Chapter Fifteen
A gust whipped Elizabeth’s skirt around her legs, chilling her.
She again checked the height of the diffuse glow in the clouds that gave evidence of the sun, then sighed.
Obviously, Colonel Fitzwilliam did not intend to appear.
If she waited any longer, she would be late returning from her walk.
Mrs. Bennet had ignored Mary’s accusations yesterday, but repeated reports of Elizabeth’s misbehavior would eventually make their way through her mother’s chatter and into her mind.
As an invitation to Lucas Lodge had arrived the afternoon before, Elizabeth especially dreaded reprimand.
Charlotte was one of Elizabeth’s dearest companions, and it would be beyond disappointing to be banned from attending the festivities that evening simply for being tardy to breakfast.
Tugging her bonnet lower against the bluster of the wind, Elizabeth turned to retrace her path from Longbourn.
“Miss Elizabeth.”
She swung back to see Fitzwilliam coming across the field. In that moment, the wind seemed more frolicsome than cold, and the day brightened around her. The sun must finally be ready to peek out from behind the scraggly clouds that cloaked it.
He rode across the field with more speed than usual, the set of his shoulders stiff.
As he drew near, she took in his harried expression.
Nor did he halt his horse as far away from her as normal, or dismount with his typical fluid grace, the movement too hurried for that.
He did, however, turn back to adjust the reins before leading the stallion forward.
Her heart hammering with worry, Elizabeth rushed to meet him. She clamped a hand to her bonnet as a gust whipped by. “Whatever is the matter? Is it Miss Darcy?”
He shook his head. “All is well. Forgive me. I came to reassure you, not to alarm you.”
“Reassure me regarding what?”
“I imagine in a region such as this that rumor travels swifter than a fine mount, so I desired to be the one to convey that there was another attempt on my cousin last night.” He drew in a quick breath.
“Rather, very early this morning, before dawn. Three men brought a ladder and entered his chambers through a window. All were detained and no real harm done to anyone, even the criminals.”
“Another attempt? That is horrible.” Her worry that the community was not safe crashed back to her. How had she failed to speak with her father on the matter?
But looking up into Fitzwilliam’s dark, tumultuous eyes, she knew how.
All she’d thought on for days was the man before her.
The only true difference between her and Jane was that Jane whispered of her affection each evening as they settled to sleep, while Elizabeth hid hers, deeming it too precious, too fragile, to share.
She couldn’t chance her relations learning of her preoccupation with the man before her.
Elizabeth did not know his heart, and if his feelings did not keep pace with her growing regard, one unsubtle remark from Mrs. Bennet would send him fleeing.
“It is not my intention to alarm you,” he repeated.
Elizabeth gathered her thoughts back to the present. “But it is alarming.” She studied his face, trying to ascertain if he understood. “We are a small, quiet community. First there were two men in Meryton, and now three at Netherfield Park. Will they be the last? Will we be overrun?”
He looked away with a grimace. “They will not be the last.”
Suspicion welled in Elizabeth. “You know more than you have told me.”
Fitzwilliam let out a sigh. “I do.”
Hands finding her hips, Elizabeth demanded, “Well?”
“I am not certain—”
“That a delicate young miss has the fortitude to comprehend whatever danger your cousin has brought to our community?” she finished for him with a thick overlay of sarcasm.
His gaze snapped to hers. “That is not what I was about to say.”
“Then what were you about to say?”
“That there are secrets, confidences rather, woven into this, and I am not certain they are mine to divulge.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips, aggravated. He had her there. She could not esteem a man for being upright and honest and then rail at him for not giving up other people’s secrets. “Tell me this, are the people hereabouts in danger?”
His brow lined in thought, which reassured her. She would have met a hasty ‘no’ with considerable suspicion.
“I do not believe so,” he finally said. “My cousin is the focus of the pursuit of these men.”
“But you believe they will keep coming here to make attempts on him?”
“I do.”
“That makes no sense.” Elizabeth watched him carefully, seeking any telling reactions to her words.
“I gather that Mr. Darcy is wealthy, but even he is not so wealthy as to incur an endless string of men attempting to abduct him. And why him and not some other wealthy gentleman? There must be more to this.”
Fitzwilliam’s mouth tightened.
Her voice took on a triumphant crow as she accused, “So there is more to these attacks.”
“I did not say that.”
“You did not have to, sir.” Smugness filled her, followed hard by a return of worry.
“You said there are confidences at stake, but there are stakes for others as well. For the people I care about, and for our community. I cannot judge how high they run if I have no notion what is taking place. And,” she added when he pressed his lips together even more firmly, “I will not be the only one whose suspicions are raised when word of this most recent attempt gets out. When I hear talk of the incident, I can add to people’s worries or attempt to soothe them. ”
His eyes went wide. “Is that a threat?”
“It is a fact,” she replied with a tip of her chin, then sighed. “I imagine it was a bit of a threat, but only because I am genuinely worried for the people about whom I care.”
“They truly ought not to be in danger,” he said, his gaze intent. “Can you accept my assurance that come December first, this will be over?”
“December first?” How odd, to have a set date for attempted abductions to end.
“Yes. On my honor.” He searched her face, hope in his eyes.
Some of the tension leaving her frame, Elizabeth nodded. “I can accept your word, Fitzwilliam. I deem you a man of great character, and if you tell me that my community is in no danger and that all will be resolved by the first day of December, I believe you.”
“Thank you,” he said, his visage for once so stonily motionless that even she could not read his thoughts. “I had best return.”
Elizabeth darted a look at the sky, though a curtain of clouds hid the telltale location of the sun. “I as well.”
Yet he did not move. He stood there, his gaze locked with hers. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then asked, “Will I see you at Lucas Lodge this evening, Miss Elizabeth?”
“You will.”
His expression lightened and he bowed. “Until then.”
Elizabeth dipped a curtsy. “Until then.”
She stepped back as he made to mount, her attention returning to the sky. She would never make it home in time to avoid suspicion now. Fitzwilliam swung into the saddle. With a final nod, he set out for Netherfield Park.
Elizabeth turned to the low hill to her left.
She would have to cut across Farmer Grason’s land, past the ramshackle shepherds’ hut they used to play in as children.
She thrust her shoulders back, throwing off memories of childhood beratings, and started up the hill.
She was a grown woman now and simply cutting across a pasture.
Besides, they hadn’t played in the hut in years, so Mr. Grason would no longer be checking for them. He would never know she’d been there.
Elizabeth strode up the hill, amused by how brave she felt. As if Mr. Grason would ever do more than shout, bluster, and demand she get off his land, which she fully intended to do as speedily as possible. She crested the hill, autumnal gusts yanking at her, and started down the other side.
The hut still stood, the stacked stone foundation crumbled and shifted, putting the whole structure askew.
Holes gaped in the wood plank walls, and birds and wind had long since stolen most of the thatch from the roof.
Looking at the crooked little building, Elizabeth didn’t half wonder if the reason Mr. Grason yelled at them so much when they were children was out of fear for their safety.
The hut appeared ready to topple given the slightest encouragement.
She shook her head as she drew near, for her path home led directly in front of the old hut. To think, one of her greatest childhood fears, an angry Mr. Grason, might simply have been a grouchy farmer trying to protect a gaggle of children. Why, all the times he—
Something moved inside.
Elizabeth went still as stone, save for her racing heart.
She looked up the hill she’d just descended.
But, no, Fitzwilliam would be far away by now, ahorse.
If she called out, he would not hear her.
In all likelihood, no one would, except whatever hid in the spattered darkness within the old sheep shed.
She raised a booted foot, inching it backward, trying not to make any sound.
“Madam,” a weak, yet distinctly masculine, voice croaked out. “Help me. Please.”
Dull daylight streaked the inside of the hut, slipping through holes and loose boards, but the angle of the sun kept any such illumination from entering through the open door. Elizabeth glimpsed what might be a blond head, a trembling hand reaching out.
“Please,” the voice said again, weakly.
Her thoughts darted to the man in the alleyway, crying like some small, distressed creature. Could this be a similar ruse?
Yet…that hardly seemed possible. No one could be expected to come past this hut for days at a time. Weeks, even, or longer. Why lurk here waiting to lure someone? And why her? She was not Mr. Darcy, with his enormous fortune. Anyone could see that from the lack of ostentation in her unmodish garb.