Page 76 of Ashes and Understanding
Darcy folded his arms. “I take it this means you received my express, then?”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes twitched, and he glanced briefly toward the footman, still hovering near the doorway. “Perhaps we should sit. Something hot to drink would not go amiss either. The wind is cutting today.”
Darcy did not move. “Fitzwilliam,” he said warningly.
The sighed and waved a hand. “Yes, yes, I received your blasted letter. And yes, I rode half the night. I would like breakfast and a bed, in that order.”
“I do not believe you were given an invitation,” Darcy said. “Perhaps Bingley does not want to put up with you.”
The colonel gave Darcy a dubious look. “Bingley puts up with everyone—even you. And his sister will be thrilled to play hostess to any family member of yours, especially if said family member is also the son of an earl.”
“Fair point. But before I summon the housekeeper, I insist upon knowing: is this in relation to Mr. Smithson’s murder?”
The colonel glanced at the door, then back to Darcy. “You must promise me what I say remains between us. At least for now. No word to your steward, your tenants—or your lady friend with the sharp eyes and sharper mind.”
Darcy narrowed his gaze. “You mean Miss Elizabeth.”
“Whatever her name is.” The colonel waved an errant hand. “Oh, do not look so scandalized. It is clear you care for her.”
“Stop trying to change the subject, Fitzwilliam. Why are you here?”
“Then promise me.”
Darcy hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. “Very well, you have my word.”
The colonel leaned forward, all levity gone now. “Good. Because what I am about to tell you is not just confidential—it could be dangerous.”
∞∞∞
Elizabeth awoke with a jolt, her heart hammering in her chest, the echo of a cry still ringing in her ears.
The image from her nightmare clung to her mind like fog—Benjamin in her arms, bleeding, and no matter how hard she pressed her hands to the wound, the blood kept pouring. His little cries had echoed like Smithson’s last gasp, and her hands were slick and red and useless.
She pressed her palms to her eyes. It was a dream. Only a dream. But it felt as if she had lived it again, as if the weight of yesterday had not fully left her body.
By the time she had bathed and dressed, it was well past breakfast. The sun was higher in the sky than it should have been, and the house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of floorboards above.
In the kitchen, the cook looked up in surprise. “Miss Elizabeth! You gave us all a fright yesterday.” She quickly wrapped a muffin in a cloth and passed it over. “I am glad to see you up and about.”
“Thank you.” Elizabeth accepted it gratefully.
The cook hesitated. “Will you be walking today?” Then her eyes widened, and she flushed. “Oh—begging your pardon, miss, I did not mean—”
Elizabeth gave her a tired smile. “It is quite all right. Nothing short of murder could keep me from walking.”
The joke fell like a stone.
She left before the silence became too heavy, retreating to the back staircase and eating the muffin slowly as she walked.
The idea of going for a walk filled her with unexpected dread. Her mind flashed to the path through the trees, the sound of branches cracking, her own screams. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
You’ve walked these hills a hundred times. More. You’ve never feared them before.
But still—perhaps not today. There was a murderer who had not been caught yet, and even she knew better than to tempt fate again.
Instead, she went upstairs and retrieved Benjamin from the nursery. The baby was cooing in his cradle, his dark hair curling over one ear, his cheeks flushed with sleep.
“Oh, you dear little thing,” she murmured, lifting him into her arms. His head lolled briefly against her shoulder before he looked up at her and grinned.
