Her uncle glanced over his broadsheet, his brow raised. “All of London, I suspect.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but the truth of it settled like a stone in her stomach. She had felt the stares last night—the whispers behind fans, the subtle shifts in conversation whenever she passed. But it was not just the dances with Darcy. It was everything. The French diplomat’s lingering gaze, Lord Matlock’s careful watchfulness, even Darcy’s sudden, possessive touch at the small of her back in those moments when she most needed his support.
None of it made sense.
The sharp knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. Wilson went to answer it, his footsteps fading into the quiet of the house. Elizabeth reached for her tea, the porcelain cool against her palms, when Wilson reappeared, carrying a small, unmarked parcel wrapped in plain brown paper.
“For you, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth frowned. “For me?”
Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes lit with amusement. “Perhaps Mr. Darcy sends you a token of affection.”
Elizabeth snorted, though her fingers hesitated on the rough twine. “If so, I expect it is a volume on decorum.”
Her uncle chuckled behind his broadsheet, but Elizabeth’s stomach twisted. There was no marking, no seal—nothing to suggest who had sent it. Darcy would have sealed it properly. She pulled the parcel closer, her fingers working the knot free. The paper unfolded with a soft rustle, revealing a folded slip of paper.
A sealed letter, with no recipient named, and a note folded over the outside of it.
Beneath it, a small brass key rested in the folds of the paper, glinting faintly in the morning light. Elizabeth stared at the objects, her pulse quickening. She turned over the letter, then slipped the loose paper off it to search for any clue.
The arrangements are made. You know where to leave it.
Elizabeth’s skin crawled. She had no idea what the letter or key were for—but someone believed she did. And if they were watching, waiting for her to act, any misstep could deepen the suspicions already swirling around her.
“Lizzy? What is it?”
Elizabeth quickly folded the notes and tucked them beneath her napkin. She forced a smile, though her hands trembled.
“Nothing,” she said, too quickly. “Just a little… token from Mama. I think she misses me.”
Her uncle lowered his newspaper, his eyes narrowing. “Oh? What did she send?”
Before she could respond, the door knocker sounded again. Wilson went out and then returned, a sealed envelope in his hand. “A message from Lord Matlock, sir.”
Mr. Gardiner took it, his eyes scanning the contents before he frowned and passed it to Elizabeth. She opened it carefully, her pulse thrumming in her ears.
Matlock House
28 September 1812
Miss Bennet,
I trust this note finds you in good health. You and your relations are cordially invited to luncheon at Matlock House on the 29th instant at one o’clock. I look forward to the pleasure of your company and to discussing recent developments inperson.
I remain,
Your obedient servant,
Lord Matlock
Elizabeth stared at the note. The timing was too perfect.
Her uncle frowned. “Rather short notice, is it not? But I suppose that is the way of such men. What of it, my dear? Have we any other obligations?”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “I think,” she whispered, “other obligations or not, we had better go.”#
“You are late, Darcy,”Richard called from his seat near the hearth as Darcy and Georgiana were shown into the drawing room.
