Her statement brought back the memory of another woman saying almost those exact words.

His attention was obviously elsewhere, so Eliza accepted that the interview was over, gathered her things and stood up. Sarcastically she spat, “Well, thank you very much, I’m sorry I took up so much of your time.” She walked to the door, opened it and turned to him. “If you would arrange for someone to take me back to my car, I’ll leave you to the rest of your weekend.”

“Miss Knight…Eliza, please wait.” Halted by what seemed to be remorse in his voice, she closed the door and turned back to him.

Darcy stood behind his desk and gazed down at the single letter he owned. “It is very important to me personally to obtain your letters,” he said quietly. He hesitated, and for an instant Eliza was almost certain that he was going to weep. “Especially the unopened one,” he added in a humble tone.

Taking a few steps back toward the desk, “Then Jane’s Darcy was your ancestor!” Eliza said, realizing that she was actually beginning to feel some sympathy for him. “Well, I’m very sorry, but…”

“Dammit! That letter from Jane was meant for me!” he shouted in a voice filled with frustration.

Eliza’s mouth fell open and she simply gaped at him. “You are crazy!” Eliza accused. “I knew it the first time you e-mailed me.”

Anger flared like summer lightning in the depths of Darcy’s eyes. “You!” he shouted accusingly. “I should have known!”

Before Eliza could retreat he strode across the lush, rose-colored oriental carpet and pulled off her glasses. “You were the one at the library exhibit last week!” he said, glaring into her frightened eyes as she took a cautious step backward. “I thought there was something familiar about you!”

Darcy moved closer, his handsome features contorted with rage. “Did Thelma Klein put you up to this?”

He towered over her, so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek. Eliza felt her knees weaken. Resolutely, although her hand was trembling, she snatched her glasses out of his hand. “I am getting out of here. Do not try to stop me.”

Clutching her portfolio to her side, she turned, threw the door open and fled down a long white corridor decorated with classical Greek statuary.

Darcy slammed the study door after her and struck it with his clenched fist, then leaned his head against the highly polished carved mahogany. How could he have been so stupid? Alienating the one person who, more than likely, held the key to his three-year search for affirmation.

Heaving a sigh at the lost opportunity, Darcy pulled himself together and went out to join his guests on the lawn of Pemberley House.

Chapter 15

The Browns and Harringtons were still lounging at their table on the lawn. Their heads swiveled in unison as the front door of the Great House flew open and they watched Eliza run down the steps. She paused on the drive for a moment, then saw them all looking at her as she turned and hurried away in the direction of the distant gatehouse.

“Well,” Faith observed with undisguised glee, “it appears that the business meeting has adjourned.”

“Lucky break for you, Sis.” Harv gave her a mock congratulatory wink. “You didn’t even have to arrange for her to fall from the tower.”

Far too pleased to be seriously annoyed by her brother’s taunt, Faith smiled angelically and traced the rim of her glass with a blood-red fingernail. “That’s right, Harv,” she replied sweetly, “now I can devote myself full time to arranging your little accident. Tell me, dear, have you checked the brakes on that old Jag of yours lately?”

Ignoring the semiserious rhetoric of the perpetually warring Harringtons, Jenny shielded her eyes from the sun and squinted after Eliza’s quickly diminishing figure. “That poor girl’s never going to make it all the way back to the gates on foot,” she said sympathetically. “Artie darling, see that she gets a ride, will you? And find out how I’m to get my dress back,” she reminded him.

Artemis obediently started to rise but Harv jumped up from the table and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Stay right where you are, Artie, old pal,” he ordered. “I will personally handle this. Distraught young ladies happen to be a specialty of mine.”

Artemis shrugged and resumed his seat. Jenny looked slightly alarmed.

Faith’s angelic smile broadened. “Now don’t you fret, Jenny darling,” she exclaimed, patting Jenny’s arm. “Never let it be said that I do not give credit where credit is due. My baby brother does indeed happen to be expert in these matters. There is no doubt in my mind that he will have that old Yankee girl out of your dress in no time.”

Jenny rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Faith, honey,” she said, “Artie and I have an ironclad rule never to take a drink before sundown. But we’re going to break it just this once, for you.”

She looked over at Artemis who was already getting up and heading for the beverage cart. “Make mine a martini, darling,” she ordered. “A double!”


Eliza trudged wearily along the endless drive, attempting to reconstruct the details of her strange visit to Pemberley Farms. But she could make no sense of any of it. Why, she wondered, did Darcy want her letters when he seemed to have little interest in the one he already had? And what was it he had said about the unopened one? That it was meant for him. Sheer madness!

Of course, she glumly reflected, she should have known from the outset that Darcy was too good to be true. Dashing men as rich, handsome and charming as she had at first thought the tall Virginian to be existed only in the pages of romance novels, not in reality.

Calming down, mostly from the exhaustion of the walk, Eliza took a deep breath. She chuckled to herself; he actually was rich, handsome and charming. But there was something else, more, a gentleness, a melancholy; she couldn’t quite put her finger on it but it made him extremely compelling, the insanity aside.

She stopped and leaned against a tree, sighing and smiling to herself, reflecting on the way his eyes seemed to caress her at every glance. Returning to the reality of the afternoon, she pushed herself away from the silent strength of the tree and continued the trek to her car. Saying out loud as she continued down the dirt drive, “I haven’t gotten this much exercise since…forever.”

Still muttering to herself, Eliza heard the brisk clip-clop of hooves on the road behind her. Stepping quickly to the edge of the drive, lest she be trampled twice in the same day, she turned to see Darcy’s handsome friend grinning down at her from an open carriage.

The carriage drew smoothly to a stop beside her and the man stood and bowed gallantly. “Pardon me, ma’am,” said its occupant, “may I offer you a lift down to the gatehouse?”

“I don’t know,” she said warily. “Are you insane, too?”

“Sadly, yes,” Harv Harrington replied with a twinkle in his blue eyes, “but fortunately the homicidal streak in my family skips every third generation, so I believe you’re relatively safe.”

For the first time in hours, and despite her aching feet, Eliza found herself laughing. “In that case, I’ll take a chance,” she said, accepting his outstretched hand and climbing wearily into the carriage. She sank back gratefully into the soft leather cushions, wriggled out of her shoes and sighed. “This is heavenly.”

“Fitz never did properly introduce us,” he said as the carriage began to roll again. “I am Harv Harrington of Staunton, Virginia. And you are…?”

“Eliza Knight of New York, New York,” she replied.

“Well, Eliza Knight of New York, I must confess that I was longing for you to stay for the ball,” he said. “The local belles that Fitz invites are always so…provincial.”

“I’m sorry to have to disappoint you, Harv,” she replied with a grin, “but I forgot to bring my dancing slippers.” Eliza wrinkled her brow. “Besides,” she added, “your friend Fitz is a bit…eccentric for my tastes.”

Harv nodded his reluctant agreement. “Yeah, well, I’ll admit that poor old Fitz has been just a tad strange ever since that odd business over in England a few years ago.”

Eliza looked at him quizzically. “Odd business?”

Harv nodded. “Surely you remember. It was in all the papers at the time.” Harv paused to consider his last statement. “At least for a few days. It seems that Fitz went out riding one morning on a two-million-dollar hunter named Lord Nelson and disappeared for nearly a week. Naturally, everyone thought he’d been kidnapped, including Scotland Yard.”

“And had he?” Eliza asked, suddenly very interested in Harv’s story. “Been kidnapped, I mean?”

Harv slowly shook his head. “Evidently not,” he said. “In fact, nobody’s exactly sure what happened. But Fitz finally showed up days later, wearing some kind of old-fashioned costume.”

The jaunty young man looked around furtively and lowered his voice. “Of course,” he continued, “that part never got into the media. In fact, the entire affair got hushed up very quickly, as such things are apt to among very rich folk.”

“What did Fitz say had happened?” Eliza queried, her interest in this strange, new revelation about the mysterious Mr. Darcy slowly turning to fascination.

“Now that’s the strangest part of the whole story,” Harv replied, sounding genuinely puzzled. “You see, Fitz never would talk about it. Not even to his closest friends. Course,” he added, exaggerating his soft Virginia accent, “all us Southern gentlemen are trained from birth not to question the peculiarities of our wealthier friends.”