Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Darcy spent the evening at his club, secluding himself at a small table in the shadowy corner of the coffee room.
Anything to get out of his too-silent house for a while.
Nursing a glass of wine and pretending to read the newspapers, he managed to keep other gentlemen at bay.
It was either that or his fierce scowl that did the trick.
As he stared blankly at an article about the machinations of Parliament, but did not read a word, his ears suddenly pricked up at a name he had never expected to hear again.
Meryton. Or did they say Merton? It came from the mouth of one of a large group of young men at a crowded table.
They had all been drinking and were now swaying back and forth, conversing too loudly, slapping each other on the back, and discussing women, too rudely.
“…so my cousin has heard from one of his mates that there is a girl in Herefordshire who has, out of nowhere, inherited an enormous estate from a sick old man. Not only that, but an enormous wad of money to go with it, something like forty thousand pounds. Just a country girl and she had it all handed to her on a plate. I hear she is pretty, too.”
“Hmm, I would like to have a go at that one. What did she do to get a sick old man to leave it all to her, eh?” This was followed by raucous laughter.
“A charmer, I would bet. Likely more than a sick old man could handle. She’s not some innocent country maiden, I would wager.” More laughter.
“Perhaps I had better look into it, do you not agree, my friends? I could show her what real bed sport is. Marry her, get her with child, and take all that nice money back to town with me.” The others all shouted him down.
“I think she should get to choose from the lot of us—we all could use the blunt. I would like an estate as well; I am sick to death of my older brother bragging about his. Where did you say this chit can be found?”
“Somewhere in Herefordshire. Merton is the village. Hay something. No, that is not it… Haywain? That ain’t it either. Hayfield. That’s the one, Hayfield.” More lewd comments followed until the shouting drunkards lurched on to another topic.
Darcy kept his head averted; the newspaper held in front of his face.
Merton, Meryton; Herefordshire, Hertfordshire; Hay something.
A sick old man. It had to be Haye-Park, very close to Longbourn.
Mr Goulding had been a friend of the Bennets.
He felt a chill creep up his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose.
You are reading too much into this, he told himself.
Do not pay any attention to a gang of useless, indolent inebriates.
You think you hear the word Meryton and you lose your mind.
Exactly like you did then, he thought, reflecting back to his time there when he was falling in love and losing his senses.
Darcy left the club. The summer evening was warm and breezy, the sky was clear, the sunset was a medley of lavender and apricot and pink, yet the walk did not work its usual magic on him.
The words kept running through his head.
Merton…Meryton…Herefordshire…Hertfordshire.
Hay something. Sick old man. Bed sport. Darcy, be sensible!
Then an idea struck him. There was a very fine collection of atlases and maps right in his own library.
He would look up these locations the moment he arrived home.
He needed facts and logic to work through this conundrum.
Within minutes, he was home and hurrying to the library.
Darcy moved his finger over the map. There was not a town in Herefordshire called Merton. There was not even anything close. There was only one Merton, and it was in Surrey. There was only one Meryton, and it was in Hertfordshire. A sick old man. Hay something. Haye-Park. It had to be.
Were there any other young ladies to whom Mr Goulding would entrust his estate?
Darcy had to find out. His first impulse was to ride to Meryton himself, but he would be recognised and set the local tongues to wagging.
He would not want Elizabeth to know that he was there; she would see it as more of his officious meddling and despise him even more.
It was too late in the evening to do anything, but he did not want to waste any time either.
What if it was true and one of those young fools accidentally figured it out?
He had already destroyed any chance of sharing happiness with Elizabeth, but he needed to protect her if he could.
As the sun rose the next morning, he had a man headed north on a fast horse.
Thompson had occasionally been in his employ for several years.
He was of medium height and medium colouring, with unremarkable features, forgettable in his appearance.
He was a fine investigator in that he was intelligent and thorough.
Nothing, no details, however small or incidental, got past him.
He could get information from people before they even realised it.
Most of them never did. One way or another, Darcy would protect the woman he loved.
Summer days were long and thus was Thompson able to return the very same day, albeit late.
“It did not take long to find out about this. It is the talk of the town. You are correct, sir. A young lady did inherit an estate from a neighbour, who was very sick and somewhat older. The man was named Goulding, and the estate is called Haye-Park. The young lady is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Darcy remained very still, though the sound of just her name was electrifying.
After a short pause, Thompson continued.
“The neighbourhood is talking of little else. Miss Bennet and her family were and are still completely shocked. They had no expectation of it. I have a sense that there is something unusual about the inheritance, though it seems to be generally acknowledged that Miss Bennet is a good sort of girl, an intelligent and kind girl, well-regarded in the community.”
Darcy thanked his investigator and returned to his study, mulling everything over.
So, Elizabeth had unexpectedly inherited the estate and the investments of Mr Goulding?
Or something like that. There might be a catch to it?
He tried to remember if Goulding had mentioned any family, or if Elizabeth was even of age.
I am not one and twenty, she had told his aunt in April. Had she had a birthday since?
If the news had already reached London, how many other unscrupulous men knew of it and had Elizabeth in their sights?
Would her family protect her? Would her father bestir himself from his library enough to ensure her safety?
Her mother would not, he thought. She would push her daughters towards marriage, any marriage. How could he ensure she would be safe?
Darcy rang for a footman and discovered that Thompson was still at Darcy House, in the kitchen enjoying a hearty meal. He made his way downstairs to discuss the investigator’s future assignment. The man’s services would be needed for some time.