The autumn air struck cool against his face as he stepped onto the flagstone path.
Bingley spotted him first. “Darcy! Excellent timing. We were just discussing the fascinating history of Pemberley’s gardens. Miss Bennet has been regaling us with stories of her uncle’s horticultural efforts.”
“Has she, indeed?” Darcy recognized Elizabeth’s chin lifting, a gesture preparing for combat. Her dark eyes met his with unflinching directness, though he noticed the color had risen in her cheeks.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said with cool disdain. “We didn’t expect your return so expeditiously. I trust your business concluded satisfactorily?”
“Indeed, it did.” He allowed his gaze to move deliberately over the assembled party, noting the tension that had replaced their earlier ease. “Though I find myself curious about the… activities that have occupied your time during my absence.”
Georgiana stepped forward, her face brightening. “Elizabeth and I have been exploring the estate. We’ve been learning family history.”
“Ah.” Darcy’s tone could have frozen wine in July. “And what aspects of that history have proved most illuminating?”
The question hung in the air. Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, clearly recognizing the trap being set. Georgiana, however, took his arm.
“Oh, brother, we learned the most extraordinary things. Old Molly remembers the night of the fire, and she says they never found the baby’s body in the ruins. Not even bones or ashes. She says a roast doesn’t simply disappear in a fire, much less a child.” Georgiana’s voice gained enthusiasm. “And Mrs. Winters claims she saw Uncle John and Aunt Rose leaving the estate alive that very night, with valises and the baby wrapped in blankets. She thinks they were fleeing from danger, not dying in a fire at all.”
The silence that followed this revelation was profound. Caroline Bingley looked as though she had swallowed something unpleasant. Bingley’s usual cheer had evaporated entirely. Even Mr. Hurst appeared alert for once, his eyes moving between Darcy and Elizabeth.
“Indeed.” Darcy allowed his gaze to move from Elizabeth to Bingley, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “Bingley, I wonder if I might have a moment with my sister. Perhaps you could escort Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst inside? Mr. Hurst appears to require a more comfortable resting place.”
“Of course, of course.” Bingley’s easy acquiescence was as predictable as sunrise. He turned to Elizabeth with poorly disguised reluctance. “Miss Bennet, shall we continue our tour? Have you seen the lake view from the terrace?”
Elizabeth and Georgiana exchanged aggrieved glances as Darcy interfered with Bingley’s plans.
“Miss Bennet will be otherwise engaged this afternoon, I’m afraid. Family matters require her attention.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Elizabeth’s expressive features, followed swiftly by a dangerous curve of her lips—not quite a smile, certainly not submission.
“How fascinating to learn of my afternoon plans, Mr. Darcy. I don’t recall having made any.”
“The matter arose during my absence.” Darcy held her gaze steadily. “I shall explain once we have privacy.”
The challenge in her eyes might have intimidated a lesser man,but Darcy had spent a lifetime schooling himself against emotional displays. He merely inclined his head, his expression remaining impassive.
Caroline Bingley, sensing discord with the precision of a predator scenting blood, inserted herself. “Come, Charles. We mustn’t interfere in family discussions.” Her emphasis on “family” carried a pointed skepticism that did not escape Darcy’s notice.
As the Bingleys and Hursts retreated toward the house, Mr. Hurst grumbling at the lack of refreshment, Darcy turned his attention to Georgiana. Her earlier delight had faded, replaced by wary apprehension.
“What were you thinking?” he asked without preamble, his voice low enough to remain private but sharp enough to convey his displeasure. “Questioning servants about Uncle John’s death? Encouraging speculation about murder and conspiracy?”
Georgiana’s shoulders squared defensively. “We were investigating, Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth deserves to know the truth about her parents.”
“Herallegedparents,” he corrected. “And regardless of her claims, these inquiries place both of you at risk. If there truly was foul play twenty years ago, do you imagine those responsible would hesitate to silence new threats?”
“Which is precisely why we must discover the truth,” Elizabeth interjected, presenting a united front that irritated him. “If someone murdered John and Rose Darcy, justice demands?—”
“Justice?” Darcy laughed without humor. “After twenty years? When the principals are likely dead, the evidence destroyed, and the witnesses unreliable? What you’re pursuing isn’t justice, Miss Bennet. It’s a dangerous folly that places my sister in jeopardy.”
“I am not a child.” Georgiana’s voice carried a rebellious edge. “I have as much right to know our family’s history as you do.”
“You are sixteen years old and under my guardianship,” he reminded her, gentling his tone with effort. “Your safety is myprimary concern. These matters are not appropriate subjects for young ladies to investigate.”
“You conducted the same investigations this morning,” Elizabeth pointed out, her dark eyes flashing. “Tell me, Mr. Darcy, did old Hodge confirm what Molly told us? That only two bodies were recovered from Rose Cottage, not three?”
Darcy stiffened, caught off guard by her perspicacity. “How did you?—”
“I watch you, like you watch me.” Elizabeth’s smile held no warmth.
