The words struck him like lightning, illuminating fragments of memory that had remained frustratingly elusive. The Red Lion Inn. The name carried associations he could not quite grasp, images that flickered at the edge of consciousness without resolving into clarity.
“I remember… something,” he said slowly. “A coaching inn. Rain. But the details are unclear.”
“You found me stranded there during the storm.” Elizabeth’s eyes were fixed upon the table rather than his face. “Cast out by my family, with nowhere to go. You intervened when some men approached me inappropriately, and you arranged for my safe passage to London.”
“That is why the rumors began,” he said, understanding dawning. “My assistance to you was misinterpreted by those who witnessed it.”
“Something like that.”
“But if I helped you,” he continued, working through the implications, “if I arranged your transport and ensured your safety, then surely my actions were entirely proper. Whatever gossip may have resulted cannot reflect poorly upon either of us.”
Elizabeth’s expression grew increasingly pained as he spoke, as if his words caused her physical discomfort. Georgiana had resumed her seat but continued to watch the proceedings with an air of barely controlled frustration.
“There is more,” Miss Bennet said finally. “When you were attacked on the road afterward, the innkeeper gathered your personal belongings. I… I kept them safe, hoping to return them when next we met.”
She rose and moved toward a side table where Darcy now noticed a small collection of items had been arranged. His breath caught as he recognized his traveling writing desk, the elaborate case his father had given him upon his majority. Beside it lay other personal effects he remembered from his journey—a silk neckcloth, his finest leather gloves, his silver-handled shaving kit.
“My belongings,” he said wonderingly, moving to examine the items. “I thought they had been stolen with everything else.”
“You left them in the room at the inn,” Elizabeth replied, her gaze steady. “When the Honywoods offered me safe passage to London, I brought them with me, intending to return them when the opportunity arose.”
“I am grateful,” Darcy said, “more grateful than I can express,both for your preservation of these items and for your care during my illness. Clearly, the debt between us is far more complex than I had understood.”
“There is no debt.” Her eyes glittered with moisture. “You helped me when I needed assistance, I helped you when you needed care. The account is settled.”
“I am gratified to know that I was able to be of service to you,” Darcy continued, still trying to process this new information. “That I behaved honorably in securing your safety.”
“Oh, you were the very model of a gentleman,” Elizabeth assured him, a strange smile playing about her lips. “Your conduct was beyond reproach.”
Georgiana made a small, choked sound that might have been suppressed laughter or distress. Darcy shot her a confused glance before returning his attention to Elizabeth.
“I hope you understand that I would willingly endure any taint on my reputation that resulted from assisting a lady in distress,” he said earnestly. “Any gentleman would have done the same.”
“Would they?” Elizabeth’s eyebrow arched skeptically. “I wonder. My experience suggests that true gentlemen are rarer than their titles would indicate.”
The quiet dig at his earlier condescension was not lost on Darcy. He inclined his head, acknowledging the hit. “I deserved that.”
“Perhaps,” she allowed, her expression softening slightly. “Though your intentions, however clumsily executed, were not entirely dishonorable.”
An unexpected warmth spread through Darcy’s chest at this small concession. The woman before him possessed a remarkable ability to cut him to the quick with her wit, yet show mercy when a killing blow was within her power.
“I find myself at a distinct disadvantage,” he admitted. “You appear to know considerably more about me than I do about you.”
“The circumstances are unusual,” Elizabeth acknowledged. “But perhaps not irredeemable.”
Something in her tone—a hint of wistfulness beneath the composure—caught at Darcy’s attention. There was more here, much more, than a chance encounter at a coaching inn. The persistent pull he felt toward her, the inexplicable familiarity that haunted his dreams, the strange connection he felt with her child—all suggested a relationship beyond what she had described.
Yet she would not enlighten him further, and his own memory remained frustratingly incomplete.
“I shall endeavor to be worthy of your forbearance,” he said finally. “And perhaps, in time, my memory will provide what your discretion withholds.”
Elizabeth’s smile held a sadness that pierced him unexpectedly. “Perhaps it will.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE RING SHE KEPT
Elizabeth stoodby her bedchamber window, gazing at the moonlit gardens of Bellfield Grange. The evening’s dinner replayed in her mind—not with the fiery indignation she might once have felt, but with a curious mixture of sadness and hope that left her heart aching in a way anger never could.
