“How strange,” Mrs. Younge murmured, her eyes gleaming with an interest that seemed excessive for such a distant tragedy. “That a fire should claim an entire family.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “Strange indeed.”
He glanced at Elizabeth and was struck by the genuine sadness in her expression. No artifice, no performance for social effect—just quiet empathy for a loss that had occurred long before she knew him. Her dark eyes held a depth of feeling that momentarily took his breath away.
“I am truly sorry,” she said. “To lose family in such a way. There are no adequate words.”
The sincerity in her voice caught him unprepared. Most of society offered polished condolences that meant nothing; ElizabethBennet portrayed genuine compassion without excessive sentiment. It was refreshing and disarming.
“Yes, it is quite a tragedy,” Mrs. Younge said. “I wonder. How did your father take it? All the responsibility of Pemberley must have fallen on his shoulders alone.”
The silence that followed seemed to stretch endlessly. Elizabeth Bennet stared at him with an expression he could not quite read, while Mrs. Younge’s smile had taken on a quality that made his skin crawl. What were they implying?
“We should reach Lambton within the hour, sir,” Vernon reported.
Darcy was grateful for the intervention.
“Excellent,” he replied, his voice perhaps a shade too hearty. “Miss Bennet, you will soon be safely delivered to your relations.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, though her voice sounded oddly distant. “Soon.”
“Forgive me,” he said. “But I require a repose. I shall perhaps defer our conversation?”
“Of course, Mr. Darcy.” Her eyes were kind and understanding as she stifled a yawn.
Darcy inclined his head stiffly. Memories flashed unbidden in his mind. Uncle John, who had been Pemberley’s heir until that terrible night. Aunt Rose, with her quick wit and infectious laugh. And their daughter, the little cousin who had been just nine months old when the fire claimed them all.
He could picture her as clearly as if it were yesterday—that round-cheeked infant with a full head of dark curls. Darcy babies were never bald; it was a family trait his grandmother had often remarked upon. He marveled at the strange details an eight-year-old mind retained across the years.
The baby had been learning to stand, clutching at furniture with plump fingers. He remembered her bright, curious eyes—so like her mother’s—and the way she had reached for him with a gurgling laugh when he’d visited Rose Cottage that last time.
“Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth’s voice broke into his reverie. “Are you quite well? You seem lost in thought.”
He blinked, focusing on her face—the dark, intelligent eyes watching him with concern. “A momentary distraction. The journey has been long.”
“What were you thinking about?” she pressed. “Your brows were furrowed so… You looked… haunted.”
A shock ran through him as the memory crystallized with sudden clarity. The baby’s name. His infant cousin had been called Elizabeth. Elizabeth Rose Darcy.
He stared at the woman across from him, his mind racing with impossible calculations. Could it be a mere coincidence that Elizabeth Bennet shared a name with his long-dead cousin? That she appeared on this road near Pemberley in the company of a woman he knew to be dishonest and manipulative? That she deflected questions about her family and purpose while inquiring about his?
“Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth repeated with evident concern.
“It is nothing,” he said, forcing himself to sound normal. “Merely the beginnings of a headache. The air in Hertfordshire disagreed with me.”
He was being ridiculous. His cousin had died twenty years ago, along with his uncle and aunt. There was no connection between that tragedy and the young woman sitting across from him now. His father’s warning about the Bennet name and the stress of encountering Mrs. Younge had clearly affected his thinking.
“Perhaps a brief rest when we reach Lambton would be beneficial,” Mrs. Younge suggested with feigned concern. “I understand the White Hart Inn offers excellent accommodation.”
“My presence is expected at Pemberley,” Darcy replied curtly. “I shall continue directly after seeing you safely to your destination in Lambton.”
Mrs. Younge’s smile thinned with disappointment. “How conscientious of you to escort us personally. I’m certain Miss Bennet’s relative will be most appreciative.”
“I will instruct my man of business in Lambton to ensure your comfort during your stay,” Darcy added, watching both women carefully. “Mr. Blythewood will call upon you tomorrow to offer any assistance you might require.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened slightly, while Mrs. Younge’s narrowed with calculation.
“Such consideration is unnecessary—” Elizabeth began.
