My heart gave an odd flutter. Something about her profile stirred a memory I could not grasp. Had we been introduced? Attended some society ball together? Surely, I would remember a face so pleasing.
And yet, she seemed intent on avoiding my gaze. Every glance I stole was met with reddening cheeks and downcast eyes as she whispered to her companion. She even gave her bonnet a faint tug, covering what little I could see of her face. Bloody unusual.
“Ah, Mr. Darcy.” Watson emerged from his workroom, carrying my new boots as if they were a babe in arms. “All ready, sir, and I think you will agree, this is the finest pair I have ever made for you. Please, sir, inspect them and see for yourself.”
I took them awkwardly, attempting to focus on Watson’s prattling about the quality of the leather, the skill of his stitching. But my eyes wandered again and again to the ladies by the window. Who was she? The question nagged at me. Something about the arch of her neck, the mahogany curls peeking from beneath her bonnet... so familiar, and yet…
“Top grain leather, and I made the heel just slightly wider, as you requested. And, sir, if you notice, the inner lining is doe skin—soft as a dove, sir.”
“Yes, thank you, these are quite satisfactory,” I managed to interrupt. I reached for my coin purse to pay him.
The hushed whispers continued from the corner. My neck began to prickle as if I were the subject of discussion. Well, I probably was. It was not as if that were unusual, and there was little else for them to be looking at in the shop.
“Will there be anything else today, Mr. Darcy?” Watson inquired.
“What? Oh, no. No, nothing else.” I fumbled the coins onto the counter, anxious to escape the shop.
As Watson placed my boots in a padded box and carried them out to my carriage, I risked one last glance toward the whispering ladies. And this time, my eyes met a pair of fine, dark eyes looking directly at me.
My breath caught in my throat. Those eyes... yes, I knew them. Knew that intelligent glimmer, the arch of her brows. But from where? It was maddening, like reading a book in a language just beyond comprehension.
The lady’s lips parted, her cheeks blooming crimson once more. She quickly dropped her gaze with a nervous half-smile. Evidently, she recognized me as well.
But before I could speak, she turned away hastily, looping her arm through her companion’s. “I do hope Mr. Watson is almost finished with my boot. Uncle will be growing impatient, and Aunt will be missing us for tea.”
I pushed out of the door in bewilderment, the sound of hooves and carriages rattling on the cobbles outside. Watson had passed off my boots to the coachman and now stared at me expectantly.
“Er, yes. Good day to you, Watson. I’ve left you something extra for your trouble.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Always a pleasure to serve anyone at Pemberley.”
“Indeed.” I started to mount my carriage but paused. “Watson, those ladies in the shop. Was one of them… barefoot?”
He shrugged. “Broke her heel out walking and said she had nothing else to wear. But she said a great deal, sir, and I cannot think half of it is true. Putting on airs and so on. Begging your pardon, sir.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Indeed. Thank you, Watson.”
Who was she?All the ride home, the question echoed through my mind. I sifted through faded memories of boyhood mates, sisters of my friends, distant relatives, and acquaintances from long-ago balls. But the match eluded me. As the carriage passed beneath Pemberley’s ancient oak, I glanced up at the vista of meadow and stream that had been my childhood playground. And there, in a long-forgotten pocket of memory, the answer struck me like a brick.
A trio of laughing children, skirts and trousers muddied... one boy with a near-constant grin, towheaded and mischievous. A taller boy, lanky and serious even then. And a girl...
My breath caught, then stopped entirely.The girl. Chestnut curls escaping her braid, hands planted defiantly on her hips. Challenging the boys to races, to climbing trees, her dark eyes flashing.
“Lizzy...” Her name escaped me in a whisper.
Could it truly be her? Here, now? How different she looked now, and yet, how perfectly familiar. The lively glimmer in her eyes remained unchanged.
But... why had she been there today? Where had she come from, and why had she never contacted us? Unease mingled with my astonishment. Did she mean to call at Pemberley?
No. Impossible! Why, if it truly had been Elizabeth Smith, she would have greeted me. She would never have permitted me to walk away without… well, without doing something very impertinent. Like leaping from the bench to embrace me around the neck. No, surely, it had to be another lady.
But I had not seen Elizabeth Smith in over seven years, and in all that time, no lady had ever called to mind the girl I’d once known. And nobody had ever told me why she had been suddenly carried off to live heaven-only-knew-where.
The carriage pulled into the drive, and I gazed up at the imposing facade of the house, its windows winking at me in the afternoon sun. Somewhere within were the answers to the riddle of her disappearance all those years ago. Concealed in the ledgers and letters in Father’s study, if I had but the courage… and the time… to look.
But with Lord Belmont’s imminent arrival, I could not consider it at present. I tucked away the disquieting questions about the mysterious lady for another day. There were more pressing matters that required my attention now.
Still, I could not resist one backward glance over my shoulder toward Lambton as I mounted the steps.
