Colonel Fitzwilliam moved further into the room, his boots leaving faint traces of dust on the pristine carpet. He accepted the glass of port Darcy silently poured for him, draining half ofit before responding. “Nothing that need concern the household, madam.”
The deflection was polite but absolute, delivered with the sort of firm courtesy that suggested no amount of interrogation would extract further details. Elizabeth watched Lady Catherine’s face cycle through surprise, irritation, and grudging acceptance. She was accustomed to commanding complete transparency from those around her, but even she recognised the limits of what she could demand from her nephew, a grown man and military officer with his own obligations and concerns.
“Most irregular,” Lady Catherine pronounced, though her tone had shifted from direct challenge to general disapproval. “In my day, young people did not simply disappear for hours without proper explanation.”
“Times change, Aunt,” the Colonel replied mildly, finishing his port. His gaze drifted across the room, passing over Darcy and Mrs. Jenkinson before landing briefly on Elizabeth. The look lasted perhaps two seconds, no more, but in that moment Elizabeth saw confirmation. He had done it. Had delivered her letter. The knowledge flooded through her with such intensity that she had to look down at her lap.
“I must beg your indulgence further,” Colonel Fitzwilliam continued, setting down his empty glass. “The ride has left me considerably dusty. If you will excuse me, I should like to change before rejoining the company.”
He did not wait for Lady Catherine’s permission, merely bowed again and turned toward the door. As he passed Elizabeth’s chair, he slowed fractionally, his eyes meeting hers with unmistakable intention. Then he was gone, his boots striking the floor in measured rhythm.
Elizabeth’s heart hammered against her ribs. He wanted to speak with her. Had deliberately caught her eye to communicate that fact. She needed to follow him, needed to hear what newshe brought, but she could not simply rise and leave immediately without drawing suspicion.
Lady Catherine had resumed her discourse, this time on the declining standards of courtesy among the younger generation. Darcy had returned to his position by the window. Mrs. Jenkinson’s needle continued its steady work.
Elizabeth waited, counting the seconds. When she judged sufficient time had passed, she placed her hands on the arms of her chair and began the laborious process of standing. The movement drew Mrs. Jenkinson’s immediate attention.
“I find I am quite exhausted,” Elizabeth said, pitching Anne’s soft voice to carry just enough. “The evening has been most pleasant, but I believe I should retire.”
Lady Catherine paused in her discourse, her gaze softening as she looked at the woman she believed to be her daughter. “Of course, Anne. Mrs. Jenkinson, see Anne to her room immediately.”
“No,” Elizabeth said, perhaps too quickly, and had to force herself to soften the refusal. “That is, Mrs. Jenkinson has been so attentive all day. I would not wish to deprive you of her company this evening, Mother. A maid can assist me. Mrs. Jenkinson should remain here to entertain you.”
She delivered the words with careful deference, appealing to Lady Catherine’s ego while creating the separation she needed. Mrs. Jenkinson’s eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion evident, but she could hardly refuse without appearing to value her own comfort over her employer’s company.
“You are always most considerate,” Lady Catherine said. “Mrs. Jenkinson, you will remain. Ring for a maid to assist Anne.”
Mrs. Jenkinson’s jaw tightened, but she set aside her embroidery and crossed to the bell pull. Elizabeth waited until a young housemaid appeared in the doorway. The girl bobbed a curtsey, her face showing nervous alertness.
“Help Miss de Bourgh to her chamber,” Mrs. Jenkinson instructed, her voice carrying an edge. “See that she has everything she requires.”
The maid moved forward, offering her arm with careful respect. Elizabeth accepted the support, letting the girl take most of her weight as they began the slow progress toward the door. She could feel Mrs. Jenkinson’s gaze boring into her back, suspicious and assessing, but Elizabeth did not look back.
The stairs loomed before them, rising into shadow. Elizabeth placed her hand on the polished banister and began to climb, the maid hovering close beside her. Anne’s legs trembled with the first step, muscles protesting. Elizabeth had to pause halfway through lifting her foot to gather strength. The maid waited with patient concern.
Another step. And another. Each one requiring deliberate concentration, careful distribution of weight. Elizabeth’s borrowed lungs laboured, each breath emerging slightly ragged. Sweat gathered at her temples and between her shoulder blades.
Halfway up. She paused, ostensibly to catch her breath but actually to scan the shadows of the upper corridor. No sign of Colonel Fitzwilliam, though surely he would be watching for her arrival.
“Should we rest a moment, miss?” the maid asked, her young face creased with concern.
“No,” Elizabeth managed, though her voice emerged breathier than intended. “I can continue. Just slowly.”
Another step. The banister’s smooth wood slid beneath her palm as she hauled herself upward. Another step. Elizabeth’s heart hammered against her ribs. Another step, and she could feel the strain in every muscle.
The landing appeared beneath her feet with startling suddenness. Elizabeth paused there, one hand still gripping thebanister, her entire body trembling. The maid maintained her support.
But Elizabeth’s attention had fixed on the shadowed alcove near the east wing, where a figure waited in darkness. Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward just enough that candlelight caught his features, and Elizabeth saw in his expression everything she needed to know.
He had news. Important news.
Elizabeth turned to the maid and managed what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Thank you for your assistance. I can manage from here. Please, return to your duties below stairs.”
The maid hesitated. “Are you certain, miss?”
“Quite certain,” Elizabeth said, infusing Anne’s soft voice with as much firmness as she could muster. “You have been most helpful.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey and retreated down the stairs obediently. Elizabeth waited until the girl’s footsteps faded entirely before turning toward the shadowed alcove.
