Page 128 of Honor Requires

The conversation progressed for another few minutes, touching lightly on Rosings, on travel, on whether Anne ought to return to Kent before the weather shifted. Elizabeth answered when spoken to and smiled where required, but once again her mind began to divide itself between the immediate subject and that other, unspoken expectation which haunted every gathering now.

He would be here. He must be. Before she could fret overlong, Bramley straightened and said, “Count Vendicarsi.”

The sound of the name passed through Elizabeth like a current. She turned before she could prevent herself. He stood only a few paces distant.

Darcy—though no one here knew him so—was dressed in dark evening clothes that suited the severe elegance of his assumed station. The candlelight caught faintly along the edge of his waistcoat and the well-cut line of his coat, but it was his face that drew her entirely. The beard still altered him; the closely cropped hair rendered him sterner than memory first expected. None of that mattered. Her heart knew him with a certainty that no disguise could displace.

He bowed to the party with that same calm, restrained composure he showed the world.

And then, from beside her, there came the faintest strangled sound. Elizabeth’s head turned at once. Richard.

He had gone very still. So still, indeed, that the effect was more arresting than any exclamation might have been. His eyes, typically open and animated, were fixated on the count with an expression Elizabeth had not previously observed—one comprising incredulity, emerging awareness, and an intensity bordering on rage.

Her own pulse leapt. She looked quickly back at Darcy. His expression had not altered. If he felt the force of Richard’s regard, he gave no sign. He remained grave, courteous, entirely master of himself.

But Elizabeth saw it then with perfect clarity. Richard had recognized him. The realization came not as shock, but as confirmation—one more link in the chain of certainty she had been gathering day by day. She scarcely breathed.

Before any word could be spoken, Lady Jersey herself descended upon the scene, all smiles and gracious insistence, claiming the count’s attention for another group of guests newly arrived and apparently too important to be delayed even a moment.

“Count Vendicarsi, you must allow me—” she began, and with no choice but civility, he turned away.

Elizabeth scarcely saw him go. Instead, she turned again to Richard. He met her gaze full on now.

No words passed between them. None could have, not in that room, not with half the ton about them and every ear sharpened by habit and idleness. But she had never been more grateful for the colonel’s intelligence—or for his capacity to understand much in an instant.

His eyes narrowed. Not in suspicion of her, but in thought. Then he bent, not enough to draw notice, but enough that his words might reach her and no other. “I will call on Matlock House on the morrow,” he murmured. “To speak with you.”

Elizabeth did not trust herself to answer immediately. Her heart was beating too fast; her mind was already leaping ahead, grasping at what this might mean, what might at last be said.

At length, she gave the smallest nod.

Richard immediately assumed an upright posture, his countenance transitioning to a neutral and conventional demeanor. Anne, who had missed nothing, glanced from him to Elizabeth with perception, but asked no question. For that too Elizabeth loved her even more.

The conversation resumed around them or appeared to at least. Lord Matlock spoke again. Lady Matlock observed something about the crowd. Jane turned, perhaps to ask Elizabeth some gentle question she did not hear.

For Elizabeth, however, the scene had already changed. Tomorrow. At last—tomorrow—someone else would speak his true name aloud.

Morning light filtered through the tall windows of the small parlor Elizabeth had claimed for her own use at Matlock House. The room was more peaceful than the grander apartments below, removed from the constant movement of servants and callers, and she had come to value it for that reason. It afforded her a measure of privacy she had not known in Hertfordshire, and in recent days, that privacy had become essential.

She had not seen him in the park.

The absence pressed upon her more than she had anticipated. She had gone out at the usual hour, walking the familiar paths with Jane for a time before separating under the pretense of some small errand. She had lingered longer than necessary, her steps unconsciously circling the places where she had come, more than once, to encounter him. Every figure at a distance had drawn her attention. Every approaching gentleman had stirred a brief, foolish hope. He had not appeared.

Now, seated near the window with a book open upon her lap and unread for the better part of an hour, she felt the strain of that disappointment settle more deeply. It was not merely that she had wished to see him. It was that she had come, without quite admitting it to herself, to rely upon those fleeting encounters as proof that he remained within her reach.

Without them, the distance between who he had been and who he now presented himself to be seemed to widen again.

A knock sounded at the door. Elizabeth closed the book at once, though she had not turned a page, and called for the visitor to enter.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was shown in a moment later. He dismissed the servant with a word and waited only until the door had closed before turning fully toward her.

There was no preamble. “How is he alive?” The question landed between them with a force that stripped away every remaining pretense.

Elizabeth rose slowly. She could only look at him, the reality of the moment settling fully into place. This was no longer a private burden borne in silence. Someone else knew. Someone else had seen what she had seen. Tears welled in her eyes.

“I do not know,” she said, despair coloring her tone.

Richard studied her closely, searching her face with an intensity that would have unsettled her at any other time. Now, she welcomed it. There was relief in being asked plainly, in answering without disguise.