In Want of a Suspect (A Lizzie & Darcy Mystery #1)

Seven

In Which Darcy Comes Face-to-Face with His Uncomfortable Past

DARCY HATED THAT HE’D sent Lizzie to wait for him outside as if she were someone he was ashamed of. She deserved better than that. He ought to have explained about Mr. Tomlinson before now. If anyone would understand, it was she.

Why hadn’t he just told her?

He took a steadying breath as he stepped outside and reminded himself that it wasn’t Lizzie’s fault that Tomlinson had decided to make his life miserable. However, it was his fault that he’d soon be caught in a lie about Lizzie consulting on a Pemberley case. Who would discover it first—Tomlinson, who seemed out to get him, or his father, who would surely use this as an excuse to forbid him from seeing Lizzie?

He added this to his long list of things to worry about later.

Lizzie’s back had been to him when he stepped out, but she turned around now and smiled weakly when she spotted him. “Hello. Is this a bad time?”

“Of course not.” Darcy rushed to reassure her, even as his conscience whispered, Liar . “Good day, Jane.”

“We are awfully sorry for making things difficult for you,” Jane added.

“Tomlinson would not be happy for me to leave at any time,” Darcy said. He worked to put a smile on his face. “He would chain me to my desk from dawn to dusk if he could.”

His attempt at humor pacified Jane, but Lizzie was watching him with a keen eye, and he knew that she wasn’t fooled. He looked down at Guy and exclaimed, “What on earth have you done to that poor dog?”

“It wasn’t me!” Lizzie protested. “That was all Lydia and Kitty. If they have their way, he’ll end up a spoiled lapdog. I had to tell Mama a rather too convincing lie in order to keep her from turning him out into the streets, and now I fear she thinks you hate him.”

Darcy had long given up trying to understand the convolutions of Mrs. Bennet’s thoughts, and merely bent down and offered Guy his hand. The dog sniffed at his fingers and then allowed Darcy to pet his head. “I don’t hate him. I’ve never had a dog before.”

“Me neither,” Lizzie said. “And I think that Lydia and Kitty might start a riot if I found him a new home now, so I suppose we’re stuck with him.”

We , she’d said. That simple word warmed Darcy, drawing him out of the gray mood his encounter with Mr. Tomlinson had put him in. “My apologies,” he said to Jane. “I suppose the last thing your household needed was a pet.”

“Don’t mind Mama,” Jane assured him. “She objects to everything that is not her idea at first, but she comes around more often than not.”

“Speaking of my mother’s objections,” Lizzie said. “I asked Jane to accompany us to call on Miss Beaufort. I would have asked Charlotte, but it seems that my dear mama caught wind that we’ve a case and believes that the amount of time we are spending together is dangerously close to improper,” she said, huffing a bit on the last word.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Jane said with an apologetic wince. “I promise that Mama shall get the tamest of reports.”

“I don’t mind in the slightest, and besides, we wouldn’t want to displease your mother.”

“Did you get the search permit?” Lizzie demanded.

Darcy raised a hand to hail a carriage and grimaced. “About that...”

Once they were all tucked into a carriage and it was rattling down the busy streets toward Cavendish House, he told Lizzie the bad news. The moment he uttered the words “official Crown business” her eyes went wide.

“How on earth is a wool merchant’s storehouse official Crown business?”

“That was my question, but as you can imagine, it went unanswered.”

“Why didn’t Jack disclose this? In fact, why hire me if the Crown is already involved?”

Darcy waited for her to come to the conclusion herself. “Oh,” she said after a moment. “You think he’s hiding something.”

“Either that, or he doesn’t know,” Darcy acknowledged. “But I think it’s clear that we won’t be granted entry into that storehouse anytime soon.”

Lizzie sighed heavily at the setback and looked out the window as the streets of London slid by. “Let’s not say anything to him just yet. Although I’ve already written and said we were pursuing a lead with a Miss Beaufort. Let’s hope our visit proves enlightening.”

Darcy had a theory that he’d been mulling over since the afternoon before, and he ventured to share it now. “We may not have a clear suspect yet, but there are a few details that aren’t sitting well with me.”

“What details?”

“This fire... it happens where French émigrés happen to be living and working. And they give you the name of a wealthy young lady with French parentage. Then, the British officers the other day, and now hearing that the storehouse has something to do with Crown business...”

“You think this has something to do with the war?”

Darcy sighed. “Perhaps. It just seems as though there an awful lot of connections to French factions, and then to hear the Crown is involved somehow...”

Lizzie’s eyebrows furrowed together, and for the first time all morning, she looked unsettled. Darcy didn’t blame her. It was one thing to get caught up in legal strife and various miscarriages of justice here at home, but neither of them was particularly interested in involving themselves in the war between England and France.

“What does that mean?” Jane asked, sounding worried.

“I don’t know quite yet,” Darcy admitted. “And we have no idea if it’s true, but...”

“What connection could a wool merchant have with the war?” Lizzie muttered.

“Are the Mullins brothers radicals?”

“Not that I know of. But, Darcy, you can’t think that perhaps the storehouse was burned down by French sympathizers?” Lizzie asked. “Just because Miss Beaufort is French?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But you’ll see—Miss Beaufort is quite English, despite her name and parentage.”

It wasn’t very long before they pulled up in front of a town house, and Darcy noticed the surprise on both Bennet sisters’ faces. The home was grand, and in a very respectable neighborhood. Darcy knew what Lizzie was thinking—not likely the sort of place a sympathizer of Napoleon might live.

“Let me do the talking,” Darcy instructed. “She might not be overly pleased to see me, but at one point in time she did trust me. Perhaps we can get to the bottom of this and clear her name before the gossip spreads.”

Lizzie, to his surprise, didn’t argue. She nodded, then looked down at Guy and said, “Guy, sit.” The dog sat. “Now, stay.” To Darcy, she said, “Don’t worry, we shall follow your example.”

Darcy wondered how long that would last.

They knocked on the door and were received by an elegantly dressed butler in his early forties who was far too well trained to reveal his surprise at seeing Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy at his doorstep after two long years, but Darcy noted the flick of a glance between himself and the Bennet sisters. Darcy turned on his little-used charm and smiled. “Dupont,” he said. “How wonderful to see you again. Is Miss Beaufort receiving today?”

“That depends,” the man said with a trace of a French accent. “Is this a business or social call?”

Darcy felt Lizzie stiffen in surprise at the butler’s frank question, but he merely smiled. “We promise not to take up too much of her time.”

Mr. Dupont sniffed in a way that seemed to say, We’ll see about that . But he took Darcy’s, Lizzie’s, and Jane’s cards and bid them wait. As soon as he was out of earshot, Lizzie whispered, “You seem familiar.”

“Mr. Dupont is utterly devoted to Josette,” he whispered back. “He brought her to England after the death of her parents, and Mrs. Cavendish gave him a position. No one sees her without his approval.”

“Well, he doesn’t seem overly fond of you.”

Darcy wouldn’t have been surprised if Josette had revealed the whole embarrassing story of their last conversation to her beloved butler, in which case... he couldn’t blame the man.

Mr. Dupont reappeared. “This way, please,” he said, indicating the door to the drawing room.

Darcy’s pulse stuttered as they followed the butler down familiar halls and into the drawing room. It had changed very little since that last day he’d called at Cavendish House. Now the drapes were drawn, and a harp sat in the corner. Books were stacked artfully about the room, and a few of the heavier portraits that Darcy remembered had been replaced with more fashionable landscapes and scenes of everyday life. It felt lighter somehow, and less stifling than Darcy recalled, as though it were a room a young lady often entertained in.

At the center of the room stood Miss Josette Beaufort, as beautiful as ever.

Her dark hair shone in the early afternoon light, but her cheeks were thinner than they had been two years earlier. She wore a lavender bombazine dress, and she regarded them with barely concealed surprise. “Mr. Darcy,” she said in a smooth voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Darcy had intended to walk into the drawing room and pretend that it wasn’t familiar, and get straight to the matter of the case. He planned on being polite yet cool, and he hoped that Josette would show him the same courtesy, despite the unpleasant reason for their visit.

He hadn’t expected to find her in half mourning.

A quick glance at Dupont as the butler left the room revealed that he was wearing a subtle black armband. Darcy cursed himself for missing it, and then mustered up an appropriately polite yet reserved smile. “Miss Beaufort. My apologies for dropping in unannounced. I had not realized the household was in mourning. My condolences.”

An awkward silence stretched between them a beat too long as Josette looked at him with an indecipherable expression. Finally, she said, “No apology necessary. We’ve been receiving guests, and you are very welcome.”

At the mention of “we,” Darcy noted that there was another young lady in the room, tucked in the corner at a writing desk. She stood now to greet their guests, and Darcy could see that she was slightly taller than Josette but shared the same dark hair and medium complexion. But whereas Josette’s eyes were a lovely brown, this young woman’s were a striking blue. She was also dressed in a mourning color, her dress a dark gray, and she played with a pendant that hung at her collarbone. The necklace was quite opulent against the subdued dress. The gold pendant had a pink topaz at the center, encircled by finely worked gold filigree studded with smaller pink gems. But it wasn’t how the girl was dressed or adorned that made Darcy do a double take—she and Josette looked eerily alike, even more than Jane and Lizzie resembled each other.

But Josette, to his knowledge, didn’t have a sister.

Behind him, Lizzie cleared her throat ever so slightly.

Darcy gave a small bow to Josette and her lookalike, and said, “Allow me to introduce my companions, Miss Jane Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

The Bennet sisters made the appropriate curtseys while Josette peered at them in curiosity. “Welcome, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth. This is my cousin, Miss Leticia Cavendish.”

Miss Cavendish stepped forward. “So this is the infamous Mr. Darcy?” she asked. “A pleasure.”

Darcy wasn’t certain what was more disarming—hearing her French accent despite her English surname, or hearing her pronounce his name. “Miss Cavendish,” he greeted. “How... lovely to meet you.”

“And unexpected, no?” she asked, throwing him a coy wink.

Darcy looked to Josette, uncertain what to say. “Yes, well... I, um, that is, I wasn’t aware that you had a cousin, Miss Beaufort.”

Josette’s smile was strained. “Leticia is my mother’s brother’s daughter. We spent our childhood together, but circumstances separated us. She has only recently joined us here in London.”

Darcy deciphered her polite explanation quickly—Josette and Leticia had been born in France. Circumstances was a euphemism for war. But how was it that she had found her way to England? And what of her parents? He hadn’t even known that old Mrs. Cavendish had a son.

“What a happy turn of events,” Darcy managed.

“It is, isn’t it?” Leticia asked.

But Josette looked less than overjoyed. “Please, won’t you sit?”

Darcy and the Bennet sisters arranged themselves on the furniture, and Darcy couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Leticia. He hadn’t expected to find Josette with a companion, and in mourning; and now he felt his carefully rehearsed speech slip away so quickly, he couldn’t cling to a single word of it.

“It was our grandmother, if you were wondering,” Leticia said, taking a seat next to her cousin.

“I beg your pardon?” Darcy asked.

“Our grandmother passed five months ago,” Josette clarified. “The reason we are in mourning.”

“I’m sorry,” Darcy said, and felt how inadequate those words really were. “I’m... oh, I’m just so sorry. I hadn’t heard.”

Lizzie and Jane both murmured their condolences as well, but Darcy barely heard their words. He was trying to figure out how he’d missed the death of Mrs. Cavendish. While it was true that their families were not particularly close, she had been a client. He would have sent his condolences and called out of respect for Josette and their shared history.

“Thank you,” Josette said stiffly. She seemed surprised at Darcy’s admission and confused. “Now, I am afraid Dupont was unclear as to whether or not this was a business or social call.”

Instinct in Darcy made him want to put her at ease. “Social,” he said.

“Business, I’m afraid,” Lizzie said at the same time.

“Oh my,” Leticia said, leaning forward. “This is shaping up to be the most interesting call we’ve had all week.”

Josette didn’t seem to share in her cousin’s amusement. “Leticia,” she murmured disapprovingly.

Lizzie nudged Darcy expectantly. He had asked that he allow her to lead, but he knew she was impatient. “Miss Elizabeth and I are solicitors, and I’m afraid your name came up in a recent case.”

“My name?” Josette asked, genuinely surprised. She raised one elegant brow. “Whatever for?”

This was the delicate part. “No one has accused you of anything—but a storehouse near the docks on Burr Street caught fire, and over the course of the investigation, your name was mentioned.”

“My name was mentioned?” Josette repeated. “In what context? I can assure you, Mr. Darcy, I do not visit any storehouses near the docks!”

As Darcy struggled to find a response to Josette’s indignation, he couldn’t help but notice Leticia. Her pleasant expression didn’t shift as Darcy spoke, but she tilted her head slightly as she took in the news. It felt too calculated, too rehearsed. Suspicion unfurled in Darcy’s chest.

“You have no business connected to that area? You don’t know anyone who might have any business being there?”

Josette seemed to actually consider it. To his surprise, she turned to her cousin and said, “But surely that’s not where Richard’s storehouses were located? He would have said if there had been a fire!”

Leticia’s face did not betray her thoughts. “I cannot say, cousin.”

“If I may,” Lizzie cut in. “Who is Richard?”

“My fiancé,” Josette said, casting a nervous glance toward Darcy as she spoke the words. “Mr. Richard Hughes.”

If she expected Darcy to be shocked, she was destined to be disappointed, but Darcy was a little surprised that she seemed so skittish about revealing a fiancé. He smiled and said, “Congratulations, Miss Beaufort. I had not heard the happy news.”

His well wishes seemed to mollify her slightly, and she smiled her thanks. Leticia, however, said, “There seems to be a great deal Mr. Darcy is unaware of!”

Next to him, Lizzie nudged his foot. Whether it was to be a show of solidarity or a reminder to keep his cool, he wasn’t certain. “It seems you are correct, Miss Cavendish,” he said. “I am woefully ignorant, and you must forgive my questions.”

“I still don’t understand how my name came up in connection to a storehouse fire,” Josette said. “I have nothing to do with my fiancé’s business.”

“And what is his business, if I may be so impolite as to inquire?” Lizzie asked.

Josette pursed her lips, clearly uncertain as to whether or not Lizzie’s rudeness was warranted.

“He owns mines, doesn’t he?” Leticia responded, looking to her cousin for confirmation.

“Yes, but I’m sure I don’t know the details. You’d have to ask him.” Josette’s tone hinted at an unwillingness to discuss the matter, and Darcy had to wonder if it was because she didn’t know the details of what her fiancé did, or if she didn’t care for Darcy to know them.

“How fascinating,” Lizzie exclaimed. “Is he acquainted with the Mullins brothers?”

“I cannot say who my fiancé is and isn’t acquainted with,” Josette said. “Perhaps you ought to ask him.”

“We shall,” Lizzie promised.

“And what does this have to do with my cousin?” Leticia asked. Unlike Josette, she was poised, but Darcy found her curiously hard to read. “Please, you’ve asked so many questions and I believe that our hospitality warrants at least an answer on this matter.”

Leticia Cavendish was no fool, clearly. And she was protective of Josette.

“My apologies, Miss Cavendish,” he said. “But it was the Mullins Brothers storehouse that burned. Simon Mullins did not survive the fire.”

Josette gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. “How awful.”

“Jack Mullins has hired Lizzie to find the person responsible for setting the fire,” he added.

“The person responsible? It was not an accident?” Leticia asked.

“Mr. Mullins doesn’t believe so,” Lizzie responded. “He claims that a woman—a lady—was present in the storehouse that afternoon. She was trespassing and she was the one who started the fire. I’ve asked around, and the only name of any lady seen in the vicinity was yours, Miss Beaufort.”

Darcy held in a sigh. He hadn’t wanted Josette to learn of this quite so bluntly, but Lizzie did have a talent for cutting to the chase.

“What is the meaning of this, Darcy?” Josette demanded. “Have you come here to arrest me?”

He raised his hands in an attempt to reassure her. “I don’t have the power to arrest anyone. And we have told no one that your name has been connected to the case.”

“I am not connected! How dare you—” Josette got to her feet, and Darcy scrambled to stand after her. She was likely moments from summoning Dupont to throw them out.

“Wait, Miss Beaufort!” Lizzie interrupted. “Please don’t be angry at Darcy—if anything, you must redirect your anger to me. We are doing our due diligence, but any impertinent questions are my fault alone. Mr. Darcy did not even want to bother you. He insisted you are above reproach.”

Josette stilled, considering Lizzie and her words.

“I would like nothing more than to clear your name from this whole mess,” Darcy agreed. He paused a moment, then took a gamble by adding, “This case has whiffs of Francophobia that I find most distasteful.”

This finally seemed to convince Josette. She sat once again, and Darcy followed suit. Leticia fiddled with the necklace she wore, the only sign that Darcy could see that she appeared anxious. “Can you tell us who, exactly, connected my cousin to your case?” she asked.

“We were questioning bystanders,” Lizzie said carefully. “And I happened to speak with a group of Frenchwomen. I asked them if they knew of a lady who might have been seen in the vicinity, and they named you, Miss Beaufort.”

“A group of Frenchwomen,” Josette repeated. “The refugee women?”

“You know of them?” Darcy asked.

“Yes, of course—I am the organizer of the Ladies’ Helping Hands Relief Society. Our mission is to aid refugees displaced by war.”

“I see,” Darcy said. “And how many members do you have?”

“Well... two. We used to have three. My grandmother.” Josette looked sideling at her cousin. “As you can imagine, helping French émigrés acclimate to their new home is not a popular charitable endeavor among society ladies.”

“Indeed,” Darcy said, for he did not need an imagination to picture it. “But you have not visited them in the vicinity of the storehouse?”

“Heavens, no! We meet them in a parish hall, nowhere near the docks!”

“Well, that explains it,” Lizzie said pleasantly. “My French is rather mediocre, I’m afraid. When I attempted to communicate with them, I must have misspoken and they likely misunderstood my question.”

Josette’s furrowed expression slowly relaxed. “Oh.”

“What a coincidence, though,” Lizzie added brightly.

Beside Josette, Leticia was still. Too still, Darcy thought, for someone being questioned regarding their possible connection to a crime. Josette’s fear was understandable—even if she and her cousin had nothing to do with the case, the merest whisper of rumor that she was connected could have serious consequences for her socially. But Leticia gave very few clues to her true feelings.

“Well, if that’s all,” Josette said slowly. “I hope that you find your mysterious lady.”

Darcy forced himself to pull his gaze away from Leticia. “Me too. Thank you. We won’t take up any more—”

But before he could finish his sentence, Dupont entered. “Mr. Hughes, mademoiselle.”

Darcy turned in surprise, not having expected to catch a glimpse of Josette’s fiancé during this visit. A tall, sandy-haired gentlemen strode into the room. His appeared to be in his midtwenties, with thick sideburns and pale blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled at Josette. But that smile quickly turned into confusion as he registered the unfamiliar guests.

“Darling,” Josette said. “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and his... companions, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Darcy,” Mr. Hughes said, bowing stiffly toward him. He gave Lizzie and Jane a small bow. “What a surprise. What brings you to my fiancée’s home this afternoon?”

“Darcy is working a case he thought we might want to know about,” Leticia explained before Josette could even open her mouth.

“Oh?” Mr. Hughes looked at Darcy and the Bennet sisters in confusion. “What is your business, sir?”

Darcy didn’t believe for one minute that Mr. Hughes hadn’t heard of him and his business before this moment. “I’m a solicitor, with Pemberley and Associates.”

“And I am a solicitor with Longbourn and Sons,” Lizzie added.

“Indeed?” Hughes looked to Jane. “And you, Miss Bennet?”

“I’m afraid I have no trade, except to keep my sister company,” she said with a patient smile.

“Did you send for a solicitor, darling?” Mr. Hughes asked. “I hope you haven’t had any trouble.”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” Josette rushed to say.

“They’re investigating a fire,” Leticia explained. “On... what was it? Burr Street?”

“That’s right,” Darcy said slowly. “The Mullins brothers own a storehouse that burned—they’re wool merchants.”

“Isn’t that awfully near your office, Mr. Hughes?” Leticia asked, her voice ringing with false innocence.

There was a pause, and then Mr. Hughes responded, “My former office.”

“What is your business, sir?” Darcy asked. Something wasn’t sitting right about this conversation. Josette looked confused and uneasy, and Leticia was needling Mr. Hughes.

“Graphite mining,” Mr. Hughes said. “Or rather, it was. I own land in the Lake District, and about ten years ago we discovered veins of wad. But I’m afraid that’s all in the past now. The veins dried up last year, and so I am back to being a man of leisure.”

“How unfortunate,” Lizzie said.

“Hardly, Miss Elizabeth. It allows me ample time to spend with my fiancée.”

Josette smiled warmly then, and Darcy recognized it for her true smile. She was happy with Mr. Hughes.

“How lovely,” Lizzie said. “May I ask, when is the happy union to take place?”

“A few weeks’ time,” Josette said.

“Eleven days,” Mr. Hughes said at the same time. “We’re waiting until Josette and Leticia are out of mourning.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I hope you find whoever set that fire,” Mr. Hughes said. “Terrible business. It’s a miracle that nothing else burned down.”

“Indeed it is,” Lizzie agreed. She smiled at him, and the silence stretched a beat longer. It seemed that neither Leticia nor Josette had anything more to add to the conversation, and Darcy was too busy adding up all the new information to formulate a response.

Fortunately, it was Jane who saved them all from terrible awkwardness. “It is lovely to meet you, Mr. Hughes. I am only sorry we cannot stay any longer, but we’ve taken up quite enough of Miss Beaufort’s and Miss Cavendish’s time.”

It seemed as though the entire room breathed a sigh of relief as they all stood and made their appropriate goodbyes. Josette reached out a hand to ring the bell to summon the butler, but Leticia stayed her hand. “I am happy to see our guests out,” she said, and led them to the foyer.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the drawing room, Leticia placed a hand on Darcy’s arm, stopping him. “Do you ride, Mr. Darcy?”

“Do I— I’m sorry?”

“Ride,” she said again. “I often go to Rotten Row in the early afternoons. I shall be there tomorrow. I don’t suppose there is any chance I might run into you? Or Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth?”

“I don’t—”

“We don’t normally ride,” Lizzie rushed to say, “but we are always open to new experiences.”

Leticia smiled lightly. “My cousin, unfortunately, has a prior engagement, and she doesn’t care to ride as much as I do. It is my favorite pastime in London. Don’t you find it refreshing, Miss Elizabeth, to ride in the open air?” She paused slightly, as if expecting Lizzie to respond, then added, “It is the perfect place to meet and be seen, and yet one can have all manner of conversations not appropriate for drawing rooms.”

Darcy found himself curious. Who was this strange cousin? “I am certain tomorrow will be a lovely day for a ride. Thank you for the suggestion, Miss Cavendish.”

They departed then, and Darcy helped Jane and Elizabeth into the waiting carriage, where Guy barked with excitement at the sight of them. Before Darcy stepped in, he cast a glance up and down the street. He didn’t know why, but he had the strangest sense that someone was watching him. Someone just outside of the corner of his vision. He shook his head, chalking up his unease to the strange encounter inside, and followed the ladies into the carriage. The door had barely closed before Lizzie said, “Well, that was interesting .”

“Goodness, I had no idea that questioning suspects would be so similar to an extremely awkward social call,” Jane observed. “Are they always like that?”

“Usually not so civilized, nor as peculiar,” Lizzie told her. She turned her gaze on Darcy. “You agree, don’t you, that it was peculiar?”

“I had no idea she had a cousin,” Darcy said.

“Yes!” Lizzie leaned forward. “She’s an odd one. And did you hear the way she made a point of telling us about Mr. Hughes’s office—twice!”

“Yes, that was strange. It’s almost as if she was trying to implicate him.”

“She knows something,” Lizzie agreed. “But... she’s also a tall, dark-haired young lady. Is she to be trusted?”

Jane gasped. “You mean to say that you think it’s Miss Cavendish and not Miss Beaufort who set fire to the storehouse?”

“Perhaps,” Lizzie said, but from the look on her face, Darcy knew that she thought it was more than likely.

“I suppose Miss Cavendish intends to shed some light on the subject tomorrow,” he said.

Suddenly, Lizzie looked stricken. “But riding? I hate riding. And I have no horse.”

“You can ride Georgiana’s,” Darcy said. “Father never sent her to the estate, so she’s been stabled here in London. The groom has been exercising her daily so she’ll be perfectly docile.”

“But we cannot simply ride down Rotten Row, just the two of us, without drawing all sorts of attention, and then it’s guaranteed to get back to my mother.”

“Oh.” Darcy hadn’t considered that. “But you could tell your father you’re meeting a witness?”

“Lizzie, I think—” Jane started to say.

“It won’t make a difference! Papa isn’t pleased I took this case, and I know what he’ll say—Why don’t you just conduct business in the office, where no one will ask questions?”

“Leticia Cavendish likely won’t consent to meet at Longbourn,” Darcy said. “At best, it would be ruinous for her reputation. At worst, it could scare her off, and she’s currently our only lead.”

“I know that! It’s bad enough that I have to climb atop a horse to get answers, now we have to find some sort of excuse so my mother doesn’t get ideas .”

The ominous way Lizzie uttered the word made Darcy go still for a moment, and he glanced at Jane, who appeared uncharacteristically flustered.

“Excuse me!” Jane burst out. “If I may, I have an idea.”

Both Darcy and Lizzie started in surprise. Darcy didn’t think he’d ever heard the oldest Bennet sister raise her voice.

“You do?” Lizzie asked.

“Yes. But I don’t think you’ll like it very much.”