Page 14 of Conundrums & Coincidences

“Mr Darcy!” Her hand flew to her throat. “I… I…rarely wear those dreadful things. Truly! I require them only for reading, you see, and…” She seemed absolutely horrified that he had caught her wearing spectacles.

Heaven and Earth! Such vanity! Giving Miss Kensett a chance to regain her dignity, Darcy, without reading it, fetched the fallen paper from the Axminster carpet. The footman, he noticed, had left the room but loitered just beyond the door.

“Perhaps now, Mr Darcy,” said the lady, snatching the puzzle from his hand, “you can comprehend why I required your assistance with yesterday’s instructions. To make amends for refusing me that kindness, you may help decipher this.” She waved the paper beneath his nose. When he refused to even look at it, she smiled a mirthless smile. “Or shall I apprise Mr Monroe of what I witnessed earlier? I distinctly remember you telling me that, according to the rules, there can be no collaboration between beneficiaries. Yet I saw you and Miss Bennet in an ardent embrace.”

Darcy bristled. “That, madam, was not”—as much as I might wish it—“an embrace, ardent or otherwise. It was more of a…a clutch as the result of a collision.” One with quite an impact on me.

Mr Monroe advanced towards them. “Alfred informed me there might be some sort of problem or misconduct here. Is that so, Miss Kensett? Mr Darcy?”

“No, sir,” said Darcy, looking the attorney in the eye. “Neither problem nor wrongdoing has occurred. I am afraid I startled poor Miss Kensett. She dropped something, and I retrieved it for her.”

“Yes.” The lady nodded in agreement. “The gentleman caught me quite unawares.”

Mr Monroe looked as though he did not believe either of them.

Sidling up to the older man, Miss Kensett said, “Now, sir, I wonder whether I might have a moment of your time.” She hooked her arm through his. “I am having a spot of bother with this silly little puzzle, you see, and…” They strolled from the room.

Darcy wondered what Miss Kensett actually might say to Mr Monroe, but it mattered not. Elizabeth and I did nothing wrong.

Left blessedly alone, he walked about the library, marvelling at its furnishings and decorations. He had been there the previous day in the company of the housekeeper and Elizabeth but had been too distracted by the latter’s disturbing presence to take note of much anything else.

With cosy corner nooks on either side of the fireplace and its floral this and its delicate that, never before had Darcy been in such a book-room. Two walls were pink, two covered with flowery papers, and the paintings gracing them featured plants or dishes of fruit. Cream-coloured paint coated the furniture, bookcases, shelves, and windowsills. Fabrics of various designs and in every shade of light green had been chosen for curtains, upholstery, tablecloths, and cushions. Delights fresh from the garden burst forth from eight delicate vases, and three elegant Axminster carpets in soft shades and leafy patterns were scattered across the oaken floor. With several pretty shawls flung over the backs of sofas and chairs, the room was decidedly feminine.

In contrast, the hundreds of periodicals and leather-bound volumes covered a multitude of topics such as astronomy, history, gardening, war, and, predominantly, law. There were atlases, travel guides, dictionaries, and a few works by poets. Notably missing were conduct books, novels, and periodicals of La Belle Assemblée’s ilk.

The lady truly was something of an enigma.

Darcy had his own enigma to solve, and situated between two windows was the cabinet he sought. Inside its glass doors, shelves displayed an eclectic assortment of fripperies and curiosities—fragrant sachets, pomanders, perfume bottles, cockle shells, a pair of homemade shoes, old fairings, a couple of pocket watches, and a collection of rather hideous statuettes.

When he opened one of the cabinet drawers, Darcy discovered, to his great satisfaction, a variety of snuff boxes—eleven, to be exact—nestled amongst bunches of dried herbs and flowers. Similar to Elizabeth, Miss Armstrong undoubtedly had an appreciation for nature.

Glancing through one of the windows overlooking Oakwood’s rose garden, he remembered the day in Kent when he had caught the independent Miss Elizabeth Bennet picking wildflowers while humming and wandering alone through a meadow.

Only then, standing there at that window, did he realise how akin to wildflowers she was—blooming, fragrant, bright, natural. She thrived without much assistance. She was delicate yet hardy and, to a degree, uncultivated.

His traitorous mind then imagined Mr Hadley obtaining a pretty posy of wildflowers from an obliging field and presenting them to her. Why did I not think of doing something similar in Kent? To his chagrin, Darcy realised that, even in his imagination, the younger man knew how to please Elizabeth far better than he, himself, ever had. Should I offer Elizabeth a bouquet from the gardens here? What would be her response to such a gift from me?

Enough! He could not, would not, risk having either his heart or his pride injured by her a second time. With steely determination, he set about opening and examining each snuff box, hoping to find his next puzzle.

Most likely never used for its intended purpose, the pristine interior of an ivory box held a scrap of red silk. Nestled within was a single jade earring.

Nothing but a tortoiseshell lining and a piece of fluff was found inside the gold box.

Sporting a magnificent dragon on its lid, an enamel box was filled with what Darcy assumed was desiccated tobacco. He sniffed. Not snuff! He sneezed. Pepper!

The pair of matching boxes crafted from malachite each held a pencil stub but no puzzle.

A silver bracelet, its inscription tarnished beyond legibility, rested within the papier-mâché box, the flower and butterfly design on its lid barely discernible beneath a layer of grime. Darcy wiped his palms on his handkerchief and continued.

The most unusual snuff boxes were the five carved from a variety of exotic woods. The odd-shaped fish surrendered nothing but a musty smell, and the comical frog had captured an insect.

A teak monkey with eyes of glass looked promising but proved disappointing. When its hinged neck was tipped back, the creature’s stomach revealed a mouldy bit of something that once might have been edible. The lid was quickly snapped shut on that one.

Two boxes remained.

Engraved with the words ‘to warm the heart’, the box carved to resemble a bellows probably had been given as a love token. It held a tiny, torn scrap of vellum. Could it be? When unfolded, the fine parchment cracked, and its edges crumbled. Barely legible in faded ink were the words ‘Your Servant, EK’. Not a puzzle, then, just the closing of an archaic love letter.

Rather than acrimony, I should have written words of love to Elizabeth. Better yet, I should have spoken them to her.