Page 20 of Conundrums & Coincidences

Pocketing his newest puzzle, Darcy gave the man a stiff bow before striding away. It had not been his first time on the carpet, but it had been many, many years, and he did not appreciate having his integrity questioned.

Upon opening the library door, he came face-to-face with Peter Fordham, who must have been lurking about and, perhaps, eavesdropping.

11

JUNIPER, JIMMY, & A ROSE

Elizabeth was about halfway down the staircase when she heard the library door being wrenched open.

Stopping on the stair, she spotted Alfred stationed in the corner between the parlour and the front door. Below, to her right, Mr Fordham had just drawn himself up, his height insignificant in the face of the other gentleman’s admirable tallness.

“I suppose you reported me to Monroe for trying to inveigle information about Berkhamsted Castle,” snarled Mr Fordham.

“Against my better judgment, I did not.” Mr Darcy’s temper, in Elizabeth’s estimation, was commendable in its forbearance.

“As it happens, your assistance was completely unnecessary.” Mr Fordham shook some papers in Mr Darcy’s face. “Now stand aside so I may obtain our host’s verification.”

To spy on their altercation had not been Elizabeth’s intention, so she acknowledged Alfred and sneaked down and rounded the staircase. Hearing what sounded like a cry of either anguish or outrage from the vicinity of the parlour, she pushed open its door, which had stood ajar. Stopping short in the doorway, she espied Miss Kensett within and asked, “What on earth are you doing?”

There was a shriek and a crash as the vase from which Miss Kensett had been pulling flowers slipped from her hand and shattered on hardwood. Both ladies gaped at the damage—a spreading pool of water and the jagged remnants of what had been a lovely porcelain vase in soft shades of pink and green. A spray of mignonettes, emitting a delicate, musky fragrance, lay splayed across the wet floor.

“Look what you made me do! What do you mean by sneaking up on me in such a boorish manner? This is your fault, Miss Bennet!”

In the face of adversity, Elizabeth exerted herself to emulate Mr Darcy’s commendable forbearance. “I hardly⁠—”

“Begging your pardon, Miss Bennet.” Christopher had come from behind. As he slipped past, he was accosted by Miss Kensett.

“You there! Yes, you, footman. Clean this up at once!”

“Mrs Vincent has already been summoned, miss,” replied the harried servant. “She and Henrietta will be here directly.”

Still standing at the parlour entrance, Elizabeth did a further survey of the room and noticed several other vases had been stripped of their floral arrangements. Bouquets had been carelessly tossed aside and lay wilting on wet, lacy tablecloths.

“Pardon me, please, Miss Bennet.” Followed by the maid assigned to Miss Kensett, the housekeeper swept past Elizabeth. “I was informed there might be an issue here.” Lifting her hems, Mrs Vincent carefully stepped over the shards of porcelain and spoke in a thinly veiled tone of disapproval. “I see matters have deteriorated significantly.”

Wiping wet hands on a handkerchief, Miss Kensett stopped what she was doing long enough to point a finger. “It was her fault. She startled me.”

“Yes, I did,” said Elizabeth from the doorway, “and I apologise for that. Otherwise, I am not blameworthy. The room already was in disarray when I arrived.”

Mrs Vincent then looked askance at the guilty party.

“I was just…um…” Miss Kensett tossed her head, failing to even acknowledge Henrietta, the burly maid who was on hands and knees busily sopping up the spillage. “I was…ensuring the stems had been cut properly.” Even she winced at the folly of her own utterance.

At such a heap of absurdity, Elizabeth had to subdue laughter. “How very thorough you were to examine stems of dried flowers.” She indicated a green glass vase, tipped on its side. “And then there are those two urns with pastoral scenes now facing backwards on the mantel, their necks too narrow to ever have held a bunch of flowers. Yes, I would say you have been very thorough indeed.”

“Oh, very well,” snapped Miss Kensett. “Someone mentioned a puzzle was hidden inside a vase here in the parlour, and I thought⁠—”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet.” Mr Hadley—red-faced, evidently from rushing—had come to a halt beside Elizabeth. Addressing the room at large, he said, “Does anyone happen to know where Mr Monroe might be found? I am happy to report I have solved yet another puzzle!”

Elizabeth missed any more of Miss Kensett’s inanity, not because of Mr Hadley’s enquiry but because of a whiff of juniper’s fresh, sharp, sappy aroma. Without turning, she sensed Mr Darcy’s powerful and comforting presence directly behind her. Comforting? Feeling at ease in that gentleman’s company was a new and unexpected sensation.

“Miss Bennet”—his voice was alarmingly close to her ear—“this doorway is not wide enough for the three of us. We had much better go out to the avenue, you and I.”

When she turned to face him, Elizabeth caught the corners of his mouth forming a heart-warming and, if she were to be honest, captivating smile. Not only had the teasing man made reference to a certain exchange in Netherfield’s shrubbery, but, if she was not mistaken, he was flirting rather outrageously with her. Was it an indication of a renewed wish to secure her affection, or was he toying with her? Surely not the latter! She turned away from him and caught Mr Hadley’s rather shocked expression.

Still leaning in, Mr Darcy must have been heedless of the quizzing looks the younger gentleman was giving the two of them. “And where, pray tell, is that charming chaperon of yours? We must not use Miss Rigby so abominably ill as to run away without telling her we intend to do so.”

The proximity of his lips to her ear produced shivers and vibrations and frissons and such. “Alas, I must decline your shocking but tempting invitation.”