by Emma East
He broke off and sat back and rubbed his eyes, but it did not make the furious burn go away. He dropped his hands and then, breathing heavy, picked up his pen.
—about anyone but myself. It was unworthy of me, and my actions made it impossible for her ever to respect or forgive me for the indignities upon her character I put her through.
Bingley, hopefully it satisfies you to know that your words have made an impression upon me. If I could go back to a time when my relationship with Elizabeth was pure and unsullied by my greed, I would gladly go. I would go to a time and place where she would believe me when I tell her how much respect her, a time and place where she would believe me truthful when I tell her I lo—
I lov—
I would go back, Bingley, even if it meant I had never held her.
He stopped. He stood and he took the letter, unfinished and unsigned, and he brought it to the grand fireplace situated in the middle of the hall. It took a few minutes for him to arrange the wood and the tinder, and all the while his skin felt stretched too tight across his skin.
He watched the letter burn until there was nothing left, and then he stirred the ashes until the fire was dead and there was nothing but burning lumps in the bottom of the grate.
He remembered the image from his dream, her rounded belly and her content smile. He remembered the peace he had felt welling within him.
He left the library, pulling the door shut with barely a sound in the long hall. Then he went downstairs to join his aunt in the parlor.
Anything to distract from the thought of her directing her smiles at Fitzwilliam, and her appreciation for Fitzwilliam’s honest, open expressions. Anything to distract him from the hateful jealousy trying to plunge deep in his heart.
“Ah, Darcy, I was just inquiring of Adams where you were on the premises.”
Lady Catherine urged him to sit on the settee adjacent to her own well-worn chair. Her throne, as Fitzwilliam called it. Sunlight streamed in through the bank of east-facing windows and highlighted specks of dust floating in the air. Lady Catherine’s eyesight must have grown poorly, else Darcy knew she would be complaining about the injustice of dust entering her home and the folly of the servants who allowed it in.
“No, thank you,” he replied when asked if he wished for a refreshment. He had indulged himself too much that morning and he did not wish to expose himself to mortification with an ill-timed comment.
Lady Catherine pinned him with her beady eyes as soon as they had relative privacy. “Darcy, I had wished to speak to you of an important topic.”
Darcy took the measure of this statement, pursed his lips, and then asked, “How is Anne this morning?”
“She is well enough, though the morning air is not good for her disposition.” Lady Catherine waved away the well-meaning question and focused on her own needs. “It is that which I wish to speak to you of, my nephew. As you know, though I have done my best to fight it at every step of the way with the help of the most knowledgeable minds in London and abroad, I am growing old.”
“Perhaps I would like a drink,” Darcy said, and the disgruntled Lady Catherine stopped for a moment while a refreshment was poured for him. He took it, wishing it was something with more substance than sherry, and hoped that the awkward conversation Lady Catherine seemed intent on having would soon come to an end. She usually backed off such topics when Darcy seemed disinterested in discussing them, but this was a new conversational opener than previous discussions and he was suitably wary.
“There is no cure for aging, or so I am told.”
Lady Catherine harrumphed. “There would be, but the fool academics would bicker it to death. But what matters is that, no matter how I wish it were otherwise, soon I will not be here. My brother would immediately claim Rosings if not for my husband’s foresight to will the properties to Anne, though in my opinion he could have done much more to secure her rights. But since he has not, alas, Anne will be the target of fortune hunters from every continent.”
Rosings claimed an income of approximately a half of Pemberley’s per annum; however, the majority of income came from investments in profitable coal mines and shipping businesses and not in land alone like Darcy’s. Additionally, Lady Catherine had made sizable investments in a few companies and a small private hospital that netted her a tidy income from her personal assets. She was right to fear that Anne, acting alone, would need to look elsewhere for the management of these assets, and she would likely stumble across fortune hunters.
If Lady Catherine had been a quarter so concerned with this upon Anne’s birth rather than inflating Anne’s issues beyond their scope, then Lady Catherine might have raised a young woman with a reasonable head on her shoulders. Instead, jealous of the attention and claiming it for herself, Lady Catherine had let her daughter languish in the care of others. Darcy often wondered what Anne would be like once out of Lady Catherine’s significant shadow. He hoped there was someone of true worth underneath that miserable expression she always wore, but his gut said that he was a fool to dream.
“Anne has had guidance from you, and will have the guidance of the advisors you have set up for her,” Darcy said. He felt it necessary to placate his aunt and remind her she had done what she could to provide for her daughter.
Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, but I am afraid that I can only do so much. Anne has not the strength to handle this estate by herself, as you well know. I have discussed her afflictions in great detail with you over the years and know you understand the truth of the matter. She will need extensive guidance. Perhaps, though I am loath to suggest it, give up control entirely.”
Ah. And there was the rub. Darcy shifted in his seat and hoped his expression did not convey how uncomfortable he was with this topic of conversation.
“Naturally, that will be her decision, though I have faith that she will happily follow any requests you make of her.”
Lady Catherine swatted the side of her chair with her fan. “That is obvious, Darcy. The requests I have made have foundations in reasonableness and charity. There is no doubt on that score. No, it is what will happen after those requests are fulfilled that worries me, as it should worry you, nephew. Our families are one of the last few that can claim any purity of birth, and fewer still who can claim the resources at our disposal. It is imperative that we preserve the situation in which we have inherited through the blood and sweat of our ancestors.”
“Of course,” Darcy murmured, his eye straying to the windows. That blood and sweat extended to the other people those resources were intended to provide for. Leaseholders and renters, businesses, farms. The plates of thousands would be filled with food created from Darcy lands, and by itself it comprised a sizable portion of England’s economy. Without him, without a leader and well-executed plans, that could crumble.
“It is why your parents, especially my dearest sister, arranged as they did for you,” Lady Catherine continued, unaware of his distraction. “To preserve our lines which can be traced to the days of…”
His parents had formed a marriage of strength to strength. His father’s business interests had thrown him into connection with the Fitzwilliam family, and from there, joint interests had encouraged them to form a union. But it had begun on a foundation of strength, of like calling to like. They were both quiet, thoughtful people. Some would accuse Darcy of being the same way: slow to decide, diligent in protecting his interests. His cousin was constantly on him to decide faster and warned him it might lose him lucrative deals if he didn’t speed up his process. But Darcy was stubborn, just as his father was. Most decisions did not need to be made in a hurry. Any business question that needed resolution immediately likely was a flash-in-the-pan opportunity, and Darcy would rather lose the opportunity than make the wrong choice.
His father was the same. Long-term goals were to be worked upon with diligence. He would not risk their wealth by chasing after some short-sighted scheme. Likewise, his mother had been cautious with her own inves
tments, and had left Georgiana a sizable income in return for that slow effort.
Theirs was a family built upon the backs of turtles. But turtles were strong and hard to crack. However, once their shells were cracked, they were weak and exposed.
Darcy had risked it all by attending that masquerade, and continued to further risk the long-established Darcy reputation by prolonging contact with the Honeyfield woman. But he continued to allow the blackmail only to find the most effective solution to the problem, to be rid of her and her schemes for good.
Yes, he was like his parents in many respects. In character—though his was regrettably lacking as of late—and in desire. Like them, he would not make lifelong choices based on the pressure of time or the desires of his family and friends. He made decisions based on careful deliberation and a study of all the consequences to a choice.
That was what rankled him about Elizabeth. She appeared to want him to decide now, to figure it out now, but it was impossible. There were many consequences of continuing to pursue Elizabeth. Their reputations had already nearly been touched. Her family would forever be tied to his. And he would admit it: their initial meeting had been in less than ideal circumstances. That made him wary about pursuing her further. What if she was not the person he thought she was? He balked at the thought, but he had to be reasonable. He refused to be cuckolded.
Swallowing another sip of his sherry, he thought back to his mother. Beautiful, refined, quiet—she enjoyed solitary pursuits as much as she enjoyed being with her son and daughter. He recalled the look in her eyes as she gazed up at her husband, his father. So many years later, he could still remember the affection contained therein, and his father’s answering affection.
And he had seen a similar expression in Elizabeth as she looked at him. Gentle, yearning. A gleam that told him she had complete trust in him, if he would but trust her.
He wanted to be like his parents. Strength to strength. Love to love. Working together, always, for the improvement of the Darcy legacy.
“There is no chance I can decide now,” Darcy said, cutting off his aunt as he sensed her winding down. “Know that I will inform you upon the first chance I can when I do decide. I hope you understand.”
Making his excuses, he left. He did not see how Anne could answer the call of his heart. But there was one person thus far who had called to him. He just didn’t know whether he could trust her. Not yet.
Chapter Eleven
“Colonel Fitzwilliam is so chivalrous!” exclaimed Mariah to her sister and Elizabeth after another morning in the presence of said gentleman.
“That he is,” Elizabeth said, beginning a new stitch in her hanging. She hoped to present her work to Jane when she returned to Hertfordshire. She refused to look at Charlotte. She knew her friend would have something unfortunate to imply.
Which she soon did.
“Yes, and if he continues to visit us half so often, then we may as well invite him to camp on the sofa. I wonder… what could cause him to visit so often?”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Naturally, he comes for your scones, my dear Charlotte. Finer than any found in Rosings.”
Charlotte’s mouth twitched at this obvious attempt to gratify her vanity and thus distract from the point at hand. However, Charlotte was made of sterner stuff and thus refused to be so easily distracted. “I do not expect any amount of my scones could persuade a gentleman to come so frequently, Lizzy.”
“My father would say otherwise.”
Elizabeth smiled at Charlotte’s good-natured teasing, but her stomach clenched at what she suggested. The thought had occurred to Elizabeth already, and she dreaded to find out the truth of it. She hoped the scones was all it was, or Colonel Fitzwilliam’s general disinclination for the company at Rosings, that drove him to the parsonage every day for the past four days.
But she feared she knew the truth. Feared it each time the day servant announced him and each time he invited her for a walk.
Colonel Fitzwilliam would make any young lady happy. He had gracious manners, a cheerful disposition, and had no issue keeping up in conversation. A young lady of any disposition would want to retain his attention. Indeed, Elizabeth could imagine herself in trouble of developing an attraction for him if her heart was not tied up already.
But it was impossible. Even if she could emotionally involve herself with another man, Colonel Fitzwilliam brought up Darcy in conversation enough to dispel the idea. They were close cousins, and Colonel Fitzwilliam had indicated that he wished to one day settle nearby to Pemberley so he might see his cousins more often. The needs of the military would determine the Colonel’s future, but he seemed intent on settling nearby eventually.
The thought of being so close to Pemberley, to extending invitations to Darcy, to seeing him regularly as a relative exhausted Elizabeth. Her hands began to shake just thinking about it. How close in proximity they would be, and yet so far. The longing to touch him interrupted by his being so out of reach. Of seeing Darcy upon Christmas morning, but going upstairs to bed with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Being touched by the Colonel while Darcy—
She couldn’t even think it.
No matter if she could develop feelings for him, his status as Darcy’s cousin made it impossible.
“I guess we will just never know,” Charlotte mused, watching Elizabeth’s expression, and Mariah giggled, casting an excited smile toward Elizabeth. Elizabeth smiled, but inside her heart remained unmoved.
It wasn’t long before fate once again tested her mettle. Elizabeth decided to take a walk the next day, hoping to miss Colonel Fitzwilliam if he visited the parsonage. Her unease around him had grown sharper since Charlotte’s teasing, and she decided that at least she could dissuade him by not being in the parsonage whenever he stopped by to visit. Therefore, she went to the creek, a place that remained unexplored by Elizabeth thus far and one recommended to her by Mr. Collins.
The creek was a pretty area, and she appreciated the opportunity to explore it in solitude. Thus, disappointment rose whenever she heard grass crunching from footsteps behind her.
“Miss Bennet. I did not mean…” It was Mr. Darcy and he looked almost as surprised she felt. He stood stiffly to attention, his hands clenched at his sides. Pink tinged his ears as he looked at her. “I expected to find, um, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth shifted. If this could be more awkward, she didn’t know how. “I’m, er, sorry that I am not.”
“It is only… I did not wish you to assume I followed you, specifically, here.” The tips of his ears had surpassed pink to turn a ferocious shade of red.
“It is a mistake, Mr. Darcy. Rest assured I will not hold it against you.”
She allowed herself a smile at him, grateful for his admission but not wishing him more disturbed than he already appeared. Though he appeared well put together as usual, something about him seemed off. She couldn’t place it, whether it was his expression or his manner, but it unnerved her. He was supposed to be an immovable rock. He shouldn’t be changing when she had only just accustomed herself to him.
“Would you l-like to join me?” She gestured vaguely, uncertain whether the invitation was wise.
Darcy dipped his head and did so. He murmured, “If you do not mind. I shall be but a few minutes. I’m needed in the village today.”
“Needed?” she teased. “Then this visit is not the restful vacation I thought it would be for you.”
“Nothing is restful when one is at Rosings,” he said, and the off-the-cuff remark contained such bitterness that Elizabeth looked up at him in surprise.
“I am sorry that it is not so,” she said. Pursuing the subject further seemed unwise. Darcy’s foreboding expression reminded her of a wasp’s nest. One step too close and she might anger the hive.
She returned her attention to the creek, watching the water washing away the rocks in the creek bed. The remarkable peacefulness of the setting even managed to steer her Darcy-addled nerves toward calmer s
eas. But not for long. Her mind wandered to the man beside her. Was he as affected by the scenery?
“Is Colonel Fitzwilliam not coming to meet you?”
“Hm?”
Leaves rustled under his feet as he shifted beside her. “I just assumed… I mean, this spot is his favorite location on the property. I assumed—”
Horror, and something like disappointment, rose in her chest. Tightly, she said, “This is his favorite spot on the estate, so you assumed I was meeting him here illicitly. No, in fact. Despite how it may appear to you, illicit meetings were an aberration of my character and not the norm.”
Darcy fairly glowed with embarrassment when he stepped away. He raised his hands to fend off her anger. “I apologize. It was an innocent assumption that did not include… that. I assure you. I know perfectly well that my cousin is a gentleman and would not lead any young lady astray.”
Elizabeth eyed him warily, and then the anger in her breast abruptly fizzled out. Her shoulders slumped and she turned back toward the creek. “No. It is me who should be apologizing. I jumped to conclusions. It’s… a bad habit of mine and it wasn’t fair to you.”
Darcy eased back into his spot next to her, and she forced herself to relax. She couldn’t be normal around him, not anymore. Her emotions swung back and forth in a vicious cycle, one emotion felt more intensely than the last. There was no ease to being next to him, though she desperately wished for it. It would be the first step toward moving on, to getting accustomed to the fact that he did not want to advance their relationship any further.
Closing her eyes, she focused on the pain in her chest. Then she forced it away. She would not think of it now, not when he was near.
“I meant it the other day when I said I wish we could have gotten to know each other better. It was not just idle chatter.”