Elizabeth folded her arms tightly across her chest and stared down at two men on horseback in the field below, a strange heaviness pressing against her heart. For what seemed like an eternity, she was lost in the freedom the riders represented—galloping fast and far, unconstrained by duty or doubt or fear.
If only I could ride like that. If only I could outrun all of this.
Another gust of wind bit through her shawl, and she shivered, acknowledging her foolishness in climbing to such a high elevation this late in the autumn. The bracing air had done little to clear her thoughts. If anything, the silence only sharpened them. Reluctantly, she turned from the view she adored and began to make her way back down the path.
As she did so, memories of the card party at Stoke House came to her mind. The sight of Mr. Smithson thrashing against the footmen’s grip, his eyes wild and unrepentant, made her stomach twist anew. That he had broken into the Gardiners’ home—into thenursery—was beyond terrifying. He had been seeking something. Or someone.
Does it have something to do with Benjamin?she wondered again, her steps growing slower.He’s just a baby. An unknown orphan of dubious birth, abandoned by his mother’s friend in the middle of the fire. Why on earth would he be of interest to a man investigating an insurance claim?
She was no stranger to the ways of the world. For all the adoration her family gave the baby, it did not make him a legitimate member of the Bennet family.
But those were problems for far the future. For now, there were more pressing concerns. What if Smithson truly believed the Gardiners were somehow involved in starting the fire in London?
What if my waking early has made them suspects?
A lump rose in her throat. The thought of her aunt or uncle facing accusations—worse, arrest—becauseshehad roused the house so quickly, becauseshehad urged them to flee—it was unbearable.
She had always imagined scandal might touch her family through Lydia or Kitty—some flirtation gone too far, some indiscretion in a shop or a dance hall. Never her honorable uncle. Never the most level-headed man she knew.
And if there is scandal—if whispers begin to circulate about the Gardiners or Benjamin—what then? What of the estate? What of their children? What if they lose everything?
Elizabeth pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to quell the sick fluttering there. A week ago, she would have laughed at the idea of her ordinary little family being caught up in a web of mystery and danger. Now, she could not laugh.
At the bottom of the path, the wind picked up again, swirling around her ankles. She pulled her shawl tighter and quickened her pace.
At the bottom of the path, the wind picked up again, swirling around her ankles. She pulled her shawl tighter and quickened her pace.
A sudden sound—low and wet—reached her ears.
Elizabeth froze.
There it was again. A soft groan, followed by the unmistakable crunch of footsteps on the damp leaves littering the path.
She turned, heart thudding. Nothing but trees behind her, their bare branches scratching against the sky. Still, the hairs at the back of her neck prickled.
Do not be silly,she scolded herself.It is probably a tradesman, or a tenant cutting through on his way to Meryton.
But Wickham’s warning came back to her with vivid clarity. “Not all of them are gentlemen. Best not to assume red coats always mean safe company.”
The revelry from the card party—the laughter, the shouting, the sound of that vase shattering—flashed through her mind. The way one soldier had leered at Kitty. The way another had tried to pull Lydia into a dance that was not proper in any drawing room, let alone their aunt’s parlor.
Elizabeth quickened her pace again, causing the toe of her boot caught on a tree root. She stumbled but kept her footing, heart racing now. She was on the main path to Longbourn, surely close enough that someone would hear if she cried out.
Then the sound shifted.
The footsteps were ahead of her.
Not behind. Ahead.
She stopped short, every muscle taut.No,she thought.No, no, no—how did they get ahead of me?
Panic surged in her chest. Her breathing came faster as she took a cautious step forward, the trees narrowing around her withevery pace. She rounded a bend in the trail, her eyes wide and searching—
—and collided into something solid.
She gasped and recoiled with a cry.
The man before her staggered backward, moaning. His coat was soaked through with blood, his face deathly pale, his eyes glassy.
