Page 85 of Cousin Conundrum

Mrs. Hurst frowned at her.

“Do you believe Mr. Bingley to be in danger?” Jane asked, her voice low.

Elizabeth caught one of her sister’s hands. “I am certain he will be well.”

Mrs. Hurst crossed to the window to look out. “They are assembling in the drive.”

They all went to watch as the menfolk gathered. Once they were assembled, Mr. Fletcher issued an order and they started down the drive, the riders quickly outpacing those who followed afoot.

Her hands clasped tightly, Mrs. Hurst left the window to drop into a spindly chair. The only comfortable seating was the settee, placed where Mr. Fletcher would be able to see it from inside the wardrobe.

Jane turned to Elizabeth. “The Peacock never harms anyone, does he?”

Taking in her sister’s pale face and pleading eyes, Elizabeth realized Jane required a distraction. “Kitty, get into the wardrobe and see how well you can see us here on the settee. Let us at least see if our plan would have succeeded.”

Her expression eager enough to convince Elizabeth that Kitty had already been considering climbing in, she did. “Close me in.”

Elizabeth shut the doors, then ushered Jane to the settee with her before asking, “Are you looking out?”

“I am.” Kitty’s voice came out muffled by the thick wood.

“It truly is a good hiding place,” Mrs. Hurst observed, sitting forward.

Elizabeth nodded. “It is. I know where the hole is cut and I still cannot make out Kitty’s eye. The wood is thick enough, and the interior of the wardrobe dark enough, that no light seems to reach Kitty to cause a glint.”

“It is not bad in here,” Kitty’s muffled voice said. “But I am not as tall as Mr. Fletcher.”

A touch of mischief filled Elizabeth. A game to help them forget the danger the gentlemen might be in. “Let us see if you can remain inside for as long as he did, or if you go mad.”

Kitty’s scoff carried through the wood. “I can remain inside for at least as long as Mr. Fletcher did.”

“We will see,” Elizabeth said cheerfully.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Darcy didn’t push his horse as hard as Hurst and Fletcher did theirs. Nor did he need to. A superior animal, his gelding was not even winded by their mad dash to Meryton. Darcy rode at the front of the group with Hurst and Fletcher, Bingley behind them and Netherfield Park’s men fanned out in their wake.

An unaccustomed recklessness roiled through Darcy, born from half-formed notions of impressing Elizabeth and from frustrated anger over his vow. Still, he slowed as they entered the village, not wishing to trample pedestrians or startle carriage horses. Hurst and Fletcher did as well, the former directing them into a turn off the village’s main street.

If Hurst and Fletcher’s mad idea that the Archer women were somehow the notorious Peacock proved true, and Darcy assisted in apprehending the man, would that earn him enough goodwill from his aunt that she would honor a request to free him from his vow? Could Aunt Catherine free him? The words were offered to his mother, but she had no means by which to absolve him now.

“Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy,” a somewhat familiar voice called.

Darcy glanced back to see Sir William Lucas standing on the corner, staring after them in surprise.

Behind him, Bingley broke off and went back to speak with the man. Darcy doubted Bingley would be circumspect, but then what point was there in trying to be so when they charged through the village with nearly a score of men? In hours, whether Mrs. Archer and her daughters were imposters or genuine, everyone for miles would know they’d been suspected, though not precisely of what. If they were genuine, Bingley’s betrothal was about to become very awkward.

Which was good. Perhaps Miss Catherine would beg off. Darcy certainly hoped so. While he held certain reservations concerning Miss Bennet, the acuteness of both her and Bingley’s misery spoke of an undeniable mutual connection. A true Miss Archer would be a far more advantageous match for Bingley, but Darcy did not like to see his friend so miserable. Nor did he care for the underhanded means by which the Archer women went about securing proposals.

Were they not genuine… Well, Darcy had never considered what happened to women convicted of burglary, but surely Bingley would be under no obligation to marry the woman who’d tricked him, whoever she might be.

Reaching the residence the Archers let, Darcy dismounted, waving over one of the flock of lads who gathered in their wake to take his horse. More than just boys assembled behind them, people filling the end of the street as Netherfield Park’s men converged on the house.

“You lot, to the left and around the back, and keep eyes on the side of the house as well,” Fletcher ordered, pointing. With a gesture to others of Bingley’s men, Fletcher sent them around the house to the right, adding, “No one is to leave.” He swung free of his saddle and marched up the walk.

Darcy joined him and Hurst hurried to follow, calling more men to him. When they reached the front door, Fletcher knocked.

No answer came. Silence filled the street, or as near to as could be with so many horses and people present, shifting and whispering.