Lord Hartfield was stood facing the window when Lizzy had made her way back home. As she walked past the open door of his study, she noted him stood stock still with his hands folded behind his back.
His head lifted slightly as he heard her quick step outside his door, and as he shifted his stance, Lizzy watched him intently. He ignored her presence and she turned to move away. It was then she saw the shifted positions of the pieces on the chess board. She peered more closely and taking a tentative step forward made her way to the game. She nodded and smiled coldly as she realised the knight piece was missing.
He knew, of course he knew. She wondered then if he had even subtly hinted to Sir Richard that Lady Hartfield had gone out for her usual morning walk.
She sighed deeply as she contemplated the next logical move, 'I tire of this game my Lord…'
'Surely you would not wish to concede now, not when we are so close to an end?'
He was behind her and talking over her shoulder before she was even aware he had moved from his place at the window.
'An end…?' she repeated disbelievingly. He nodded, looking over her shoulder still.
Lizzy reached towards the board and moved her piece. Lord Hartfield watching closely smiled first and then chuckled. She had moved the bishop in a line of defence.
'Divine intervention…how, 'resourceful' of you my girl…' He left the room then. Lizzy sighed tiredly and watched him go.
Darcy sat in the same seat he had occupied most of that night, passing a tired hand over his aching temple he leaned back and stretched.
He stared at the facts and figures in front of him and watched them merge into one senseless blur. It would have been useless for him to try and get to sleep that night, and so he had not even tried. Choosing instead to bury himself in paperwork, he had spent the night balancing and crossing out numbers.
Bingley had often called him out on that habit of his, of hiding in mountains of numbers and names whenever he felt the world was intruding too much. And he was right, it was exactly what Darcy did, deadening himself to sensations, choosing instead to find some sort of absolution, the fulfilment of an aching need in the cold abstract of balancing sheets.
And he wanted to deaden himself to the world today as the painful memories of what had passed the previous night rushed upon him with an unremitting and merciless haste.
Marguerite, he had not thought about her in so long, yet once more he had to consider how others would see his shameful connection with her.
For his own part he had never considered it to be anything so very ill, he had been young, and he had indeed cared for her. Perhaps not to the point of ever contemplating matrimony, but the sentiments existing between them had not been merely ones of lust and desire. They were something akin to a lingering affection and fond memories, it was not a relation to be sanctioned by any church but still his connection to Marguerite had rivalled a deep companionship.
Still there was one person in the world whom he could not bear to think so ill of him, Lady Hartfield. Her look of abject horror at such a lurid revelation haunted him, so much so that he had come back to Netherfield to lock his bedroom door and promptly bury himself in the papers, seeking to soothe an ache he did not think would ever ease.
To say that breakfast was a miserable affair for the Netherfield household would be to sorely underestimate the despondent state into which almost all the occupants had fallen. Bingley was still anxious and uneasy for his friend, and equally so for Darcy's sister. Georgiana was looking pale and drawn and Bingley was sure her night would no doubt have been as restless as her brother's.They say the loss of faith in those one loves is equivalent to losing a limb, as sudden, as painful and as absolute. And for someone who had been as close to her brother as Georgiana had been it was all of this and so much more. She had relied on her brother's sense and believed wholly in his judgement by the measure equal to a higher law. But now for the first time in her life that implicit trust was being called into question.
Bingley knew something of Darcy's habits; a lifelong friendship had taught him as much, he knew given last evening's horrendous events Darcy would have buried himself in mountains of paperwork, the last bastion for a troubled mind.
Caroline was equally out of sorts, not out of concern for either of the Darcy's but because Sir Richard had not paid her the attention she felt she so richly deserved. Her appearance at the dinner in her orange dress had been she believed something close to perfection. She had even shown off her figure to its best advantage as she had taken turns in walking about the room, but it was to no avail. Sir Richard had eyes that evening only for Lady Hartfield.
Perhaps sadly the only person for whom such disquieting misery had become the norm was Mrs Louisa Hurst. The poor woman was one of those afflicted with the all too common disease of realisation being a much delayed thing. Rather surreptitiously and perhaps cruelly it was a realisation that dawned upon the waking of every morning eve. Whereupon she would alight upon the sight of Mr Hurst and become painfully aware of the dull monotony that her married life had become, and then she would be forced to sigh loudly and exclaim what fools we all are when we fall in love.
For she had loved Mr Hurst, he had not always been this overweight, slothful semblance of a man too fond of a drink and rich foods. No indeed, once upon a not too distant past he had been quite handsome, but Louisa could only conclude that marriage must make a man lax in his general habits. That once one was assured of a spouse, no further effort was needed, for none ought to be expounded or demanded, a man with more wealth than sense such as Mr Hurst could see a wife in a comfortable living, which was all that ought to ever be asked. And as far as Mr Hurst was concerned Mrs Hurst was comfortable.
Poor Louisa Hurst, she was by far the superior of the two Bingley sisters, in judgement when she was allowed to exercise it, sense and feeling when it behove her to offer it. But being born into a world that celebrated silliness and caprice society demanded no more of her than she realise how fortunate she was in securing a husband perfectly able to ensure she was comfortable.
Perhaps the only thing capable of bringing most of the Netherfield lot out of their self effacing misery was a visit ironically from Lady Hartfield. Never mind it was from an evening wrought there that had changed lives and views, she sent her card detailing that both herself and her sister Miss Jane Bennet would be calling on the ladies of the house later that day. It was an eagerly awaited visit, Bingley would be able to see the woman he loved again having missed her company at the dinner, Darcy could perhaps discern how far Lady Hartfield's opinion of him had fallen and Georgiana, well she would have something to distract her thoughts from her brother and his past.
Caroline was indifferent, though it did offer something to gloat about in her letters to her friends, and for Mrs Hurst it was the opportunity to revel in the fact that someone was more unhappy in a marriage than herself.
And so it came to pass that by mid-morning upon Lady Hartfield's suggestion the disparate group were walking about the ample Netherfield grounds. It had been necessary to venture out doors the atmosphere in the drawing room had been oppressive. Lady Hartfield had proposed the visit to Netherfield a suggestion to which Jane had readily acquiesced, principally to see Georgiana; she had not been able to think of what the poor girl had suffered at the dinner party without some twinge of guilt.
Her supposition that Miss Darcy would not be left unaffected were wholly correct, the shift in her was slight but noticeable. If she was shy before, she was positively reticent now. And it was towards her brother this reservation was aimed, she did not look at him once, Lady Hartfield sat next to her on the chaise was offered all the attention from her; but towards Darcy she would not look.
And in turn Darcy could not look at Lady Hartfield, at least not at the present; he could not meet her gaze without the most telling blush, apart from the necessary greeting at her arrival where, believing he had seen the tell-tale signs of accusation he had turned away to stare sullenly out of the window and had remained there since.
Bingley was the only one for whom the situation was anything approaching pleasant, he stood by the fireplace with Jane and had neither eyes nor words for anyone else.
Stepping out had been an inspired notion, the warm sunshine was invigorating, they walked in two sets of lines, Georgiana, Caroline and Mrs Hurst ahead, Bingley, Jane behind along with Darcy and Lizzy. But as they entered an avenue that permitted only three Darcy had long formed a resolution which he silently communicated to Bingley. Thankfully the other gentleman understood completely, he quickened his pace slightly and took Jane along with him. She looked back once, and catching Mr Darcy's pleading smile walked willingly with Bingley. Calling out to his sister Louisa to join them, to act as chaperone and ensure all appeared right, he deliberately allowed Darcy and Lady Hartfield to lag behind. His friend had words to communicate to Lady Hartfield; Bingley was determined to ensure it would happen.
Lady Hartfield for her part was completely oblivious to the men's actions, normally remarkably astute she had become caught up in watching the flight of a butterfly; smiling beautifully she was caught completely off-guard when she found herself addressed by Mr Darcy, and Mr Darcy alone. She looked at him and around him quizzically, momentarily confounded by their lack of company.
'I was very fond of her; I believed the feeling was mutual…' Lizzy looked up at him, shaking her head she began to walk again. Being left alone with Mr Darcy was not conducive to a very innocent outcome; she remembered the last time they had been alone.
But he grasped her hand, slightly tugging it, asking…begging her to stop. She pulled her hand out of his grasp and held it closely to her side.
'You were fond of her Mr Darcy, and she of you? And yet you did not take the subsequent steps so incumbent on two young people so very fond of each other…Mr Darcy you did not marry her.' She smiled coolly at him.
Darcy shrugged and searched for words, 'Marriage was out of the question, I had yet to make my way in the world, and we both knew a union of that sort was impossible, we had an arrangement.'
Lizzy scoffed and turned away, 'I am well aware Mr Darcy of the sort of arrangement that subsists between wealthy young men and women the like of whom do not demand and do not have expectations.' He was before her in an instant.
'There was an understanding, and I did care for her deeply, but unbeknownst to me her 'understanding' stretched beyond merely me…' Lizzy looked closely at him and smiled slightly, her tone softened. She could easily discern Darcy as a young man about town taken in by a woman who would have thoroughly beguiled him into being prevented from seeing what she truly was.
'Careful Mr Darcy, that speech betrays something of bitterness; tell me, did she break your heart?' Darcy absolutely started at first, could she have known how close she had mirrored his own thoughts or Jane's words. 'She will break your heart.'
Darcy sighed and shook his head, 'No, she did not break it, though perhaps she may have bruised it a little.'
'A bruise or a break Mr Darcy, surely where such a precious organ is concerned it is one and the same?' She was barely whispering now. Darcy stepped closer to her. 'No, you see a salve will do very well for a bruise, but for a broken heart…'
She didn't let him finish, his proximity was unnerving her, 'Perhaps…'
But Darcy persisted, 'She could never have broken my heart, because she never touched it, not truly, not as you have.'
She drew herself up angrily at his words, her eyes meeting his coldly, 'Why do you choose to tell me this Mr Darcy? Why seek to explain yourself to me?'
Suddenly leaning in close he pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, 'You know, you must know…'