preposterous notions. A man has died, and his suspected killer’s whereabouts are unknown. There is too much at stake to waste further time in fanciful conjecture.”
His words stung. He’d spoken to her as if reprimanding a child. That she loved him made his disbelief all the more painful. She knew she was right, knew there was more to Caroline’s condition and Kendall’s murder than cold facts. Why could he not set aside his deuced pride and trust her instincts?
She shook with frustration, anger, hurt. “Darcy, I need you to believe me in this.”
“I cannot.”
She swallowed hard and willed her voice to steady. “Then I guess there’s nothing left to say.”
She walked past him, silently begging him to stop her. But he let her pass unchecked, and did not even turn around to see her close the door. He must have heard it, though, for she applied enough force to rattle the frame. Then she headed down the hall, back to the Parrishes’ chamber.
If Darcy would not save Caroline from that ring, she would.
“Handsome men must have something to live on, as well as the plain.”
Darcy stayed in the room but a minute following Elizabeth’s decisive exit. He did not want to argue with her. Truly he did not. Clashing with his wife left his stomach knotted. But these ideas! How could he, or any reasonable man, be expected to take them seriously? How could she?
If the truth were ever to be discovered, it would be through deduction, not intuition. A review of the facts, not
No, reason and logic would prevail. And it stood to reason that a man with his hands in as many pockets as Lawrence Kendall would keep some record of his affairs. He’d produced papers enough where Bingley was concerned — perhaps he possessed other documents that would reveal a clearer link between him and Randolph.
To Darcy’s knowledge, no one had yet gone through Kendall’s personal effects. Now that his daughter had arrived, those items would soon be transported out of his reach. He had better examine them now, before Juliet Kendall ordered them packed up and loaded onto her coach. If she had not already.
He passed no one in the hall on his way to Kendall’s chamber, to his satisfaction. He could not bear another spat with Elizabeth just now, and in his present mood had no patience for anyone else. He arrived, however, to find Kendall’s quarters occupied.
Juliet Kendall sat at the desk. In her hand she held a closely written page, one of a sheaf of papers spread before her. Damn! She had beaten him to Kendall’s documents; he would never see them now. He braced himself for her vitriol.
She glanced up to see who had interrupted her reading. “Mr. Darcy,” she acknowledged. Her voice was uneven, her expression stricken.
The strain of her father’s death must be wearing on her. Though it seemed ungentlemanly to press that advantage, he tried to rapidly devise a strategy that would persuade her to let him see Kendall’s records. Ultimately, he assured his conscience, he was only trying to help her by identifying her father’s killer.
“Miss Kendall.” He bowed. “Forgive my intrusion. Are you finding everything all right?”
“I am finding more than I expected,” she replied. “Including this.” She handed him a letter.
By the time he finished reading, Darcy gripped the letter so tightly it crumpled on one side. Parrish — or Diamond, or whatever the scoundrel’s name was — had deceived them all. All except Kendall, who had been smart enough to have his daughter’s suitor investigated. Would that he and Bingley had been so wise! Distracted by their own marital preparations, they had accepted the “gentleman” at his word and allowed Caroline to marry a dangerous fortune hunter.
Kendall, meanwhile, had reveled in their ignorance. In fact, he’d been so full of his own superiority at knowing what they did not, that he was unable to completely contain himself. He’d dropped smug hints about Parrish’s character — at dinner, during the billiards game — which they’d all interpreted as mere sour grapes over the broken courtship.
He glanced to Miss Kendall. “Did you know any of this?”
She shook her head. “When my father forced Mr. Parrish to end our courtship, he implied that he had disparaging information about Frederick. I tried to hint as much to Caroline. That’s why I asked her to go riding that day — I started thinking about the times we’d played together as girls and felt I owed her that much. But I never imagined this. Merciful heavens! Thievery, seduction, murder — what crime has he not committed?”
They could probably add involvement in Kendall’s death to the list. Given Kendall’s goading comments to Parrish and the hints he dropped to everyone else, Parrish must have known Juliet’s father possessed this information. Kendall’s continued presence at Netherfield therefore posed a threat to whatever plans Parrish had for Caroline, and the risk of exposure would be too great for Parrish to tolerate long. Kendall could even have been blackmailing Parrish. Given the businessman’s dealings with Hurst, it would come as little surprise, and would explain why he had brought the letter along with him to Netherfield.
Was Parrish responsible for other events as well? The carriage accident? The fire? Darcy would have to reconsider all of his previous theories. But now he hadn’t the time. He had to warn the others of Parrish’s duplicity. He shoved the letter back into Miss Kendall’s hands. “Show this to Mr. Bingley.”
“Where are you going?”
He hurried out the door, his heart hammering. Frederick Parrish was capable of anything, and he held the trust of the entire household.
