Page 27 of Conundrums & Coincidences

“You!” Miss Kensett pointed at him. “You did this!”

He shot to his feet. “Madam, you go too far! I will have you know that Miss Armstrong asked me to have her jewellery valued, which I did last year. That devious jeweller must have kept her real pearls and replaced them with paste. I then unknowingly returned fakes to Miss Armstrong, and she unwittingly gifted them to you. ’Tis unfortunate. But the fault is not mine!”

Their raised voices summoned Mr Monroe; and when the situation was explained to the attorney, he asked Mr Fordham for the name of the jeweller and said he would investigate. The gentleman, however, could not remember to which jeweller he had taken the pearls.

In being so awkwardly circumstanced, the attorney secured Elizabeth’s compassion. The poor man had yet another quandary to resolve.

Returning the imitation pearl necklace to its owner, Miss Rigby said that the cost or quality of a bequest should be irrelevant. “What matters, dear, is that Miss Armstrong thought of you and wanted you to have a keepsake.”

Glancing at the others and evidently thinking it best to disguise her pique, Miss Kensett sat, smoothed her skirts, and patted her hair. “Well, of course, that is all that truly matters. And, certainly, I am touched by the sentiment.” She sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a lacy handkerchief but shed no tears.

Perhaps, thought Elizabeth, Miss Kensett did not feel the need to truly weep because it was said that pearls represented teardrops.

At the sideboard, Miss Rigby held up the pitcher of sweet, blackcurrant-flavoured drink. “Cordial, anyone?”

14

BITTER & BETTER

Looking neat and trim, Darcy stood in front of the large pier-glass that filled the wall space between his bedchamber’s two windows. Alfred—the prodigiously capable footman-valet—had ordered a hot bath for him, shaved him without a nick, and performed wonders with his hair and cravat. Nothing could be done, though, about the dark smudges beneath his eyes. Alfred had offered to obtain some sort of cosmetic preparation from the housekeeper, but Darcy had flatly refused to even consider such madness.

“And you say no one else suffered any ill effects whatsoever from the wine?”

Alfred brushed non-existent lint from the gentleman’s shoulder. “Not that anyone has admitted, sir.”

“Humph.” Truth be told, Darcy was more than a little offended that one little glass of wine had kicked him like a Suffolk punch—though, to be fair, those thick-set, short-legged sorrels were incredibly calm and gentle creatures. One thing was certain: he was thankful no one else, particularly Miss Bennet, had suffered a similarly horrific episode.

In the parlour the previous evening, Darcy’s vision had blurred, and he had been overcome by a relaxed but dazed feeling. At that point, he had bid the others a good night and walked for eleven outlandish miles to reach his bedchamber and fling himself upon the mattress. All he remembered after that were bizarre, vivid dreams. As far as he could recall, each time he had tried to sit up, he had become nauseous and lightheaded.

When he finally had been able to bestir himself in the early afternoon, Darcy had felt and looked like he had been dragged arsy-versy, thrice, through a hedgerow. His head had ached, and he had been ravenous. Bless his soul, Alfred had brought headache powders, barley water, a dish of broth, and toasted muffins.

“Thanks to you, my good man, I do believe I am ready to face the world again.” And discover what, exactly, was in that wine. Opium? Wormwood?

When Darcy arrived at the foot of the stairs, Christopher informed him that all the others were gathered in the parlour; and, upon entering that room, Darcy was met with exclamations of relief and enquiries of an intrusive nature. As politely as possible under the circumstances, he returned everyone’s greeting but brushed aside their questions.

“Mr Monroe, may I have a private conference with you in ten minutes or so?”

“Of course, of course. Whenever you are ready. And may I say how pleased I am to see you up and about, sir.”

Darcy bowed to the attorney and approached the cosy grouping of four leather chairs where Elizabeth, Miss Rigby, and Mr Hadley sat together. Following a silent communication with the chaperon, he said, “Miss Bennet, if the others will pardon us, may I have a private word with you?” With a tilt of his head, he indicated the plush pink sofa customarily occupied by Mr Fordham.

Once she was seated there, Elizabeth expressed with tenderness and solicitude her fear for his health.

“There is no need. I am quite recovered. And you? You are well?” He was about to sit but stilled in expectation.

“Yes, now that you are here with me.” She blushed.

Darcy’s first smile of that day began slowly and built. He flipped his coattails and sat as close to her as he dared.

She glanced away briefly. “I meant with us. All of us.”

There was subdued laughter from somewhere across the room, but nothing could distract Darcy from the loveliness of her. Only decorum and the need for information kept him from more pleasurable and provocative behaviour that might attract more than just her attention. They were, after all, in the company of others.

“What, if anything, can you tell me about last evening? I began feeling peculiar after drinking a glass of wine here in the parlour, though at dinner, during the service of fruit and sweets, I had one glass of Constantia wine. And there was the port after you and the other ladies withdrew.”

She tilted her head and thought for a moment. “I remember Mr Fordham inviting you and Mr Hadley to join him in a low-stakes game of Brag, but neither of you would play cards on a Sunday. You also said you needed to work on your current puzzle. Then you looked at me as though you were going to approach. At the sideboard, Mr Fordham poured himself a glass of wine and asked whether either of you wanted one. Mr Hadley declined, but you accepted.”

It was a serious matter they were discussing, but he could not resist a gentle tease. “So, Miss Bennet, would it be fair to say you spent a great deal of time observing me?” He tried and failed miserably at preventing his lips from twitching. Never before had he flirted so outrageously, or even moderately, or at all. Then again, never before had a woman been so loveworthy.