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Why had he visited her—and without his sister? A simple dinner invitation could have been accomplished by post or by a note sent with a servant.
Just as bewildering was the warmth of affection she now experienced for him. Naturally, she was grateful for his assistance with Wickham, but these feelings went beyond mere gratitude. She knew he was concerned about her as Georgiana’s friend and Richard’s former fiancée, but did he care for her for her own sake? And why did she wish it so devoutly? Of course, they were friends, but perhaps some part of her longed for more?
No, she was being ridiculous! Richard had caused a minor scandal by choosing a country girl of no family as his betrothed, but Mr. Darcy, who possessed one of the greatest fortunes in England, would never choose someone like her.
He felt guilt over Wickham’s actions. It was that simple. With that thought, she resolved to put the matter out of her mind.
***
By dinner time, Elizabeth was relaxed enough to enjoy her cook’s excellent stew. After the meal, she retired to the drawing room. Sitting near the window, where she could occasionally glance out to see the lovely full moon, Elizabeth stitched embroidery on a dress for Jane’s daughter. Absentmindedly, she enjoyed the murmur of voices and the sounds of horses and carriages on the cobblestones outside her door. Although she preferred the country, Elizabeth also took pleasure in the hustle and bustle of the city.
The peace of the evening was abruptly shattered by the sound of breaking glass. Elizabeth was showered with shards as a large rock crashed through the window!
Chapter 13
Throwing up her hands to shield her face, Elizabeth cried out and nearly fell out of her chair. A moment later, she heard racing footsteps as Grayson and Lawrence both burst into the room.
“Oh, Good Lord!” Grayson cried.
Lawrence simply gave a wordless exclamation and hurried to Elizabeth’s side. “Are you hurt, ma’am?”
Elizabeth stood shakily, and shards of glass cascaded to the floor from her dress. She examined her arms and felt her neck, the areas with the most exposed skin. The few cuts were minor. “I believe I am unharmed.”
“Oh, here is a cut!” Lawrence pulled out a clean handkerchief and applied it to a longer gash on Elizabeth’s neck. “But ‘tis a small one. Nothing to fuss about.”
One of the footmen hurried into the room. “Another rock was thrown through the dining room window!”
“Another?” Grayson cried, looking greatly disturbed.
The footman continued, “Weston ran after the culprit, but he escaped.”
“Was anyone in the dining room at the time?” Elizabeth asked. A shudder wracked her body as she realized how easily she, or someone on her staff, could have been seriously hurt.
“No, thank the Lord,” the footman responded.
“But who would do something like this?” Lawrence asked, still applying pressure to her mistress’s neck.
Elizabeth had her suspicions but did not wish to speculate. It was a horrible thought that anyone might hate her with such passion. “I must contact the authorities in the morning. Grayson, might someone install boards in the window frames in place of the broken panes?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Grayson nodded. “I believe we have some boards that can be cut to fit.” The butler took the footman with him in search of boards.
Elizabeth took the handkerchief from Lawrence and examined the splotches of blood. “Not a deep cut, I think.”
“No, ma’am. It should stop bleeding on its own,” Lawrence agreed.
Elizabeth pressed the cloth up to her neck again and slumped back into her chair, suddenly exhausted. A maid swept up the broken glass, while Grayson brought in someone with boards and a saw.
Abruptly, Elizabeth wished to quit the room and its negative associations. A wave of anger surged through her. This had once been her favorite room in the house, but now it was sullied by disturbing memories.
“Lawrence, I think I shall retire for the night.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the housekeeper replied. “You do that. You have had a shock, you have. You will be needing your rest.”
But before Elizabeth stood, Grayson strode back into the room holding a small object wrapped in fabric. “Ma’am, the household has three pistols. I would like your permission to distribute them to the groom and footmen—just in case those scoundrels return.”
“Yes, of course,” Elizabeth replied, hating the necessity. “Good thinking.”
“And there is this.” Grayson handed her the small parcel. “The master would want you to have it about you for protection.”
