Page 49 of Love Among the Shadows
Elizabeth, perceiving that her presence was decidedly unwelcome among their party and finding herself uncertain whether to retreat with dignity or press forward despite their evident displeasure, hesitated on the threshold. It was at that precise moment of indecision that Mr Darcy's eyes met hers. His gaze was steady and unreadable, yet somehow arresting her retreat before she could effect it.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said at once, “may I have the honour of your company for the walk? That is, if you want to join us.”
She blinked, startled. She had thought to excuse herself and withdraw, yet his request left her no room to refuse—and, frankly, no desire to. “It will be my pleasure, sir.”
To her astonishment, he extended his arm toward her. She slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow without conscious thought, and the solid warmth of his arm beneath her touch sent an unaccountable flutter through her very being. From behind, she was certain she heard Miss Bingley's sharp intake of breath followed by a cough—rather more pronounced than politeness required—but Elizabeth would not turn her head to acknowledge it
They stepped out upon the gravel path together.
“I am happy sir,” Elizabeth said, after a moment, “to see you more at ease these past days. The sombre affairs that have so afflicted the neighbourhood seemed to weigh upon you greatly.”
Darcy’s gaze was steady, his manner grave. “I will not surrender myself to gloom because others seek to blacken my name. Yet you must understand, with lives already taken, it would be unseemly to appear light-hearted. That I withdrew into silence was only natural.”
Elizabeth’s tone softened. “Quite natural, sir. No one could blame you for such reserve. Yet I am glad to see it lifting. I understand the gentlemen rode out earlier, yet you did not join them?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “The men of the militia have lost one of their own. Together with the parish constable, the losses weigh heavily. I think they would not have me amongst them for sport.”
“Surely, some must see the folly of such suspicion. You are no less a victim than any other. Indeed, the killer seems determined to point all reproach in your direction—and I must confess, he has nearly succeeded. Had you not proven beyond doubt that you could not be the culprit, even I might have thought you capable of such things.”
Darcy’s brow lifted, his expression touched with ruefulness. “I am gratified you think better of me now. It was not so, I recall, when we met upon the walk after Bingley’s ball.”
Elizabeth coloured slightly. “Perhaps your first opinion of me at the Meryton assembly soured mine of you. After the first two murders, I allowed my prejudice to grow unchecked. And you must recall, sir, that I had already met Mr Wickham, and listened far too readily to his tales.”
“You must allow me to apologise for my words at the Meryton assembly." Darcy's jaw tightened, though his voiceremained contrite. "The late Mr Harper had made an unseemly remark to me concerning Miss Bingley. He was intoxicated, insistent upon some business schemes, and uncommonly importunate in his manner. My temper grew short with him, which drew the unwelcome attention of the company. When Bingley pressed me to dance, I felt all eyes already fixed upon me. My words to him were intended merely to discourage his insistence. In retrospect, they were ill-chosen and wholly undeserved by you."
Elizabeth's laugh, though soft, was genuine. "Not handsome enough to tempt me," she repeated in a mocking whisper.
"Pray forgive me.” His gaze caught hers, intent and unguarded. “I do not think of you so—I never did. In truth, your eyes were the very first thing I noticed upon entering that assembly.
Elizabeth's cheeks grew warm, and she turned her gaze quickly aside. "You are too kind, sir."
As if sensing her discomposure, Darcy altered the subject with gentle tact. "How does your sister fare?"
“Her fever broke this evening. With rest, I trust she will soon be well enough to return to Longbourn, though Mr Jones—or perhaps his assistant—must first pronounce her fit for travel.”
“His assistant,” Darcy said quietly. “Mr Reeds?”
Elizabeth looked at him with some surprise. “Yes, sir. Or does he employ another?”
“I only wondered why you did not name him directly. I recollect seeing you dance with him at Mr Collins’s wedding. I assumed you were better acquainted.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened at his words. Was that jealousy she heard? There was an edge in his voice that she couldn’t place. The notion startled her, yet she could not wholly dismiss it. “Mr Reeds is but a polite neighbour—or dare I say, afriend. We were formally introduced at that wedding, and I have scarcely seen him since. He came only this morning to deliver the draught for Jane. Indeed, your sister entered the room just as he was leaving.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “I did not see him. Perhaps I rose too late. I had thought he might be a frequent caller at Longbourn.”
“He is not,” said Elizabeth with quiet firmness. “At my cousin’s wedding we shared a single dance, and some agreeable conversation besides. His subsequent assistance to the apothecary has indeed proved of great benefit to Meryton, yet beyond this, there is nothing further that need be remarked.”
Desirous of diverting the subject, she continued with a gentler air. “Your sister is most amiable, sir. I find her company delightful, though she appears touched by a certain melancholy. I cannot determine whether it arises from mere shyness, or from some more weighty cause. Forgive me, sir—perhaps I presume too much—but has she been much affected by all that has lately transpired?”
Darcy’s countenance altered, his expression falling at her words. “You are most perceptive, Miss Elizabeth. Georgiana has borne a trial far heavier than her tender years ought to have endured. Mr Wickham’s death has revived recollections she would rather consign to oblivion.”
Elizabeth hesitated, then spoke with quiet earnestness. “Permit me to enquire—what in truth occurred between them? You once intimated that he attempted an elopement, but gave no particulars. I own it has weighed upon my mind. For though I had known him scarce a week or two, I, too, once believed Mr Wickham’s tale. You and your sister were acquainted with him much longer, and I cannot but wonder that his true character was not sooner discerned.”
Darcy’s eyes did not waver from the gravel path; the set of his jaw bespoke the effort of composure. At length, in a voice pitched low enough to reach no ear but hers, he said, “It was at Ramsgate, two summers past. He connived with her governess, and with insidious skill, he contrived to gain my sister’s trust. Had I not arrived when I did, she might have been forced into a matrimony that must have ruined her utterly. The disgrace of it struck her to the heart, and though the seasons have since rolled on, I fear the wound has left its scar.”
Elizabeth’s heart contracted with sympathy. “How dreadful for her. And for you, sir.”
He inclined his head, his voice low. “It is for this reason I cannot regard Wickham as merely a man of irregular habits. He preyed upon my sister’s innocence. His death may have silenced him, yet the shadows he cast remain.”
