No! It would not do!
He could not chance it. He must not say anything.
He met her eyes, recognizing the confusion and hurt he saw there. Silently, he pleaded that she would understand his dilemma. Someday. Then he turned and disappeared through the French doors, leaving her alone on the balcony.
Chapter 11
Elizabeth was unsure what to expect when she arrived at Darcy House. Mr. Darcy’s behavior at the ball the previous evening had been confusing—and a little alarming. For a moment, she had thought he meant to kiss her.
But in the light of the next day, she knew that to be a silly illusion conjured by moonlight and the proximity created by the waltz. She was not the princess in a fairy tale—and Mr. Darcy was certainly not Prince Charming. Why, in the very next moment, he had pushed her away as if she intended to poison him!
They had been standing daringly close, although she had not noticed until the dance ended. Did Mr. Darcy believe she had somehow contrived that intimacy in the hopes of encouraging a romance? Was that why he had thrust her away so violently? No, surely he knew her better than that.
She was uncertain how they had come to be so close. Had Mr. Darcy drawn her toward him without realizing it? Fervently, Elizabeth hoped that she had not unintentionally moved closer as they danced. What would he think of her? The very thought provoked a blush.
No, she must not assume the worst. It was most probable that Mr. Darcy had simply recognized the impropriety of how close they were standing and left abruptly because of his embarrassment. He was not always skillful at articulating his thoughts.
That must be the explanation. He would never consider kissing her. It was unclear if he even truly liked her! He could marry any number of women and would have no desire to favor a country miss with no connections—particularly his cousin’s betrothed. It was a foolish mistake. A trick of shadows and moonlight. It is not as though I wish him to kiss me!
She now deeply regretted consenting to the waltz. His actions had skirted the boundaries of propriety, but she had voiced no reservations. If Mr. Darcy’s opinion of her had suffered as a result, she could blame no one but herself.
After exiting the balcony, Elizabeth had seen him at a distance as he danced the last set with Georgiana, but they had not spoken again. She had hastily found the Gardiners, and they had made an expeditious exit from the ball.
Perhaps he would be at tea with Georgiana. Naturally, he would not mention the incident, but his demeanor might reveal something of his thinking. Only now did she realize how sad she would be to lose his friendship
The butler escorted her into the drawing room, where Georgiana was sitting with her embroidery. The first thing Elizabeth noted was that the room was full of flowers; arrangements of different sizes and many different varieties covered nearly every available surface.
“Elizabeth!” Georgiana exclaimed. “I am so happy you have come!”
“Have you resolved on opening a flower shop?” Elizabeth asked.
Georgiana laughed as she gestured her friend to a seat. “I very well could! These flowers are from gentlemen who attended the ball last night.” She blushed a deep crimson.
Elizabeth had guessed as much. “I can see you made quite an impression.”
“I suppose.” Georgiana’s hands twisted in her lap, and her eyes were downcast.
“I thought the ball went very well,” Elizabeth said, trying to catch her friend’s eye.
Georgiana looked up. “Yes. It was ever so much better than I feared. People were so kind, and I never missed a step while dancing. I even enjoyed myself—some of the time.”
“So it is the flowers themselves you find displeasing?” Elizabeth teased. “They are perhaps too fragrant?”
Georgiana giggled. “No, indeed!” Darcy’s sister stood and pensively examined a delicate pink rose. “I just wish … I knew which gentlemen admire me and which only admire my dowry.”
Elizabeth leaned toward her friend. “I can see why that would trouble you. Fortunately, there is no need for haste. In time, I have no doubt you will find a gentleman who is worthy of you.”
Georgiana’s mouth was a thin line. “I hope so. I do hope to marry for love.” She wandered among other arrangements, admiring the flowers.
“I am certain you shall.” Elizabeth considered ways to keep the conversation amusing. “So now I understand why I had to fight through a jungle of blossoms, but how is it you escaped a corresponding throng of admirers for afternoon visits?” She would have expected many of these interested young gentlemen to commence their courtship of Georgiana immediately.
The younger woman smiled gently. “William left strict instructions that I am not to receive any gentlemen callers without him—or most ladies either, since most of them would be pressing the suits of brothers or sons. As a result, I am not at home to anyone except you or my aunt. I confess myself relieved. I would not be equal to a day of receiving visitors after such a night.”
A maid brought in a tray with tea and biscuits. Georgiana poured a cup for Elizabeth, adding a little cream and sugar, just as she liked.
So, Mr. Darcy was not at home? “Did your brother go to his club?” Elizabeth sipped her tea, attempting to appear disinterested.
Once again seated, Georgiana paused with her cup halfway to her lips. “Oh no! I forgot to tell you. He has gone to Pemberley.”
“Pemberley? So soon after the ball?”
“Yes, apparently, there is crop blight in some of the fields. They have had prodigious amounts of rain this year.”
While crop blight sounded serious, Elizabeth wondered how the master of Pemberley could help. “But to leave the day after your ball … Had he planned this trip?” Elizabeth selected a biscuit and took a bite.
“No. It is all rather puzzling. He only mentioned it this morning—when his trunks were packed and he was ready to depart.” Frowning, Georgiana took another sip of tea.
“How long will he be away?”
“At least a week.” Georgiana shook her head. “Aunt Rachel will be extremely vexed if I cannot receive any callers for a full seven days.”
Elizabeth drained the last of her tea and gazed into the empty cup. Gypsies were rumored to read tea leaves. If only someone could read her leaves and help explain Mr. Darcy’s behavior.
A voice in the back of her head whispered that his hasty departure was connected to the agitation he displayed on the balcony, but she pushed the idea away. It was the height of arrogance to believe that Mr. Darcy’s actions had anything to do with her.
In all likelihood, he had not spared her a thought since the previous night.
***
If only he could rid his thoughts of Elizabeth as easily as he had removed his person from her vicinity …
Darcy tried to focus his thoughts again on the estate records before him.
He had come within seconds of kissing Elizabeth! Not the best way to conceal his feelings, Darcy reflected wryly. He crumpled a blank sheet of paper into a ball and threw it to the floor, where it joined many others. Nearly two years of hiding his love, and he almost undid it all in an unguarded moment! Truly, he could not be trusted alone with her.
Fleeing London the day after Georgiana’s ball had been an act of pure cowardice, but he had feared another encounter with Elizabeth would provoke an uncontrollable need to confess his feelings. Even now, there were moments when he felt the impulse to order his horse saddled for a hasty trip to London to lay all he had to offer at her feet. But then he pictured the expression on Elizabeth’s face following such a declaration. What if she evinced horror or disgust? Or worse: pity.
No. Every time he mused about Elizabeth’s dark curls or the charming turn of her head when she laughed, he recalled that Elizabeth belonged to Richard. To think otherwise was sacrilege.
Yes, he may have been a coward, but better cowardice than risking the ruin of their friendship—and her good opinion—through unseemly revelations. It is probably too late anyway, he th
ought bleakly. His shameful behavior at the ball had undoubtedly killed any fond sentiments Elizabeth might have possessed.
He owed her an apology—an abject apology— but could not deliver it as of yet.
Elizabeth had spoken of returning to Longbourn not long after Georgiana’s ball; she had never intended to remain for the entire Season. Darcy planned to wait at Pemberley until Georgiana’s letters informed him that Elizabeth had departed. Undoubtedly, they would meet again in London or Netherfield. Indeed, despite his appalling breach of decorum, he could not imagine enduring the pain of a lengthy separation.
But with the benefit of distance, perhaps Darcy would learn to master his passion—or at least better conceal it. Such was his hope.
Yes, his plan was a solid one. With this thought, he bent his head once again over his records.
A few minutes later, his butler entered and placed the day’s post on one end of Darcy’s desk. Glancing briefly at the pile, Darcy noticed a small packet wrapped in brown paper. He picked it up and sliced it open with his letter opener. The package had been sent by Clive Darcy, the uncle he and Georgiana had visited in Philadelphia.
Inside, he found Clive’s letter explaining how the packet contained all of the letters for Georgiana and Darcy that had arrived after they had left Philadelphia. His uncle apologized many times for having neglected to send the letters sooner. Darcy was unsurprised; Clive was one of the most absent-minded people Darcy had ever met.
Inside the packet were some dozen letters, mostly addressed to Darcy on business matters, although there were a few to Georgiana from Elizabeth. He regarded Georgiana’s letters somberly, knowing they would contain a chronicle of his cousin’s illness and final days. Darcy set them aside; Georgiana could decide if she wished to read them.
He found three letters Elizabeth had written to him about Richard’s illness. How he wished he could have been there to help her during such a difficult time!
Darcy arrived at the last letter in the packet. His heart raced wildly when he recognized the handwriting. He had forgotten until now that Elizabeth had posted a letter that Richard had written on his deathbed. Darcy held it in shaking hands.
It was almost like receiving a message from beyond the grave. It was an unexpected gift, but at the same time, Darcy experienced trepidation about the letter’s contents. Then he snorted. What was he thinking? Richard had no deep, dark secrets. He was unlikely to reveal the location of some lost family treasure or the existence of an illegitimate child.
Smiling at his flights of fancy, Darcy opened the letter carefully. His cousin’s handwriting was usually a sloppy scrawl, but the shakiness of the lettering was a sobering reminder that Richard had written when he was very ill.
My Dear William,
If you are reading this letter, it means I have died. No doubt you will have learned the circumstances from Elizabeth’s letters to Georgiana. I do not wish you to mourn me. I had a good life. I could have wished for a glorious death in battle, but then there is something to be said for a death softened by laudanum and whisky and soft pillows.
I have left my affairs in good order. Thomas will, of course, inherit the estate, but I have settled an amount on Elizabeth and bequeathed her the house in Town, which is not part of the estate.
But that is not why I am writing this missive. I have a specific subject, one I thought to never raise with you but which now seems urgent.
I know that you love Elizabeth. In fact, you are in love with Elizabeth.
I am not angry. I can only applaud your taste and discernment. In hindsight, I realize that our engagement must have caused you some heartache, and I apologize most sincerely. I do not know how I would survive losing Elizabeth, and I am impressed at your discretion and endurance. However, at Rosings, I believed you disliked Elizabeth and thought her family beneath you. Only when I observed you in London following our betrothal did I begin to suspect the truth of your feelings. Your abrupt departure for America was confirmation of my suspicions.
Knowing your excessive sense of honor and guilt, you have undoubtedly, needlessly tortured yourself about your affection for Elizabeth. I never intended to breathe a word of this knowledge to you or anyone else. I had no desire to compound your guilt. Now on my deathbed, I understand how fortunate I am that the woman I love is loved by a man of honor whom I can trust.
I ask you to please help Elizabeth and take care of her. She is strong, but not always as strong as everyone assumes. My passing will be difficult for her. My parents will not be happy about my bequest and will make life difficult for her. You are the only one in a position to temper their disdain or help her with the legal issues. I thank God someone in my family will treat her with decency.
Elizabeth is a capable woman of good understanding, but her family situation is difficult. Many depend on her, but few take care of her. In many respects, she will be quite alone when I am gone.
Her father’s health is precarious, and her family’s finances even more so. The money I could free from the estate will help her support them, especially if she sells the townhouse. I believe Bingley has suffered some financial setbacks; his support for the Bennets cannot be relied on.
But the bigger problem is Wickham. Bingley sent regular support to the Wickhams for their extravagances. After Lydia’s death, Wickham continued to importune Jane for money. I offered to take over the management of the problem from Charles since Jane was entering her confinement.
I need not tell you that Wickham’s character has not improved over the past years. He is in his cups constantly and has run up considerable debts. I would be content to allow him to stew, but he has visited Longbourn and created all sorts of chaos for Elizabeth’s family. He flirts with Kitty, fights with Mr. Bennet, and tells Elizabeth’s mother tales of how you have mistreated him. He importunes the Bennets and the Bingleys for money and threatens to spread false rumors in Meryton about Lydia.
I granted him a small monthly income if he would keep a promise not to visit Meryton or say anything about the Bennet family to anyone. Yes, I know he is a worthless fellow and does not deserve any sum of money, but ‘tis a small cost for Elizabeth’s happiness.
Elizabeth never knew of my arrangement with Wickham. She would have suffered guilt and heartache for a situation she had no hand in creating. I have asked Thomas to continue the payments to Wickham after my death, but I have little hope that he will do so. He dislikes Elizabeth as much as my parents. I know not what Wickham’s next course of action will be, but he may badger Elizabeth or attempt some other means of trickery—particularly if he learns of my bequest to her. I know I can trust you to watch over Elizabeth and beware of Wickham.
There is another matter, a delicate matter, but it needs saying. I also know I can trust you to love her as she deserves to be loved. Do not let me or my death stand between you. If you wish to declare your love for her, do so with my blessing. The thought that you and Elizabeth might make each other happy lightens my heart considerably as I contemplate leaving this earth. You are a good man who would make her an excellent husband. Do not let some misguided sense of honor to my memory stand in the way of your happiness.
I caution you, however, that I know nothing of Elizabeth’s feelings toward you. While I did disabuse her of the notion that you dislike her, I know she has no suspicion of your true feelings. She once thought you proud, but I am unsure what sentiments she now harbors toward you. Perhaps I should have questioned her on the topic. However, I am only human and was never eager to discuss my love’s possible feelings for another man.
I can tell you this: I believe she could love you. In many ways, you and she are quite similar. But you must show her the best of yourself and not the face that you present to the rest of the world.
Beloved cousin. My oldest and dearest friend. I am only sorry I cannot say goodbye to you in person. You have been far more than a cousin to me—far more a brother than those of my flesh. Knowing you has made my life happier in many ways.
&
nbsp; With all my love,
Richard
Darcy was unaware how long he sat at his desk, staring at the letter in his hand. His heart was beating an erratic rhythm, and his eyes were moist. The fingers clutching the letter trembled slightly. A cold sweat had broken out all over his body.
He had been wrong. The letter’s contents were far more shocking than hidden treasure or a bastard child. While reading it, Darcy had received shock after shock. Even now he struggled to absorb all the information it had contained.
Richard had guessed his love for Elizabeth. Oh, Good Lord.
Darcy dropped the letter and buried his face in his hands.
He should feel appalled at this revelation, and part of him was. But unexpectedly, he also experienced … relief. His darkest secret had been known and understood by the one person who had the most cause to resent it.
Darcy rubbed his face with his fingers, staring at the letter on the desk—yet more proof his cousin had been a far better man than Darcy could ever aspire to.
Even more surprising was Richard’s tacit permission to court Elizabeth. It was the last thing Darcy expected to find when he opened the letter. He could hardly believe it still, despite rereading that passage twice.
But then Darcy envisioned himself in Richard’s position. If Elizabeth were Darcy’s betrothed when he was dying … Yes, he would be relieved to know she had someone like Richard who would love and care for her. Perhaps the letter was not so hard to understand after all. Richard had loved her dearly and wanted to ensure her happiness.
Of course, who knows if I could make her happy?
He laid the letter flat on the desk and smoothed it with his hand, perusing again the pertinent passage.
A great weight had been lifted from Darcy’s chest, one he had not realized existed but which must have settled in during that awful day at Hunsford. For the first time since then, Darcy was free to admit his love for Elizabeth.
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