Free Mr. Darcy's Obsession by Abigail Reynolds Page A

wrong, he needed to know immediately.
    He watched the dumb show as Charlie knocked on the door. The servant who opened it disappeared after a few words. Darcy held his breath.
    There she was, her delightfully arched eyebrows raised in query. The boy offered her the flowers. She hesitated a moment, took them, and said something. Whatever Charlie responded made her laugh. Darcy wished he could hear the sound of it. They conversed for another minute or two, and then she retreated inside.
    Charlie crossed the street whistling and made his way indirectly to Darcy. The boy had the makings of an excellent spy; his meanderings would distract any following eyes. His grin as he approached showed he knew his talents as well.
    "She took 'em, sir."
    "What was it you said that made her laugh?"
    "I said what you told me, sir, and she asked if they were from Mr. Griggs, and I told her no, they were from a handsome gentleman. That's when she laughed. She asked what you looked like, sir, but I didn't tell her nothin', just like you said."
    "Who is this Mr. Griggs?" Darcy said the name with distaste.
    "Works for her uncle, he does. Wants to marry into the family."
    Darcy would not give in to the fierce desire to know more about his unseen rival. The boy knew too much about him already. "Did she say anything else?"
    "No, she were real proper, sir."
    Darcy dropped a coin in the boy's open hand. "Mind you, not a word to anyone."
    The boy grinned, displaying missing teeth. "Nobody keeps a secret better than Charlie, sir."
    Tomorrow. He would see Elizabeth tomorrow.
    ***
    Elizabeth sniffed the flowers. They had little scent, as was common for hothouse flowers. They must have been expensive. It would be too extravagant an expenditure for her uncle's clerk, and the boy had said it was not Mr. Griggs. There was only one other possibility, one who would not think twice about the cost of a bouquet, but he had disappeared without a word more than a month earlier. Why would he reappear now, when she had finally reached the point where he no longer filled her thoughts constantly? She did not know whether the idea was more pleasant or painful.
    If the flowers were not from Mr. Griggs, she did not wish to have to explain them to her aunt. Quietly she went upstairs to her room, where she began to arrange them carefully in the ewer of water. She would have to remember to bring up more water that night. Still, they brightened her room. Her fingers stilled on a stem as reality came pouring in.
    She should not have accepted the flowers. If Mr. Darcy wished to see her, all he had to do was knock on the front door, but instead he had sent a silent message. He must have looked for her at Moorsfield, but she rarely walked there anymore. All it did was remind her of pain, of how Mr. Darcy had proved to be just the same as Mr. Bingley, fickle and playing with her affections when it suited him. Now he was back and wanted to be sure she knew it. The flowers were not a gift. They were an invitation to an assignation.
    Elizabeth felt sick. He had played her like a puppet, deliberately engaging her affections and then leaving her to become desperate enough to do whatever he wished. But his ploy would not succeed.
    She dropped the last flower, unwilling to touch them anymore. Did he think she would sell herself so cheaply? He had played her for a fool, and that was the one thing she could not forgive.
    ***
    For once, Elizabeth did not feel the cold as she walked towards Moorsfield. Her sensibilities were too troubled. She had decided at least a dozen times that she would not meet Mr. Darcy, but here she was in the dawn's first light. She could not even explain why, except that staying at home and awaiting his next move was intolerable. She would rather give him his answer to his face, and if, despite all appearance, his intentions were honourable, she owed it to her family to accept him. No, who did she think she was fooling? She hoped desperately for such an outcome, and not