Page 32 of Conundrums & Coincidences

Mr Darcy stood looking into her eyes, attentively listening; and when she finished speaking, he remained silent, still gazing at her but seemingly deep in thought. So intent were they on one another that they jumped apart upon hearing a familiar voice.

“And why was I not invited to this cosy little tête-à-tête of yours?”

Elizabeth thought it odd that Mr Darcy chose that moment to glance at his watch and mutter in an unmistakably cynical tone, “Of course. Eleven o’clock. Right on the dot.”

16

IT NEVER RAINS BUT IT POURS

With professions of pleasure, Elizabeth had greeted Miss Rigby more warmly than Darcy had; but he suspected she was as disappointed as he by the chaperon’s ill-timed arrival.

Just prior to that, a pair of fine eyes had been fixed on his face with such a remarkable expression of pensive admiration that he could not help but have hope. And what he would not have given for some privacy, such as they had enjoyed—or at least he had enjoyed—in Kent. Nevertheless, even had they been alone, and as much as he longed to do so, Darcy would not have dared to make her an offer again so soon. And there were recent complications to consider.

He turned up his collar and walked alongside the ladies, envying the chaperon’s advantageous position. Of course, he had done the proper thing and invited Miss Rigby to huddle beneath the umbrella with Elizabeth. As they advanced towards the manor, Darcy listened to their chatter but contributed nothing to it.

“And I assure you, Miss Rigby, that our being together was not because of an assiduous endeavour to meet but rather the result of fortuitous timing. I have been having difficulty with my current puzzle and was feeling low because of it. Hence, I came to the garden seeking solace and inspiration.”

The chaperon patted her charge’s arm. “And who could not find comfort and inspiration in such a place as this? Rain has enhanced the colours and makes everything look so clean and smell so fresh.”

Even above the patter of raindrops hitting their umbrella, Darcy heard Miss Rigby quietly add, “I assume you have found that which you seek, dear.”

Catching Darcy’s eye, Elizabeth smiled. “I believe I have, yes.”

Does she mean me? He felt almost weak for an instant. Then such profound affection and happiness swelled within his heart that he feared it might burst from his chest.

“My spirits have been restored,” continued Elizabeth, “and just as this sprinkle has washed away dust on plant life, the morning’s freshness has cleared the cobwebs from my mind. I now believe I have the answer to my conundrum.”

Darcy was confident he, too, had the answer to his most significant conundrum, namely Elizabeth Bennet herself. But now I have eliminated one quandary only to find myself with a new one.

But what was he to do about it? Disguise of every sort was his abhorrence.

In his bedchamber, Darcy sat at the writing table in his shirtsleeves and contemplated his newest puzzle, a charade:

My First is a Preposition.

My Second is a Composition.

My Whole is an Acquisition.

There was only one meaning for ‘preposition’. Unfortunately, the English language had well over one hundred of them. As for ‘composition’, that could mean a number of things—the manner in which something is composed, a musical creation, a literary work, a writing exercise, the construction of a sentence, or the arrangement of objects in a painting. ‘Acquisition’ was either something obtained or the act of obtaining it.

Unable to hold his attention, the charade was set aside.

Although Miss Armstrong’s legacy was of great material value, Darcy had been preoccupied with something else since the moment Elizabeth had explained she not only wanted to win the tournament, she needed to win it. It was a different sort of enigma, and it required a different sort of solution.

Were she and he still in a draw with Mr Hadley? For all Darcy knew, the younger man might be alone in first place at that very moment; and he realised that, other than in passing, it had been some time since he had spoken at length with the amiable gentleman. The barrister-in-the-making spent most of his time with Mr Monroe, having deep discussions concerning the legal profession.

Gaining his feet, Darcy stood at the window, one palm braced against its frame. The wet had not let up, and the view through the pane was distorted by runnels of rain. It hardly signified. His thoughts were turned inwards. A desperate resolution began to form; but its groundwork was interrupted by a sound from the door and the subsequent entry of the butler and a footman.

“Pardon the intrusion, Mr Darcy,” said Mr Atwater. “Christopher and I are here under the instruction of Mr Monroe.” The senior servant seemed embarrassed. “We are to conduct a search of your room, sir, so please have a seat at the writing table whilst we do so.”

Darcy had forgotten about that day’s planned search; and while he understood the necessity of it, he did resent the intrusion at that moment. Unworried, though, he knew a thorough examination of his apartments would neither take long nor prove fruitful.

As directed, he sat upon the Windsor chair and watched Christopher search beneath the massive oak bed and behind its pillows. Next, the footman inspected the cupboard washstand in the corner and then the cabinet concealing a commode. He even peeked behind the fireplace screen and in the grate.

Meanwhile, the butler had gone to examine the dressing room, where most of the space was taken up by a massive, centuries-old armoire that Darcy had been told once held a knight’s suits of armour.

Minutes later, Mr Atwater emerged, stern-faced and flushed. “Christopher,” said the butler, “fetch Mr Monroe.”