“And why, sir, should I believe you? Hmm? You are dressed very finely today, I see. You must have had a productive journey. What did you sell this time? Mrs. Marcus’s silver spoons?”
“Spoons? Why would I even bother? No, what I am after is something far more majestic. One could even say… tempting.”
Her eyes never changed, but one brow arched. “You seem to be a man of many temptations.”
“Just one, Miss Bennet.”
“Then you are still trying to learn about my father’s statue?”
“Your father does have something of interest to me.”
She turned nonchalantly to her book; her gloved fingers brushing over the cover. “I suppose it might interest you to learn that he has already sold it. You are too late.”
Dash it all.I tried not to let the disappointment flicker across my face. “I would find that mildly interesting, yes. I was hoping to be the first to it. May I ask who purchased it?”
She tipped her chin up to me and smiled, serene in her victory. “Do you see that great, tall gentleman over there? His name is Mr. Collins, and he is terribly ferocious. And strong, too—why, they say he is a veritable ox.” She pointed to a fellow across the street who was walking with two young ladies, carrying their parcels.
I turned to watch him. The man’s gaze was fixed on the “Meryton Drapers” sign on the building, and he failed to pick up his feet when the young ladies tried to drag him inside. Consequently, he met with a rather hard fall, knocking off his hat and probably bruising his chin.
“Oh, Mr. Collins! You have crushed my new bonnet!” cried one girl.
He picked himself up, apologizing profusely and trying to conceal the fact that he had ripped a great hole in the knee of his trousers.
I turned back to Elizabeth. “Yes, I see. He is a savage, to be sure. I daren’t face him if I value my life.”
She cleared her throat. “Yes, well, he only negotiates on behalf of a very important person named Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I understand she is quite wealthy and powerful. I would not wish to offend her if I were you.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Nor would I, if I were you, for I am well acquainted with this Lady Catherine. One might even say we share a connection of some long standing. I tell you what—I cannot be the reason for Lady Catherine’s displeasure. Mr. Collins and the statue are quite safe from me.”
She drew a breath, her chest lifting and her shoulders relaxing. “May I have your word on that, sir?”
“Of course. So far as it depends on me, the statue will be delivered to Lady Catherine’s keeping, unmolested. That ought to make Carruthers happy.”
A fine line appeared between her eyes. “Carruthers?”
“Oh, did you not hear his name before? Ah, no matter. Standard, really.”
Those fine eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. “I cannot imagine why I would trust you for a second, but let us imagine I do. Who is this Carruthers person?”
“I am surprised Mr. Collins did not mention it. He is one of the foremost experts on ancient art in all London. Lady Catherine’s greatest pleasure is in hearing the praise of others.”
Elizabeth snorted and rolled her eyes. “Which explains why she chose my cousin as her parson.”
“Indeed! To her, there is nothing so fine that the pleasure of owning it is not enhanced by paying others to admire it. Or to appraise it.”
She blinked, and her lips parted. “What is this?”
“It is the way she has always conducted her transactions. Nothing unusual, to be sure. And if she likes what she hears, why, she will sing your father’s praises to the skies for years. But if she does not—well, I recall one poor chap who tried to sell her a retouched painting.” I shook my head. “I still think of his family from time to time.”
Elizabeth’s book slipped from her hand. I bent to pick it up for her, but she hurried to gather it in the same instant. Her bonnet flicked off my hat, and her head collided with mine—right on the wound from the day before.
Stars exploded in my brain. I had not known just how tender it still was, but I came close to collapsing from the pain. As it was, I nearly lost command of my faculties there on the walk before the inn. “Egad, Miss Elizabeth,” I gasped. “Will you ever stop damaging me?”
She was scrambling to pick up my hat and pick up her book and look across the street all at once. “I beg your pardon, sir, truly. Jane!” She waved at someone just coming out of the draper’s shop. “Lydia, Kitty! We must return home at once!”
“Why the rush? I thought we were finally having a pleasant conversation.”
“Another time, sir. I really must fly.” She brandished my hat, gave it a glance over to determine which was the front, and then smashed it onto my head herself. I couldn’t help it—I moaned like a baby when she clapped it down, hard, on my stitched scalp.
