Page 121 of Ashes and Understanding
She was laughing as they reached Mr. Bennet, who looked at them curiously but said nothing. Darcy approached from the other direction, having left Jane to Bingley’s attentive care.
“It is time,” Fitzwilliam said quietly.
Elizabeth’s heart beat like a drum, but she met Darcy’s gaze without flinching.
“Let the games begin,” she said.
And may we be the ones to win.
Chapter 27
Elizabeth danced two more sets—one with Mr. Bingley, who seemed positively transported as he spoke glowingly of Jane’s grace, wit, and remarkable gentleness, and another with Captain Carter, whose name she nearly forgot. He was kind enough, though his conversation centered mostly on the quality of the punch and the rumor that a peer of the realm was in attendance.
Her smiles came easily, but her mind was elsewhere.
She did her best to glance now and then toward her father, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Darcy without drawing attention, reassured by their watchful presence. Still, her thoughts remained tethered to the nursery upstairs, where the decoy lay waiting.
Her next partner was Wickham, who approached her as designed. Everyone turned to stare as he approached her, eager to see if she would identify him as the murderer.
He appeared before her with his usual charming grin, bowing with a flourish that earned him a flutter of glances from nearby young ladies. “Miss Bennet,” he said with a hint of strain in his eyes, “may I have the honor?”
She gave a dramatic pause, causing everyone nearby to hold their breath. Before she could respond, a footman approached, his voice carefully loud enough to carry.
“Pardon me, Miss Elizabeth. The nurse sends word that the baby has developed a fever. She begs you come at once.”
A hush seemed to ripple outward from the words. Conversations stilled. A few heads turned. Elizabeth’s heart pounded, but she did not allow it to show.
She turned quickly to Wickham with a soft, apologetic smile. “Forgive me, Lieutenant. Duty calls.”
“Of course,” he said, stepping back with a brief bow. “I hope the child recovers swiftly.”
Elizabeth inclined her head and turned, her steps measured and graceful as she crossed the floor and exited the ballroom to a chorus of gossip.
Good, everyone will soon know that I have left the room. Now all there is to do is go upstairs… and wait.
Her heart thudded in her chest, her mouth suddenly dry. Every rustle of silk, every echoing step in the marble corridor seemed too loud, too exposed.
She ascended the stairs with practiced calm, her hand steady on the banister. A few guests glanced curiously as she passed, but she met no one’s eyes. Only when she reached the third-floor landing did she allow her shoulders to tighten. The nursery door creaked open beneath her hand, and she went in.
The room was dim, lit only by the low glow of the fire and a single oil lamp on the small table near the crib. The air was warm, almost stifling, filled with the scent of lavender oil and milk.
The nurse stood when she saw Elizabeth and bobbed a curtsy. “He’s quieted some, miss, but he is flushed.”
Elizabeth nodded and approached the cradle, peering down at the carefully swaddled bundle. The false baby—stuffed with blankets and tucked carefully beneath one of Benjamin’s gowns—lay still. Elizabeth reached in and adjusted the blanket as though checking for fever.
“Would you fetch a cloth soaked in cool water?” she asked gently. “And have Samuel in the hallway go down to fetch a fresh basin. I will stay with him.”
“Of course, miss.”
The nurse gave her another curtsy and slipped out, the door clicking shut behind her.
Elizabeth exhaled slowly and took her seat beside the cradle.
She began to hum softly, smoothing the fabric as if calming a fretful child. Each breath came with effort now—not from fear, but from anticipation.
The trap was set.
And she was the bait.
