He had already dismissed her once. She could not bear to hear it again.
Her father clapped his hands together.
“Well, petal,” he said, smiling broadly, “you had best be on your way.”
Elizabeth blinked. “What?”
“I have already called for the carriage and it is at the door.” He grinned. “Her Majesty has called, and we cannot keep her waiting, can we?”
Elizabeth’s breath caught.
No warning. No time to prepare. No time to even change into a gown fit for court. The Queen had summoned her, and now she had no choice but to obey.
She lifted her chin, suppressing the flicker of unease curling in her stomach. “Of course not.”
Darcyhadnotimeto adjust his cuffs, steel his thoughts, or even register his irritation before he was ushered through a set of double doors and directly into the presence of the Prince Regent.
The room reeked of excess.
Candelabras dripped wax onto polished tables, their flames casting flickering light over brocade-covered chairs and gilded mirrors. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and tobacco, mingling unpleasantly with the remnants of a half-eaten meal left to congeal on a sideboard.
In the center of it all, the Prince paced.
His coat was too elaborate, his waistcoat over-embroidered, his lace cuffs too frilled for a man of his age and physique—but it was the restlessness in his movements that caught Darcy’s attention.
An attendant hovered anxiously behind him, a delicate glass of brandy in one hand, a jeweled snuffbox in the other, scrambling to keep up as the Prince paced, muttering to himself.
“Ah, Darcy,” the Prince declared abruptly, not pausing in his stride.
Darcy bowed sharply. “Your Royal Highness.”
The Prince waved a hand vaguely, as if brushing aside formalities. “I have a witness now.”
Darcy stilled. A witness?
His own skepticism regarding the rumors had been swiftly losing ground—but this,thiswas something tangible.
“I assume,” Darcy said carefully, “Your Highness finds this witness credible?”
“Credible?” The Prince snorted, finally stopping to pluck the snuffbox from his attendant’s fingers. He flicked it open with a well-practiced motion, inhaling a pinch before exhaling sharply. “My dear fellow, she saw the blasted thing happen.”
Darcy’s pulse quickened.She?What the devil?
He cleared his throat, affecting his most professional manner. “Then I should like to hear the account in full.”
The Prince huffed and resumed pacing, waving the snuffbox about as he spoke.
“’Twas a young lady—strayed from her companions, found herself in a bad spot. Right place, wrong time, that sort of thing. The Queen heard her story and passed the account to me.”
Darcy nodded. “If Your Highness permits, I should like to take notes.”
The Prince gestured lazily toward a nearby writing desk. A footman materialized at Darcy’s side, setting out ink, paper, and a fine-pointed quill.
Darcy took his seat, dipped the pen, and glanced up expectantly. “Continue, if you please, Your Highness.”
The Prince stared at him. “Continue what?”
Darcy blinked. “The account,” he said slowly. “The witness’s description of the man she saw, his physical characteristics—was he tall or short? Did he limp? The sort of gun he used—did she note it? His position in the chamber—where exactly was he standing?”
