Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(71)

For all that Lizzie had discovered in the past week, she felt inept. She’d been taken in by a disreputable young man because he had a charming smile and asked her about herself, yet she’d been oblivious to his manipulation. She had allowed herself to be swept away by gossip about Darcy simply because he had not made a good first impression upon her and she found his manners distasteful. And what did Lizzie have to show for it all?

She still didn’t know who killed Hurst.

Abigail was dead, because of her.

She’d insulted Collins by refusing his awful offer of marriage, jeopardizing her family’s standing with her father’s heir.

And worst of all, Mr. Bennet would surely not hire her now, not when she’d disregarded his orders to not involve herself in the case and had gotten herself kidnapped because of it.

Lizzie was disturbed from her trail of miserable thoughts by a knock. Jane entered, a steaming cup of tea cradled between her palms. “Good, you’re awake,” she said. “How did you sleep?”

Lizzie sat up and drew the covers around her. “Fine. Has everyone settled down?”

“Hardly,” Jane said, handing her the tea. “Lydia and Kitty are devastated that Wickham turned out to be a criminal and Mary is trying to read them Bible verses as consolation. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mama wasn’t trying to figure out how she might convince Darcy to marry you now, since he saved your life.”

“I thought she didn’t like him,” Lizzie said, taking a sip. “Besides, I saved his life as well.”

“You and I both know that will only encourage her,” Jane said with a gentle smile. “Mama has been reconsidering Darcy ever since he came to our rescue.”

Lizzie leaned against her sister and sighed. “I think I completely misjudged him.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? It’s far better to find someone is actually a better person than you expected than to discover they lack character in a time of crisis.”

“In theory, yes. In practice, I look the fool.”

Jane hugged her sister. “Don’t forget that he misjudged you at first, too. Why, if his opinion of you was the same as it was a week ago, he wouldn’t be in our drawing room right now.”

“What?” Lizzie nearly spilled her tea. “Why didn’t you say first thing?”

Jane raised a teasing brow. “Oh, I thought you didn’t care for him.”

“I’m merely concerned about the case,” Lizzie lied as she launched herself out of bed and hobbled to the wardrobe. Her ankle was still sore from the previous night’s leap from the carriage, but it didn’t stop her from riffling through it for something suitable to wear.

“Put this on,” Jane said, pulling out her own best green dress. “Your best dress may never recover from yesterday’s excitement, and you can’t be wearing second-best if you’re going to appear in court today.”

Lizzie hugged her sister. “You’re the best of sisters.”

When she was dressed, she evaluated her appearance in the mirror quickly and did something she thought she’d never do: she tried to imagine how she might look to Darcy. Not as an opponent, but as a young lady.

“You look lovely,” Jane said, as if she knew exactly what Lizzie was thinking.

“I’m acting like Lydia.”

“Nothing wrong with wanting to put your best foot forward. Now go down before Mama scares him off.”

Jane’s wisdom gave Lizzie the courage to retrieve her sketchbook, the oilskin document pouch, and the stray button from her writing box, leave the room, and go downstairs to face Darcy. That, and abject terror at how her mother was representing her to Darcy.

But as she descended the stairs, there was a knock on the front door, and she limped over to answer it. She was shocked to find Charlotte standing on her front step, a rather large satchel clutched in her hands.

“Charlotte!” Lizzie forgot for a moment that she and Charlotte were still on awkward footing after their disagreement about Collins—and that she had not told Charlotte about Collins’s proposal. It felt like weeks ago, not days. She drew her friend in, relieving her of the heavy load. “What are you doing here so early? And are you carrying bricks?”

“I got your father’s message this morning,” she said, huffing slightly. “I did as he asked and went to the office before everyone arrived, and gathered these books. Whatever’s going on?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Lizzie sighed. “I was kidnapped! But I got away. And Mr. Darcy helped. But I saved his life, too—he would have been shot otherwise. And this entire case has gotten so complicated I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Kidnapped? Lizzie, are you all right?” Charlotte’s alarm made Lizzie reach out and grasp her hands.

“A little sore, but perfectly fine now. And . . .” She looked meaningfully into Charlotte’s eyes. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“Oh, Lizzie. I know you are.”

“Yes, but I should have said it earlier. From this moment on, I shall listen to you and respect your wishes. I was acting foolishly before.”

Charlotte didn’t rush to assure her otherwise, but she squeezed Lizzie’s hands. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

Mr. Bennet’s voice startled them. “Oh, Miss Lucas, you’re here. Excellent.” He stood in the drawing room doorway. “Lizzie, come along. We’ve got important matters to discuss.”