Page 59 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
“I beg your pardon,” she said, her voice shaky. “I did not mean to—that is, I was only trying to—”
“Of course,” Darcy said, though his voice was as unsteady as hers. “Think nothing of it.”
But even as he spoke the words, Elizabeth knew that was impossible. She could still feel the phantom shape of his body beneath her hands, could still see the intensity in his eyes when he had spoken her name. Whatever this thing was between them—this strange, thrilling attraction—it was growing stronger by the day.
And that realisation terrified her more than any ballroom full of London’s elite ever could.
Chapter 21
Darcy
The next morning found them in Fleet Street, standing before the modest offices of The London Caller. The publisher, Mr Henley, proved to be a rotund gentleman with ink-stained fingers and a shrewd expression that suggested he was accustomed to unusual requests.
“Mr Darcy! Miss Bennet!” He rose from behind his cluttered desk with obvious delight. “How honoured I am by your visit. Come to thank me for the excellent coverage of your romance, have you?”
“Actually,” Darcy said stiffly, “we have come to enquire about the source of that original story. The one that suggested I was involved with a Miss B.”
Henley shifted through his papers, only half paying attention. “Now, now, sir. You know I cannot reveal my sources. Confidentiality is the cornerstone of our business.”
“We are not asking you to betray anyone,” Elizabeth said. “We merely wish to understand how such stories come to your attention.”
“Ah, well, that I can discuss.” Henley relaxed. “Many of our tips are submitted anonymously, you understand. Notes slipped under the door, letters posted without return addresses. The ton is full of people eager to share gossip.”
“And the particular story about Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth pressed.
“Anonymous letter, just like most. Arrived by post one morning.” Henley’s eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of a man who knew valuable information when he saw it.
“Might we see the original letter?” Darcy asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
“Absolutely not!” Henley looked shocked. “Reveal a source? Never! My reputation would be ruined. Besides, I cannot have people thinking they can come here demanding to see private correspondence.”
“We understand your position,” Elizabeth said. “But surely you can tell us what made this particular tip worth publishing? After all, Mr Darcy is merely a gentleman. He owns a large estate, yes, but he is hardly the sort one would normally read about. And I—well, I come from a modest family myself.”
Henley preened. “Well, it was the connection to Lord Matlock that made it interesting, was not it? Without that family tie, it would have been just another gentleman’s romantic entanglement. But the Earl’s nephew caught in a compromising position? That is news worth printing.”
The conversation continued back and forth for a few more minutes but no further information was gathered.
They left the publisher’s office with little more information than they had arrived with, though the confirmation that the tip had been submitted anonymously was something.
“Well, that was illuminating,” Elizabeth said as they walked towards Hyde Park. “Though perhaps not in the way we hoped.”
“At least we know it was submitted deliberately, not merely observed by chance,” Darcy replied. “Someone wanted that story published.”
They entered the park in comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. The morning was crisp and clear, with other couples and families enjoying the pleasant weather.
“So,” Elizabeth said at last, “we have two primary suspects. Caroline and Lydia.”
“Indeed. The question is which seems more likely.” Darcy chewed the inside of his cheeks, the movement visible. “Caroline certainly had motive—she has been pursuing me for over a year with increasing desperation. Creating a scandal that would force my hand would serve her purposes admirably.”
“And she was present at the ball in question. She would have known the specific details needed to make the story credible.”
“Exactly. But then there is your theory about Lydia…”
Elizabeth sighed. “Lydia was in London at the time. She would have seen the society pages about the ball, known who attended. And she was furious with you about Jane.”
“She also knew Caroline well enough from Netherfield to understand that Caroline would benefit from such a scandal. It would have been perfect revenge—trapping me with someone I disliked whilst giving Caroline what she wanted.”
They walked in silence for a moment, neither wanting to voice their growing suspicions about Elizabeth’s sister.
