“Please,” Elizabeth answered, turning so that she could fasten the back of her morning gown.
Susie’s position in the household had become somewhat murky since her relocation with the Gardiner children to Longbourn. As her position and wages came from outside the Longbourn estate, Mrs. Hill had conceded that she retain her honorary title, unsure whether she should be treated as nursemaid, ladies’ maid, governess or guest.
Whatever she was, she had become invaluable.
Susie fastened Elizabeth’s laces with quick, competent hands while Elizabeth stood before the glass and tried not to look as troubled as she felt. The evening before had been full of hurt pride, wounded expectation, and foolish disappointment, but in the clearer light of morning, another concern rose above them all.
Mr. Darcy knew about her fortune.
Or at least, he knew enough to be dangerous.
He knew there had been a young woman in Gracechurch Street. He knew she had found the Roman coin. He knew Mr. Philips. He knew Lord Matlock had become involved. He knew the Gardiner children had been sent to an estate in Meryton. He might not know the precise reward the Crown had bestowed, for surely Lord Matlock had not discussed Elizabeth’s settlement in common conversation, but how much had he guessed? How much had he been told? And if he ever looked at her long enough to remember the mud, the cellar, the coin—what then?
Elizabeth caught her own gaze in the mirror and frowned.
She had spent two years arranging her life around secrecy. Netherfield was protected. Her dowry was protected. The leases, investments, and agreements had all been shaped with exquisite care by Mr. Philips and Lord Matlock, and scarcely anyone in Hertfordshire knew anything beyond what they were permittedto know. It had required caution, economy, and a great deal of appearing to be exactly what she had always been.
Now Mr. Darcy had arrived in the very house she owned.
And he had not even remembered her.
That last thought still hurt, which was exceedingly inconvenient, for anxiety ought not to have to share space with wounded vanity.
“Miss Lizzy?” Susie said.
Elizabeth blinked. “Yes?”
“You sighed.”
“Did I?”
“Twice.”
“Then I am growing theatrical. Pray do not encourage it.”
Susie smiled and reached for a ribbon. “Does your head still pain you?”
Elizabeth nearly said yes, but instead decided to ask, “Did you hear that Mr. Darcy came with Mr. Bingley’s party?”
Susie’s face lit at once. “I did, miss. One of the maids heard it from Mrs. Bennet yesterday before the assembly, though I did not know whether it could be true until Cook heard it from Hill this morning. Mr. Darcy at Netherfield! Will wonders never cease!”
Elizabeth watched the delight in her expression and felt her own heart sink. “Then you are pleased?”
“Of course I am. My aunt will be beside herself when I write. On my next half-day, I mean to walk to Netherfield and see whether Mr. Darcy brought any of the Pemberley servants with him. Or his own man, perhaps. There may be someone I know.”
There it was.
Not merely danger in theory, but danger in motion, wearing a bonnet and sensible shoes and intending to call at Netherfield’s servants’ entrance at the first opportunity.
She nearly asked at once what Mr. Darcy knew, what he might reveal, whether Susie believed him discreet enough to keep such a secret if he discovered it. But the question halted before leaving her mouth.
Susie thought highly of him. More than highly. To Susie, Mr. Darcy was Pemberley’s young master, her aunt’s pride, the gentleman who had sold luxuries to mend cottages and whose name was spoken in Derbyshire with respect. If Elizabeth asked whether he could be trusted, Susie might answer with indignation before prudence. Worse, she might wonder why Elizabeth suddenly feared him.
So instead of sating her curiosity, Elizabeth turned slightly away from the glass. “That will be pleasant for you.”
“It will indeed. I should like to hear news of Lambton. And perhaps of Miss Darcy, though I suppose she will not be with him.”
“No,” Elizabeth said faintly. “I suppose not.”
