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Elizabeth quietly embraced him.
“I thought we had been quiet enough to escape detection,” Darcy said, holding her. “But when we returned the following evening, there was a little bed in the corner. Fitz and I slept there until his family went home, and for perhaps six months, I returned each night while my father worked, and woke up each morning in my room upstairs.” He kissed the top of Elizabeth’s head. “I joined Fitz at school about year later, and the boys bullied me because I was so unhappy. I missed my mother. I missed my father. But Fitz was there. It was better,” he said stoically, “because I knew I could count on at least one person. Fitz was that person for me.”
“And he still is,” Elizabeth added.
Darcy nodded. “He still is.”
Elizabeth was silent for a time. Finally, she said, “I feel a great deal better knowing he will accompany you tomorrow.” She pulled back slightly to meet his gaze. “Even so, I wish that women could attend. I prefer to know what is happening to being left at home in anxiety.”
Darcy shook the gloom away and glanced at the copy of Twelfth Night she had discarded. “Oh no,” he told her firmly. “There will be no disguising yourself as a man so that you may attend, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth blinked at him, bemused. So that had not been on her mind. Her eyes followed his to the book, and as her countenance lit up, he groaned. Would he never learn to stop guessing at her thoughts? Now he had given her ideas.
“Do not be concerned,” she told him teasingly, standing carefully and reaching out to the chair where he had neatly folded his trousers. She shook them out and held them up. “I do not believe these will fit.”
Fit? There was nearly enough material there for a walking dress. He chuckled. “You might start a new fashion.”
“It would certainly be warmer in the winter,” she replied, and fell silent. She folded his trousers as well as Slipworth ever had and replaced them on the chair. Then she took his face in her hands and bent down for a kiss.
Elizabeth lay awake long into the night, listening to her husband’s soft snores. He had given her much to think on. He was a private man by circumstance as much as by preference, and sharing such a story with her was an indication of his deep and abiding trust. She took the protection of that trust more seriously than anything she had in her entire life.
Could merely telling her about his life be enough, though? Should she not do more to help him shoulder his burdens? To alleviate the problem that faced him, that faced them both? He had assured her that he was unconcerned about seeing Mr. Howard, but Elizabeth could not help but think there must be a better way to resolve everything. William had said that he had been used to thinking of Mr. Howard as a man of principle. There had to be a reason Mr. Howard was behaving in this vile manner.
Because she could not rest, she began to review everything they had learned about the man. It kept her awake several hours more, her brain refusing to quiet, but eventually, she could not keep her eyes open any longer. She slept deeply for a few hours and was awakened by sounds in the hallway. She sat up, stretched, and then, something occurred to her. Lady Montagu had mentioned Emma Doughty’s schoolfriend as being a purveyor of gossip about Miss Howard. Georgiana was no longer at school, but she did have friends.
There was a link between the Darcys and the Howards, more than William knowing Mr. Howard—the girls. Girls who had been together frequently in London a year ago. They had been together as late as March, at least, learning everything they would need to enter the ton. And gossip—learning it and using it—was undoubtedly one of those lessons. It was certainly worth speaking to Georgiana one more time.
Elizabeth turned to tell her husband, but looking about the room, she realized that William was not there.
There was a note on the bed table, and she opened it eagerly. “Elizabeth,” it said, “I will be home as soon as I may. Take the carriage to the Matlocks or the Gardiners if you do not wish to remain here on your own. I have left orders to have it ready for you.” He had signed it, “All my love, William.”
He had left her the carriage. How long had he been gone? Panic shot through her, and she nearly leapt from the bed. She rang for the maid and rushed to prepare herself for the day.
A maid entered. “Emily!” cried Elizabeth, recognizing the girl who had entered the library in search of something to read.
The girl took a step back. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Darcy. The other girls were already busy, so Mrs. Spencer sent me up. I have been trained as a lady’s maid.”
Elizabeth scolded herself. She had arrived with William after the wedding breakfast, and both Mr. Slipworth and Mrs. Spencer had behaved as though they were meeting her for the first time. No doubt she was the subject of speculation among the few servants in the house, but she should not have known Emily’s name.
“Yes, Mrs. Spencer mentioned you might assist me for a few days,” Elizabeth said calmly. “I am in a bit of a hurry just now. Might you help me become presentable?”
“Of course, Mrs. Darcy,” Emily said, and set to it. Less than half an hour later, Elizabeth was more than presentable. Her hair was done up in a simple but elegant style suitable for morning calls, and Emily had selected one of her aunt’s gowns, ivory trimmed with a deep green velvet. There was a matching hat and gloves, and Emily stared at the contents of the wardrobe briefly before withdrawing a Pomona pelisse that, while not as elegant as the silk robe of her wedding gown, complemented the dress perfectly. She would be a credit to her husband, dressed so smartly. She would have to consider Emily for the position of lady’s maid when she had a moment to turn her mind to it.
There was no time for that now. She thanked Emily, sure the girl did not know what to make of her eccentric mistress, and rushed down the stairs.
“Mr. Pratt,” she addressed the butler, “please call the carriage. I wish to visit Matlock House.”
“Very good, madam,” Mr. Pratt said. He opened the door for her and stepped out after her to speak with the coachman.
Elizabeth noticed that two large men with dark skin were riding atop the carriage with Anders, one in the front and one on the back. They were huge, with broad shoulders and bulging biceps, making Anders appear tiny in comparison. She herself might have been a Lilliputian. She gave each a smile and a nod before she was handed into the conveyance and they began to move over the cobblestone streets.
The journey to Matlock House was a short one—a quarter of an hour at most. When a footman from the earl’s staff handed her out, Elizabeth turned to Anders.
“Please wait for me, Anders,” she instructed the man, “I shall not be long.” Anders tipped his hat, but his cousins had already climbed down from the carriage and escorted her into the house itself.
The butler welcomed her in his staid manner. “I am afraid the countess had an engagement this morning,” he said. “You are welcome to wait, of course, but it may be some time before she returns.”
“Truthfully,” Elizabeth replied, “I was hoping to speak with Miss Darcy.”
