A soft knock at the door startled her. “Come in,” she called, composing herself.
Mrs. Riggs entered. “Miss Bennet, your mother asks that you attend her.”
Elizabeth sighed and nodded.
The housekeeper did not retreat. “Miss Bennet, I thought you should know that your mother is quite distressed. She is mumbling and wringing her hands. Nothing I could offer for her comfort was acceptable to her.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Riggs,” Elizabeth said as her heart sank. “I will go to her at once.”
She found her mother in her chambers, pacing much as Elizabeth herself had been doing moments before. Mamma was not wearing her matron’s cap, and her hair, always meticulously arranged, was coming loose from its pins. Her eyes darted nervously to the door when Elizabeth stepped inside.
This was appalling. “Mamma,” Elizabeth said, approaching her slowly, “perhaps you should sit down. You look pale.”
Her mother threw up her hands. “How can I sit when everything is at risk? Your future, the future of this family, your father’s happiness?”
Papa’s happiness? What an odd thing to say.
“Mamma, please,” Elizabeth implored, guiding her mother to a chair. “You are working yourself into a terrible state. Mr. Darcy is not—”
Her mother did sit, but gripped Elizabeth’s hands. “Men like Mr. Darcy, they are used to having what they want. And what he wants is Hollydale. Mark my words!”
They had already had this conversation, and as her mother continued to ramble, Elizabeth felt a growing sense of alarm. It was not only the content of her mother’s fears that worried her, but the intensity of them. She had never, never seen her mother like this.
“Mamma,” she said, “I promise you, I shall not allow anything to happen to Hollydale or our family. Not even Papa. But you must try to calm yourself. This cannot be good for your nerves.”
“Oh, Lizzy, I have not felt this way in an age!”
A few months. But they had been important months.
Her mother began to pace. “I cannot help it. If we lose Hollydale, what will become of us?”
Elizabeth embraced her mother to hold her still. Her own eyes were stinging. She did not know what to do to comfort the trembling woman in her arms. “We will not lose Hollydale, Mamma. I swear it.” She had to allay her mother’s fears and prove Mr. Darcy meant them no harm. But how?
Once she convinced her mother to take a drop of laudanum in her tea and rest, Elizabeth went in search of Mr. Darcy. He was still in his sister’s sitting room, so she went downstairs to seek distraction. She was sitting with an unopened book on her lap, staring out the window, when Mr. Darcy entered the parlour.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, “might I have a word?”
She set aside her book, nodding. “Of course, Mr. Darcy.”
He approached her and took the chair across from her before leaning forward and saying in a quiet but distinctive tone, “I have just spoken with Georgiana, and she recalled there were two men in the bookshop discussing Hollydale—and me. She could not hear the substance of the discussion, but she said your mother was certainly within earshot, and that this may be why her behaviour towards me has altered.” He paused, his eyes searching her face. “Miss Bennet, has your mother said anything to you?”
Elizabeth hesitated, torn between loyalty to her mother and the need for honesty with Mr. Darcy. “She has expressed some concerns about your presence, yes.”
Mr. Darcy frowned. “I see. Well, I intend to speak with the shopkeeper, to see if he knows who these men were.”
She nodded, but her heart was heavy. “Mr. Darcy, I agree we must investigate. But I fear that in the meantime . . .” She took a deep breath, bracing herself. “I think it might be best if you and Miss Darcy were to leave Hollydale for now.”
Mr. Darcy’s countenance paled. “Miss Bennet, surely you do not believe—”
“No,” she said reassuringly, “I do not believe you have any ill intent. But my mother is terribly distressed, and I fear for her health if you remain.” She set her book aside and said, with all the helplessness she felt, “I can think of nothing else to do. She has written to my father, and I shall send a letter of my own today. I expect we will have a response shortly. You are both welcome here even after he returns, of course, but for now—I must ask you to leave until I can convince Mamma that you mean us no harm.”
For a long, terrible moment, Mr. Darcy was silent, his expression stoic and entirely unreadable. At last, he nodded. “If you believe this is for the best, we will depart tomorrow.”
Relief and regret washed over her. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I am sorry it has come to this.”
He managed a polite nod. “As am I, Miss Bennet.”
She watched as Mr. Darcy stood from his chair, and for a moment, she found herself foolishly hoping that he might linger. Though she had tried to remain practical, to push aside whatever feelings were blooming between them, the truth pressed in on her now with painful clarity. She cared for him. She cared a great deal.
