“Other than Miss Elizabeth’s initial discovery of a fire, anything else that occurred is, quite frankly, none of your business,” Darcy said coolly.
The agent’s lips thinned. “That is not for you to decide, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy’s eyes darkened. “On the contrary. I am well acquainted with most of the major insurance companies and their underwriters, having contemplated investing in reinsurance. I am also the nephew of the Earl of Matlock, who has considerable influence in such matters.” He leaned forward slightly. “Perhaps you might inform me, sir, under which company’s authority you are conducting this investigation?”
Smithson stiffened. “That is not your concern.”
“It is precisely my concern.”
Darcy’s voice was low, even—but it rang with a kind of authority that seemed to echo off the walls. Elizabeth had never heard him speak quite like that before, with such quiet, formidable control. There was no bluster, no raised tone. And yet the very air in the room seemed to still in deference to it.
A charged silence followed. Smithson’s fingers whitened around his notebook, his jaw tight. But he did not challenge the assertion. After a long, simmering moment, he snapped the book shut and stood abruptly.
“I believe I have everything I need,” he said stiffly.
Without a backward glance, he turned and strode from the room, his boots clicking sharply against the floorboards.
Elizabeth let out the breath she had not realized she was holding, her spine softening against the back of her chair. Her heart, which had been thudding uncomfortably, now raced for an entirely different reason.
She turned to Darcy. He had not moved. He stood tall, shoulders set, eyes fixed on the empty doorway with such intensity that she wondered if he was willing the man to return so he could strike him down with words alone.
Her voice came out quieter than she expected. “What was that all about?”
He exhaled slowly, his jaw still taut. “That,” he said grimly, “is precisely what I intend to find out.”
Elizabeth stared at him, the warmth still rushing through her limbs. She was not sure what unsettled her more—the momentary confrontation or the deep, unfamiliar flutter in her chest that followed in its wake. There was something deeply arresting about the way he had spoken, the way he had shielded her without so much as touching her. Something in her stirred, low and electric.
She glanced away, fingers tightening on her skirts. Best not to dwell on it. And yet… her skin tingled where his presence lingered close beside her.
Once back in the drawing room, Darcy’s thoughts were still occupied with the unsettling interrogation that had just occurred. Smithson’s sharp questioning, his fixation on the baby, and his immediate withdrawal when pressed about his employer left an uneasy feeling lodged in Darcy’s chest.
Unfortunately, that additional pressure was aggravating his lungs.
Mrs. Gardiner looked up at their entrance, her sharp gaze sweeping over them. “Well?” she asked, setting down her teacup. “How did it go? And where is Mr. Smithson?”
Elizabeth took her seat beside her aunt with a sigh. “He left rather abruptly after Mr. Darcy pressed him for the contact information of the company he represents.”
Mrs. Gardiner’s brows lifted, and she turned to Darcy. “Oh?”
Darcy merely inclined his head, knowing that any attempt to speak it would provoke a coughing fit.
You are weak,his father’s voice echoed in his head.A disgrace to the Darcy line.
Elizabeth must have sensed his predicament, taking it upon herself to explain further. “He refused to discuss his employer, which—given his line of questioning—seems quite suspicious.”
Mrs. Gardiner blinked in confusion. “What do you mean, his line of questioning?”
“Well, based on what you said, I had expected him to be interested in how we knew to flee so early. I was prepared to defend myself and provide evidence of how I could have smelled the smoke sooner than many others.”
“But he was not?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, he barely asked me any questions about that. Instead, he became fixated on Meg and Benjamin. He demanded to know everything—what he looked like, where his mother was, and where he is now.”
“That is unsettling.” Mrs. Gardiner’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Well, at least he is not staying at Stoke Estate.”
“Why would he stay with you?”
Darcy, Elizabeth, and Mrs. Gardiner turned startled eyes towards the questioner. Miss Bingley had apparently been listening closely to the discussion.
