“Indeed. Miss Elizabeth and I likely will spend a lot of time in each other’s company now that my brother and I have settled here in Hertfordshire. We cannot always walk to Oakham Mount—despite its various enticements.”

  Inwardly, Elizabeth gulped. Is Mr. Hemmingsworth deliberately trying to provoke Mr. Darcy? she wondered. She glanced toward Mr. Darcy.

  He turned to face her, his eyes brooding. Elizabeth did not know what to think. Was he angry or simply annoyed?

  “Perchance your time with Miss Elizabeth in Hertfordshire will not last as long as you think.”

  “I do not see why I should not be able to be in company with Miss Elizabeth for years to come,” Mr. Hemmingsworth said.

  Mr. Darcy’s response was instant. “Miss Elizabeth cannot always be of Longbourn.”

  Mr. Hemmingsworth did not blink. “True enough. We neither of us can predict what will happen in the future or where our paths will lead. Speaking of which, no doubt your path must surely soon lead you to Derbyshire. A man like you cannot always be away from your estate.”

  “I thank you for your concern about my comings and goings,” Mr. Darcy said. “I assure you your concern is unwarranted. I always behave in my best interest. For the present as well as the indeterminate future, my current situation is the most advantageous arrangement for my purposes.”

  Meanwhile, in Kent, some mischief was afoot.

  Mr. Collins, having read the missive he borrowed from Elizabeth without her knowing, had yet to find a way to use the information held therein to his advantage. What a conundrum he suffered, wanting to appease his noble patronage by imparting such vital knowledge as he possessed about her nephew’s true intentions toward Miss Anne de Bourgh, or rather lack thereof. At the same time, he was withholding information that might damage his own standing in Lady Catherine’s eyes, what with him knowing what he now knew about her noble family’s brush with scandal.

  Such information indeed would cause untold harm to the Fitzwilliam family were it made known.

  The young man paced the floor with his hands clutched behind his back.

  How would her ladyship want me to act in such a case as this? Collins wondered.

  Weeks had passed since he last read Mr. Darcy’s letter. He ought to have memorized every line, but he had not. By now, he was not sure what he thought he knew.

  He came to an abrupt halt. First, I shall reread the letter, and then I shall have a better idea of how I ought to approach Lady Catherine.

  Collins hurried toward the door, eased it open, and poked his head just outside. He looked up and down the hallway. Then, seeing no one about, he listened for a few seconds more for good measure. The last thing he wanted was to be caught reading a letter he had no business with. How would he explain to Mrs. Collins how he came into possession of a letter from Mr. Darcy to her intimate friend?

  Ducking his head back inside the room, he reached for the doorknob and turned the key, locking himself inside the room. Even this would not do. How would he explain a locked door in a household of two, the servants not counted? He could not—despite his dear wife’s frequent habit of accidentally locking her bedroom door at night. Hence, Collins unlocked the door.

  I shall simply tuck the letter inside a book. Then, should Mrs. Collins enter the room, she will be no more the wiser as to what I am reading.

  After retrieving the perfect book to shield his covert purposes, he went to the secret place he had found behind his bureau to stash Mr. Darcy’s letter. Old and worn, the back panel was covered in dust—thus an annoying hint to him to speak with the maid about this neglect.

  Seconds later, stumbling backward, Collins clutched his chest. He could feel all the color drain from his face. The side of his body was resting against the side of the bureau; the next thing he knew, he slumped to the floor.

  “Mr. Darcy’s letter! It’s—it’s gone!” he croaked.

  * * *

  The next instant, the door flew wide open. Mrs. Collins stood inside the doorway; her eyes opened wide and trained on her husband. What was he doing cowering on the floor next to the bureau, his complexion a harrowing shade of pale?

  “What on earth is the matter, Mr. Collins?” she asked, entering the room. “You look positively ill. You look almost as though you have seen a ghost!”

  Deep inside, his lady did not know whether to laugh or to cry, for she knew exactly what was afoot and what her husband had done. Mr. Collins’s anxious expression, the way he huddled close to the bureau—it was ridiculous. Ridiculous, abominable, and intolerable.

  Chapter 11

  Kindred Spirits

  The Hemmingsworth brothers took a family dinner with the Bennets at Longbourn that evening. For Mrs. Bennet’s part, it was not as though she was showing a preference for one of Jane’s suitors over the other. Had she not invited Charles Bingley to dine with her family many times theretofore? Circumstances, it seemed, always conspired against them. Even she knew the folly of too many beaus in the same place at one time. Nevertheless, there would be time enough to invite Mr. Bingley and, by default, his friend Mr. Darcy to a family dinner later in the week.

  After dinner was served and everyone had gathered in the parlor for cards, Elizabeth found a minor distraction in the game. Ever since they parted in the lane, her mind had been busily engaged with thoughts of her earlier companion, Mr. Darcy. She especially thought of their plan to meet early the following day for her lesson. Even if she were an avid horsewoman, which, of course, Elizabeth was not, feigning ignorance was well worth the chance to be under Mr. Darcy’s tutelage.

  She could not help but wonder about the verbal sparring between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hemmingsworth. The former bore it tolerably well, but Elizabeth would have much preferred a more civil stance between the two men. If only she could find a means of keeping the peace between them.

  Glancing in Mitchell Hemmingsworth’s direction, Elizabeth detected he was looking right at her, his eyes alight with merriment. The charming gentleman’s welcoming smile was enough for her to forgive him for almost anything.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Hemmingsworth said, “I see that you are very skilled at this game. Would you care to have a match of whist with me?”

  “I would be delighted, sir,” she said with a smile.

  He and his chosen partner challenged her and hers to several games, which the latter won easily. As amused as she was, Elizabeth suspected he was letting them win. Everything she knew about him informed her that he was too competitive not to excel in whatever endeavor he set his mind to.

  Upon first making his acquaintance in London, Elizabeth knew and understood it would be advantageous to her sister Jane’s prospects if a friendship formed between Mr. Hemmingsworth and her. She never imagined she would enjoy his company as much as she did. Indeed, theirs was a genuine friendship—one of kindred spirits, Elizabeth liked to think.

  If only he did not go out of his way to antagonize Mr. Darcy.

  Later on, Mitchell Hemmingsworth, espying Elizabeth off to herself, approached her for a not unanticipated private tête-à-tête.

  “Is there something you wish to tell me about your acquaintance with this Darcy fellow? Something I ought to know, perhaps?”

  Having spent the better part of the afternoon with both gentlemen and detecting an abundance of none too subtle masculine showmanship between them, Mr. Hemmingsworth’s question did not surprise Elizabeth. He was nothing if not direct. Direct and observant.

  “I am sure there is nothing to tell,” Elizabeth said slowly.

  “May I ask you if there is a particular reason you are so attentive to the gentleman—and he to you?”

  Elizabeth hesitated and considered Mr. Hemmingsworth’s question for a moment. He had a good understanding of human nature. His observation was as genuine as could be, and she found it intriguing that they were so much alike in that regard.

  However, Elizabeth had told no one about Mr. Darcy’s marriage proposal—not even Jane. Surely this was not the time to reverse course. “Why do you ask such a question, Mr. Hemmingsworth?” she asked, handing him a cup of freshly poured hot coffee.

  “Like you, I fancy myself an excellent studier of people’s character. Based upon my observations of the two of you when in each other’s company, I would say there is far more to your relationship than you would have anyone know. Pray, tell me if I am mistaken. One word from you will silence me on the subject.”

  “I cannot say that you are mistaken, sir. Or rather, I will not say you are not mistaken. The truth is I have spoken to no one other than Mr. Darcy himself on the matter. Therefore, I believe it to be a solemn trust, for lack of a better description, solely between the gentleman and me.”

  “I will not pry. I am sure you have your reasons for keeping secret affairs between you and the gentleman. Still, should you wish to confide in someone who is entirely impartial on the subject, I might add, I am more than willing to listen.”

  “Impartial, you say,” Elizabeth began, her voice teasing and playful. “And what of our little ruse to protect you from all the matchmaking mammas in Meryton—including my own? The one that finds the two of us frequently enjoying each other’s company?”

  “Our little ruse indeed. I say that is all the more reason to take me into your confidence. How else shall we pass the time if not by regularly engaging in such stimulating intercourse?”

  “Mr. Hemmingsworth!”

  “What did I say?” he asked. Then, leaning a little closer, he said, “By the way, our little scheme is working, I think—at least where your mother is concerned. Not once has she hinted at an alliance between one of her daughters and me. Including you, I might add. Why is that?”

  “I thought you wanted to be spared such attention on my mother’s part. And yet you are questioning your good fortune.”

  “Do not willfully misunderstand me, Miss Elizabeth. I believe you know exactly what I meant. So why is your mother ignoring the possibility of an alliance between the two of us?”

  “The reason is quite simple. You see, sir, my mother has given up on the possibility of my ever marrying anyone. Therefore, were you to fall to your knees and request my hand in marriage this very moment, I am sure she would pay no attention at all.”

  The gentleman set his porcelain cup aside. “Shall we test your theory, Miss Elizabeth? I am willing if you are.”

  Elizabeth gasped. “You would not dare.”

  The gentleman laughed a little. “As tempting as you are, you are perfectly safe with me—for now. However, you have yet to answer my question to my satisfaction. Why has your mother given up on you? Surely her reasoning can have no factual basis. Your manifold attractions are too amazing to ignore.”

  She shrugged. “Were I to tell you, I fear your opinion of me might sour.”

  “Is it as dreadful as that?”

  “My mother would say so, as would most of our neighbors and acquaintances, I am sure.”

  “And what does your father have to say?” he asked, once again standing straight and tall.

  “Oh! He supported me, and in a manner my mother likely will not forget for as long as the three of us shall live.”

  “Now I am thoroughly intrigued. You must tell me all there is to tell.”

  “Well, sir, as we shall have ample opportunity for such intercourse, what say we defer this conversation until our circumstances allow us to do it justly?”

  The young man leaned forward. “I plan to hold you to that, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice deep and rich, like fine intoxicating wine.

  Elizabeth smiled. “I am sure you will.” Then, inexplicably, an odd sensation that she could not immediately identify washed over her. Her smile froze in place, and her heart started pounding in her chest.

  She was not afraid of Mitchell Hemmingsworth. However, she was beginning to suspect that were it not for her ardent determination to win back Mr. Darcy’s good opinion, she might be in some danger.

  Mitchell’s liveliness of spirits and amicable manner fascinated her more than a little, and she was thankful when his older brother surrendered his place by her sister’s side and joined them in want of a fresh cup of coffee.

  Chapter 12

  A Curious Creature

  To suppose Mrs. Bennet ignorant to what was unfolding before her very eyes would be akin to misunderstanding the lady’s character. An attractive woman for one on the wrong side of forty, her eyes were sharp and alert to the world around her, even if her understanding was mean and often considered wanting.

  Nonetheless, where it concerned one or another of her daughters and the prospect for matrimony, nothing escaped the lady’s notice.

  Of course, she could detect the growing fondness between her second eldest daughter and the other Mr. Hemmingsworth. To her dismay, however, Mrs. Bennet had learned the perils of counting future sons-in-law before the requisite marriage vows were exchanged.

  Mrs. Bennet’s favorite wish was for a double wedding at Grandover within the next three months. However, she dared not voice it aloud for she was certain Elizabeth would do anything other than see her dearest wish come true.

  Obstinate, headstrong girl!

  Naturally, should Bingley propose to Jane first, Mrs. Bennet was sure she would have no cause to repine. The thought of an alliance between Elizabeth and Bingley’s friend also crossed her mind. However, such thoughts she dismissed as bordering on lunacy. Surely if Elizabeth and the gentleman were attracted to each other, he would have proposed by now, or so she liked to tell herself.

  She scoffed. No doubt such a proposal would be for naught, for if anyone would refuse such a man—despite it being a most advantageous alliance, what with the gentleman having ten thousand pounds a year, it would be Lizzy.

  For the time being, Mrs. Bennet’s efforts were better spent secretly planning Jane’s nuptials and envisioning her eldest daughter in her position as the future mistress of either Grandover or Netherfield and at least one dinner party per week in the interim, if not two.

  The lady was immensely proud of herself for her family’s good fortune. No other young lady in their circle could boast of having not one but two beaus—both of them charming, amicable, and rich. She always knew Jane’s incredible beauty eventually would serve its purposes. As for Elizabeth, whom Mrs. Bennet considered stubborn and not nearly as tactful or as amiable as Jane, so long as she did nothing to rob her sister of the happiness Jane so richly deserved, her mother would have no cause for concern. And if by chance an alliance between Elizabeth and the younger Hemmingsworth twin should come to be, Mrs. Bennet’s happiness would be almost complete.

  Thoughts of the morning that awaited her spurred Elizabeth from bed. True, she would most likely see Mr. Darcy at Longbourn later that day, but spending time with him in the company of others hardly compared to spending time alone with him. It ought to have mattered to her that their private meetings would be frowned upon. Elizabeth, however, had always followed her own guiding principles. This, in her opinion, was no time to change.

  After refreshing herself, her last stop before heading out the door was the kitchen. There she gathered all the usual things and loaded them into a basket, taking extra care with its presentation. Having learned how much Mr. Darcy enjoyed apples, she tossed in a couple more for good measure.

  Thoughts of the day before brought a smile to her face. She recalled teasingly offering him a bite of one of hers. Rather than take it in his hand, he seized her hand, brought it to his lips, and then took a big bite of Elizabeth’s apple. Wet and juicy, and for an instant, his lips met with her fingers. Utterly delectable.

  A tremor of excitement coursed through her body, just as it had before—just as it always did whenever she entertained thoughts of being alone with Mr. Darcy.

  Catching herself deep in silent reverie, Elizabeth glanced at her watch. Finally, she grabbed the basket and headed for the door. The last thing in the world she wanted was to be late for that morning’s assignation. Who knew horse riding lessons could be so stimulating?

  An eager smile etched across Elizabeth’s face. Then, as she was preparing to leave, Mrs. Hill—the housekeeper—caught her at the kitchen doorway.

  “Is everything all right, Miss Lizzy?”

  Elizabeth froze in place. What must Mrs. Hill think of her? The master’s daughter in the kitchen, acting the part of a servant while bearing the countenance of a schoolgirl.

  Half startled, half anxious, Elizabeth laughed at this version of herself eerily reminiscent of Kitty or Lydia.

  For a moment, Mrs. Hill did not seem to know what to make of this picture of Elizabeth.

  “Oh, I am fine,” the younger woman finally managed. “I am off for my early morning ramble. I thought I might prepare a light repast in case I return too late for breakfast with the others.”

  A knowing smile appeared on the housekeeper’s face. She nodded. “Yes, you would not want to interrupt your outing merely to sate your morning appetite. Do hurry, for one must not tarry when such a pleasurable excursion yet awaits.”

  Mr. Darcy watched and waited patiently as Elizabeth drew closer. Then, when he could, he reached for the basket. “I see you brought our morning feast once again, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “I believe the least I can do is nourish you, sir.”

  He lifted the lid long enough for a quick glimpse inside. A pleasant floral scent flooded his senses, a consequence of the tiny fresh-cut bouquet Elizabeth had thought to include. “I could grow accustomed to this, you know.”

  Elizabeth smiled. Taking her place by his side, she asked, “What shall we do first? Shall we ride or shall we dine?”

  “We must ride, of course. No doubt the exertion will do wonders in stimulating both our appetites.”

  “I dare not argue your point, sir. Riding it is, and as for both our appetites, I can only pray I have adequately anticipated our needs.”

 

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