The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy Read Online Free Page B

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    Elizabeth interrupted Darcy’s thoughts and the magistrate’s criticisms, “I found Mrs. Ridgeway quite pleasant, Mr. Stowbridge, and the lady appeared distraught over Mr. Darcy’s passing.” Darcy adored the way his wife never failed to speak her mind. It was one of the qualities that had attracted him to the former Elizabeth Bennet.
    Pondering his pleasure in her straightforward speech, Darcy pleasantly recalled what his wife had asked one evening shortly after they had announced their engagement. “My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners—my behavior to you was, at least, always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now, be sincere, did you admire me for my impertinence?” And Darcy had reluctantly admitted, not for the first time, that Elizabeth’s ‘impertinence’ had driven him happily to distraction. She was sadly correct. He had been disgusted with the women who were always speaking, and looking, and thinking for his approbation alone. His Elizabeth was so unlike every other woman of his acquaintance, and Darcy counted himself among the blessed because of it.
    Evidently, the squire had never encountered a woman of Elizabeth’s mettle, for the man blinked in surprise. He smiled benevolently, as if he were a loving grandfather offering a sugary treat to a child, but Stowbridge’s tone was not so indulgent. “Of course, Mrs. Ridgeway thought kindly of her employer,” he said placatingly. “However, the woman does not recognize that an upper servant should remain silent.” A particularly false smile dressed the man’s lips.
    Darcy recognized Elizabeth’s quickly rising ire. His wife’s eyes narrowed, and her lips flattened into a sharply defined line. When her jaw hardened, he placed a hand over the back of her gloved one as a warning to still her tongue. “Then perhaps,Mr. Stowbridge, as the shire’s magistrate, you might provide me the details of Samuel Darcy’s passing. I am also interested in the steps taken to discover my cousin’s assailant.”
    Stowbridge’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “It is a sad tale, Mr. Darcy.” He shot a glance of concern in Elizabeth’s direction. “And it is not one fit for a lady’s ears.”
    Elizabeth’s fingers intertwined with Darcy’s. “You do justice to the generosity and delicacy of your notions, Sir,” Elizabeth said with feigned munificence—a tone of which Darcy had been the recipient on more than one occasion. “I assure you, Mr. Stowbridge, I am not a woman of weak sensibilities.”
    â€œVery well, Mrs. Darcy,” the squire said brusquely, his irritation evident. “Samuel Darcy was my dearest friend, and his passing grieves me greatly. Not a day passes that I do not wish his return so I might tell him how every former frown or cold address has been forgotten.” The tea arrived, and they waited for the service before the squire continued.
    â€œThe night of his death, Samuel joined me, Nicholas Drewe, and Liam Mason for a congenial evening. We played cards and spoke of Drewe’s latest work, but Samuel appeared a bit distracted—very unlike himself. On that particular evening, Samuel displayed a true want of all laudable ambition, of a taste for good company, or of an inclination to take the trouble of being agreeable.” An indefinable expression crossing the squire’s countenance told Darcy things were not all what the magistrate pretended them to be. Stowbridge was sweetening his rendition of the night’s happenings, but Darcy was uncertain as to why the man did not freely speak the whole truth. He hoped the magistrate’s motive lay in delicacy for Elizabeth’s weaker feminine sensibilities.
    Darcy’s brows rose slightly as he scrutinized every word the man spoke, as well as the unspoken ones.