His feet took him away from the house, and he paid little attention to his direction until he heard his name called. Looking about, he saw that he had reached the Steyne, where a large group of people had gathered around what looked like an impromptu cricket match.
“Mr Darcy!” came another call.
This time he saw Miss Hawkridge waving at him. He was in absolutely no humour for company, but he would not slight Saye and Fitzwilliam’s relation and so tipped his hat, meaning to say a quick good day and be on his way. And that might have worked, had not Miss Larkin appeared out of the crowd the moment he drew near.
“Mr Darcy!” she cooed, fluttering her eyelashes and looking unabashedly delighted to see him.
He tried not to groan. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
“This is fortunate indeed,” Miss Hawkridge said. “I have been meaning to come to the house, to see how well our plan is working. You must tell me all.”
Darcy stared at her, his head too full of Elizabeth to be able to parse her meaning. “Plan?”
“Yes—the haunting?”
“Oh, that. It seems to be having the desired effect. Saye was particularly vexed by the violin.”
Miss Hawkridge grinned. “Hats off to Fitzwilliamforthatidea. Although…hats off to Miss Bennet for suggesting the whole scheme. No wonder Mr Hartham asked her to marry him.”
“What do you mean?” Darcy asked sharply.
“That is why she suggested it, do you not remember? She was cross that Saye tried to cheat him at the card table. And who would not have proposed on the spot upon discovering the lengths she had gone to in defence of his honour!”
Darcy’s face was hurting from clenching his teeth so tightly.Wasthat why Elizabeth had suggested the prank? He did not recall thinking so at the time, but if it had been, and she had preferred Hartham all along, that made his kissing her even more egregious.
“Georgette has told me all about this diverting ruse,” Miss Larkin said, matching Miss Hawkridge’s enthusiasm. “Youarewicked. Poor Lord Saye.”
Darcy nodded. It was all he had in him to do.
Miss Hawkridge frowned. “You are not feeling sorry for him, are you?”
“Hardly.”
“Good, for he certainly does not deserve it.”
Darcy stopped listening, for in the blink of an eye, a shout went up, and the cricket ball came hurtling through the air directly towards the ladies. He thrust his hand between them to intercept it, pain lancing across his palm and up his arm at the impact of the awkward, one-handed catch. Miss Larkin squealed in surprise, and Miss Hawkridge spun around to see what had incited his sudden lunge.
“Faith!” she cried as a small ripple of applause went up around them. “That was positively heroic, Mr Darcy.”
He threw the ball back to the waving bowler andinclined his head towards the batsman who was calling a rather sheepish apology. He shook his aching hand. “It was positively careless of the incompetent buffoon at the stumps.”
Miss Hawkridge smirked. “Your cantankerous veneer does not fool me. You have now abetted me in terrorising my most vexatious relationandsaved my life. I am entirely convinced that you are secretly a perfect gentleman.” She put a hand on his forearm and leant forwards to kiss his cheek.
Darcy might have overlooked her familiarity, given their close familial connexion, except that it seemed to give Miss Larkin leave to adopt a similar boldness. Rather than lay a hand on his arm, she wrapped both hands around it, clinging on tightly as she rose to her tiptoes and planted a kiss to his other cheek.
“My hero!”
Good lord.With his arm now aching almost as intensely as his heart, he had no patience for Miss Larkin’s fawning and rued giving her another reason to do it. He forced himself to smile down at her. “I am pleased you are both unhurt, but I must be going. Excuse me.” He tugged his arm from her tenacious grip, bowed to them both, and walked away.
He grew wary as he neared Marine Parade, dreading an encounter with Elizabeth if she had indeed come to see Hartham, for he did not think he could stomach seeing them together. But he caught no glimpse of her as he trudged up the steps to his own front door—which was thrown open before he could reach for the handle, and two angry workmen bowled out, shouting that they would never work in the house again.
“What is going on?” he asked, stepping aroundTucker, who was hastening after the men, and addressing his cousins, both of whom were in the vestibule.
“They are refusing to work here anymore, because the house is cursed,” Saye answered testily. “They found markings on the library walls. Pleas for release etched into the woodwork. Scratches like claw or nail marks. They are convinced there must be bodies in the walls.”
“There might be,” Fitzwilliam said agreeably.
Darcy looked at him. He was leaning against the newel post with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, though he looked less amused by his brother’s pique than he did contrite about the unintended consequence of their pranks. Darcy shared his concern. This would give yet another delay to the renovations about which Elizabeth was already feeling anxious. He regretted embroiling himself in any of it—not least because it had somehow escaped his notice that the entire scheme had been devised for Hartham’s gratification.
