“I suspect the latter,” Darcy told her. “Though what that means, I cannot say.”
Elizabeth considered this, her mind working through what she knew. An officer who wished to be seen and admired, of medium height, fair-complexioned. The description nagged at her, hovering just beyond reach. Then, too, the suggestion that he was not the principal figure in the case…
“There must be a connection between this man and whoever is orchestrating the rumours. Perhaps he is merely a messenger, but even so, he must know something of value.”
“My thoughts exactly. If we can identify him, we can follow him. And if we follow him—”
“We identify who is truly responsible.” A surge of determination coursed through her. “But how are we to identify him from a written description? There must be dozens of men in London who match these details.”
Darcy was quiet for a moment. “Not dozens with connections to the militia, and the specific knowledge of certain events required to invent plausible slander.”
She frowned. “But why would an officer involve himself in such a scheme? What could he possibly gain?”
“Money, perhaps. Or favour from someone with influence.” Darcy’s expression darkened. “Or revenge.”
The word hung between them, heavy with implication. It was a grave thought. “You believe this is personal. Not just opportunistic gossip-mongering, but a deliberate attack.”
“The targets are too specific,” Mr Darcy said gravely. “Your family. My sister. Bingley’s courtship of your sister. These are not random selections from the pages of theton. Someone chose us deliberately.”
“But who would wish harm to both our families?” There was something she was missing, some connection she had not yet made.
“I have enemies, Miss Bennet,” Mr Darcy confessed. “Men I have crossed in business, families whose overtures I have rejected. But none who would know enough about your circumstances to craft such detailed falsehoods.”
“Unless,” Elizabeth said slowly, “they had an informant. Someone who knew both our families.”
They reached a small grove of trees that offered relative privacy from the main path. Darcy guided them into its shelter, and Elizabeth found herself standing closer to him than propriety strictly allowed. She could see the tension in his shoulders he usually kept hidden beneath his reserved exterior.
“I keep returning to the same question,” he said. “Who would benefit from our mutual ruin?”
Elizabeth’s mind raced through possibilities but kept circling back to that frustratingly familiar description. Medium height. Fair. Light brown hair. Regimentals. Someone connected to Meryton, to the militia, someone who preened at other’s notice and would ruthlessly cause harm to give himself any advantage.
“I feel as though I should know,” she said, unable to keep the frustration from her voice. “The description is familiar, and yet I cannot place it. It is like trying to recall a dream upon waking.”
Darcy’s expression softened with something that might have been sympathy. “Do not force it. The memory will come when you are not actively seeking it.”
“I suppose,” Elizabeth grumbled. It was maddening to be so close to information that could stop the hurt bring inflicted upon their families.
They stood there in the shelter of the trees, the sounds of the park fading into insignificance. Elizabeth knew they should return to the main path and continue their performance for whatever eyes might be watching. But exhaustion weighed heavily on her. It was a relief to be hidden from the scrutiny of theton, if only for a moment.
“We should return,” Mr Darcy said eventually, though he made no move to leave. “We have been out of sight too long.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. The air grew thick between them.
Finally, Mr Darcy offered his arm with a genuine smile, foregoing the careful mask he wore in company. “Erase that frown from your countenance, Miss Bennet. Lest thetonthink we’ve had a row. Don’t trouble yourself too much. We have a solid lead, and can now focus our efforts more strategically.”
Elizabeth rubbed the crease between her eyes and sighed. Irritatingly, he was right. They did not want to jeopardise the progress they had made in their charade simply because she was upset with her inability to place the mysterious information. She placed a blithe smile on her face and considered herself a talented actress indeed. “Shall we?”
Mr Darcy nodded, and Elizabeth took his arm, feeling the solid warmth of him through the fabric of his coat. As they emerged back into the sunlight, she tucked the description carefully into her reticule, as it was already tucked carefully into the back of her mind.
Chapter 7
The Stanhope ball glittered with such radiance that Elizabeth suspected half the candles in the city had been requisitioned for the occasion. Chandeliers sparkled like suspended constellations, their light glinting off the gilt moulding and the jewels at ladies’ throats. It was far and away the most elegant affair she had been to while in London. The air hummed with laughter, violins, and the familiar undercurrent of gossip.
Elizabeth felt the burden of curious eyes on her as she stepped into the ballroom on Mr Darcy’s arm. Every time she thought she’d grown accustomed to the speculative glances, she found herself bowing under their weight, like a branch laden with winter snow. At least with Mr Darcy by her side, she could rely upon his stoic nature to keep herself upright. But tonight the stares seemed particularly bold, as if the crowd expected a dramatic declaration or a very public lapse in decorum.
Mr Darcy, as usual, seemed unbothered. “I shall fetch you a lemonade,” he said. “You appear warm.”
“I am perfectly composed,” Elizabeth replied, though her cheeks felt rather hot.
