Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(62)

Her mother charged down the hall with the force and determination of an ox, and Lizzie prepared herself for full and utter humiliation in front of Darcy. His sister calls him Fitz, she reminded herself in an attempt to lessen the impact of her impending embarrassment.

“Where have you been?! You have a caller! And he’s been waiting almost an hour for you! Your father has given you far too much freedom and— Who is this?”

“Mama, this is Mr. Darcy. He’s come to consult with Papa.”

Mrs. Bennet gave the bare minimum of courtesy to Mr. Darcy, although Darcy bowed and greeted her with the utmost civility. “Mrs. Bennet, a pleasure. Thank you for receiving me, and so late in the evening.”

“Mr. Bennet is in his study. Kitty can show you.” Mrs. Bennet began picking at Lizzie’s person in an attempt to straighten her hair and clothing. “Now look at you, drenched and disheveled—and is that mud? Lizzie, this is your best dress! But, oh, he already knows you’re here, so you better go in and speak to him, before Lydia convinces him to propose to her instead.”

That gave Lizzie pause. Lydia despised Mr. Collins. “Mama, who—”

A hearty laugh from the drawing room made Lizzie look up, and in an instant she realized exactly who was waiting. She looked to Darcy to see if he had recognized the voice as well, and judging by the glower he was working himself up to, he had indeed.

Lizzie brushed past her mother and rushed down the hallway. She entered the drawing room to find Wickham by the fire and Lydia sitting rather closer to him than was proper. He looked up when she entered and wielded that dimple in her direction. “Lizzie!”

Wickham’s smile disappeared when he spotted Darcy right on her heels. He got to his feet, taking Lydia by surprise. “Hello, Darcy.”

“Wickham,” Darcy said through clenched teeth.

“Lydia!” Lydia said, pointing to herself. “This is Mr. Darcy? Heavens, Lizzie—you didn’t tell us how handsome he is.”

Lizzie shot her sister a look. Now was not the time for Lydia’s dramatics. “Lydia, will you please go see to Mama?”

“No,” she said. “I prefer the company in here.”

Lizzie didn’t wish to argue with her sister in front of guests, so she shifted her gaze to Wickham. At the same time that Darcy asked, “What’re you doing here?” Lizzie exclaimed, “Oh! You’re hurt!”

“I shall live,” Wickham assured her, holding out his hands and arms to show that he was fine. But the knees of his trousers were muddied and the elbow of his jacket was torn. He had a rather large bruise on the left side of his jaw and a small gash above his left eye.

“What happened?” she asked, neatly pushing Lydia aside for a closer look.

“The hazard of performing one’s duties,” he informed her. “I was set upon by a gang of thieves.”

“That cut looks fresh,” Lizzie said. It hadn’t yet scabbed over. “Has it been cleaned?”

“I’ve already offered,” Lydia said, clearly annoyed.

“It’s a small thing,” Wickham assured her, but he flinched when Lizzie took his arm to draw him closer to the firelight so she could examine it.

“Are you hurt elsewhere?”

He didn’t answer. He wasn’t even looking at her. Rather, he was staring at Darcy.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Darcy said, and the words would have been pleasant if not for the coldness in his voice.

“I didn’t know that you would be here,” Wickham said in a measured tone, but Lizzie saw a flash of panic in Wickham’s eyes before it was replaced by a familiar jovial expression. “It’s quite the night. The change in weather always makes people restless. I know that I’m not presentable by your standards, but . . .”

Something felt off. Lizzie’s grip on Wickham loosened, and she tried her best to keep her voice from wavering as she said, “And what is the reason for your call this evening?”

He looked at her, and Lizzie held her composure despite the thousands of questions that were racing through her mind. “I’ve come to see how you were faring in your case.”

But Darcy cut in. “Tell me, Wickham—did you ever return your key to Pemberley and Associates when you were dismissed?”

Lizzie’s confusion crystallized into clarity. Wickham’s stance and figure were identical to those of the intruder, his injuries too fresh. The mud on his knees hadn’t even dried.

“Mr. Wickham?” Lizzie asked. She began to take a step back, but Wickham’s hand closed around her arm, much stronger and tighter than she could have imagined.

“Don’t, Lizzie,” he said, and yanked her close, so her arm was pinned behind her. “No one move!”

“What are you doing?” Lydia protested.

At that moment, Mrs. Bennet came back into the drawing room. She took in the scene and cried out, “A quarrel! Over my Lizzie! Over Lydia or Jane, I would have believed it, but Lizzie!”

Darcy took a step forward, but Wickham shouted, “Not one step!”

Darcy stopped, and his eyes widened. Lizzie followed his gaze, and she went very still.

Wickham was brandishing a pistol, and the business end was pointed directly at Lizzie. She struggled to keep her breath even as he dug the muzzle into her ribs, but she didn’t like the fear in Darcy’s eyes. “How about we all calm down and speak logically?” she said, far more collected than she felt.