Elizabeth’s lips pressed together in confirmation.
Mrs. Bennet was already settling herself inside. The coachman had climbed into his seat. Darcy studied the sketch again, then turned his gaze back to her. “Why have you never mentioned that you saw his face this clearly?”
Her chin lifted slightly. “I told you what I saw. You never asked for more.”
“No, you told me you saw the assassination.”
“That is the same thing.”
Darcy exhaled sharply. “No, it is not. You sawhim. You remember him perfectly, if this is a true rendering and not a product of your imagination.“ He tapped the sketch lightly. “This is not the work of someone with a vague recollection.”
A flicker of movement—Bingley now helping a second Bennet sister into the carriage, smiling as he bid the lady farewell.
Elizabeth flicked her gaze at him. “It is. Why do you sound so surprised, sir?”
“Because… I thought you… well, you are not a trained observer.”
Her brows drew together in some hurt. “Oh. You thought I was useless to you.”
“I…” Darcy exhaled sharply, biting back the rest of the regrettable sentiment.
I thought you were a foolish, reckless, spoiled heiress who had wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time and needed rescuing.
Because I did not realize—
He looked down at the sketch once more. At the crisp lines. The deliberate strokes. The undeniable skill.
Kitty Bennet was now stepping into the carriage, and the horses were beginning to stir impatiently.
“You are talented,” he said, his voice quieter now, thoughtful. “Surprisingly so.”
Elizabeth blinked, caught off guard. “You sound astonished.”
“I suppose I am.”
“So? Will it be useful to you?”
The driver adjusted the reins, and Bingley was now handing the last Bennet sister in. The carriage was about to depart.
“Very much so,” he murmured, scanning the lines again. “I think you saw more than I realized.”
Darcy flicked his gaze toward the carriage, then back to Elizabeth. Their time was up.
Without another word, he stepped forward and opened the door, offering his hand.
She hesitated—just for a breath—before placing her fingers lightly in his. The touch was fleeting, gone as soon as she settled into the seat beside the others.
The door clicked shut. The driver gave a low call. And Darcy’s fingers still burned from hers.
Elizabethhadalwaysthoughtof night as a time of quiet. A time when the world settled, when worries could be tucked away and left for the morning.
But not here.
At Longbourn, night was a cacophony of unfamiliarity.
Not the clatter from the streets like there would be in London. Not the voices of twenty maids finishing for the evening. No, in that way, night was quite peaceful.
The old house groaned as the evening chill settled in, floorboards cracked under unseen footsteps, and the restless murmurs of the wind pushed against the windowpanes. Somewhere down the corridor, Lydia’s muffled laughter drifted through the walls, followed by a burst of hushed giggles from Kitty. A door creaked, then shut with a dull thud.
