly to Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth hesitated for precisely two seconds, then laughed outright. “No,” she admitted, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Not in the least.”
Miss de Bourgh looked at her, and this time, she laughed too.
Darcy had spent the morning contemplating his own misery.
It was not physical discomfort—the headache was mostly gone, though his back and ribs still pained him if he shifted too quickly. Rather, it was a general state of restlessness. He had never been a man of leisure. He needed something to do .
It was particularly vexing to be in the same house as Elizabeth and yet entirely unable to see her. He cursed himself for having spent all that time in the same house with her last autumn and spending his time avoiding her rather than speaking with her. Though as his insult had still been fresh in her memory then, perhaps it would not have ended well.
The house was too quiet, save for the occasional sounds of movement beyond his door. Servants passed in and out of his chamber with excruciating efficiency, never lingering long enough to provide any meaningful diversion.
Even Lady Catherine, who had spent the first few days of his recovery issuing highly unnecessary decrees about his care, had found a new target: the drawing room, where she had apparently spent the morning giving instructions to a maid on how to reposition a set of cherubs on the mantelpiece.
Darcy had considered pretending to be asleep when Fitz entered, but there was something too triumphant in his cousin’s step, too much eagerness in his movements.
His interest was piqued. “You have something for me?”
Fitzwilliam clasped his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels with an air of great importance.
“A message from—well, you know.”
Darcy’s boredom disappeared instantly.
He rolled over and lifted himself into a reclining position against the pillows. Fitz stepped over to help. When Darcy was propped up, he said, “Go on, then.”
Fitz cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and took a measured breath, as though about to deliver a great pronouncement. Then, with utmost confidence, he declared: “What begins eternity and ends in time and in space, but also begins—no, wait—what is the end of—” He frowned.
Darcy tilted his head slightly, his expression frozen in blank disbelief.
Fitz looked at the ceiling as though searching for inspiration. “It was something about the beginning and the end . . .”
Darcy closed his eyes briefly, willing himself to patience. “Fitz.”
Fitz ignored him, stroking his chin in thought. “I am much better with military orders. They are always direct and only wrong about half the time. Let me see . . . I believe it had something about time ending—or perhaps something beginning?”
Darcy dragged a hand down his face. “You are mocking me.”
“I would never!”
This protestation made it nearly certain that Fitz was enjoying himself, and Darcy’s patience was rapidly unravelling. “Fitz, what exactly did Miss Elizabeth say?”
Fitz’s expression turned unreasonably serious. “She did not speak to me, of course. Anne must have made an error. Something about eternity. And time. And endings. And beginnings. Possibly also mortality? Or was it geography?”
Darcy inhaled deeply. “So, in summary, you have absolutely no idea.”
Fitz rolled his eyes. “Oh, very well. It was something about the beginning of eternity and the end of time—or was it the other way around? In any case, it was quite philosophical.”
Darcy sighed through his nose. “Then . . . oblivion. Or death. Or some cosmic calamity that you have concocted just to irritate me.”
Fitz beamed. “Splendid! I shall take that as your answer.”
Darcy glared at his cousin. “That was not my answer.”
Fitz patted him on the shoulder, far too pleased with himself. “I shall deliver it at once.” He sauntered toward the door with the confidence of a man who had absolutely not done what was asked of him and was entirely unbothered by it.
Darcy wanted to hear the riddle that Elizabeth had sent him. “Fitz!”
Miss de Bourgh delivered the message with perfect composure, her expression as mild as ever, though there was a telltale glint in her eyes. “Darcy has sent his reply,” she announced.
Elizabeth sat up with eager anticipation, brushing a few stray curls from her face.
“And?”
“His answer is ‘oblivion.’”
Elizabeth blinked, then burst into laughter so forceful that she doubled over, clutching her ribs and nearly upsetting the tea tray.
Jane, who had been stirring honey into her tea with great serenity, gasped and lunged just in time, steadying the tray before disaster struck. “Lizzy!”
Anne, watching with cool amusement, arched a brow. “I assume that is not the correct answer?”
Elizabeth, still struggling for breath, waved a hand. “Not even remotely.”
Aunt Gardiner, who had until now remained the picture of restraint, let out a long, weary sigh.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she muttered.
Miss de Bourgh tilted her head, clearly entirely too entertained by the situation. “What was it supposed to be?”
Elizabeth pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, attempting to regain her composure before wiping away tears of mirth. With an exaggerated solemnity, she said, “The letter E.”
“The beginning of eternity, the end of time and of space, the beginning of every end, and the end of every place.” Miss de Bourgh thought it over for a moment. Her lips parted slightly. “Ah.”
Jane, who had by now composed herself, gave a bemused shake of her head.
Aunt Gardiner chuckled. “I wonder what the colonel actually told Mr. Darcy?”
Miss de Bourgh, still looking entirely too pleased with herself, settled into the chair beside Elizabeth’s bedside. “I too should dearly love to know how Richard mangled the message. I have no doubt it was intentional.”
Elizabeth wiped the last of the tears from her eyes, still breathless with amusement. “I can only imagine.”
“Shall I correct the error?” Miss de Bourgh inquired, a glimmer of amusement in her gaze.
Elizabeth beamed. “You are too good.”
“I know,” Miss de Bourgh replied without a trace of modesty. “Very well. I shall return.”
Elizabeth took a breath and tried to shake off the last vestiges of her laughter.
Aunt Gardiner, observing this, murmured wryly, “Well, now we shall see whether Rosings Park contains at least one reliable messenger.”
Jane, having composed herself, took another sip of her tea. “You are incorrigible.”
Elizabeth grinned unabashedly. “I know.”
“I believe,” Aunt Gardiner said lightly, “that Jane was speaking to me.”