Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(83)

“Hmmph,” the judge responded, then said, “If all legal firms employed young women such as you, Miss Bennet, I believe the number of hours I spend listening to cases would decrease drastically. You may stand down now; I have questions for the witnesses.”

Lizzie didn’t so much sit as sink into her seat. To her left, Darcy gave her a slight, encouraging smile that Lizzie barely managed to return. I presented a case before the court, she thought. Yesterday, it had seemed impossible. She was surprised to find that it had been not quite as shocking an experience as she’d once imagined. Surely, though, her father would not hesitate to hire her now? But she couldn’t think about that now—Weatherford was calling forth witnesses, and Lizzie had to focus, writing down questions that were overlooked and redirects that she slipped to her father and Darcy.

Nearly an hour later, when all witnesses had been questioned, Collins was brought before the judge and his gag removed. He glowered at Lizzie as Weatherford asked, “Mr. Collins, what do you have to say in defense against the charges brought before you?”

“I only answer to Lady Catherine. She is the one who instructed me to take care of Hurst! He had no respect—”

The bailiff gagged Mr. Collins once more, on the judge’s gesture. “I’m ordering Mr. Collins arrested and jailed until charges can be brought against him. I’m sure, thanks to his own admissions here and Miss Bennet’s excellent evidence, that he will be found guilty of murder, at which time the appropriate sentence will be applied. Now, as to this case . . .”

Weatherford ordered Bingley to stand. Mr. Bennet, Mr. Darcy, and Lizzie stood with him. She wasn’t certain if she would have the strength, but Darcy’s hand found hers and gripped her tightly, lending his strength. Or, she thought as she glanced at his trembling arm, perhaps he was leaning on her for strength? She squeezed his hand once.

“I am granting Miss Bennet’s request to dismiss all charges. Mr. Bingley, you have the court’s apology. You are free to go.”

The last words were drowned out in the rush of cheers that reverberated throughout the courtroom. Darcy released Lizzie’s hand to go and hug his friend, who stumbled down from his bench in obvious shock. He shook Mr. Bennet’s hand, then Lizzie’s, as the gavel banged and banged, but the crowd did not quiet until Weatherford adjourned the court and the group spilled outside to mingle with the onlookers from the gallery.

Lizzie could scarcely keep track of everyone who hugged her—there was Jane, Charlotte, and her father. She supposed it was rather too much to expect a gesture of affection or even gratitude from Caroline, but Louisa shyly patted her on the back and Bingley exuberantly thanked her.

Then, Lizzie was preoccupied with a long line of well-wishers, mostly other clerks, solicitors, and barristers congratulating her on her first court case, a few offering unsolicited advice that she took with a polite smile. It was all wonderfully overwhelming, but as person after person passed by, she realized that she kept searching for Darcy’s face in the wave of people. She excused herself and looked about for Darcy but saw only Jane and Bingley making each other’s acquaintance, Caroline complaining, her father conferring with a colleague . . .

“He’s over there,” Charlotte whispered, catching her eye and nodding to a corner at the opposite end of the courtyard where Darcy sat on a bench. “Go put him out of his misery.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Lizzie admitted.

“That would be a first,” Charlotte remarked, unsympathetic, and nudged Lizzie in his direction.

Not wanting to lose her nerve, Lizzie walked over to Darcy. He looked up at her as she approached, and Lizzie found herself unable to read his expression—hope? dismay? regret? Whatever it was, it made Lizzie panic and say without thinking, “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

“Congratulations,” Darcy said.

“Thank you,” Lizzie replied, but found that she was back where she began, at a loss for words.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“To have solved the case?”

“To have spoken in court! I’ve sat in court before, of course. But I’ve never spoken before the judge.”

Lizzie laughed softly. Here she had spent so much time working to get ahead of Darcy, able to see only his advantages, and she had surpassed him in this way. But she considered the question. “It was a rush—and very intimidating. It feels good to clear an innocent man’s name, but . . .”

Darcy was looking at her with something like longing. For her? No, don’t be preposterous, Lizzie.

“You were wonderful,” he said. “Measured and deliberate. I would have presented the button first, but you built your argument perfectly.”

He was jealous, she realized. And far too much of a gentleman to admit it. He dreamed of wearing the robes and presenting cases one day, and she had beaten him to it. But—and this was almost as shocking to her—he wasn’t bemoaning this fact. He was complimenting her on her success. A surge of generosity ran through her and she sat next to him and said, “You’ll be doing the same and more before long. I’m sure you’ll be brilliant at it.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “Just give the witnesses and magistrate your glower—yes, that’s the one,” she added as familiar irritation flickered across his face, “and they’ll all fall in line for sure.”