by Laura Hile
“Do you mean Mr. Collins?”
“Since he has complained about expenses to me, no doubt he has expressed the same to you.”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks grow warm. “Forgive my cousin’s manners,” she said. “Lately he has been short with everyone.”
“I most pity Mrs. Hill,” he said. “For it is she who must bear the brunt of his temper.”
What did he know of Mrs. Hill? Elizabeth’s gaze became intent. “To be fair,” she said slowly, “I believe Mr. Collins’ head pains him.”
Mr. Darcy’s response was immediate. “Too much thinking, perhaps?”
Before Elizabeth could reply, he cut in. “Forgive me,” he said. “That was uncalled for. I have not been well myself.”
“Was it the lightning strike?” she said. “On the night of the elopement there was another.” Mr. Darcy did not respond, but she persisted. “I know what I saw.”
“There was another, yes,” he said slowly. “And therein lies the crux of the matter, Miss Elizabeth—” He broke off speaking, his gaze arrested.
Elizabeth turned to see a group of men walking toward them. Their gait was purposeful.
Mr. Darcy made a sound—was it a chuckle? That could not be, for he was not smiling. His face was pale and set.
“What has Collins told you about the lightning strike?”
“Not a thing. He has forbidden me to mention the subject. But those men,” she added. “Are they coming to speak with you?”
“I fear so,” he said. “A bit of a surprise to see footmen. I was expecting Fitz to recruit fellows from the stables. In case rough-and-ready measures were needed.”
“What do you mean?”
Mr. Darcy smiled a little. “My cousin Fitz has become concerned about the state of my health. He has brought a physician to, shall we say, take me into custody if necessary.”
“Custody?”
“A simple misunderstanding,” said Mr. Darcy.
“But that wagon—”
Elizabeth’s gaze returned to the men and then shifted to the gravel drive. A chaise-and-four was approaching at a clip. “What in the world?” she heard Darcy say. He made a movement.
The chaise drove past and then drew up, the steaming horses stamping and tossing their heads.
Seeing it, the men broke into a run. “Halt, sir!” one of them called to Darcy.
The door of the chaise opened and a slender young woman descended. “Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth heard her call. “Is that you?”
“Upon my word,” said Darcy. “Georgiana!”
The young woman, with bonnet askew and cloak flapping, came running across the lawn.
“Hi, now, Miss,” shouted one of the men. “Best to keep your distance. Things could get ugly.”
Georgiana Darcy stumbled ahead and cast herself into Mr. Darcy’s arms.
“Pray do not be angry,” Elizabeth heard her say. “I had to come. That is to say, we had to come.”
“We,” repeated Mr. Darcy. “Whom do you mean?”
“Mrs. Annesley and Mr. Bellowes and I.”
“That’ll be enough of that, Miss,” said the same man who had shouted. “Step away from the patient. Gentle-like.”
“Fitzwilliam?” said Georgiana.
The man put a heavy hand on Mr. Darcy’s shoulder. “We’ll be taking you along with us, sir,” he said. “No funny business, mind.”
The menace in the man’s tone was unmistakable. Two of the footmen took hold of Darcy’s arms. Georgiana Darcy looked to her brother in alarm.
“These men have some questions for me, dearest,” he said. His eyes met Elizabeth’s in silent appeal.
At once she stepped forward. “We will wait for your brother together, Miss Darcy,” she said brightly. “Shall we go into the house? I believe your cousin is there. Why, no, here he is.”
Sure enough, Colonel Fitzwilliam was striding across the lawn.
Georgiana ran to meet him. “You cannot be serious, Fitz,” she said, with surprising fierceness. “Tell these men to release Fitzwilliam.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam put her aside. “Did you summon her here?” he shouted at Mr. Darcy.
“Of course not!”
“I came of my own accord,” said Miss Darcy. “In part because of your letter, Fitz. Why are these men behaving so strangely? There is nothing wrong with Fitzwilliam.”
“My dear,” began Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I fear he has not been himself.”
“Nonsense,” said Miss Darcy.
Over Georgiana’s head Colonel Fitzwilliam glared at Mr. Darcy. “It is pointless to resist,” he said.
“I am not resisting,” came the answer. “Shall we get this over with?”
“Indeed, that is why we have come.”
There was steel in the Colonel’s voice. In spite of herself, Elizabeth shivered.
g
Elizabeth and Charlotte followed closely behind the others. In the cold air, their voices carried.
“It’s Collins I’d like to nab,” Elizabeth heard Colonel Fitzwilliam tell Miss Darcy. “As for Darcy—”
There was a pause. “This isn’t your brother, Georgie. He isn’t right in the head. That Collins fellow is behind it.” He cast a sidelong look at her. “Have you heard your brother mention Collins? Podgy fellow with a pugnacious streak.”
Pugnacious? William Collins was anything but pugnacious! Elizabeth strained to hear more.
“He says he’s the rector at Hunsford,” Colonel Fitzwilliam continued. “I cannot see Aunt Catherine offering the living to someone like that.”
Georgiana Darcy hung on her cousin’s arm. “Will those men harm Fitzwilliam?”
“Honesty is not easily come by, my dear. They’ll get the truth out of him and no mistake. If you had heard how he talked the other day, Georgie, the things he said about Wickham.”
“Wickham?”
Elizabeth could not mistake the shock in Georgiana’s voice. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s manner became gentle. “I might as well tell you,” she heard him say. “The man’s been seen in the neighborhood.” He gave Miss Darcy’s arm a pat. “No need to be distressed. He won’t come within miles of this place.”
Miss Darcy walked in silence and then said, “Did you arrange this? These men, coming for my brother?”
“If you had heard him talk—”
“I did hear him—today. You are making a mistake. Fitzwilliam is as he has ever been—kind and honorable and good.”
“His illness is in the mind, my dear.”
“None of his letters indicate illness,” she said. “I have had several.”
“The changes are subtle, Georgie.”
“Not according to what you just said,” she protested. “You described a madman. My brother is not mad.”
“We’ll know soon enough. I’d like to have the hide off Collins, though.”
Charlotte drew nearer. “This sounds very odd,” she whispered to Elizabeth. “Not at all like the Mr. Collins we know.”
But Elizabeth’s attention was taken up with Mr. Darcy, and she studied his face as the men marched him into the house. His sister was right. He looked gray-faced and ill, but certainly in his right mind.
“Why does this man see Mr. Collins as a criminal?” Charlotte went on.
Elizabeth gave no answer. Indeed, what could she say? William Collins had a temper, but was never violent.
Into the mansion they went behind Colonel Fitzwilliam and his cousin. There was some disturbance when Miss Darcy insisted on remaining with her brother. Colonel Fitzwilliam would not be moved. He left them standing in the entrance hall and went with the men into the library.
Caroline Bingley came rushing forward. “My dear Miss Darcy,” she said, taking hold of the girl’s hands. “We shall not allow harm to come to your brother. I have devised a plan.”
“Do you think Fitzwilliam is mad, Miss Bingley?”
Elizabeth saw Caroline Bingley hesitate. “Of course not,” Miss Bingley said stoutly. “But there have been chan
ges.”
“What sort of changes?”
“I would rather not say.”
“What is your plan?”
“Why, to marry your brother myself. I can then return with him—and you—to Pemberley. We shall arrange to have him cared for there.”
Miss Darcy pulled free and faced Caroline Bingley squarely. “My brother is not a lunatic.”
“Of course not,” soothed Miss Bingley. “Although your cousin Anne says—”
“How would you know what Anne says?”
“I am here, Georgiana.”
Elizabeth turned to see Anne de Bourgh descend the staircase. “And so is Mother.”
“Shall we go into the green salon?” said Miss Bingley brightly. “It is very much warmer there.”
As the others moved off, Charlotte began whispering again. “Your sisters told me that Miss de Bourgh was engaged to Mr. Darcy.”
Apparently Charlotte’s voice carried, for Elizabeth saw Miss Darcy glance back at them.
“Is this true?” Miss Darcy said to Anne. “Are you engaged to my brother?”
Anne colored up and said something that Elizabeth could not hear.
Caroline Bingley led them to chairs before a cheerful fire. “Do make yourselves comfortable,” she said. “I’ll just ring for tea.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you,” Miss Darcy told Anne, “but Fitzwilliam has never expressed an interest in marrying. Although he did mention Miss Elizabeth Bennet in one of his letters.” She offered a shy smile to Elizabeth.
“I fear he and I did not get on,” Elizabeth confessed. “I was deliberately provoking when I ought to have kept my peace.”
“Must we speak of Miss Elizabeth?” Caroline Bingley broke in. “Your brother’s opinion of her makes no difference, for she is engaged to be married.”
“To Mr. Collins,” added Anne, with a sly smile. Elizabeth now realized that she thoroughly disliked Anne de Bourgh.
“The man my cousin mentioned?” said Miss Darcy. “Dear me.”
“You needn’t bother with him,” said Miss Bingley.
Georgiana gave her a look. “My cousin also mentioned Mr. Wickham.”
Anne looked up, and then averted her face. “Mr. Wickham,” she said unsteadily, “is a lying beast.”
“Do you know him?” said Georgiana. “I had no idea. He is—not the sort of man your mother would like.”
“It matters not. I shall never see him again.” Anne de Bourgh disappeared behind her handkerchief. Elizabeth felt an unexpected stab of pity.
The door opened and Lady Catherine came into the room, propelled by Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I demand to have my part in this examination!” she told him.
“Indeed, ma’am, I think not.”
“Not only am I a member of the family,” she said, “but I am the eldest member present. I refuse to be shut out!”
“This does not concern you, ma’am. Please wait here with Georgiana and the others.”
“How dare you exclude me, simply because I am a woman! Your father shall hear of this!”
Lady Catherine’s threats had no effect on her nephew. Out he went, closing the door.
“Oh, dear,” said Miss Bingley, with a sigh. “What a turn of events! Poor, dear Mr. Darcy! How he must be suffering!”
“We have had this conversation before, Miss Bingley,” said Lady Catherine bitingly. “Must I remind you of the impropriety of such a match?”
“Aunt Catherine,” said Georgiana softly.
“Do not ‘Aunt Catherine’ me. You have no business being here. Fitzwilliam ought to marry Anne, not a common upstart.”
Caroline Bingley gave a loud sniff.
Refreshments were brought in and silence descended. Elizabeth strained to hear—what? Shouting from the other room? The sound of a scuffle? There was nothing.
Presently Miss Bingley rose to her feet. “I cannot bear it,” she cried. “I must know what is happening.” She crossed the room and went out. Lady Catherine did likewise.
Elizabeth and Georgiana Darcy exchanged glances and put their teacups aside.
“We might as well wait with them,” said Anne, around a sigh. Never had she sounded so melancholy.
g
Sometime later the library door burst open and Mr. Darcy came striding out.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was hard on his heels. “Darcy,” Elizabeth heard him say.
Mr. Darcy turned. “Mathematics, Fitz? You demand that I calculate the area of a circle, a thing I have not done since I was nine?”
“If you could have seen yourself the other day,” Colonel Fitzwilliam protested. “I needed something that involved reasoning. I—could think of nothing else.”
“Because it represents the sum of your education! Really, Fitz. Did you truly think me mad?”
“Lady Catherine did.”
“I most certainly did,” Lady Catherine shrilled.
Mr. Darcy winced, as if her voice hurt.
“What you need,” said Mr. Bingley, “is a drink. Come back into the library.”
“Not just yet.” Mr. Darcy turned to Elizabeth with a look of entreaty in his eyes. “Miss Elizabeth, might I have a word?”
“Whatever for?” shrilled Lady Catherine.
In spite of herself Elizabeth took a step forward.
Georgiana came rushing forward and took hold of his hand. “Is all well, Fitzwilliam? Have those terrible men released you?”
“They have, dearest.”
“And may we now go home?”
He said something in her ear that Elizabeth did not catch.
“Disgraceful,” said Lady Catherine to no one in particular. “From start to finish, a degrading, unmannerly exhibition. Where did you find this physician, Hudson?”
Elizabeth saw Colonel Fitzwilliam flinch. He became red in the face.
“As for you,” Lady Catherine went on, addressing Mr. Darcy, “out of Christian charity I shall attempt to forget your denial of my daughter’s claim.”
“There is no claim, Mother,” said Anne.
“None at all,” said Mr. Darcy, but kindly.
Lady Catherine drew herself up and glared. “Come, Anne,” she said. “It is high time we left this place. Mr. Fleming will accompany us and watch over your health. Where is he?” And she stalked off, leaving Anne to trail behind.
Elizabeth became aware of Charlotte’s gloved fingers on her arm. “Perhaps we should go as well?” she said.
Mr. Darcy stood his ground. “Miss Elizabeth?” he said. “A moment of your time?”
g
Elizabeth looked from Charlotte’s set expression to Mr. Darcy’s unwavering gaze. She heard his aunt give a derisive sniff. “I fail to see what business you could possibly have with this person, Fitzwilliam,” she said.
This was all the encouragement Elizabeth needed. Without a word she walked into the small parlor. Mr. Darcy followed.
“Fitzwilliam!” his aunt shrilled. “I have not finished speaking with—” The closing of the door shut out the rest of her speech.
Here Elizabeth was, alone with Mr. Darcy.
Alone! Memories of a similar occasion came surging forward, unbidden and unwelcome. This man, rocking back and forth as he stood before the mantelpiece at Longbourn. His lips compressed in a simper as his fingers twined together. Elizabeth’s heart began to hammer. Surely he would not make another declaration!
He placed a chair; what could she do but sit? He took a seat opposite, and Elizabeth put up her chin. She had no recourse but to hear him out—and then, God willing, she would never see this man again.
Mr. Darcy’s head was bowed, and she was left to confront the top of his head. Of course his thick hair was beautifully arranged. His hands, she noted, were elegant—unlike poor William’s. Thank goodness his fingers remained still.
Abruptly Mr. Darcy looked up, and his eyes met hers with surprising frankness. “I have long been wishing to speak with you on this subject,” he began.
“Indeed,” she interrupted,
“I quite understand your position, Mr. Darcy, and I beg of you to consider mine. We have nothing more to say to one another.”
His brows went up. “I beg your pardon?” His surprise was almost comical.
Another wave of memories: William, hiding behind the sofa. William, half-choked with laughter, holding Mr. Darcy’s arms and demanding an apology.
“You are feeling well today, sir?” said Elizabeth. “Forgive me, but when I saw you last…”
“I am not dosed up on laudanum, if that’s what you mean.”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks grow hot. “Of course not,” she said hastily. “It’s just that you are so pale, sir. I fear you are unwell.”
“Rather worse for wear,” he said. “I daresay Collins and I are in similar shape. If I may continue?”
“Certainly,” she said politely.
Again Mr. Darcy steepled his fingertips; the gold of his signet ring flashed. “How I ought to begin this conversation has proved elusive. I had hoped to introduce it along more natural lines. I fear that only a frontal attack will do.”
An attack? Elizabeth found her voice. “Must we reopen a chapter that is best left closed?”
Very slightly Mr. Darcy winced. “Forgive me for causing you pain. I have no defense; my cowardice is largely to blame. I kept silent when I should have spoken.”
“You were anything but silent that day!” Elizabeth flashed.
A bashful half-smile appeared. “That I am a bungler is hardly a surprise,” he admitted.
Elizabeth had no reply. This was the sort of thing William would say. And his hands—Mr. Darcy was steepling his fingertips just as William used to do. The tilt of his head, the shine in his eyes…
Elizabeth averted her gaze. What right had he to adorable mannerisms? She had every reason to dislike this man!
“You asked about the lightning strike,” Mr. Darcy said. “You were correct in your assumption: both Collins and I were hit during Bingley’s ball. I attempted to explain in my letter, but I rambled quite a bit.” His smile became confiding. “I am not surprised that you were confused.”
“What letter do you mean? For I—”
The door opened to admit Charlotte. “Eliza,” she whispered. The warning in her voice was unmistakable.
At once Mr. Darcy rose to his feet. Elizabeth did the same, but more slowly. “I received no letter, Mr. Darcy.”