"Suspicion of something unpleasant is the inevitable consequence of such an alteration as we have just witnessed in him."
Darcy stood still for only a moment after the door closed behind Mr. Dashwood.
"Mrs. Hale?" he called. "I require my greatcoat. I am going out."
The housekeeper hurried into the hall, followed closely by Darcy’s valet bearing his cloak. "Shall I have the carriage brought round, sir?"
"No." If he was going to follow Mr. Dashwood, he did not have time to order his own carriage. Besides, the family crest on its door would give him away. "Summon a hackney."
Mrs. Hale’s face betrayed a flash of puzzlement before returning to the standard-issue whatever-you-say-sir expression of all well-trained English servants.
He jammed his arms into the coat sleeves. "Tell Mrs. Darcy that I left with Mr. Dashwood and may be quite late."
"Tell her yourself," Elizabeth said as she reached the bottom step. "But if you are leaving with Mr. Dashwood, where is he?"
The sound of Harry’s carriage departing answered that query. She raised a brow.
"Perhaps not so much with Mr. Dashwood, as behind him," Darcy clarified.
Her eyes widened. "You are following him? I shall need my mantle."
"You cannot come with me."
"Darling, Mr. Dashwood has already left. We haven’t time to argue."
"How disappointing. He actually went home." Elizabeth leaned back in the hackney and pulled her cape about her more tightly. The warm spring day had given way to a cool night, and she wished she’d thought to bring her muff. She’d have to remember it the next time she flew out of the house on a whim to spy all night on a future brother-in-law. "But will he stay?"
"That is precisely what I intend to learn."
Darcy instructed their driver to remain at their present position, about thirty yards down the street from Mr. Dashwood’s townhouse. The location offered a clear view of Harry’s front door, a sight enhanced by the light of the full moon. Mr. Dashwood had just entered the house; his driver had then taken his carriage away. Fortunately, steady traffic in Pall Mall had helped prevent either man from noticing the Darcys’ surveillance.
Candlelight brightened an upstairs window a few minutes after Mr. Dashwood’s entry. "That is Dashwood’s suite," Darcy said.
"If he simply goes to sleep, we are in for a dull night," she replied. Mr. Dashwood had looked so tired that he might just do that.
The window remained lit for some time, prompting in Elizabeth a desire to consult the hour. After her conversation with Professor Randolph some weeks back, she’d begun occasionally carrying the watch she’d received from him. She now withdrew it from her pocket and tilted it to catch the moonlight.
Darcy frowned. "What are you doing with that?"
"Determining how long we have been sitting here."
"No, I mean, why are you carrying that thing around with you?"
"Why not?"
"I dislike the idea of its being so close to your person."
"Now, Darcy, you are the one who keeps saying it is nothing more than a watch. If that is true, then what harm lies in carrying it?"
His silence transmitted his displeasure. He turned his attention back to the townhouse. A hackney stopped two doors down from Harry’s, releasing a pair of older gentlemen who stood talking on the street long after the carriage departed.
"An hour, by the way," she said. "We have been sitting in Pall Mall over an hour. It is nearly half-past ten. How much longer ought we — "
"The light just went out."
Both of them now peered toward the darkened residence. It appeared as if Mr. Dashwood may have indeed retired for the day. No other signs indicated movement elsewhere in the house.
"Well, this was scarcely the night of debauchery we had been led to expect." Elizabeth slipped the watch back into her pocket. "I’m ready to return to a warm fire and — Oh! Now there is light one story down."
"That is the drawing room."
She burrowed farther into her mantle. "I suppose this means we shall be stopped here a little longer."
"It was you who insisted on accompanying me."
"I did not realize it would be so cold. Next time I shall dress more warmly."
"Next time I shall come alone."
The gentlemen who had arrived by hackney now walked to Mr. Dashwood’s house and mounted the steps. "Darcy, look! Someone approaches the door."
"Sit back," Darcy instructed. "I do not want them to notice us. One of them is Felix Longcliffe."
"The man from the fencing club? Who is the other?"
"I do not recognize him."
Mr. Dashwood’s servant answered the door and granted the gentlemen admission. No sooner had the door shut behind them, than another visitor arrived by private conveyance. This gentleman had to be at least eighty; he stooped heavily over his walking stick as he shuffled up the steps.
"Do you know him?"
"I believe that coach bears the Flaxbury coat of arms," Darcy said.
Two more carriages pulled up. Darcy didn’t recognize the occupants or their liveries. "Miss Bingley once said that a thorough knowledge of drawing was essential in any truly accomplished young woman. Have I married one?"
Elizabeth almost laughed aloud. She labored to produce identifiable stick figures. "Would you want to have married someone admired by Miss Bmgley?"
He withdrew a small notebook and pencil from his breast pocket. "Sketch the family crests on the sides of those two carriages as best you can."
Her artistic skills, aided by the lighting and angle by which she viewed the originals, rendered illustrations that any five-year-old would be proud to display. Her lines of partition were tidily executed, but her white horse rampant looked more like a small rodent, and the lion couchant resembled a rabbit suffering ear amputation.
"A new barouche just pulled up. How do the first two drawings come along?"
"My finest ever."
Darcy glanced at her efforts. "Perhaps we should simply write down descriptions."
In the course of an hour, twelve visitors entered the town-house. Darcy recognized one more on sight, and all but two of the others arrived in carriages marked by family crests. Most were far older than Harry; the gathering included at least three octogenarians.
The last man to arrive brought with him a trunk. The large ebony box was inlaid with gold images that caught the moonlight as the servants carried it inside.
"A most curious assembly," Elizabeth declared. From the look of the carriages, Mr. Dashwood had some very wealthy and influential friends. "And at an equally curious hour. If only we could see inside the drawing room." Given that the draperies were drawn and the room sat one story up, the possibility seemed unlikely.
The driver, who had done a fine job up until this point of minding his own business while indulging his eccentric but well-paying customers, now shifted in his seat. "Uh, sir? Any idea how long ye might be wantin’ to stay?"
Elizabeth consulted her watch again. "It is nearly midnight," she told Darcy.
Candlelight appeared in Mr. Dashwood’s suite once more. Its draperies opened.
"Driver, how would you like to earn an extra crown?" Darcy asked.