“I was.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough.”
She studied him, those dark eyes seeing far more than he wished to reveal. “Prue was lying about Lady Amelia’s papers. I could hear it in her voice.”
“Yes.”
“Why would she lie?”
“Miss Duntze has literary ambitions,” he said, resisting the urge to loosen his cravat. “Unpublished manuscripts by a celebrated authoress would be… useful to such ambitions.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “You do not deny that she wrote novels? Why tell me her papers were merely correspondence and essays?”
“I prefer to keep her personal effects private.”
“Even from your wife?”
Her question sliced between his ribs. She was giving him an opening—a chance to tell her, to explain, to unburden himself of the secrets that were slowly crushing him. Instead, he hardened his resolve. Now was not the time.
“Lady Amelia’s papers are not up for discussion.” He crossed his arms tightly. “I would not have the likes of Prue Duntze comb through them for the scandal sheets.”
“But you do not trust me, do you?”
“I trust your discretion, Elizabeth, but this is not the time for it. If things should change, then, yes, I promise you I would reveal what is required.”
Elizabeth held his gaze, challenging, and he saw the questions there—the suspicions, the hurt, the frustration at being kept outside walls she had thought were falling.
“I will hold you to that promise, Mr. Darcy.” She turned toward the door, then paused. “And I hope, when the moment arrives, that you will trust me as I have trusted you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE DOOR UNLOCKED
Clarice’s fingersworked through Elizabeth’s hair with unusual deliberation, coaxing the curls into a softer, more artful arrangement. The effect, Elizabeth observed in the glass, was rather less “mistress of a great estate” and rather more “a woman on the verge of something she could not quite name.”
“The green silk, madam?” Clarice inquired, though her hands were already reaching for it. “I have observed that Mr. Darcy displays a particular fondness for that shade.”
Heat crept up Elizabeth’s neck to settle in her cheeks. “You have noticed his preference?”
“One acquires considerable insight through the course of service.” Clarice’s expression maintained its usual professional composure, yet a subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth suggested amusement. “The master has requested the pleasure of your company in his chambers for dinner. This arrangement has, I must say, brought a certain quiet satisfaction to the household staff.”
“The household takes a considerable interest in my marriage.”
“We desire nothing more than to see the master happy.” Clarice corrected, her fingers deftly fastening the row of smallbuttons that ran down the back of the gown. “Hannah has shared with me that he has not experienced such happiness in quite some time. You have changed that, madam.”
“Since when did you begin placing such faith in Hannah’s conjectures?” Elizabeth teased, mindful that the maid was still relatively new to their service.
“I may be reserved in speech, madam, but I am no longer a complete stranger to the ways of this household.” Clarice stepped back, surveying her work with a discerning eye. “The arrangement meets with your approval?”
Elizabeth studied her reflection: the green silk lending her eyes a certain mischief, the curls softening what she fancied was a determined chin, and a flush that no powder would dare challenge. She looked, she thought, like a woman standing at the edge of a cliff—though she would never admit it aloud.
“Clarice.” She hesitated. “Tonight may be…”
“Yes, madam.”
“I have not… I find myself uncertain of what to expect.”
