understanding what caused Mrs. Parrish’s misadventure.”
Miss Kendall shook her head. “I’ve no idea. Perhaps Hecate objected to Caroline. The mare did seem unusually skittish. No horse is completely predictable, especially in the hands of an unfamiliar rider, but Hecate is well trained. I’ve ridden her myself.”
Her last statement seemed a calculated reminder of her previous relationship with Hecate’s owner. “It must have been difficult for you to see Mr. Parrish’s new bride in a seat you so recently occupied,” Elizabeth said. “I must admit I was all astonishment to hear that the outing took place at your solicitation. Not many women would demonstrate such a generous, forgiving nature.”
Now it was Miss Kendall’s turn to pause. She picked a nonexistent piece of lint off her skirt and stared at her fingers as she rubbed them together slowly. “I thought the sooner I saw her in her new situation, the better.”
Elizabeth thought it a reasonable excuse for the invitation. Yet what had the pair been discussing so closely? Dare she ask? She had the opportunity now; she might as well seize it. “And were you able to enjoy the easy conversation of old friends?”
Juliet lifted her chin and finally met her gaze. “No, I’m afraid not.” She rose abruptly. “Pray forgive me, Mrs. Darcy, but I suddenly find myself wearied by the day’s events. Surely you understand?”
Elizabeth understood perfectly — she had pushed too far, too soon in their acquaintance. “Of course.” She rose to take her leave. “I’m unsure how long my husband and I will remain in town, but I hope to have the pleasure of your call at some point in the future.”
“The pleasure will be mine,” Miss Kendall said, but her flat tone did not match the words.
The interview was at an end, and Elizabeth knew little more than she had before she arrived. Beside her, the fire popped, and Janus mocked her with both his faces.
“Reconciling herself, as well as she could, to a change so sudden and so important, fatigue… made her at length return home.”
Elizabeth poked at her eggs, the tines of her fork piercing the soft whites now grown cold. Snow the day before had further delayed a return to Pemberley, and now she and Darcy waited for a servant to return with word of road conditions before deciding whether to set out this morning or remain still longer.
She hoped they could quit London presently. They’d made the most of their time in town, engaging not only in entertaining diversions, but also undertaking errands and other business. Elizabeth had visited Oxford and Bond streets to order new draperies, wallpaper, and additional appointments for the summer breakfast parlor and long gallery at Pemberley; Darcy had managed a few visits to the Haymarket Room to improve his mastery of fencing under Domenico Angelo’s instruction. But London, for all its excitement, had grown tiresome after the repeated postponements of their travel plans, and both longed to leave.
“If we don’t go today, perhaps we should just spend Christmas here.” As much as she’d prefer to be in Derbyshire, at least they could settle into the townhouse and begin holiday preparations instead of endlessly expecting to depart.
Darcy set aside the
“I do. I’m just trying to be practical.” She glanced to the window. Light snowflakes merrily bobbed through the air, oblivious to the disappointment their presence caused those on the other side of the glass.
“Leave practical to me. If Pemberley is where my wife wants to spend Christmas, we will get there.”
“If we stay here any longer, we really ought to invite poor Georgiana to come back.”
His brows rose. “Are you saying the honeymoon is over?”
“Certainly not. I think only of your sister’s comfort. Though she and the Gardiners report they are having a lovely visit, one is never as completely at ease in someone else’s home as in one’s own.” She pushed aside the plate of cold food and set her napkin on the table. Perhaps she would write a letter to Charlotte this morning.
“Precisely why we should preserve our plan to celebrate Christmas in Derbyshire. London is home to too many — a noisy, crowded boardinghouse compared to the tranquility of Pemberley.”
“Yet you maintain this townhouse, and permit Georgiana to pass most of the year in it.”
“Out of necessity. Business often calls me here, and the city offers cultural and educational opportunities unavailable in the country. It also provides more varied society.”
She cast him an arch look. “Now it is my turn to ask if the honeymoon is over — I hope you don’t grow weary of my company already?”
“Quite the reverse, Mrs. Darcy. Once we do reach Pemberley, I may never wish to leave it again.”
They were interrupted by the entrance of a servant. “A letter for you, madam. Just arrived — the rider waits for a reply.”
She exchanged a puzzled glance with her husband. Whatever could be so urgent? As she reached for the note, she recognized the handwriting immediately. “It’s from Jane.” She broke the seal and quickly scanned the contents. “Caroline Parrish has suffered an accident. A surgeon has seen to her injuries but Jane and Bingley desire our counsel. They ask us to meet them at the Parrishes’ townhouse as soon as possible.”
She looked into her husband’s face, which mirrored her own concern and confusion. What could have happened that required their opinion on the matter?
He turned to the servant who had brought the letter. “Tell the messenger we will meet them directly.”
The Darcys arrived to find Parrish, Jane, Bingley, and the Hursts all gathered in the drawing room. Parrish, his face in profile, stared outward as he leaned against the window. He had been speaking softly to Bingley, who stood beside him, but stopped as the butler entered with Elizabeth and Darcy.
As soon as the servant departed, Jane, her face more grave than her sister had ever seen it, immediately crossed the room and took Elizabeth’s hands in her own. “I’m so glad you are come. The most shocking thing has happened — we don’t know what to make of it.”
Elizabeth glanced from Jane to the others. Bingley stood stiffly, his normally carefree countenance clouded by anxiety that matched his wife’s. He exchanged a glance with Parrish, who pushed away from the window to stand with a defeated posture. Louisa, hands in her lap and fingers unconsciously playing with her rings, studied the floor. Mr. Hurst sprawled on the sofa, a degree of seriousness quickening his usual bored expression. An unnatural silence hung in the air as all seemed reluctant to speak of the situation that had brought them here.
Jane drew her toward the sofa. “Come sit down.” Elizabeth, her curiosity mounting, sat beside Jane as advised.
Darcy followed her to the sofa but remained standing. “Mr. Parrish? Bingley? Could someone tell us what has transpired?”
Parrish cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I still find it difficult to give voice to this incident. Early this morning, my cook found Mrs. Parrish lying on the kitchen floor with two knife wounds.”
Elizabeth gasped and looked to Jane, who nodded in confirmation of the incredible news. “Is she — will she recover?”
“The surgeon thinks so. Her injuries are painful but not very deep. She’s resting now.”
Her mind struggled to comprehend the intelligence. Caroline Parrish had been attacked in her own home? “How — Who…?”
Darcy’s hand touched her back. “Has a constable been summoned?” London’s feeble police force wasn’t renowned for its competence, but Elizabeth supposed the assistance of some authority figure was better than nothing.
“He’s been here and gone. Pompous lout.” Parrish crossed to a vacant chair and slumped into it. His red eyes and accompanying dark circles testified to a long night with little sleep. The once lighthearted American seemed to have aged years in the two weeks Elizabeth had known him. “He declared that all the evidence points to a desire for self-destruction.”
