Chapter 23 The Protection Mandate #2
“Indeed.” Darcy allowed his gaze to move from Elizabeth to Bingley, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “Bingley, I wonder if I might have a moment with my sister. Perhaps you could escort Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst inside? Mr. Hurst appears to require a more comfortable resting place.”
“Of course, of course.” Bingley’s easy acquiescence was as predictable as sunrise. He turned to Elizabeth with poorly disguised reluctance. “Miss Bennet, shall we continue our tour? Have you seen the lake view from the terrace?”
Elizabeth and Georgiana exchanged aggrieved glances as Darcy interfered with Bingley’s plans.
“Miss Bennet will be otherwise engaged this afternoon, I’m afraid. Family matters require her attention.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Elizabeth’s expressive features, followed swiftly by a dangerous curve of her lips—not quite a smile, certainly not submission.
“How fascinating to learn of my afternoon plans, Mr. Darcy. I don’t recall having made any.”
“The matter arose during my absence.” Darcy held her gaze steadily. “I shall explain once we have privacy.”
The challenge in her eyes might have intimidated a lesser man, but Darcy had spent a lifetime schooling himself against emotional displays. He merely inclined his head, his expression remaining impassive.
Caroline Bingley, sensing discord with the precision of a predator scenting blood, inserted herself. “Come, Charles. We mustn’t interfere in family discussions.” Her emphasis on “family” carried a pointed skepticism that did not escape Darcy’s notice.
As the Bingleys and Hursts retreated toward the house, Mr. Hurst grumbling at the lack of refreshment, Darcy turned his attention to Georgiana. Her earlier delight had faded, replaced by wary apprehension.
“What were you thinking?” he asked without preamble, his voice low enough to remain private but sharp enough to convey his displeasure. “Questioning servants about Uncle John’s death? Encouraging speculation about murder and conspiracy?”
Georgiana’s shoulders squared defensively. “We were investigating, Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth deserves to know the truth about her parents.”
“Her alleged parents,” he corrected. “And regardless of her claims, these inquiries place both of you at risk. If there truly was foul play twenty years ago, do you imagine those responsible would hesitate to silence new threats?”
“Which is precisely why we must discover the truth,” Elizabeth interjected, presenting a united front that irritated him. “If someone murdered John and Rose Darcy, justice demands—”
“Justice?” Darcy laughed without humor. “After twenty years? When the principals are likely dead, the evidence destroyed, and the witnesses unreliable? What you’re pursuing isn’t justice, Miss Bennet. It’s a dangerous folly that places my sister in jeopardy.”
“I am not a child.” Georgiana’s voice carried a rebellious edge. “I have as much right to know our family’s history as you do.”
“You are sixteen years old and under my guardianship,” he reminded her, gentling his tone with effort. “Your safety is my primary concern. These matters are not appropriate subjects for young ladies to investigate.”
“You conducted the same investigations this morning,” Elizabeth pointed out, her dark eyes flashing. “Tell me, Mr. Darcy, did old Hodge confirm what Molly told us? That only two bodies were recovered from Rose Cottage, not three?”
Darcy stiffened, caught off guard by her perspicacity. “How did you—”
“I watch you, like you watch me.” Elizabeth’s smile held no warmth.
The sheer audacity of her counterattack rendered him speechless. She had not only anticipated his movements but had pieced together his actions with disconcerting accuracy.
“This proves my point,” he replied. “Such inquiries are far too sensitive to conduct openly. You’ve made yourselves conspicuous targets for anyone with reason to fear exposure.”
“All the more reason to work together rather than at cross purposes,” Elizabeth suggested, her tone softening marginally. “Three investigators will surely make more progress than one.”
“No.” Darcy’s response was immediate and absolute. “Georgiana, you will cease these activities immediately. Your time is better spent with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, planning the All Hallows’ Eve gathering.”
“But, Fitzwilliam—”
“This is not a negotiation.” He hated the hurt that flashed across her face, but could not relent. “If you cannot abide by these restrictions, I shall arrange for you to stay with Aunt Catherine at Rosings until this matter is resolved.”
Georgiana paled, her eyes widening with shock at the severity of his threat. “You would send me away? From my own home?”
“If necessary to ensure your safety, yes.”
Georgiana glared at him, and then, with a dignity that reminded him painfully of their mother, she gathered her skirts and swept past him.
“Georgiana—” He reached for her arm.
She evaded his touch with a swift step. “I shall be in my room, Brother. Since I am clearly too fragile and feminine to engage in anything more taxing than selecting flower arrangements with Miss Bingley.”
The uncharacteristic sarcasm stung, but Darcy made no move to follow as she walked toward the house, her back rigid with hurt pride.
“Well done,” Elizabeth observed with acid sweetness, “that was certainly an edifying display of brotherly affection.”
The challenge in her voice sent heat through him despite his anger.
She stood with her chin raised and her eyes blazing, every inch the defiant woman who had eviscerated him yesterday in his drawing room.
Beautiful, maddening, utterly impossible—and completely under his power, if he chose to exercise it.
“Since you have driven off your sister.” She affected a yawn. “I suppose I, too, shall retire to the privacy of my bedchamber.”
“After I detain you, Miss Bennet.” He moved closer, noting with satisfaction how her breath caught despite her defiant posture. “It appears we need to discuss the… parameters of your remaining time at Pemberley.”
“Parameters?” Her eyebrows rose with dangerous delicacy. “How intriguing. Do enlighten me.”
“Your investigations into family history, while understandable, have become inappropriate. You have exceeded the bounds of proper guest behavior by questioning my servants and involving my sister in activities that could prove harmful to her reputation and welfare.”
Elizabeth’s laugh held no humor whatsoever. “I see. And what would you suggest I do with my time instead? Perhaps needlework? Or shall I practice my watercolors while sitting silently in corners like a proper little ornament?”
“You will conduct yourself as befits a lady of good breeding,” he replied with cutting precision. “Which means you will not wander the estate unaccompanied, question servants about family matters, or encourage my sister to participate in activities I have explicitly forbidden.”
“Forbidden.” She repeated the word as though it tasted foul. “How delightfully autocratic of you, Mr. Darcy. I was not aware that your authority extended to guests who have committed no crime beyond curiosity about their heritage.”
“Your heritage remains unproven,” he said sternly. “And until it can be established through proper channels, you are a guest in my home, subject to the same rules that govern any other visitor.”
“And pray tell, what rules are guests subjected to? Do you perhaps require loyalty oaths? Or is there a code of silence I must adhere to?”
“Questioning servants goes beyond the pale of propriety, as do entertaining fanciful tales and disregarding my sister’s safety.
While you reside under my roof, you are not to investigate family members, living or dead.
” He stepped too close for propriety’s sake, lowering his voice though they were alone in the garden.
“Except, I am not merely a guest like the Bingleys.” Elizabeth’s eyes speared his with an intensity he found hard to ignore.
“ If I am indeed your cousin—which the evidence strongly suggests—then I have as much right to be at Pemberley as you do. More, perhaps, depending on what the legal documents reveal.”
“If you truly are Elizabeth Rose Darcy, then you are my first cousin and under my protection as the head of this family.” He delivered the pronouncement with the authority he had cultivated over the years of managing Pemberley.
“That means your safety is my responsibility, whether you wish it or not.”
“And if I refuse your… protection?” Elizabeth’s voice dripped with skepticism on the final word.
“Then you place me in the untenable position of returning you to Longbourn. You are but a maid, not yet twenty-one, and I, in my position as your male cousin, must take responsibility for you since your father is absent.”
Darcy saw the exact moment Elizabeth realized the trap had snapped shut.
“I am to be your prisoner instead?” she demanded, color rising in her cheeks.
“You misunderstand entirely.” Darcy maintained his composure with effort.
“I shall supervise your investigation. I will accompany you to any interviews, exploration of estate grounds, and examination of documents. I intend to stand by your side to protect you and ensure that you do not place yourself in unnecessary danger through impulsive actions.” He allowed his gaze to move deliberately over her face.
A gust of wind rustled through the garden, carrying the scent of approaching rain and stirring the dark curls around Elizabeth’s face.
Darcy was captured by the way one particularly stubborn tendril brushed against her cheek.
He curled his fingers into his palm to suppress an inexplicable urge to tuck it behind her ear.
“And the practical details of this arrangement?” she asked with an impertinent toss of her chin. “Am I to have a guard at my door? A bell around my neck? Perhaps a leash when we walk the grounds?”