Chapter Seventeen
Darcy quitted the parlour before any civil man ought, but there was a limit to what he could bear. Mrs. Hobart had just embarked upon her fourth account of Sir Reginald’s hardships upon the road while Sir Reginald sat by the fire with a look of practised virtue that set Darcy’s teeth on edge.
Darcy had bowed, made his excuses, and stepped out into the cooler passage.
The moment the door closed, the cloying air of the room fell from him. He drew a breath that did not smell of Mrs. Hobart’s perfume and tried to reduce his thoughts to some kind of order as he mounted the stairs.
Even if he presumed, for argument’s sake, that Miss Bennet truly was being summoned to Thurnia, the story he was being told did not make sense.
Sir Reginald had implied their winter travel had been commanded by the king, but no man in his senses would choose January for such a journey.
The roads were a mire half the time and a sheet of ice the other.
He could not presume to know the mind of the Thurnian king, but to risk a granddaughter when the weather was so poor?
Adrian respected his grandfather, thought him a great man. No, Darcy could not believe it.
Then there was Mrs. Hobart. She had said that she had been in London these two years with her daughters. Why would Sir Reginald choose a woman who had not been in Thurnia in two years for a mission as important as carrying a princess back to her royal family?
That question led to the next. What sort of royal envoy travelled without a single Thurnian servant, relying on everyone’s silence about a princess’s true rank and on whatever fellows he could hire at the posting houses?
It was frugal but unwise. Sir Reginald rode alone, and he had even travelled ahead of the ladies, leaving them entirely unguarded.
He thought of Miss Bennet as she had stood by the fire when Sir Reginald entered, her shoulders relaxing but her gaze moving to him, not the envoy.
There had been relief that her proper escort had at last appeared, and yet reluctance to part from the man who had been escorting her.
It was a sign that she trusted him and he would not betray that trust now.
Darcy reminded himself that this was not about Miss Bennet in particular.
It was a matter of principle. He would not leave any woman in hands that he did not trust, and he trusted Sir Reginald and Mrs. Hobart no further than the candle he carried.
That he was more conscious of this woman than of any other whom he had ever encountered was a misfortune, but it had no bearing on his duty.
She was lovely, though. Witty. Compassionate. Kind. And when they argued, her dark, intelligent eyes flashed with a fire that kindled one in him.
The stairs were uneven and there was one tread that always announced a climber with a loud complaint.
He had stayed here many times; he knew where it lay and stepped over it without thought.
A draught crept under the door to the little landing above.
But it was not the winter chill that made him uncomfortable.
He told himself that he ought to go straight to his chamber.
If he spoke to Miss Bennet again tonight, he would only repeat what he had already said upon the road.
She would be angry, and with some justice.
He would answer with more earnestness than sense, because he could not watch a young lady ignoring her own peril and hold his tongue.
They would part offended with one another, which would not be to either’s advantage.
He reached the turn in the stair with this excellent resolution almost formed. Above him, a door closed. Light steps moved along the passage.
Elizabeth appeared upon the landing with her candle raised.
The light caught her face and made her eyes darker. There were faint smudges beneath them that had not been there three days ago.
The passage at the top of the stair was narrow enough that there was no possibility of them passing in state. One of them must draw back. She halted with a little intake of breath, and for a moment they stood within arm’s reach, only the candle flames between them.
“Miss Bennet,” he said.
It was absurd to take pleasure in the shape of a name, yet he could not deny that he did.
“Mr. Darcy.”
She spoke with perfect composure, yet he heard a faint note of wariness beneath it. She held the candle with a steady hand, but the angle of her shoulders told him that she would be glad to close a door upon the whole world.
He looked at her, and the resolutions he had so recently framed dissolved. He would rather bear her anger than avoid giving her a warning.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I will detain you only a little while. There is a matter upon which I must speak to you.”
One slender eyebrow arched. “I believe we have already spoken of everything upon which we disagree, Mr Darcy,” she answered.
“I am aware, and I regret we have not yet found common ground there.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “Yet I find that I cannot be easy without canvassing it again. I shall not be long, if you will indulge me.”
There was the briefest pause. He saw the reluctance in her eyes. She might have swept past him with a curtsy and a cold good night. Instead, she shifted so that she stood against the wall and inclined her head.
“Very well,” she said, and he could not be certain in the low light, but he believed she smiled a little. “I suppose I must allow you one more lecture to complete the set.”
Her tone gave the words a turn that ought to have annoyed him. It warmed him instead. He could almost have smiled too, had the subject been anything less serious.
Darcy drew himself up, careful not to crowd her, and set his shoulder against the opposite wall. The little landing held them and their candles, but there was room for nothing else.
“Thank you,” he said. “I shall endeavour not to abuse the privilege.”
He paused to gather his thoughts. Before this journey, he had never attempted to persuade a woman that she was not herself. It was not a simple task. Perhaps he ought to attempt a different approach. “This concerns the journey tomorrow.”
“Ah. If you have come to beg me to change my mind about the carriage, I warn you, my decision is final. I mean to enjoy your larger springs and superior cushions.”
“That is not—” He stopped, drew a breath, and began again more evenly. “It is not the carriage itself that concerns me. It is everyone who will be travelling in it.”
“You grow mysterious, sir.” She waited, but when he did not proceed, she sighed. “I am listening.”
He remained still. “Mrs. Hobart did not know that there have been two boys born to the royals in Thurnia in the past two years.”
Her brows drew together. “Yes? Not surprising, I suppose, as she was in London.”
“And yet,” he said, “she was selected as the most appropriate companion for a Thurnian princess? Her knowledge of the family is incomplete. What else might have changed in those years?”
Miss Bennet tilted her head to one side. “I presume it was her residence in London that made her the convenient choice.”
“Rather too convenient, I fear,” he said. “The entire matter of your travelling party is too convenient.”
“You are determined to dislike that poor woman,” Elizabeth said. “She is rather self-important, but in the end, she is harmless.”
Darcy was not sure of that. “I am determined to examine the tale we have been given, if you will indulge me?”
Miss Bennet shrugged. “Very well.”
“Mrs. Hobart claims to have been intimate with the Thurnian royal family, the children in particular. A nursemaid, I presume.”
“So she has said,” Elizabeth agreed. “And her stories are rather entertaining.”
“I do not deny their entertainment,” Darcy said.
“I question their likelihood. A woman so placed is valuable. She would know too much about the family to be easily spared. Yet she tells us she left court two years ago—left the royal children, left her position—to join her married daughters in London.”
Miss Bennet’s eyes sparked. “Is that so impossible? You may not object to being many miles from your relations, Mr. Darcy, but some people do prefer to be near theirs.”
He thought of Georgiana waiting for him, and his jaw tightened. “On the contrary,” he said quietly, “I am travelling to meet my sister at this very moment.”
“There, you see!” She seized on it at once. “People do leave important duties to be with those they love. You judge poor Mrs. Hobart too harshly.”
“If she was still in favour,” he began, thinking how absurd it felt to argue anything other than that the woman had never been thus employed at all, “the court would have clung to her. Were she too old to continue, they would have pensioned her off. But they would hardly allow Sir Reginald to entrust her, after a two years’ absence from service, with a task as delicate as reclaiming a lost princess. ”
“I was never lost,” she said. “They knew precisely where to locate me.”
“They waited all this time only to force you onto the road in January? Why not wait two more months and have you travel as spring arrives?”
Elizabeth’s lips pressed together. She looked away for a moment, then back at him. “You think they are lying.”
“I think,” he answered, “that the story is not logical. And when one part of a tale is troubling, I look closer at the rest.”
She nearly groaned with impatience. “You still believe that I am not who I say I am. How can I believe you when you say that Mrs. Hobart is not who she says she is?”
Darcy felt his patience fray. Stubborn woman. “Very well,” he said. “Let us leave Mrs. Hobart aside. Let us consider Sir Reginald. The king of Thurnia has finally called his granddaughter home and sends his trusted envoy to fetch her. How does this envoy travel?”
She set her candle upon the newel post and crossed her arms. “How?”