Page 19
She crammed the nightgown, the sprigged muslin, the mutinous chemise, and the forbidden stockings into the valise, winding the broken belt round twice. When it refused to buckle, she unwound it and tied a knot that would have resisted a siege.
“We will not,” she said, her voice admirably steady despite the color still flaming in her cheeks, “speak of this again.”
“I had no intention—”
“Ever.” She rose, clutching the valise to her chest, and began walking in the direction of the lane without waiting to see if he followed. “If you are still determined to escort me, you may do so, but you will walk three paces behind, and you will not offer to carry anything, and if you so much as glance at this valise, I will push you into the nearest hedgerow and leave you there.”
Darcy fell into step behind her, keeping the prescribed three paces, his gaze fixed on the back of her head, which he had to admit was more picturesque than any of Miss Bingley’s giraffe-like neckstalks.
She walked briskly, and, given the graceful roll of her step, her movement was hypnotic, as potent as an enchantress’s wand.
The vision of pale silk, impossibly fine and draped where his imagination had no right to linger, haunted the backs of his eyes.
Three paces, she had decreed, and from this vantage, he could hardly object. The road, rutted by frost and eager to claim his boots, offered little distraction.
“Can you hear me from back here?” he asked, as if she intended to keep a stony silence.
“Only if you signify your assent to the banns.”
“Which implies you are eager to marry me.”
“That is no one’s wish save my mother’s, Mr. Darcy,” she retorted without turning. “The banns pacify my family while we seek alternate means of removing both of ourselves from my uncle’s trap.
“It may appear a snare to you, Miss Elizabeth, but hardly from my vantage point.” He eyed her deliciously swaying gait. “Three paces suit me well.”
She halted abruptly and whirled around, her dark eyes flashing before Darcy could smooth the grin from his features. He stopped beside her, looking down into her upturned fury.
“What possible connection can you claim with my uncle, Mr. Darcy, that he should name you in his will? And upon such advantageous terms?”
“I should scarcely call marrying a lady who regards me with open detestation an exorbitant privilege,” Darcy replied evenly. “But pray, Miss Elizabeth, enlighten me.”
“No, sir, you owe me an explanation.” She clutched her battered valise tighter to her chest, one foot twitching as if she longed to stamp it upon the frozen mud or his toe. “I have racked my mind. My uncle has never met you, has he? And you appeared in Hertfordshire only shortly before Michaelmas. You could not have crossed paths in town, for he had not left Bristol since the spring.”
“Then I am at as much a loss as you. Mr. Sowerby, your uncle’s solicitor, contacted me a se’nnight ago. You can imagine my astonishment. I rode hither as soon as propriety permitted to discover whether you might shed some light upon the mystery.” Darcy rubbed the back of his neck as a prickle of guilt surfaced. “You are quite right. I have done nothing whatsoever to earn it.”
“Then perhaps we might break my uncle’s will.”
“Are you proposing challenging it?”
She lifted her chin and gave him a pointed look. “It would be worth a try. What if my uncle had a previous will, and this one was proven to be a forgery?”
“And why would you wish to do that?”
“Because my father is next of kin.”
“You cannot foresee that. Mistresses or others could crawl out of the woodwork. Word gets around that you are challenging the will and… you have only until Lady Day, because after that, I become the sole heir.”
“Then I shall consult my Uncle Philips. We can simply renounce the will together, and it might revert to my father.”
Renounce the will together. As though his interests and hers were naturally aligned, as though the man standing to inherit everything by doing nothing should cheerfully conspire in his own dispossession because she asked him to. The audacity was breathtaking.
“You seem to believe that I should hand all the cards to you, Miss Elizabeth. If I were to do as you wish, would you still find the present arrangement as intolerable?”
Her step faltered, eyes narrowing to slits, but her chin rose with such defiance that one might suppose she had never set foot in a trap of her own devising.
“I am determined that neither of us should marry without proper affection and respect.” Her words were clipped, like a chisel chipping flakes of marble.
“A worthwhile sentiment to which I heartily agree.”
