Page 83 of Cousin Conundrum

Mr. Hurst muttered a low oath. He tugged a small journal from his coat pocket and flipped through. Apparently reaching the page he sought, he squinted. “There is a B.A., and an L.A. Either one could stand for Archer.”

“Initials?” Kitty’s voice rose in question. “Of? Widows who have been robbed by the Peacock?”

Mrs. Hurst craned her neck to look up at her husband. “I do not understand. What do your efforts to ascertain if the Archer women are who they say they are have to do with the Peacock?”

Mr. Hurst snapped the journal closed. “Where is Fletcher?”

“Steven?” Mrs. Hurst filled the word with both question and hurt.

“I…” He looked about the room.

Everyone watched him now, Elizabeth noted. That was, except for Mr. Darcy. From the corner of her eye, she could see his gaze roaming her face.

“I am not certain I am permitted to say.” Mr. Hurst looked down at his wife, whose features pinched into lines of misery. He stood, drawing his shoulders back. “But do you know what? I do not care if I am permitted to tell you or not. Let us find Fletcher and I will explain everything.”

Kitty popped up from her seat. “We truly should let him out of that cabinet.”

Kitty in the lead, the others filed from the room, Jane on Mr. Bingley’s arm. Mr. Darcy stood and proffered his hand.

Elizabeth required no assistance. In truth, she felt nearly recovered from her ordeal. Still, she placed her hand in his, reveling at the warmth and strength of his grip. When she came to her feet, he did not release her.

“Miss Elizabeth, I…” He trailed off, more uncertain than she’d ever thought to see him.

“Mr. Darcy?”

“I made a vow,” he blurted, an odd note in his voice. One that twisted into her like a serpent.

Regret? Despair?

When he didn’t continue, she prompted. “A vow?”

“I…” He shook his head. “Now is neither the time nor the place. Forgive me. We should not fall too far behind the others.” He turned, tucking her hand to his arm without seeming to notice he did so.

In the past, Elizabeth might have protested his highhandedness. She might have pulled away. Tartly pointed out that she neither needed nor wanted his assistance.

Instead, she enjoyed the solid steadiness of him as he escorted her from the drawing room. Drew in the scents of clean linen and bergamot. Appreciated the way he matched his stride to hers without seemingly any conscious thought.

Why would he mention a vow? Was he, indeed, betrothed to Miss Anne de Bourgh? What sort of betrothal vow could he have given that did not constitute an actual engagement? For, were he officially engaged, Elizabeth did not believe he would conceal the fact. Even though their kiss had left her worried he was a rake, Mr. Darcy had since proven he was not the sort to hide an engagement.

Worry gnawed at her as they walked Netherfield Park’s wide, well-appointed corridors. Why should she care if Mr. Darcy was betrothed? She had nothing to offer him.

They turned a corner to see the others filing into the room they’d staged for Mr. Fletcher to be able to observe Catherine Archer, a plan apparently derailed by the last person Elizabeth expected. Chagrin filled her. She had accounted for Jane and for Mrs. Bennet. It hadn’t occurred to her to ensure that Mr. Collins did not foil their plot.

Elizabeth entered on Mr. Darcy’s arm to the sight of Kitty throwing the wardrobe doors wide.

Mr. Fletcher blinked at them. “The best-laid plans of mice and men?”

Kitty shrugged. “Yes, sadly. I did not even have the opportunity to dump tea on Cat.”

Mr. Fletcher stepped down, then straightened with a grimace. He wasn’t as tall as Mr. Darcy, being more of a height with Mr. Bingley, but he’d still been cramped in the wardrobe. “What happened?”

“Mr. Collins came in waving a letter from Lady Catherine, saying that the Archers are not real Archers.”

Mr. Fletcher’s eyes went wide. “What did they say?”

“Mrs. Archer said she would write to Lady Catherine immediately and they stormed out. Mr. Collins went with them.”

“She said she would return to their dwelling and compose a letter?”