And the false Captain Tilney had been very interested in the history of that friendship. Why? Of all subjects, why had the perpetrator of this scheme sought information about two women who had been deceased for decades?
To unravel this intrigue, to exonerate themselves, she and Darcy needed to learn more about Lady Anne’s connection to Mrs. Tilney. They had hardly formed a cordial new acquaintance with Henry Tilney today, and thus were unlikely to learn anything more about Mrs. Tilney from her surviving son. They had access only to information about Lady Anne’s life, and those clues lay back at Pemberley.
Who knew how long it would take their letter to reach Mr. Harper, and how much more time would pass before he could effect Darcy’s release? Somehow, Elizabeth needed to get herself and her husband home.
She studied Mr. Melbourne in the waning light. She had to persuade him to discharge Darcy from gaol, but how? Reason had failed. Compassion had won only limited liberty for her that was unlikely to be extended further. How was this man best worked upon?
An idea occurred to her. By the time the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Golden Crown, she had formed a desperate resolution.
“Mr. Melbourne, might my husband accompany me to our chamber? If he is to be incarcerated until spring, I imagine he might like to retrieve a change of clothes.”
“No. I will accompany you upstairs and inspect whatever you wish to send. He can wait here with your guard.”
“Very well.” She had not expected the luxury of another private conversation with her husband. Nevertheless, the magistrate’s refusal disappointed her.
Mr. Melbourne permitted Darcy to hand her out of the carriage. As they parted, she met his gaze. They could not take proper leave of each other with the magistrate hovering impatiently. She wanted to hear Darcy’s thoughts on what they had learned today. She wanted to ask what he intended to do once Mr. Harper returned to England, and whether he wished her to take any additional actions now. She wanted to say things of a more personal nature than Mr. Melbourne needed to overhear.
She read in his eyes the same number of unspoken thoughts.
“May I visit you tomorrow?” she asked.
“Absolutely not.” His grip on her hand tightened. “I will not have you or our child anywhere near that place.”
She would not have Darcy anywhere near that place for long, if she could help it — which she was determined to do.
Mr. Melbourne hurried her up to the chamber, where she gathered she knew not what garments into a valise for Darcy. She could have called Graham and asked him to select the attire, but she wanted to handle his clothing herself, as if some part of her would be packed along with the shirts for Darcy to keep with him.
Mr. Melbourne accepted the bag from her. “Can I trust you to stay in this room while your guard and I exchange places?”
She would rather not have the magistrate’s agent monitoring her every move. “You can trust me to stay indefinitely. A guard is unnecessary.”
“Just because I permit you to remain here at the inn instead of joining your husband in gaol, that does not mean you have been cleared of charges. I cannot risk your fleeing.”
“Mr. Melbourne, you are holding my husband in prison. Where on earth do you think I might go?”
“You could go anywhere, Mrs. Darcy.”
She raised her chin and summoned her most dignified air.
She was mistress of Pemberley.
It was time she acted like it. Time she parlayed the weight of that station into something useful.
“No, I cannot, and neither can my husband,” she said. “Mr. Darcy is responsible for a huge estate. Many people — hundreds of people — depend upon him for their livelihoods. He cannot sit in gaol until the spring assizes. Allow us to go home while we await our day in court.”
Mr. Melbourne actually laughed at her. “Do you believe me so gullible as that? If I permit you to leave, Gloucestershire will never see the pair of you again. And when someone comes looking for you at Pemberley, you will not be there, either.”
“Mr. Darcy and I will swear an oath to return.”
“Oaths can be broken. As long as your husband resides in gaol, I am certain he will appear at his trial. What to do with
“Can we not post a bond to assure our cooperation?”
“Your husband has already asked that. No.”
“But why—”
“Good evening, Mrs. Darcy.”
She maintained her composure until the door was shut and she heard his tread on the stair. Then she picked up a discarded shirt and crumpled it in frustration.
She had tried to act her part and failed. She was yet too new in her role as mistress of a great estate, as matriarch of a powerful family. She had not yet learned how to project a commanding presence, one that garnered the respect of listeners and inspired them to follow her lead. And perhaps she never would. Perhaps it simply was not in her nature. After all, she had gone two-and-twenty years without feeling its lack.
Until today.
Today she felt weak. Inadequate. Overwhelmed. Indeed, the strain of recent events was beginning to take a physical toll in the form of an intermittent quaking in her lower abdomen. She had not said a word to Darcy — even had there been opportunity, she did not want to add to his troubles. But the fluctuations were occurring too close to the baby for her own peace of mind. Even now, she felt a small quiver.
She carefully folded the shirt, placed it back in Darcy’s trunk, and brought her portable writing desk to the table. She wrote the letter to Mr. Harper as Darcy had directed. But it would be some time before the solicitor could arrive. And she did not know how much more of this anxiety she could tolerate.
She withdrew another sheet of paper and began a second missive.
It was time for the strategy of last resort. She might not herself possess the air of indomitable authority required to free her husband.
But she knew someone who did.
“I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; nor will I be dissuaded from it.”
“W
The voice reverberated off the walls and every other hard surface of the room. It set Elizabeth’s spine tingling — and she had been anticipating it. Best of all, its sheer authority sent Mr. Melbourne scrambling to attention. He stood up behind his desk as Lady Catherine and Elizabeth entered the library of the magistrate’s home.
Elizabeth had not been entirely certain how Darcy’s aunt would respond to the second express she’d sent the night before. Given the vigilance with which her ladyship protected the Fitzwilliam name from the slightest threat, Elizabeth hoped she would offer assistance in liberating Darcy as quickly as possible. Her optimism had not been in vain. Lady Catherine had sallied forth so swiftly to defend the family honor that she arrived at the Golden Crown before Elizabeth had finished her breakfast.
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” Elizabeth said, “may I present Mr. Melbourne?”
He stretched to his full measure and squared his shoulders. “Good afternoon, your ladyship.” Mr. Melbourne bowed.
