He blinked dumbly, staring at the wall. What in Heaven’s name was Elizabeth Bennet doing athistownhouse—alone? Was shetryingto ruin them both? Oh, the next time he spoke with his uncle…
But he could hardly afford to send her away. How would that look? Worse than receiving her. “Show her in,” he said at last, though his voice felt distant in his own ears.
As Benedict disappeared down the hall, Darcy rubbed his temples, a sense of foreboding settling over him. Whatever brought Elizabeth Bennet to his door could not possibly be good.
And given the day he had already endured, he doubted he was prepared for it.
Chapter Sixteen
This was ridiculous.
Elizabeth paused at the top of the stone steps outside Darcy’s townhouse, staring at the polished brass knocker as if it might leap off the door and strike her for impropriety. Her gloved hand hovered mid-air, trembling ever so slightly—not from fear, of course, but from the sheer audacity of what she was about to do.
You should not be here.
That was the truth of it. She had repeated the phrase at least a dozen times during the carriage ride from her uncle’s house. But here she stood, heart hammering, with a sealed French letter, a brass key, and no earthly idea what to do next.
Lord Matlock might have had answers, but Elizabeth could not shake the feeling that his motives were murky at best. The man had manipulated her life from the moment they met, and she was not inclined to hand him more power.
Darcy, on the other hand…
She exhaled sharply. Darcy was insufferable, proud, and altogether vexing, but he had something the Earl lacked: integrity… or at least, the appearance of it. Moreover, he had been just as much a pawn in all this as she, and seemed less likely to manipulate matters for his own ends.
At least… that was what she hoped.
With a decisive breath, she rapped the knocker against the door before she could lose her nerve.
The door opened far too quickly for her liking, revealing a stoic butler with impeccable posture. “Yes, miss?”
“I—” Elizabeth’s throat felt oddly dry. “I would like to speak with Mr. Darcy. It is… a matter of some urgency.”
The butler’s brow lifted almost imperceptibly, but he did not move immediately. “And may I have your name, miss?”
Elizabeth hesitated for a fraction of a second, realizing her oversight. “Miss Bennet. Elizabeth Bennet.”
A flicker of recognition—so brief she might have imagined it—crossed the butler’s face. But his tone remained neutral as he stepped aside. “If you would wait here, Miss Bennet, I will see if Mr. Darcy is at home.”
At home… code for “if Mr. Darcy wants to speak with you.” Elizabeth swallowed as she stepped into the cool, dimly lit foyer, her eyes darting over the grand staircase and gleaming wood paneling. The house was every bit as imposing as its master.
She barely had time to adjust her gloves before the butler returned. “Mr. Darcy will see you,” he said, motioning for her to follow.
Oh dear.
The walk down the hall felt longer than necessary, the sound of her footsteps swallowed by the thick carpet. When the butler finally opened the door to what she assumed was Darcy’s study, Elizabeth straightened her spine and prepared for the inevitable disapproval.
Mr. Darcy was standing behind a large oak desk, his posture rigid, his eyes sharp and dark with something between surprise and irritation. “Miss Bennet. I cannot imagine what has brought you here, but I must inform you that this visit is highly improper.”
Elizabeth forced a smile, though her heart was pounding. “Yes, I gathered as much, Mr. Darcy. But you may reserve your scolding for a more deserving moment.”
He blinked, clearly unaccustomed to being dismissed so casually. “I assure you, Miss Bennet—”
Before he could finish, Elizabeth stepped forward, pulling the sealed letter and brass key from her reticule and placing them firmly on his desk. “I believe,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady despite the chaos in her chest, “that this will explain why I am here.”
Darcy’s eyes dropped to the objects, his frown deepening as he took in the unmarked seal on the letter. His hand hovered over the brass key, then retreated, as if touching it might implicate him in some unspeakable crime.
Elizabeth watched the shift in his expression—from irritation to concern, and then to something far more unsettling: understanding. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice low.
“It was delivered to me this morning. No name, no sender. Just the assumption that I knew what to do with it.”
