Darcy and Diamonds

by Caitlin Marie Carrington

  She smoothed her skirts and tilted her head. “He did not lay hands on me, if that is what you mean. But brother dear, there are so many ways to hurt a woman, without ever touching her. Two years—two years was plenty of time for me to learn that.”

  Darcy leaned forward in his chair. He wanted to reach for her, enfold his sister in his arms. Do anything to help her. But what stopped him was her eyes. They were not tragic. She was not defeated. In fact, if anything, she looked…

  She looked…

  He frowned. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes bright in the late-afternoon sunlight. A smile seemed to hover just at the edge of her being, as if she could not quite keep it away.

  “Why are you telling me all this, Georgi?” he whispered. Rather, what else are you trying to tell me?

  And now the smile revealed itself. “I am informing you that I will no longer live my life according to what Society deems as perfect. I had the perfect marriage to the perfect partner, and it was a disaster. He never loved me, and I soon learned that a life without love would be a long, hard failure indeed.” She took a deep breath, her confidence wavering for a moment. “And I must tell you what I should have told you long ago. Before my marriage. I—I love another, Darcy. I have always loved him. And I will no longer be parted from him.”

  Darcy froze. She could not mean her first love. That scoundrel. That ingrate.

  Wickham.

  “No—” He could not stop the word from spilling from his lips.

  But at the same time, she said, “Fitzwilliam.”

  “Oliver?” Darcy cried, standing and beginning to pace again. Their cousin? Her guardian? “Colonel Oliver Fitzwilliam?”

  She pursed her lips. “Yes! Is that so hard to believe? Oliver Fitzwilliam, one of your dearest friends and relations?”

  “But—but—he was your guardian, along with me. He—he’s old!”

  Now she laughed outright. “Old? Oliver’s two years younger than my husband was—and merely three years older than you. I do not find eight-and-thirty to be ancient, Darcy, and nor should you. You shall be that age soon enough, God willing.”

  Darcy stopped suddenly in his tracks, whirling around to face her. But before he could open his mouth, Georgiana held up a hand and spoke again.

  “And before you become angry, brother, no—Oliver has never acted on his feelings for me. Nor I for him. In fact, we never put them into words. For so many years—oh Darcy, for ever so many years!—I thought Fitzwilliam was the ideal man. So strong and clever and kind. His only failing was that he was not a first-born son. And—and that you wanted better for me.”

  Darcy fell back into the damnable chair. “I wanted the world for you.”

  She nodded, slowing running her finger in circles on her armrest. “And I for you. But darling brother, sometimes ‘the world’ isn’t money, power, or what appears to be fit ‘for a Darcy.’ Sometimes the world is contained in one person’s smile. In one person’s hand, holding your own. In one person’s heart.”

  Darcy gritted his teeth together. He had failed her. All his life, he had tried to protect Georgi—from herself, from Wickham, from the world. He had engineered the perfect match and, if he were honest with himself, after a momentary weakness, he had run from the one woman he’d desired—because her family would have been inappropriate for a Darcy to marry.

  “This isn’t failure,” Georgiana said, as if she could read his mind. And maybe she could. “It’s love. And, thanks to your securing me an income and a house, it’s freedom. I owe you my life, Darcy. I owe you my happiness, even though I see you grinding your teeth and thinking you should have secured such a thing earlier.”

  “And you have spoken with Fitzwilliam about…your feelings?”

  She laughed merrily. “Of course, you silly man. We have reached an agreement. As soon as I am out of mourning, he will ask your permission to marry me—not that he needs to, of course. I am a widow with a home and a living, thanks to you.”

  “He had best ask my permission, or I’ll be forced to bash his nose in,” Darcy growled. “The bounder.”

  Georgi giggled and stood up, taking his cup of cold tea and placing it on a tray for the maids. “You’ve never bashed anyone’s nose in your life. Please don’t start now on my account.”

  Darcy laughed along with her, though he dared not correct her. Of course he’d been in fights at school—but he hadn’t truly hit a man since he’d found Wickham, about to destroy another young woman’s virtue.

  Their fight had been epic, before his cousin Fitzwilliam had returned with members of Wickham’s militia. But he’d never told Georgi about that. Nor had he told the girl he’d saved—she only knew a young madman had shown up and beaten Wickam to the ground.

  Darcy shook his head and stood alongside his sister. She glanced up at him, shining in her happiness. He could see her emotions, so light and airy that she might float away.

  “He makes you happy, Georgi?”

  She grasped his hand, hers small and fierce, warm and strong. “Yes. And I only hope for the same happiness for you, Darcy.”

  Perhaps it was because of her words that, hours later, Darcy finally spread out that worn invitation on his desk. He put pen to paper and wrote a brief reply. But for every curt yet polite word that he scrawled to Charles Bingley, in his mind’s eye he saw all the possibilities he had once denied himself.

  He knew she would be there. He knew it, deep to the bottom of his hungry soul.

  And if his outer composure was perfect and serene, inside he was a revolt of color and emotion: perhaps it was not too late. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was still a chance for him to return to Netherfield and see if Elizabeth Bennet remembered him at all.

  And had learned not to hate him.

  3

  Elizabeth

  Elizabeth watched Mary run across the wide summer lawn. Mary laughed loudly, her cheeks pink and the fringe of her dark hair curling in the heat. Elizabeth’s younger sister turned, shrieking as Mr. Jannis caught her ’round the waist, lifting her up and into his arms.

  Soon her laughter and shouting quieted as he kissed her gently.

  “They’re in love,” Elizabeth whispered, her heart aching with some strange mixture of happiness and wistfulness. “Truly in love.”

  Elizabeth could feel her older sister Jane staring at her, and Lizzy straightened and shot her a mischievous grin. “And we thought it would never happen.”

  Jane’s eyes changed from wary to exasperated. “Lizzy, it may have taken Mary some time, but—”

  “I’m only teasing. And I’m happy for them,” Elizabeth said. “I’m so glad Mary waited to find love.”

  Jane tilted her head, the setting sun transforming her pale yellow hair into shining, spun gold. Elizabeth sighed, wondering how her sister still looked as beautiful as the day she’d been married, despite seven years and three children.

  Still, she’d always be the oldest of the five Bennet sisters—and the bossiest. Jane accordingly narrowed her eyes and cocked her head, examining Elizabeth.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Lizzy laughed. “Do you think I begrudge Mary one moment of her bliss?”

  From their perch on a small rise, they could see as Mary and her new husband began to walk the carefully groomed garden pathways of Netherfield.

  “Of course not,” Jane said carefully. She picked at the edge of Lizzy’s dress, pulling off a burr or two that Lizzy must have picked up during her afternoon walk. “We are all so happy for Mary. It wasn’t easy, being the last Bennet sister to find a husband. I just worry for you, my love. It’s been three years since your Daniel passed and—”

  Elizabeth grabbed her sister’s hand, both to stop her from de-burring any further, and to reassure her. “Jane, truly, I am not mourning any longer. Would life be better if my husband were still alive? Of course.” Elizabeth trailed off suddenly. For a second, some tiny voice from deep inside questioned: Would it?

  Of course it would.

  “Dani
el was—he was a good man,” Elizabeth said, perhaps a tad too emphatically. “It is not fair that he died so young, so suddenly. But…” She shrugged and let go of Jane’s hand, patting it gently. “It is the path my life has taken. I have made a vow to mourn no more, and to waste not one precious second of the time I have left on this Earth.”

  “Gracious,” Jane said, smiling bemusedly. “I cannot argue with that.”

  “And what better manner to embrace life, than at a house party with our mother present?”

  Jane tsked and watched as Mr. Jannis disappeared around a hedge. His hand then shot out and grabbed Mary, pulling her along and into the privacy of the hedge maze.

  “I just want you to be happy,” Jane said. “If only you and Daniel had had children, then you would not be so alone!”

  Elizabeth was unable to hide her momentary frown. She’d been one-and-twenty when she’d met Daniel Allerton. Her husband-to-be had been thirty-five. They had tried to have children from the moment they were married, but she had never become pregnant.

  It was one of the great sadnesses in her life. The other being the loss of her husband.

  And her father.

  But there was no use dwelling on dreams that would never come to fruition.

  “I am not alone,” Elizabeth said firmly, once she’d recovered her equilibrium. “I have you and Charles, our dear mother and sisters, and all my adorable nieces and nephew. And do not discount my housekeeper: Mrs. Ashe will flay you alive if you forget her.”

  Jane laughed. “Your housekeeper is a formidable force.”

  Elizabeth nodded and continued. “And while Steadham House may not be as grand as Netherfield, I count my blessings in having a home of my own—conveniently located just far enough away that Mama prefers not to travel there. Daniel may have been taken from us too soon, but he took care of me in that regard.”

  Jane laughed. “In all regards! He truly planned for the future. That is one thing we always loved about Daniel—he planned every single detail of his life. He never left anything to chance.”

  “No,” Lizzy laughed. “What a marvel—especially when compared to us Bennets.”

  “He even organized Christmas mornings. Do you remember? We all had to follow his schedule to fit in everything he wished to accomplish for the day.”

  Jane laughed and Elizabeth followed suit. Though really—and it was a traitorous thought, she felt guilty and awful as soon as it floated through her head—but had Daniel needed to be quite so…steady?

  Had they really needed a written timeline for every holiday?

  Elizabeth took a deep breath and calmed herself. She had been drowning in pain and panic and grief after Daniel’s accidental fall, and his subsequent death. And she’d spent a period of time furious at him: who gets ape-drunk with his friends in Scotland, and then attempts to walk home? Down a mountain? In a rainstorm!

  She’d been livid. And guilt-stricken, for her anger.

  But…she had survived. After the shock, and the pain—the grief, and the anger—she had continued to wake up, every day. It was awful to say it, but losing her father had been harder than losing her husband. Of course, she’d known her father every moment of her life. She had been married but three years before Daniel Allerton had passed. Sometimes Lizzy wondered, if her father hadn’t died so suddenly—if she hadn’t felt so lost in a fog of guilt and heartbreak—would she have married Daniel?

  Traitorous thoughts, she reprimanded herself. Traitorous heart. She had told herself she would mourn no longer. But it wasn’t Daniel with his golden hair and light gray eyes that caused her chest to ache as if she’d been kicked. It was the loss of her father.

  After Mr. Bennet had died, Lizzy had believed she loved Daniel. But had she convinced herself that she’d been in love? Had she forced herself to fall in love? Because now, three years later, she did not cry when thinking of her husband. She had mourned his passing. She had fond memories. She had enjoyed being married, in many ways.

  But had she…loved him? The way Mary so obviously loved her new husband? The way Jane and Charles still loved one another? And even if Kitty and Lydia did not profess an enduring love for their husbands, her younger sisters were happy to be married to officers and to this day fought over which man looked better in his uniform.

  No matter. Elizabeth had meant what she had said to Jane: life moved so quickly, she could not waste another second of it. Nor of this beautiful day.

  “What are you doing?” Jane cried as Elizabeth removed her bonnet. “You’ll freckle, and you know Mama hates your freckles.”

  Elizabeth grinned, stretching her legs on the picnic blanket and tilting her face to the sun. “How lovely, then, that Mama shall be distracted for the next four days by people she’d much rather converse with than me. How clever of you to host a house party, dear Jane, and tell everyone it’s to celebrate Mary’s nuptials. When in actuality, you have planned a lovely four-day diversion for Mama, so that she does not notice my August freckles.”

  “You are impossible,” Jane said, though she said it with a smile. “And I fear you are wrong.”

  “Me, wrong about Mama? No, that is impossible.”

  “It is entirely possible. I have it on good authority that Mama intends to speak with you,” Jane said.

  “Speak with me? About what? She hasn’t even seen the freckles yet.”

  Jane stretched out her legs and playfully kicked Lizzy’s thigh through her skirts. “She wants to speak to you about marrying again.”

  “Oh no.” Lizzy allowed herself to fall back onto their blanket and shielded her eyes from the bright sun. “That will not do.”

  “And my source informs me that Mama intends to make sure you speak with all the eligible men at the house party. In fact, she asked me to invite one young gentleman in particular.”

  “That sounds dreadful,” Lizzy said. “But who is this mysterious source of whom you speak? Dare we trust him?”

  “My source is Mama herself,” Jane said primly. “She announced her plans over breakfast. You would have heard them yourself, if you had not gone walking for two hours.”

  Jane laughed as Elizabeth glared at her.

  “Well, perhaps my freckles will thwart her plans. Who knew that at twenty-and-seven, I could roil Mama’s nerves as well as I did at seventeen? Perhaps I will annoy her so thoroughly that will return to London early.”

  Though Lizzy doubted her mother would miss one minute of a fancy house party at Netherfield, or one second of trying to marry Lizzy off.

  Again.

  “I don’t think Mama will return to the Gardiners quite yet,” Jane said. “And the man she has invited is named Mr. Gladwell. She met him in Town and was quite taken.”

  Elizabeth groaned. Ever since they’d lost Longbourn, her mother spent most of her time living in London with her brother and sister, the Gardiners. Elizabeth had hoped Mrs. Bennet spent the time shopping, or visiting museums, or…embroidering things?

  But of course, her first focus had always been good marriages for all her girls.

  After their father had died, their cousin Mr. Collins had taken control of Longbourn. He had insisted he would not have turned them out if they’d nowhere to go. But seeing as Netherfield was just down the road, and the ladies could “easily” decamp there…

  At first, the Bennet women had stayed at Netherfield with Charles and Jane. But Elizabeth had felt the pressure building. Kitty and Lydia had been wild in their grief, acting out and bringing too much censure and gossip to the Bennet name. Mary had been pale and silent, a ghost of her former, already-withdrawn self. Their mother had taken to her new bedroom for an entire month, though no one was quite sure which she mourned more vocally: the loss of Mr. Bennet or the loss of Longbourn.

  Finally, the Gardiners had convinced Mrs. Bennet to come live with them in London. Uncle Gardiner’s business had prospered and grown, and they’d moved into a large townhouse not far from St. James Square. Mrs. Bennet now split her time between Netherfi
eld and London.

  It was in London that Lizzy had met Daniel Allerton. He had been older, well read, and well situated in life. She had not tried to flirt or impress him, but he had been a most insistent suitor.

  He’d actually, now that she thought about it, had a list of reasons why they should marry. He had recounted them verbally during his proposal, though Elizabeth would bet that he’d written them out somewhere, beforehand.

  “Didn’t you say Charles’ sister is coming tomorrow?” Lizzy said. “Perhaps Caroline will drive Mama away.”

  “Lizzy, be nice. Caroline and Mama get on very well now.”

  “Very well?” Lizzy said, letting a goodly amount of shock color her words.

  “They get on quite well,” Jane sighed.

  “Well, quite well is not very well, is it?” Lizzy teased, trying and failing to suppress her grin. Everyone thought that after Caroline had finally married—not the earl that she had pinned most of her hopes on, but an older wealthy man of trade, much like her father—that Bingley’s sister might mellow slightly in her behavior toward the Bennets.

  If anything, her snobbish tendencies had grown worse.

  “If you had told me beforehand that she was coming, I would have sent Mary a nice letter and stayed home,” Elizabeth said.

  “You haven’t changed a bit, Lizzy,” Jane murmured, a bit of censure and a lot of love in her comment.

  I have, Elizabeth thought, somewhat hurt. She had changed so very much, hadn’t she? How could she have not transformed over the past seven years—and how could Jane not see some evidence of it? Elizabeth had lost her beloved father, married and lost her husband, and become mistress of a small but lovely country home, making a life for herself away from her family.

  Perhaps that was the problem: she had been away from Jane for great stretches at a time.

  And perhaps she hadn’t changed completely, as Lizzy could not help but add, “Alas, neither has Caroline. Even after moving to a home just off Berkeley Square.”