with her hands and Darcy emphatically nodded several times.
“Okay, Jenny,” demanded the younger Harrington, turning back to his own table, “who is she and what’s she doing here?” Harv cast a mischievous glance at Faith, who was gazing glumly into her empty glass. “My sister won’t lower herself to ask you,” Harv said, injecting a comic maniacal tone into his voice, “but I can see that her eyes are already beginning to take on that familiar evil red glow.”
“Harv,” Faith snapped, “will you shut the hell up!”
Harv grinned and raised a glass to his sister as everyone turned to await Jenny’s reply. The tall black woman shrugged and, enjoying their suspense, speared a bite of her salad.
“I don’t know why you’re all making such a to-do,” Jenny said at length. “Her name’s Eliza Knight, she flew down from New York to see Fitz on some kind of business. And she’s definitely not staying the weekend.”
Jenny raised her right hand like the key witness in a murder trial. “That’s all I know.”
“Not staying, huh?” Harv looked crestfallen. “That’s too bad,” he complained. “We could definitely use some new blood around here.”
“Yes, but preferably not on the ballroom floor,” quipped Artemis around a mouthful of ham.
Jenny giggled and jabbed him in the ribs. “That was funny, Artie darling,” she laughed. “I wish you’d employ that dry Harvard wit of yours more often.”
Artemis shrugged. “I would but it’s a big strain,” he replied with a deadpan expression.
While his friends at the other table were busy conjecturing about Eliza, lunch was being served. Eliza watched in silence as a lovely salad with blackberry vinaigrette was placed before her, followed by a beautifully grilled trout, caught right here on the estate, as her host proudly explained. The servant finished his task, leaving a delicately woven silver basket filled with warm bread and a crystal dish of butter. Once he was out of sight and, she assumed, earshot, Eliza began her story. She started with the purchase of the dressing table (excluding any mention or thought of Jerry) and ended with Thelma’s confirmation of the authenticity of the letter and by extension the vanity as well.
Darcy had been listening with growing fascination to the pretty New Yorker’s remarkable tale. Every word she said about her discovery had the ring of truth to it and he was certain this was the break he had been anticipating for so long. By the time she had reached the end of her narrative he was leaning expectantly across the table, his green eyes fixed raptly on hers.
“The two letters you found,” he began when she had finished, “do you have them with you?”
Eliza nodded and lowered her eyes to the portfolio on the table near her. “As a matter of fact I do,” she said. “Although I’m afraid that poor Thelma Klein nearly had a nervous breakdown over my taking them out of her temperature-controlled vault. I was forced to remind her that they are still my property,” she added, thinking of the heated debate she had had with the stolid researcher.
She paused thoughtfully, examining Darcy’s eyes in an attempt to read the surging emotions she saw there. “I felt that it was important to bring the actual documents with me so you could examine them for yourself,” she told him.
Darcy nodded eagerly. “May I see them, then?” he asked, reaching for the portfolio.
Eliza’s hand beat his to the leather case, pinning it firmly to the table. “On one condition,” she said.
Disappointment was evident in his eyes as he leaned back in his chair and stared at her.
“You are reputed to have bought another Jane Austen letter from a British document dealer two years ago,” Eliza continued flatly. “I would like to see that one.”
“Who told you there was another letter?” Darcy demanded. “Oh, of course,” he snorted angrily, “it was that damned Klein woman.”
Darcy then realized that his tone had been too sharp. “I’m sorry,” he told her, “but the letter you mentioned has been a source of immense irritation to me for some time. I paid a great deal of money for it, with the express understanding that I would remain completely anonymous,” he explained. “So perhaps you can imagine how I felt when Thelma Klein, whom I had never met, suddenly began pressuring me to send it to her within twenty-four hours of the purchase.”
Eliza smiled. “Sounds exactly like Thelma.” Conceding in a pseudoconspiratorial tone, “She can be more than a little pushy.”
“At any rate,” Darcy said, calming down, “of course there’s no reason you can’t see the letter. I have it in my study.” His handsome features lit up with a charming smile, “If you’re finished with lunch we can go in now.”
Almost knocking his chair over in his rush to stand, his cheeks flushed pink and he looked away. Regaining his composure he gestured to the door. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Eliza was amused by the exuberance with which Darcy expressed his impatient desire to go into the house and see the letters. Trying not to reveal her own excitement, she smiled at him as she rose, “No time like the present.”
Chapter 14
The enormous cherrywood paneled room that Darcy referred to as his study reminded Eliza more of a university research library than a personal workplace. Besides the massive hardwood desk holding his computer, phones and what appeared to be several stacks of business papers, and a grouping of antique furniture arranged around a large fireplace, the richly decorated study contained a long, banquet-sized table that was strewn with reference texts, piles of letters and leather bound journals and diaries, all of which appeared to be of great age.
After showing Eliza to a comfortable armchair beside his desk, Darcy walked over to a file cabinet, removed a plain manila folder from an upper drawer and laid it on the desk in front of her. She looked at him questioningly and he nodded. “Go ahead, open it.”
With trembling hands Eliza opened the folder and found herself looking at a tattered fold of writing paper nearly identical in size and texture to the sealed letter that she had found behind the vanity mirror. Her voice was an awed whisper as she excitedly read the address written by the familiar hand in faded, rust-colored ink. “‘Jane Austen, Chawton Cottage ~ Fitzwilliam Darcy, Chawton Great House.’”
Her dark eyes sparkling with anticipation, Eliza looked up at him. “Yes, it looks the same as mine,” she told him. “May I read it?”
Darcy nodded, then he walked to one of the study’s tall windows and stared out at the lawns as she carefully unfolded the letter. Eliza read aloud:
“It’s signed ‘Jane A,’” she concluded.
Eliza looked up at Fitzwilliam Darcy, who had turned back to face her. “This is positively amazing,” she said, examining the old letter more closely. “This letter is dated the same day as
Darcy acknowledged that information with a slight nod. When he offered no further comment Eliza opened her portfolio and took out her two letters. She picked up the opened one and held it out for his examination. “Would you like to read it?” she offered.
To her utter amazement, he made no move to take the proffered letter but merely shook his head. “May I see the letter from Jane now?” he asked in a curiously subdued tone.
Eliza frowned at what struck her as his exceedingly odd behavior, but she handed him the sealed letter anyway. Darcy said nothing, but stared at it for several long seconds, slowly turning it over and over in his
