Pride and Prescience (21 page)

Caroline quieted, apparently having pulled herself together. Elizabeth offered to escort her to her chamber. With a nod, she accepted.

As she rose and reached for Elizabeth’s arm, her ring scratched Elizabeth’s skin. Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from crying out. Good Lord, but those stones were sharp! The scratch didn’t bleed, but did leave an inch-long welt on her arm. A month ago, she might have thought the accident deliberate. But in Caroline’s current state Elizabeth doubted she was sensible of half her actions anymore.

Mrs. Parrish came down to dinner that evening for the first time since leaving London. Her husband, his face drawn with anxiety, watched her every move and never left her side. The man looked exhausted. Elizabeth wondered if he’d allowed himself any sleep since the night of the fire.

Caroline sat between Mr. Parrish and Professor Randolph. Mr. Kendall, still hanging around Netherfield for reasons the
Darcys could only guess at, sat opposite. He lounged in his seat with the ease of someone actually welcome among the party, which he decidedly was not. His contemptuous presence smothered any gaiety that might have been felt upon the eve of the family’s homecoming. Had he conducted himself thus at Pemberley, Elizabeth suspected Darcy would have shown him the door long before now regardless of the weather or any other excuse the brute could devise. But Bingley, lacking the firmness to oust even an uninvited guest from his home, and worn down by recent events, tolerated his continued imposition with forced civility. The others followed his lead.

Tonight, however, Kendall’s insolence exceeded all previous displays. No sooner had the soup been served than he commenced offering backhanded compliments to his hosts. The main courses saw him expanding his veiled insults to include additional members of the group. During dessert, he stared at Caroline until she became so disconcerted that her fork clattered against the plate each time she lowered it.

Finally, she gave up eating altogether. “Have you something you wish to say, Mr. Kendall?”

“I was just noticing how your color has faded since the London season. Perhaps it is too much bloodletting.” He cast a pointed look at her scarred wrists. “Someone should question your physician.”

“Maybe other leeches are to blame.”

Beside her, Parrish took her hand in his in a gesture of support. His wedding ring caught the flickering light of the candelabras. “Don’t let him provoke you, dearest.”

She winced and brought both hands to her temples.

“Caroline?” Bingley’s voice held concern.

“I fear another of my headaches is coming on.” She rose to leave. When Mr. Parrish began to join her she motioned him back to his seat. “Stay. I’ll be fine.”

Parrish looked as if he very much wanted to follow, but
heeded her request. As the door closed behind her, Kendall shrugged. “Pallor. Headaches. It would seem that marriage does not agree with her.”

Parrish locked gazes with Kendall as the rest of the company waited in strained silence to see if he would rise to the ill-mannered gentleman’s bait. They stared at each other a long moment, and Elizabeth sensed some unspoken communication was taking place. Ultimately, Parrish placed his napkin beside his plate, rose, and bowed to Jane. “Excuse me, Mrs. Bingley. I am going to check on my wife.” He departed without another look at Kendall.

Elizabeth admired his restraint. Kendall’s presence in the house was unpleasant to all, but it must be particularly awkward for Mr. Parrish in light of his previous relationship with Kendall’s daughter.

Bingley’s face flushed with uncharacteristic ire. “Mr. Kendall, I must insist that while you are a guest in my home, you treat my family with respect.”

“Respect your family!” He laughed, a short burst that sounded like nothing so much as a donkey’s bray. “Do you speak of your mad sister or her fickle husband? I’m a betting man, Bingley, and I bet Mr. Parrish won’t stick around this family for long.”

Kendall’s gaze swept the company, coming to rest on Mr. Hurst. A glint entered his eye. “Not like the steadfast Mr. Hurst here. Nothing’s more important than family in times of adversity—right, Hurst?”

Startled by the direct address, Mr. Hurst nearly spilled his wine. “Er—right.”

“How about it, Hurst? Care to lay a wager with me regarding your new brother-in-law?”

“I—uh—” Hurst’s pasty face reddened. Perspiration dotted his forehead. “No, thank you,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not much of a gambler.”

“Indeed? I thought I’d heard otherwise. I must be mistaken.” Kendall hefted his bulk to a standing position. “I think I’ll retire early this evening. The servants were unbearably noisy this morning.”

“Perhaps you would find it more comfortable to return home and conduct any remaining business with Mr. Bingley via post,” Darcy suggested.

“If this damnable weather would cooperate, that is precisely what I would do. Unfortunately it lingers, therefore so must I.” As Kendall sauntered through the door, the wind howled outside.

Another storm was rising.

Mrs. Hurst . . . had married a man of more fashion than fortune
.

Pride and Prejudice,
Chapter 4

T
he snow everyone anticipated did not come. Instead it rained: huge, angry drops that froze as soon as they reached the ground. Elizabeth woke to a world encased in ice. Sunlight glinted off the crystals, lending an ethereal sparkle to the landscape that would have been beautiful had it not also provided Mr. Kendall an excuse to trespass upon Netherfield’s hospitality and patience still longer.

“There will be no traveling today, I fear. For Mr. Kendall or anyone else.” Elizabeth left the window but did not succumb to the temptation of crawling back into her snug bed. Instead, she padded across the cold oak floor to the armoire and selected her warmest gown from among those Lucy had laundered after the fire.

“Can we not find him a pair of ice skates and send him off?” Darcy fastened his shirt and sat to pull on his boots. “I do not think I can tolerate his company at one more meal without developing indigestion.”

“He was insufferable at dinner, was he not? Spewing
venom at everybody. I thought Mrs. Parrish might be reduced to tears for the second time in a day.”

“He seemed to be seeking a fight from any quarter. Had I my fencing gear handy, I might have obliged him.”

“I would like to watch you fence sometime, but against a more worthy opponent. Let Mr. Kendall exhaust his quarrelsomeness on lesser men—Mr. Hurst, perhaps. He seemed to pay that gentleman extra attention last night.”

“Yes. I do not think Hurst saw it coming.” He approached the mirror to fold his cravat.

“His invitation to wager struck me as odd.” So had Hurst’s reaction to it—the suggestion seemed to have made him nervous. “It reminded me of Lord Chatfield’s remark about Mr. Hurst. What was it the earl said?”

“That Hurst’s name appears often in White’s betting book.”

“He also mentioned losses at cards. Yet Mr. Hurst asserted that he wasn’t much of a gambler.”

“Elizabeth, I have seen
you
lose at cards in your own mother’s drawing room. Does that mean I married a gamester?”

“My surrender of a few shillings has never become an item of public conversation.”

“Idle gossip.”

“The earl hardly impresses me as a scandalmonger. Does he you?”

He met her gaze in the mirror, then returned his attention to the cravat. “No,” he admitted.

“Then perhaps the rumors have substance after all.” Though if they did, what would it matter? So Mr. Hurst wasted his money on speculation. He could afford it, could he not?

Perhaps he could not.

Elizabeth’s mind leapt. When the Hursts had first entered Hertfordshire, general knowledge had set their income at two thousand a year, derived from his own inheritance and Louisa’s settlement invested in the five percents. If he had lost
more than his finances could bear, how would he pay off his creditors? What did indolent gentlemen do to generate income, other than sit around waiting for some wealthy relative to—

She caught her breath. No. Surely her imagination ran wild.

Didn’t it?

It must.

Maybe not?

Darcy’s question about Jane and Bingley’s recent “accidents” came back to her.
Who would have anything to gain?
Her pulse quickened. “What would happen to Bingley’s fortune if he and Jane died without heirs?”

“According to the will he drew up upon his inheritance, it would be divided evenly between his sisters. Though, of course, as they are married women, that money would fall under their husbands’ control,” Darcy said. “Now that he has wed Jane, he might change the terms to provide for your sisters as well, but to my knowledge he has not done so yet.”

“And if Caroline also met an untimely, childless end along with them?”

“Then the Hursts would—” He regarded her incredulously. “Surely you do not suggest that Hurst is behind the Bingley family’s recent troubles?”

“If he
is
hurting for money—”

“Elizabeth—”

“—an ‘unexpected’ inheritance would solve his financial problems.”

“Elizabeth!” He regarded her in horror. “Consider what you are saying! To accuse a respectable gentleman, without anything remotely resembling evidence—”

“Now that I think about it, he did answer his door awfully fast the night of the fire. Especially for a man who never moves quickly for anything except the sherry decanter. He could not have been sleeping when I knocked.” Not wanting
to wait for Lucy to help her dress, she slipped into her gown and slid her arms into the sleeves. She was suddenly impatient to begin her day.

“This is absurd. I refuse to participate in this conversation further.” He put on his coat.

“If Jane and Bingley are in danger, we must consider all the possibilities.”

“All the reasonable ones.”

She crossed to him for aid in buttoning the back of her dress, lifting her braid to grant him better access. “At least let us learn more about Hurst’s finances. If you could write to Lord Chatfield—”

“You wish me to
what
?”

“There can be no harm in a discreet enquiry.”

“No harm except destroying a man’s reputation.”

“Mr. Hurst is managing that well enough on his own if rumors are already circulating.”

“Then we should not make matters worse.” He fumbled with the small buttonholes. “How many buttons does one dress need?”

“Explain to the earl that it’s precisely out of concern for Hurst’s reputation that you wish to know specifically what is being said about him. That you worry your friend is the victim of unsubstantiated gossip.”

“This pursuit is a waste of time.”

He reached the top button. She turned and caught his hands in hers. “Darcy,” she said softly, “I fear for my sister’s life. Please—indulge me in this.”

He looked away and uttered a sound of exasperation. She brought one of his hands to her face and cupped it against her cheek. His fingers were stiff at first, but she leaned into his palm, and eventually the muscles relaxed.

He once more met her gaze, his reflecting resignation. “You know I can deny you nothing.”

_______

“Ouch!”

Elizabeth dropped her embroidery hoop and sucked a small drop of blood from the finger she had just pricked. The stitchery had been going poorly, even for her, whose skill with needle and thread was passable but far from extraordinary. She had not the patience of Jane, the discipline of Mary, or the compulsive ostentation of the Bingley sisters that enabled them to devote endless hours to producing elaborate designs that garnered praise from even casual observers. While she admired their efforts, Elizabeth took a utilitarian approach to her own needlework, preferring to spend her leisure hours reading, in conversation with others, or outside enjoying fresh air and exercise.

Today, however, the weather kept her indoors, her housemates had scattered to engage in other pursuits, and nothing in Netherfield’s library could hold the interest of a mind preoccupied with recent events. Too preoccupied, apparently, for she had carelessly stuck herself while sewing a simple backstitch.

She looked at her finger. The tiny wound was barely visible but still stung, encouraging her to indulge in the already-existent inclination to abandon the project and find something else to do. When she went to secure the needle, however, she discovered that it had slipped off the floss. A scan of her empty lap revealed that it had fallen farther afield.

“God bless it!” She rose and examined the sofa. No luck. She dropped to her hands and knees. Where was the troublesome thing?

While she thus pawed the carpet, inevitably someone entered the drawing room. “Mrs. Darcy, might I be of service?”

She recognized the voice even before glancing up, thankful to see Mr. Parrish’s amiable face. If she had to be caught in such an undignified position, she would rather have it witnessed by him than Mr. Kendall or one of the Bingley sisters. “I’ve lost my needle.”

“It can’t have strayed far.” He knelt and ran his fingers over the rug. “I’m amazed you women keep track of these things as well as you do. I’m sure I’d lose them left and right, only to locate them in some unpleasant manner hours later.”

“I hope to spare anyone in our acquaintance such a pointed discovery.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Perhaps we should invite Mr. Kendall to join us. In his stocking feet, of course.”

She returned his grin. “Of course.”

His smile faded. “I hope I don’t misrepresent myself, Mrs. Darcy. It is not in my nature to wish ill on anyone. At least, not any decent person.”

“I understand. Mr. Kendall was most ungentlemanly last night.”

“Caroline was beside herself after dinner. It nearly broke my heart, for I knew myself to be Kendall’s true target. Why could he not confine his attacks to me? I can ignore them.” He returned his attention to the rug. “I bear him no real animosity. I know he lashes out at a woman I love, to defend a woman he loves. He wants to punish me for a perceived slight to his daughter. I just wish he would finish his business with Bingley and depart.”