“Perhaps your father believed I was in danger,” Elizabeth suggested, “that whoever truly killed my parents might return to finish what they began if my survival became known.”
Darcy looked up, a faint hope kindling in his eyes. “It’s possible. That has to be it. I doubt he ever shared this with my mother. She would never have agreed.”
Elizabeth heard the desperate need for reassurance and wished she could provide it. Yet the evidence before them offered little comfort.
She glanced at the ledger still spread open between them, its neat columns of figures telling a story neither of them had wanted to read. “What will you do about these payments?”
“Investigate their true purpose,” Darcy replied. “And if they represent my father’s guilt rather than his charity…” He paused, jaw tightening. “Then justice will be served, whatever the cost to the Darcy name.”
The simple statement, delivered without bombast or qualification, revealed the depth of his character more clearly than any declaration of love. Elizabeth felt something shift in her chest—not the dizzying infatuation of new romance, but something deeper and more enduring.
“We should both attempt to rest,” she said, suddenly aware of the impropriety of their situation. “The morrow will bring enough challenges without facing them exhausted.”
Darcy nodded, though his gaze lingered on her face as though memorizing her features. “Allow me to escort you back to your chamber. The corridors can be treacherous in darkness.”
Elizabeth accepted his arm, acutely conscious of the warmth of his body beneath the fine linen shirt. They walked in silence through Pemberley’s shadowed halls, each lost in private contemplation of what the coming day might bring.
At her chamber door, Darcy paused. “Elizabeth,” he said softly, using her Christian name with the same reverence he might accord a prayer. “Whatever we discover, whatever truth emerges—I want you to know that my feelings remain unchanged. I would rather face devastating truth with you than comfortable lies without you.”
Elizabeth felt tears prick her eyes at the quiet conviction in his voice. “I know,” she whispered. “And I… I care for you more than I can safely admit. But until we know the full scope of what we’re facing…”
“You need say nothing more.” Darcy lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Sleep well, if you can.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ALL HALLOWS’ EVE MASQUERADE
Elizabeth examinedher reflection in the looking glass, adjusting the silver belt that circled her waist. The white silk gown draped elegantly from her shoulders, and the small decorative quiver of arrows completed her transformation into Diana, goddess of the hunt.
“Oh, Lizzy! How magnificent you look.” Mrs. Bennet bustled into the chamber without knocking, her own costume a bewildering assemblage of feathers, ribbons, and jewels that defied classification. “You are every inch a Darcy tonight. I knew you would outshine everyone—such regal bearing. Such innate elegance. Lady Lucas will be positively green with envy when she hears.”
“Mama, please,” Elizabeth murmured, adjusting the silver crescent that Caroline had insisted she wear in her hair. “Nothing has been settled regarding my claim.”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Bennet fluttered her handkerchief dramatically. “One has only to look at you to see Darcy blood. Why, Mr. Darcy himself can scarcely take his eyes from you, though he tries to hide it behind that proud manner of his. Not that I blame him, of course—you are quite the loveliest creature in Derbyshire tonight.”
Elizabeth suppressed a sigh, her thoughts turning to Darcy despite her best efforts. They had maintained a careful distance since her midnight discovery in his study, their interactions marked by formal politeness that concealed the turmoil beneath. Tonight would be no different—a masquerade in more ways than one.
“Is Georgiana not joining us?” Mrs. Bennet asked, mercifully diverting her own attention. “Such a sweet girl, though dreadfully shy. A London season would cure that, of course.”
“Mr. Darcy thought it best she remain upstairs tonight,” Elizabeth replied, deliberately vague about the reasons. Darcy had been adamant that Georgiana not be exposed to Wickham’s presence, particularly given the growing tensions surrounding the inheritance dispute.
“Well, more attention for you, my dear. And richly deserved. Now come—the guests are arriving, and you must make your entrance as befits the daughter of Rose Darcy.”
Elizabeth nodded, though she felt a pang of disappointment. Georgiana’s absence would deprive her of the one genuinely trustworthy ally in what promised to be a battlefield of competing agendas. She would have to navigate the evening’s intrigues entirely alone—save for Darcy, whose own position remained complicated by their unresolved questions about his father’s involvement.
Elizabeth paused in the doorway, surveying the assembled company. Silk and satin, feathers and furs, masks and makeup—all combined to create a scene unlike anything Elizabeth had witnessed at modest Hertfordshire assemblies.
Jack-o’-lanterns grinned from every alcove, their flickering light complemented by black silk bats suspended from the ceiling on nearly invisible threads. The effect was both eerie and festive—a perfect balance for the liminal night when the veil between worlds was said to thin.
“Miss Bennet! Or should I say, Diana herself?” Caroline Bingley approached, wearing an Egyptian queen’s elaborate headdress. “How ethereal you look. White is so… practical, is it not? I do hope you’re comfortable.”
“Exceedingly so,” Elizabeth replied with serene composure. “Your organizational skills are to be commended, Miss Bingley. The decorations are quite impressive.”
Caroline preened visibly at the praise. “One does what one can to maintain standards, though I confess the country setting presents certain… limitations. Still, for a provincial assembly, it will serve.”
“Indeed. I’m certain the guests from London will find it almost tolerable.” Elizabeth’s subtle mockery sailed over Caroline’s head like a well-aimed arrow, leaving her temporarily bewildered by what might have been a compliment or insult.
Before Caroline could determine which, Lydia bounded up, her gypsy costume featuring a scandalous neckline that Mrs. Bennet had apparently failed to notice.
