Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(56)

She stared him down, and he returned her forceful gaze. Lizzie thought of Lady Catherine’s warning, Wickham’s story of betrayal, the rumors that had reached even her mother’s ears. As much as she would like to believe that Darcy agreeing with her was a mark of common sense, she could not completely overrule her suspicion. If there was the slightest chance that he was crooked, Lizzie would not allow him to abscond with her evidence.

“Very well,” he relented.

“Excellent,” Georgiana proclaimed. “I shall come too!”





Fifteen


In Which Lizzie and Darcy Face Complications



THE FOG HAD CREPT up, turning the late afternoon gloomy. Lizzie sat next to Georgiana in the Darcys’ carriage and studied Darcy, daring him to say something. He kept his silence, but luckily Georgiana was talking enough for the both of them. “This is really quite the twist,” she said. “Like something out of a novel, but even more exciting. It’s very clever, isn’t it?”

“Extortion masquerading as legitimate business actions?” Lizzie said. “Well, a bit cleverer than I would expect out of Hurst. But it would hardly have worked long-term.”

“Are you so unwilling to give credit to a man that you can’t acknowledge when criminal activity has outsmarted you?” Darcy inquired, keeping his gaze out the window.

“I’ve never declined to give credit where credit is due, Mr. Darcy. That seems to be your expertise.”

“You expect me to account for a great many things I’ve never done,” he bit back.

“You don’t like to accept help, do you?” she asked, managing to keep her tone pleasant only because Georgiana was beside her, and Georgiana seemed perfectly lovely.

“I don’t decline help when I need it. If it’s my attitude you take issue with, perhaps my greatest weakness is that I can’t forget when other people have acted foolishly or offended me.”

“So your only choice is to hate everyone?”

“And yours is to willfully misunderstand everyone,” he said finally, meeting the full force of her gaze.

His look—how to classify that look? In it, Lizzie felt as though she saw herself the way he must see her. A headstrong, foolish girl who inserted herself into situations where she wasn’t welcome, where she offered no valid opinions or assistance. For some reason, this perception cut her. She’d rather that Darcy look at her with disdain, annoyance, even anger, than look through her as though she had no value.

She sighed. “I simply meant that extortion masquerading as an insurance policy was only moderately clever because it wouldn’t hold up under close scrutiny. My father’s expertise is in business law. I imagine that the documents provided the criminals paychecks, but this isn’t a wise long-term plan.”

“Thus the murder to preserve the farce,” Darcy concluded.

“Thus the murder,” she echoed. Finally something they could agree upon.

Lizzie saw Georgiana regarding her and Darcy as if they were performing in a play for Georgiana’s own entertainment. “How fascinating,” the younger girl replied. “Someone awfully clever must be behind it all, then?”

“Yes,” Lizzie and Darcy said at the same time, and the thought made Lizzie uncomfortable. Who could it be? A small part of her still suspected Darcy. He was clever enough. And if his behavior toward Wickham was any indication, he was ruthless enough. But now that she knew that Hurst’s death did not protect the Bingley family from ruin but might instead expose their precarious position, she had serious doubts—unless Darcy had yet to play his final hand.

“If Bingley asked you for money, would you give him any?” she asked.

It was a tactic she’d learned while trying to elicit information from her father, to ask him abrupt, straightforward questions when he was lost in thought. He was usually so startled that he’d answer honestly.

“Yes,” Darcy said, proving her method. “I would have given him as much as I had, if he’d asked. But he didn’t.”

Lizzie nodded but was unsettled by the feeling that she had missed something.

Darcy’s carriage came up a side street, revealing the darkened side of the Pemberley & Associates offices. It wasn’t a workday, so few people lingered in the streets. The fog had morphed into a cold, spitting rain and stern breeze, and the lamplighters had not yet been around. Before the driver could make the turn to deliver them to the entrance, the carriage came to an abrupt halt. Lizzie heard the driver’s voice raised in anger and a response from an unfamiliar man. For a moment, Darcy’s eyes met hers before they moved to opposite windows.

Outside, Lizzie couldn’t see much aside from empty streets and what appeared to be a staggering figure making the horses balk. Darcy called out, “What’s the delay?”

“A drunk, sir!” the driver called back.

Lizzie turned to find Darcy looking back at her. “I could be unreasonable,” she said, “but does this seem like a distraction to you?”

“Better to be unreasonable than sorry,” Darcy declared. “Stay here, both of you.”

Then he threw open the door and leapt out.

Lizzie gaped. If Darcy really thought that she was going to stay put while he investigated danger . . .

“Go,” Georgiana whispered. “I’ll pretend I tried to stop you.”