The Deception at Lyme: Or, the Peril of Persuasion (Mr. And Mrs. Darcy Mysteries) by Carrie Bebris

however, I prefer to spend them at home.”
    The gentleman regarded Darcy as if he were addled. “Well,” he said finally, “I suppose there must be some appeal in Derbyshire, if only that the Duke of Devonshire resides there. I do not suppose you are acquainted with him?”
    “Devonshire is one of my closest neighbors. We dine at Chatsworth regularly when he is at home.”
    “Do you?” This connexion to one of England’s most influential peers—a personal friend of the Prince Regent—appeared to considerably raise Darcy in Sir Walter’s estimation. The fact that it did, lowered Sir Walter in Elizabeth’s.
    “Yes, and His Grace dines with us at Pemberley,” Elizabeth said. She turned to Darcy. “When was the last time we had him to dinner? Was it when your cousin, the Earl of Southwell, came to visit?”
    Neither Elizabeth nor Darcy were given to boasting of their titled acquaintances; indeed, they loathed the practice in others. She wanted to determine just how important their connexions were to the Elliots.
    “I believe it was,” Darcy said. She could read in the expression of his eyes that he understood what she was about.
    At this admission, the lady in the armchair took far more interest in both Darcys. “The Earl of Southwell!” A meaningful look passed between her and Sir Walter.
    “Forgive me,” Sir Walter said. “I have just realized that I neglected to introduce you to my daughter, Miss Elliot.”
    Miss Elliot was now all graciousness. “If the earl is your cousin, then I believe another relation of yours is our neighbor in Bath. Our house in Camden Place adjoins the one Lady Catherine de Bourgh takes each autumn.”
    “Lady Catherine is my aunt.”
    Elizabeth attempted to imagine how Sir Walter and Lady Catherine got on as neighbors. Were the pair attracted to each other’s pride, or did similarity breed contempt? Even the finest Bath town houses could contain only so much vanity.
    The confirmation of Darcy’s possessing yet a third titled connexion sent the Elliots into raptures. “Do sit down,” Miss Elliot exhorted. “May we offer you tea?”
    Elizabeth wondered whether a quiz regarding her relations would follow. As much as she would take perverse pleasure in revealing her own grand connexions to a country attorney, a London merchant, and a ne’er-do-well militia officer, the day’s events had left her with neither inclination nor patience for idle conversation with strangers. She and Darcy had come on serious business, and they must return to it. “Perhaps another time.”
    Sir Walter mistook their decline of hospitality for disdain. “With connexions such as yours, you are no doubt used to finer surroundings than these,” he said quickly. “I assure you, our occupancy of this inn is but temporary, until we secure more suitable lodgings. When my physician recommended seabathing, we traveled here directly to follow his advice. By this day week, we hope to be established in a style commensurate with that to which we are accustomed—not only at our house in Camden Place, but our family home, Kellynch Hall in Somersetshire.”
    “Think nothing of it,” Darcy said. “We decline only because it seems we have intruded upon you accidentally. We seek a different Mr. Elliot whom we met earlier today, to deliver pressing news. We understood him to be staying at this inn. Is there another gentleman among your party?”
    “No,” he said coldly. “If you mean Mr. William Elliot, my cousin is not part of our company. You will find him at the Lion. However, you told my servant that your news regarded Mrs. Clay. We are acquainted with that lady. What do you know of her?”
    “We are sorry to bear unhappy news, but Mrs. Clay suffered an accident this morning.”
    Sir Walter appeared confused by Darcy’s announcement. “An accident? Where?”
    “On the Cobb,” Elizabeth said.
    He looked at his daughter. “I thought she was in her room. Have you not checked on her today?”
    “Have