“The main staircase?” He spun around, his eyes intently on hers. “Then why was she in the tower? Why was she carrying a tray upthosestairs?”
Elizabeth gasped. “Do you think she was pushed? That the tray was thrown after her?”
“Most likely. So when I perceived something was amiss, Fitzwilliam placed the objects to divert suspicion!”
“Dear Lord!” She pressed her hand to her chest. “Do you think he killed her? That he killed your aunt too?”
“No.” He resumed his pacing. “My aunt was stabbed many times. Fitzwilliam is a soldier—a trained fighter and a skilled swordsman. He would never commit murder in such a chaotic, desperate manner. If anything, I suspect he is protecting the true culprit.”
A heavy silence settled between them.
Elizabeth swallowed. “Then who?”
“I have my suspicions, though I shall not share them yet.” He turned to her, his voice quieter but no less steady. “What else did Anne say to the constable?”
“Only that Mr. Collins came to her room, speaking in a strange tongue. And that he drew a dagger from inside a book. She described it as an ornate piece, with a blue gem on the hilt.”
Darcy’s gut tightened as the air seemed to rush out of him. “Sir Lewis’s letter opener.”
“You have seen it?”
He nodded grimly. “It was always on his desk. Hanbury asked me if I knew such a thing. I—”
He broke off, realization dawning. “Anne knew that trinket perfectly well. I saw her playing with it as a child—twirling it, prying open letters with it. Why pretend she did not recognize it?”
Elizabeth’s eyes opened wide. “You were right to doubt Mr. Collins’s culpability. “Perhaps he was nothing but a cat’s-paw in all this.”
The muscles tightened on Darcy’s face. “I must go back, Elizabeth. I must return to Rosings.”
She studied him for a long moment, concern furrowing her brow. Without another word, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him. He pulled her into his embrace, holding her tight as if anchoring himself before the storm ahead.
“When will you leave?” she whispered against his chest.
“Tomorrow.” He gently rubbed her back.
She pulled away slightly, her hands still circling him. “Then we have today.”
His fingers brushed a stray curl from her face, lingering at her cheek. “Yes. And I intend to make the most of it.”
For the first time in days, they let the silence between them be filled with an emotion other than fear. Whatever waited for him at Rosings, whatever truths lay hidden in its shadows, he would face them soon enough.
For now, he was here. With her.
And for now, that was enough.
Chapter 22 – Return to Rosings
It was dusk when they arrived in Ceredigion. The team of chestnuts Darcy reserved for long journeys was spent, but they had reached their destination with a few rests rather than needing to change to post horses—a fact that did little to please Walker, his coachman.
Darcy headed directly to the inn and ordered a light supper to be served in his chamber. He asked Ferguson to join him, a request to which the quiet servant agreed with evident trepidation. Ferguson had spent his life serving in a household where rank was strictly observed, even among servants, and Darcy’s liberties unsettled the former footman. It had taken his trusted man time to adjust to bustling London, and now, the familiarity Darcy sometimes offered left him somewhat uneasy.
“Sit down, Ferguson. There are matters we must discuss.”
Before obeying, Ferguson pulled out the pistol he carried on his belt. And the one behind his back. Darcy raised an amused brow as the quiet servant placed them on the side table.
“Do you always travel so armed?”
Ferguson gave a slight shrug. “Never know what one might find on the road. Your coachman cares more for his horses than his master.”
