“I would not dare, Mrs. Fiennes.” They both laughed, and Elizabeth desperately changed the subject.
“Is Miss Darcy in town with you?”
“She is. Georgiana could not endure remaining alone at Pemberley. I intend to engage several tutors before considering a future school.”
Elizabeth made a face. “I confess I never went to school. My father and mother oversaw my education. I had no wish to live amongst girls my own age, far from those who loved me best.”
“But why?” He seemed confused. “All society ladies attend finishing school. Even the wealthy daughters of tradesmen go.”
Elizabeth gave a soft laugh. “Then you have never found yourself amongst a circle of ladies at their worst, sir. Females can wield sharper tongues than any blade—rapier wit that cuts deep and leaves lasting wounds. Not all behave so, but in schools where rank and fortune determine one’s standing, such behaviour is expected. A girl without the means to defend herself would be wretched—even if she possesses a fortune and comes of a family with connexions.”
He paused, considering her words. “Then you would not send your own daughter, were you to have one? Does not school teach alliances as well as accomplishment?”
She darted him a quick look of amusement. “And does Miss Darcy not have afair number of alliances already? Granddaughter and niece of an earl, sister to Mr Darcy of Pemberley—an estate Suzanne insists is the largest in Derbyshire.”
“Touché, Mrs Fiennes.” His smile held genuine amusement. “I shall have to take your counsel under advisement. Georgiana is soft-spoken and hesitant to converse beyond family. I should grieve to see her placed amongst scheming companions.” He paused in thought once more. “Yet how else is she to acquire the social ease required for her station?”
“Might I suggest that your sister begin by accompanying her aunt to calls and teas once she reaches fifteen or sixteen? Observation is a fine tutor for a young lady.”
Their conversation continued with natural ease. Each moment in his company lightened Elizabeth’s heart. For a brief time, she could imagine herself a young woman conversing with a gentleman, not the widow of Damian Fiennes. Mr Darcy’s manner inspired confidence; it was easy to find pleasure in his company. Despite their slight acquaintance, she found herself trusting him instinctively—a curious contrast to the wary intuition that had long warned her against her husband.
By the time she and Kane left the park, she felt almost refreshed, prepared once more to face the grim duty of sorting through her husband’s papers and compiling her list of potential threats.
During the following weeks and months, Bow Street Runners examined each credible name on that list. Some, including Mr Burns, were found in desperate straits and capable of mischief and would be watched. Others had settled into their new lives. A family member of Mr Fields’s wife had engaged him to act as steward of their estate, for example. The family lodged him in the main house and paid him a modest allowance for the light duties he performed.
Arthur Reed had fared less well. He was discovered in a humbler quarter of the city, employed as a clerk keeping accounts for a solicitor’s office in Cheapside. Elizabeth transferred management of his former import and export concern to her uncle Gardiner, granting him half ownership of the whole. Thus, her husband’s affairs would remain in trustworthy hands while furthering her uncle’s own business. The merged company became Gardiner’s Imports and Exports.
Edward Gardiner sought out Arthur Reed himself. “I have made inquiries and am aware of your misfortunes,” he told the young man one afternoon. From her carriage, Elizabeth had watched as her uncle offered him a manager’s position with generous remuneration. Grateful for the notice, Reed accepted, and his diligence soon justified their confidence.
Certain businesses were sold, and the proceeds swelled Elizabeth’s fortune. Properties demanding close oversight were the first to go, yet threewarehouses near Gracechurch Street were retained for their convenience to Mr Gardiner’s home and their value to the new company.
The northern mills remained untouched. Wilkens travelled thither to assess their management and found the overseers capable and steady. Quarterly meetings were to continue under his supervision, with full reports delivered to Elizabeth in town.
By the end of July, all matters connected to Mr Fiennes’s business interests were settled. Mr Bennet longed to return to Longbourn and pressed Elizabeth to decide whether she would accompany him and Jane or remain in town.
“You might lease the townhouse,” Wilkens advised. “And if you prefer not to live at Netherfield, I can readily secure a tenant for the estate.”
His suggestion left her thoughtful. She dreaded solitude. Mr Burns had been seen twice more—he seemed aware of the Runners’ vigilance and had contrived to evade them. With Kane or Sloan ever close, she was well guarded, but still, Elizabeth feared for her safety. As her confinement drew near, caution governed her every movement.
There was another reason she did not wish to quit London—one she dared not share with anyone. What would her family think if they suspected she sought the company of another man scarcely three months after her husband’s death? Guilt gnawed at her conscience; she knew it was unbecoming. Fiennes’s cruel words still echoed in memory, tainting her peace. Though the grave had claimed him, she felt there was no escaping the shadow that lingered in every room.
And there were other matters she dared not confront—her father most of all. To recall the choices he had made on her behalf was to stir a pain too raw to bear at present, and so she locked the memory away, as she had done from the first.
Despite these thoughts, Elizabeth went daily to the park, hoping to see Mr Darcy. In him she had found a friend. Their discourse rose above the commonplace, though he rarely pressed her on personal matters. Perhaps he mistook her silence for grief; if so, she longed to correct him. Never had she wished to confide in anyone as she did in him—to reveal the circumstances and suffering of her marriage, her relief at its end, and the guilt entwined with that relief. Instinct told her he would understand.
Seated together on a bench in the park that afternoon was no different; she guided their talk away from herself, though the usual comfort of their meetings felt shaken by an agitation on his part. She pressed his arm. “What troubles you, Mr Darcy? Will you not tell me?”
Darcy fidgeted with the head of his walking stick, his gloved hand turning it repeatedly. His features, usually calm and civil, were marred by strain.
He released a long breath. “It is a matter to do with my father’s death. A bequest from his will—soon to be fulfilled.”
She regarded him with concern. “You disapprove of it?”
A tension passed through his frame. He leaned forwards, forearms resting on his knees. She resisted the impulse to reach out and stroke his back in comfort.
“It took the solicitors some time to trace the beneficiary. My father’s godson was left the presentation to a valuable family living—and a thousand pounds.”
That was quite a generous legacy, but she suspected there was more reason behind his disapproval. “Pray, go on.”
