Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst appeared from the drawing room, both offering slightly too-bright smiles of greeting. I could tell by the way Caroline’s eyes gleamed that she had been hoping for a different outcome to my absence—perhaps one that involved all of them returning to London after me, and her playing hostess in my house.
“Mr. Darcy,” Caroline cooed, moving closer. “You must be utterly exhausted after such a sudden trip. But we are ever so pleased to have you back so soon.”
“Yes,” Louisa added, glancing over at her brother. “You’ve missed quite a lot.”
“I’m sure,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. I had no doubt that whatever trivial events had occurred in my absence, Bingley and his sisters would make far more of them than they deserved.
Bingley clapped a hand on my shoulder, steering me toward the sitting room. “Come, Darcy, have a drink with us before you head upstairs. You must tell us all about this mysterious inheritance of yours. You had me intrigued when you left!”
“I doubt it’s anything worth mentioning,” I replied, though I allowed myself to be led toward the decanters.
“But you never know!” Bingley poured a generous amount of brandy into a glass and handed it to me. “Old estates, strange relatives—it sounds like something out of a novel.”
“It’s neither strange nor worth any great excitement,” I said, accepting the drink. “Someone connected through my grandmother. The inheritance amounts to little more than personal effects.”
“And yet, you went to London for it,” Caroline remarked with an arched brow, clearly hoping for something more sensational.
I took a sip of the brandy, letting the warmth spread through me. “Yes, and now I’m back. That’s all there is to it.”
Bingley laughed. “Well, you’ve missed quite the dinner in the meantime. We dined with Colonel Forster, the local militia commander. Good fellow, quite a few stories. Hurst particularly enjoyed him.”
Hurst, who had appeared in the doorway just moments earlier, gave a sleepy nod from his position by the fireplace. “He has a taste for good brandy,” Hurst said lazily. “That’s enough for me.”
“And the ladies?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as I glanced toward Caroline and Louisa. “I’m sure you had your own amusements.”
Caroline’s smile stretched a little wider, and I could tell she had been waiting for this part of the conversation. “Oh, indeed. We had the pleasure of inviting Miss Bennet to dine with us earlier today.”
I could see Bingley’s expression brighten instantly at the mention of her name, but it was Louisa who continued the story, her tone far more amused than it should have been. “Poor Miss Bennet arrived just as the heavens opened. Absolutely drenched.”
Caroline nodded. “She arrived onhorseback, of all things, just before the rain came pouring down. Completely soaked andchilled to the bone. Naturally, we couldn’t let her return in such a state.”
“So, you put her up for the night?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“Of course,” Caroline said, waving her hand dismissively. “We’ve only just sent word to Longbourn not half an hour ago. I expect her mother will be overjoyed at the situation.”
That much was certainly true. I could already imagine Mrs. Bennet crowing with triumph, no doubt convinced that this was all part of some grand plan to ensnare Bingley for her daughter.
Bingley, of course, looked entirely too pleased with this turn of events. “I’m glad we could offer Miss Bennet shelter. It’s the least we could do after such an unfortunate accident.”
I said nothing, though I felt the familiar tug of annoyance. It was hardly an accident that Mrs. Bennet had sent her eldest daughter out into the rain on horseback. The woman was shameless in her ambitions. But I kept my thoughts to myself and finished my brandy.
“Well,” I said, setting the glass down, “I appreciate the welcome, but I believe I’ll retire for the evening.”
Bingley stood, smiling warmly. “Of course. You must be exhausted after the journey.”
Caroline tilted her head, watching me closely. “Are you sure you won’t stay up a little longer, Mr. Darcy? We’ve missed your company terribly.”
I gave a brief nod toward her and Mrs. Hurst, keeping my tone polite but firm. “Perhaps tomorrow. Good night.”
Without waiting for further protest, I left the room and headed up the stairs, the long day finally catching up with me. As I reached the landing, the footman was already outside my room, the wooden box from Arthurson & Wilkes placed carefully by the door.
The thought of going through its contents was exhausting in itself. But for now, it could wait.
Itossed and turnedfor what felt like an hour, trying to ignore the dull ache in my lower back. Too many hours in that blasted carriage, bouncing on uneven roads. And the brandy, though welcome at the time, had left my head muzzy and restless. Sleep was an impossible prospect.
With a groan, I rolled out of bed, stretching slowly in the dimly lit room. My muscles protested with every movement, stiff from being held taut in a rocking carriage over bad roads. I braced myself against the bedpost, trying to relieve the tightness in my back.
I glanced around, hoping something in the quiet stillness might lull me into some kind of comfort, and my eyes landed on the box. The one from the solicitor.
