“Lizzy.”
She looked away. “He said something unkind, but that is not why I came.”
“It may not be why you came, but I am not certain it is nothing.”
“It is nothing that threatens Netherfield,” she said firmly. “This does.”
Mr. Philips accepted the correction, though not happily. “Very well. You are right to be cautious. Mr. Darcy is honorable, from all I know of him, and I have Lord Matlock’s confidence in him as further proof. But honor does not prevent a man from speaking what he does not realize must be secret. If he remembers you, or if one of his servants hears enough to connect matters, he must be warned.”
“Can you speak to him?”
“I can, and I shall.”
Relief loosened the tightness in Elizabeth’s chest. “Soon?”
“This afternoon, if possible. Tomorrow morning at the latest. I have sufficient reason to call upon Mr. Bingley regarding the lease and household arrangements, and I may ask for a private word with Mr. Darcy under the guise of renewing an old acquaintance.”
Elizabeth exhaled. “Thank you.”
Mr. Philips studied her with the same searching look that had once made her confess to climbing beneath the cellar before he arrived. “Lizzy, has Mr. Darcy given you cause to think he would not keep your secret?”
“No,” she admitted. “Not cause. Only uncertainty.”
“And perhaps a little pain.”
She looked down at her gloves.
Her uncle’s voice gentled. “I will speak with him. I will remind him of all that must remain private, and I will make clear that your name, Netherfield, and the Crown’s settlement are not matters for conversation. If he is the man I believe him to be, that will be enough.”
“And if he is not?”
“Then I shall make it sound more like a legal warning than a request.”
Elizabeth laughed softly, and some of the fear eased. “That is very comforting.”
“I intended it to be.” Mr. Philips rose and came around the desk, placing one hand briefly upon her shoulder. “You did right in coming to me. Leave this in my hands.”
By the time Elizabeth walked home, the road seemed less oppressive, and the autumn air had regained some of its usual pleasure. The difficulty was not solved, precisely, but it was no longer hers alone to carry. Mr. Philips would speak to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, if he was the man Susie believed him to be—and perhaps the man Elizabeth had once believed him to be—would understand.
And if he did not, she reminded herself, then she would know exactly how much of her admiration had been foolish.
She wished the thought were more comforting than it was.
Chapter 15
Darcy had been attempting, without success, to read the same paragraph for nearly ten minutes when a footman entered the library.
“A caller for you, sir.”
Darcy looked up. “For me?”
“Yes, sir. A Mr. Philips.”
The name struck him with such unexpected force that the book in his hand closed upon his finger. “Mr. Philips?”
“He gave his card, sir.”
Darcy set the book aside and rose at once. “Show him into the green parlor. I shall attend him directly.”
