Darcy climbed into the carriage, and as the door closed behind him, he allowed himself one last look at Hollydale and its mistress. Elizabeth stood on the steps, her arm linked with her mother’s, her expression denoting regret and something else—something that made Darcy's heart quicken despite the circumstances. For in her countenance he caught a glimmer of regret and a softness that seemed meant for him. It was fleeting but unmistakable.
There was a connection between them that transcended their current predicament. For a moment, Darcy forgot to breathe, struck by the realization that his own growing affection mightnotbe one-sided. As the carriage pulled away, that glimmer of hope spurred his determination to resolve the mysteries surrounding Hollydale and return to her as soon as possible.
The carriage jerked forward, and he smiled at his sister and settled back into the squabs. He might be leaving Hollydale, but he was far from giving up. Whatever threat loomed over the Bennets and their estate, he would defeat it.
Chapter Sixteen
It was three days after he had departed from Hollydale and Darcy was exhausted. Not as weary as the other men, he suspected, as he noted Thatcher’s lined countenance. Even so, he envied them, for while Pemberley was normally a refuge for him, just now it felt as though all he could do was wait—and in this case, his patience was already gone.
He had thrown himself into the investigation with a fervour that surprised even himself, driven by an urgent need to unravel the mystery and return to Hollydale—to Miss Bennet.
“You are certain of this man’s honesty?” Darcy asked. He shuffled some papers on his desk so he had something to do with his hands.
The footman nodded solemnly. “Aye, sir. I have known Mr. Wilkins for years, served with his son. He is not one for exaggeration.”
Darcy gestured for Thatcher to continue.
“Mr. Wilkins was in the bookshop that day. He recalls seeing Miss Darcy—hard to miss her, being so tall for a woman and all. But he says he never saw Mrs. Bennet.”
“And the man he spoke with?”
“He was a stranger to Mr. Wilkins, but he said he thought the man had been imbibing.”
“Why?”
“Because he was rambling—pardon me, sir—he was saying how the Darcys were all out for what you could get. That you was sniffing around in hopes of persuading Mr. Bennet to make Miss Bennet his heir if you promised to marry her. Complained you already had an estate and questioned why you’d be wanting Hollydale too.”
Darcy’s shoulders dropped. “I do not want Hollydale.” Perhaps the manwasjust a drunk, for how would a marriage to Miss Bennet allow him to take over Hollydale, particularly when she had so many other sisters who might inherit? Yet Mrs. Bennet had believed him. “Did Mr. Wilkins challenge the man’s assertions?”
“No, sir. Said the fellow seemed a little touched, so he thought it best to let him talk himself out. Didn’t want to cause a scene. Had a good laugh about it after, though. Everyone within twenty miles of Lambton knows the Darcy family is not grasping.”
“Thank you for that. Did Mr. Wilkins have any sense of who the stranger might be or where he came from?”
“He did not. But after we spoke for a time, he said the man spoke as though he knew Hollydale well. Having never been there himself, Mr. Wilkins thought the man was weaving stories, but I am not so sure.”
Someone familiar with Hollydale, spreading rumours about Darcy’s intentions within the hearing of a current occupant—it was too specific to be a coincidence.
“One more thing, sir,” Thatcher added.
Darcy looked up sharply. “Go on.”
“Mr. Wilkins asked me to convey his apologies for not speaking up on your behalf. He feels terrible that the man might have been dangerous, and he did not think to tell anyone. He just thought the fellow was odd, that’s all.”
“Mr. Wilkins is not to blame,” Darcy said, waving off the apology. “He could not have known the consequences when he did not even notice Mrs. Bennet.” He paused, considering all he had been told. “Your work has been invaluable, Thatcher.”
Thatcher nodded and took his leave. Darcy was surprised to see that Georgiana was standing in the doorway looking distracted.
“Come in, Georgiana,” he said, and she did.
“Brother,” she said, “I know why the gentleman in the bookshop looked familiar.”
Within the half-hour, Darcy was on horseback, riding hard for Lambton and the office of Mr. Holt, the solicitor for Hollydale House.
The bell above the door jangled as Darcy entered the small, cluttered office. Mr. Holt, a portly man with thinning grey hair, glanced up from his desk in surprise.
“Mr. Darcy! This is an unexpected pleasure. How may I assist you?”
Darcy wasted no time on pleasantries. “Mr. Holt, I need to see Mr. Ellis’s will.”
