Page 116 of Honor Requires

Elizabeth looked up at him. “You do not detain me.” The simplicity of the reply struck him with unexpected force.

He inclined his head. “Even so.”

There was a moment—brief, fragile—when neither of them moved.

Then Elizabeth said earnestly, “You will be here tomorrow.” It was not a question.

Darcy hesitated before he replied, “Yes.”

She nodded. “Then I shall expect you.”

He bowed. “Miss Bennet.”

She inclined her head in return. “Sir.”

Darcy turned away. He did not look back. But he felt her presence long after he had left her behind, the sensation of her lingering within him—caught between what he was and what he had once been, and uncertain which would prevail.

Darcy returned to Ashcombe House later than he had intended, though the fault lay less in the length of his walk than in the difficulty of mastering his thoughts afterward. The morning had left him unsettled in ways he did not care to examine too closely. Elizabeth had done that—merely by walking beside him, by looking at him with those searching eyes, by speaking of justice and restraint with a perception that suggested she sensed, if not the whole truth, then enough of it to make concealment both necessary and intolerable.

By the time he entered the house, however, discipline had resumed its proper place.

The front hall was warm after the cool brightness of the park. The scent of beeswax and a recently built fire lingered in the air, and somewhere deeper in the house he heard the muted clink of porcelain being cleared away. Gibbs appeared at once to receive his hat and gloves, his expression as composed as ever, though Darcy noticed the faint shift in his manner that suggested he carried information.

“Mr. Stone is waiting in the morning room, sir,” the butler said. “He asked if he might speak with you the moment you returned.”

Darcy’s step checked almost imperceptibly. “Did he say on what matter?”

“No, sir. Only that it was of some urgency.”

Darcy inclined his head. “Very good.” He turned at once and crossed toward the smaller morning room at the rear of the house, a chamber he often used for private conversations precisely because it was removed from the more formal traffic of the drawing room and study. The curtains had been drawn halfway against the pale daylight, and a fire burned low in the grate. Stone stood near the window, not sitting despite the chair placed for him, his posture alert, one hand tucked within his coat.

He bowed as Darcy entered. “Sir.”

“Mr. Stone.” Darcy closed the door behind him. “You have something.”

“I do.”

Darcy gestured to a chair, though he himself remained standing. “Proceed.”

Stone sat then, his expression serious. “I have continued to follow Hargrave, as instructed. He proved cautious for some time, making no move beyond his usual circles and business calls. But at last, he acted.”

Darcy’s attention sharpened. “He went to Gardiner.”

“Yes, sir, as you suspected he would.” Stone spoke plainly, but not carelessly, as one who understood what he reported. “He called upon Mr. Edward Gardiner of Gracechurch Street at his warehouses two days ago. The meeting was meant to be private, though I managed to overhear something of it. I could not hear the full substance of what passed, but I observed enough to say that Hargrave came with confidence and left well pleased.”

Darcy’s expression did not change, though something within him tightened. “And Gardiner?”

Stone shook his head. “To Mr. Gardiner’s credit, he gave very little away. Hargrave spoke at length. Mr. Gardiner listened without betraying his feelings—no outrage, no eagerness, no visible distaste. I learned from a maid, who overheard him speaking of it with his wife later that night, that he agreed only to consider the contract laid before him.”

Darcy let out a slow breath. “Yes. That is exactly as I expected.” Mr. Gardiner had not changed in the years since Darcy had last seen him.

Stone nodded. “Hargrave, I think, believes the matter nearly settled.”

Darcy moved toward the hearth, resting one hand lightly upon the mantel as he considered this. Gardiner had done precisely what he would have supposed, neither overplaying honesty nor risking exposure through immediate refusal.

“And afterward?”

Stone’s mouth tightened faintly with something like professional approval. “Mr. Gardiner waited a day. Then he went directly to the Home Office and requested a private meeting with Colonel Fitzwilliam.”