Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THREADS OF DOUBT
Elizabeth shivered slightly as she and Darcy stepped through Pemberley’s doorway.
Footmen relieved her of her wet spencer and cloak while Darcy shrugged out of his greatcoat.
His hair was damp and tousled, giving him that rakish look that made her want to smooth it from his face.
Had he really spilled his love and regard for her?
Told her it mattered not whether she was the Darcy heiress or plain old Elizabeth Bennet?
Water pooled at their feet on the marble floor as a maid hurried forward with towels. Elizabeth was acutely aware of her bedraggled appearance—her hem six inches deep in mud, her half-boots soaked through, and her hair escaping its pins underneath a damp bonnet.
Darcy stood a proper distance away, his expression composed, though something in his eyes—a warmth, a certainty—made her heart flutter traitorously.
“I shall see you at dinner, Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice carrying nothing beyond courteous civility to the servants’ ears.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Darcy.”
He bowed and departed toward the family wing, leaving her oddly bereft despite the crowded entrance hall.
Half of her wondered if she’d heard right.
That the formidable Fitzwilliam Darcy had proposed to her?
Then again, she was not a mere country miss.
She could be the heiress of Pemberley. Except he’d said it mattered not to him. But did it?
Your presence at Pemberley feels right, as though you belong here—with or without legal claim.
Nonsense, really. Dangerous nonsense. She had no business allowing such sentiments to cloud her judgment, not when her very identity remained in question, not when someone might have murdered her parents.
Whoever had orchestrated that crime could well wish her the same fate if she discovered too much.
“Lizzy! Good heavens, child, you’re positively soaked!” Her mother’s voice trumpeted from the corridor. “What have you been about? And with Mr. Darcy, no less! Most improper to be walking unchaperoned, though I suppose, as your cousin, he might be permitted certain liberties—”
“We were caught in the rain, Mama,” Elizabeth interjected hastily. “Mr. Darcy was kind enough to escort me back to the house.”
Lydia appeared at Mrs. Bennet’s elbow, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You both look as though you’ve been swimming rather than walking. What were you doing alone with Mr. Darcy in the rain, Lizzy? Something scandalous, I hope.”
“Lydia!” Elizabeth felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Mr. Darcy was merely—”
“Merely being a gentleman, I’m sure,” Lydia finished with an exaggerated wink. “Though he’s handsome enough to tempt even you into impropriety, I daresay.”
Elizabeth drew herself up, summoning what dignity she could manage in her bedraggled state. “I must change before I catch a cold. Please excuse me.”
She escaped up the stairs, her thoughts a tumultuous whirl.
What had possessed Darcy to declare himself so suddenly, so completely?
Could his feelings truly have transformed so dramatically?
From the man who had scorned her at the Meryton assembly to one who professed to value her above Pemberley itself?
Beware of sudden attachments, Lizzy, her father’s voice cautioned in her memory. Particularly when fortunes hang in the balance.
She must remain clearheaded, despite the treacherous warmth blooming in her chest. She could ill afford romantic distractions, not when she still had no idea who she truly was—or who might wish her harm.
Elizabeth reached her chamber to find Cassie waiting, a steaming bath prepared, and fresh clothing laid out.
“Heavens, miss! You’re soaked through!” Cassie exclaimed, immediately bustling to help with the sodden walking dress. “Mr. Stevens mentioned you’d been caught in the rain, so I took the liberty.”
“Bless you, Cassie. You’re an angel of mercy.” Elizabeth allowed herself to be led behind the screen where the bath awaited. The warm water was a blessed relief after the chill that had begun to settle in her bones.
“Did Mr. Darcy get as wet as you did, miss?” Cassie asked as she helped Elizabeth out of her drenched garments.
Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm at the memory of standing so close to him in the gazebo, the rain creating a private world around them. “We took shelter, but not before the worst of it caught us.”
“He’s not usually one for getting caught unprepared,” Cassie observed, helping Elizabeth into the bath. “Must have had something important on his mind to miss those storm clouds brewing.”
I have fallen in love with you, Elizabeth. Deeply, irrevocably, she recalled his words.
Elizabeth sank deeper into the warm water, allowing it to soothe her chilled limbs while her mind remained in turmoil.
Could it be true? Had the proud master of Pemberley truly fallen in love with her?
The sincerity in his eyes had seemed genuine, the tremor in his voice when he spoke her Christian name impossible to feign. And yet…
She had known him for but a few weeks. He had insulted her at their first meeting, doubted her claims, and questioned her motives. How could such feelings transform so completely, so rapidly? Unless what he felt was not love at all, but something more calculated.
A rose remains fragrant, whatever we choose to call it.
His words had touched something deep within her, something she had not known existed until that moment. To be valued for herself, not for her name, position, or fortune—it was more than she had dared hope from any man, let alone one of his standing.
But caution whispered that time would tell the true nature of his regard. Fine words were easily spoken in the heat of emotion. Whether they would withstand the pressures of family, society, and the inheritance dispute remained to be seen.
“Shall I add more hot water, miss?” Cassie’s voice broke through her reflections.
“No, thank you. I believe I’m warm enough now.”
Warm enough indeed. The memory of Darcy’s gaze—intense, vulnerable, hopeful—heated her more effectively than any bath could manage.
An hour later, dressed in a fresh gown of pale blue muslin, her hair neatly pinned and her composure somewhat restored, Elizabeth descended the stairs.
The domestic routine had helped settle her racing thoughts, though she was no closer to determining how to proceed with Darcy.
Trust was a luxury she could ill afford when so many seemed to be maneuvering for advantage around her.
She had nearly reached the drawing room when Caroline Bingley’s voice cut through her reverie.
“Miss Eliza! There you are!”
Elizabeth suppressed a sigh and schooled her features into polite attentiveness as she turned to face Caroline, accompanied by Mrs. Hurst and Mrs. Bingley. The three women presented a formidable wall of fashionable silks and calculated smiles.
“We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Caroline’s voice dripped with affected concern. “You must join us to discuss your costume for the All Hallows’ Eve assembly. As the guest of honor, your appearance is of particular importance.”
“Guest of honor?” Elizabeth echoed, brows rising. “I was not aware I had been granted such a distinction.”
Mrs. Bingley’s smile remained fixed, though her eyes sharpened with interest. “My dear Miss Bennet, the assembly celebrates All Hallows’ Eve—your birthday, is it not? And with the extraordinary circumstances of your potential inheritance, you have naturally become the focus of local curiosity.”
“How thoughtful,” Elizabeth replied neutrally, although her birthday was the following day. “Though I fear I must disappoint in matters of costume. My traveling wardrobe is limited to necessities.”
Caroline waved a dismissive hand. “Precisely why we must consult immediately. Georgiana has already offered to share her gowns, and we have brought several options that might be altered to suit you.”
“I appreciate your consideration, but I couldn’t possibly impose—” Elizabeth began.
“For the masquerade, naturally.” Mrs. Hurst supported her sister. “Surely you don’t intend to appear in a borrowed morning dress?”
The question, delivered with Louisa’s trademark blend of condescension, struck the nerve it was intended to hit.
“I confess the matter had not occupied much of my thoughts,” Elizabeth replied with deliberate lightness. “Country assemblies rarely require such elaborate preparation.”
“Ah, but this is hardly a country assembly!” Mrs. Amelia Bingley’s smile was sharp as an adder’s fangs. “This is your debut as a Darcy, my dear. The entire county will be watching to see how you comport yourself.”
As if adding to her woes, her mother’s voice echoed through the hall with all the subtlety of a hunting horn.
“Lizzy! Oh, Lizzy! There you are, my clever girl!” Mrs. Bennet hurried toward them, Lydia trailing behind with barely contained excitement.
“We’ve been invited to join the ladies for tea and a costume discussion.
Is that not the most elegant thing? Lady Lucas would be green with envy if she could see us now, taking tea with such distinguished company at Pemberley itself. ”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm. “Mama, please—”
“And you shall have the finest costume, Lizzy. After all, you are a Darcy now—or will be once the lawyers finish their business.” Mrs. Bennet beamed at the assembled company.
“Though I always said she had a natural elegance about her, did I not? So unlike my other girls, though Jane is quite pretty, too.”
“Mrs. Bennet,” Caroline interjected smoothly, “how fortunate you’ve joined us. We were telling your daughter that a proper presentation at tomorrow’s assembly is essential. The whole of Derbyshire society will attend.”