The distant murmur of a whispered argument was the first thing to penetrate Darcy's sleep-addled consciousness.
A hazy image of Elizabeth strolling a familiar path in the little wood just beyond Pemberley's principal grounds lingered in his mind, and the whispered voices were incongruous to the serene scene. He rolled to his side with a frown, attempting to refocus on the vision of Elizabeth's sprightly form beneath the trees where he had once dueled with his stick sword as a boy. The harder he tried to recapture the moment, the more surely it slid out of his grasp, dissipating like smoke in the wind. When at last he raised one groggy eyelid, it was to find a spear of silver light sneaking through a gap in the sweeping curtains to spill onto the floor. Awareness of his surroundings came slowly as he lay blinking in the gloom, his bed adrift in the sea of open space that was his cavernous bedchamber.
Darcy had been surprised when he had been told upon their arrival of some changes to the usual arrangements. On this occasion, he was shown to a large dark paneled door beyond which he knew lay the master's chambers. Darcy was certain that not a soul within Rosings misunderstood this gesture – It was a physical reminder of his aunt's expectations. The implication was, of course, that the mantle of master awaited him. According to his aunt at least, Fitzwilliam Darcy was, by writ of promise, her daughter Anne's intended, and Lady Catherine's chosen son.
Except that he was not.
There were many reasons such a marriage would never be, but perhaps the most important was that neither he nor his cousin wished for it. Despite this, without a direct negative, the great lady was left to labor confidently under her own misapprehensions.
However much it chafed to perpetuate her false hopes, to preserve his sickly cousin's domestic peace, Darcy had not pressed this point. It was not in Anne's nature to express anything so contentious as an opinion, and knowing his aunt as he did, he understood that any argument against her wishes was fruitless. It was Anne who would ultimately bear the burden of her displeasure should he contradict her directly. If she heard a differing opinion, it was only to find a weakness through which her own interests might be forwarded.
So it was that he found himself alone in the dark grandeur of his late uncle's rooms, listening to an argument in the corridor.
"I must know who it is from." A drawling voice demanded in a whisper, "Her Ladyship will insist."
"Do you truly expect me to open an express for my master?" Came a familiar voice in acid tones, "Your mistress has no business in the private affairs of Mr. Darcy."
It was his valet, Fletcher. Darcy pushed himself up on to an elbow to listen.
"Of course not," scoffed the first voice. "But I am certain you know who it is from. Her Ladyship is particular about knowing what correspondence comes and goes from Rosings. It is her right as mistress, and, as you well know, she is one of your master's nearest relations. She has his interests to consider as well."
Fletcher let out an incredulous bark of laughter. "Mr. Dawes, do be serious — does your aunt have the right to pry into personal correspondence? The letter, sir, if you please."
A few moments of silence followed this directive. Then Darcy's man spoke again in a low and angry voice. "If you continue to resist, I shall wake Mr. Darcy and we shall see how he feels about his aunt being entitled to know his business. Though, I can save us both the trouble by assuring you he does not wish to bandy about the details of his private affairs to anyone – least of all your mistress."
Darcy was out of his bed in an instant, all sleepiness forgotten. Crossing the room in six long strides, he wrenched the door open forcefully, a gust of air buffeting the hem of his nightshirt.
At his sudden appearance in the doorway, both men leapt back in surprise. The butler, a Mr. Dawes, nearly fell over in his haste as he attempted to show his deference with a bow even as he scrambled backwards. Darcy stood in silence, towering over them both, an air of haughty disapproval emanating from him, despite the fact that his knees were naked to the world.
Nobody spoke.
The seconds dragged on slowly. Neither Darcy nor the men on his doorstep were entirely sure what they ought to say. It was at last Fletcher who broke the stalemate. With a quick glance at Darcy and a small frown at Dawes, he reached out and firmly tugged the missive out of the butler's slackened grip.
"An express has just arrived for you from London, sir," Fletcher said in clipped tones as he handed the letter over.
Darcy gave a curt nod. "Thank you, Fletcher."
With a bow, his valet promptly turned and retreated down the dark hall. Darcy silently blessed the man for his good sense and uncomplicated loyalty.
Now alone with the butler, Darcy observed him as he lowered his gaze to Darcy's knees and asked, "Can I help you, sir?"
Darcy raised an eyebrow and regarded him for a long moment without speaking. When the butler bowed and began to turn as if to leave, Darcy finally spoke. "I do not tolerate indiscretion from anyone, and it is certainly not your place to demand knowledge of the intimate details of my life," he said with distaste. "You may tell your mistress that if she insists on invading my privacy, I will remove to the coaching inn."
The butler said nothing, face now an admirable shade of mauve.
"You would do well to discourage some of Her Ladyship's more ridiculous requests," Darcy said, his lips barely moving. "She will not live forever, and acting on such dreadful instructions will not help you retain your position with a new master. Now go."
Dawes was gone in an instant. Darcy's gaze then fell to the thin slip of paper in his fingers. In the dim light, he could just make out the direction written in his sister's familiar, elegant script.
A bolt of dread shot through him as he hurried across the wide, creaking floor to seize the candle glowing on the mantel. Moving swiftly to the window, Darcy wrenched back a panel of stiff curtain, allowing a bright beam of moonlight to spill onto the page. He sought every ounce of light available, knowing he could not afford to misread.
Fitzwilliam,
I can only imagine what you must be thinking upon receiving this express. No doubt you are expecting the worst, especially since you, of all people, understand the foolishness of which I am capable.
Fitzwilliam, there has been a great misunderstanding.
To speak directly, Miss Bingley has claimed a compromise between her brother and me.
This is untrue. Yet, I fear that drawing any undue attention to the claim might run the risk of incurring the same result as if it were.
I am in no state to relay the entire circumstance, but I will do my best to convey the salient points.
Through my correspondence with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I came to understand that Miss Jane Bennet had been deeply disappointed by the sudden departure of a certain gentleman in Hertfordshire. It was evident that she was quite attached to him. It was not difficult to discern the gentleman's identity when I next saw Mr. Bingley at Darcy House some months ago. He was unrecognizable, clearly suffering greatly since leaving Hertfordshire.
Though I knew little of the particulars, it was obvious that both Miss Jane Bennet and Mr. Bingley were afflicted by matters of the heart, likely due to their separation. I know nothing but good of Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet—my sources on these matters are too reliable for me to doubt.
When I called on Grosvenor square, I was told by his sisters that Mr. Bingley was not to attend us because he was occupied with preparations for a journey to Hertfordshire the very next day. Given what I had already discovered, I suspected that the purpose of his visit was to see Miss Bennet. The difficulty was, I alone knew that if this was his design in going to Netherfeild, his efforts would have been fruitless.
Elizabeth mentioned that her sister had come to London to revive her spirits. I understood her to have been staying for some weeks already with her aunt and uncle in Cheapside.
I acted on impulse and a desire to help if I could. As we were leaving, I espied Mr. Bingley alone in his study. I slipped away from Mrs. Annesley on the false errand of fetching a forgotten glove and returned to seek a private audience with him.
Aside from the impropriety of our meeting unchaperoned in his study, nothing at all untoward occurred between us. I relayed what I knew of Jane Bennet, and Mr. Bingley seemed most gratified to hear it. As I was leaving his study, I ran, quite literally, into Caroline Bingley. She had seen me leaving her brother's study and seemed to be aware that he was within. She made nothing of it, save for a sly remark that was too vague to be counted as anything of import.
I had not thought of the matter again until she called today. She was upset because it seemed her brother was calling regularly on Miss Jane Bennet– whom she claimed was a fortune hunter who did not care for her brother. This was when she begged for my assistance to separate her brother and Miss Bennet. When I did not at once agree, she spoke of the meeting she witnessed and made clear her belief that there was some illicit understanding between her brother and myself which would, of course, obligate us to marry.
It is all too horrible to contemplate.
I am sorry, dear brother, for disappointing you yet again. I know you must be angry at the steps I have undertaken without your knowledge, and it would seem I am now reaping the rewards for my misguided behavior. Of all things, I fear your disappointment more than any consequence I can have wrought upon myself, and so I write to you in a spirit of great fear and humiliation. I know not how to undo this mistake. Please know, I am very sorry to lay this burden at your doorstep. You, who have done so much to protect me already. I perish the thought of what you must feel as you read this.
I am a stupid girl.
If you can, kindly inform those with you in Kent who you believe should be made aware. I have not the fortitude to write about it again and again.
I shall not stir out of my room until I hear from you.
Mrs. Annesley is, I am sure, writing to tell you I am unwell as I have told her nothing. I do not wish to hear her strictures when I have barely the strength to hear my own.
I am sorry.
Georgiana
Darcy looked up from the letter, releasing a sharp exhale of frustration, then cursing as the candle before him guttered and then snuffed out entirely, leaving only a fine tendril of smoke rising in the moonlight. For a few minutes, Darcy simply sat, eyes closed in the dark, trying to master the riotous mix of emotions clamoring for his attention. He could not explain why, but Georgiana's letter struck him a demoralizing blow. That anyone should try to manipulate her so viciously was something he would of course never permit, but her certainty that he was ashamed of her was, to him, far more distressing.
Of the two problems this letter had presented, he felt he was only confident that he could resolve one of them. For a man of Darcy's talents, it would be far easier to force Caroline Bingley to recant her lies than it would to absolve and reassure his wounded sister. He had tried to help her so many times, and, frustratingly, he found he could do nothing.
He needed to speak with Richard.
Gritting his teeth, Darcy rose, snatching up the letter and his dressing gown from the long bench at the end of his bed. With a string of muttered oaths, he stabbed his fists through the finely made sleeves, yanking the sash tight with a violent tug.
Richard's bedchamber lay at the far end of the long corridor, its path dimly lit by a solitary oil lamp casting eerie, wavering shadows. Darcy moved quietly down the hall to the door, casting a glance behind him as he turned the handle. The door creaked mournfully as he eased it open, slipping inside with a silent prayer that no servant had seen him. Just as the latch clicked shut in the dark, a sudden rustle behind him made Darcy spin around—only to feel the chill of steel pressing against the vulnerable flesh beneath his Adam's apple. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes traveled down the gleaming saber to lock eyes with his cousin, Richard.
The Colonel stood squinting sleepily at him in the dark, his free hand scratching roughly at his chest as he let out an impressive, but silent yawn. Darcy swallowed reflexively, causing a small stab of pain as the little bony prominence in his throat met the resistance of the metal.
"Good evening," he said quietly, his words fogging the cool steel. His cousin blinked sleepily at him in the dark. Gingerly, Darcy reached up with two fingers to push the blade aside.
"Pray, do not kill me, Richard. It would only create more work for everyone," Darcy said tersely.
Richard grunted, lowering his sword, the blade catching a faint glint in the dim light. Darcy exhaled quietly as he heard the soft 'snick' of the weapon being sheathed.
"In any case, I would surely haunt you if my death were marred by some hysterical tragedy," Darcy added, a hint of wryness in his voice. "I am English, after all; such an end would be entirely unseemly."
"What the blazes do you think you are doing, sneaking into my bedchamber in the dead of night?" Richard grumbled, clearly aggrieved. "I am a soldier, Darcy. You do not creep around a soldier! Has nobody ever told you that?"
Darcy raised an eyebrow, his expression unruffled. "I wasn't aware soldiers slept with swords drawn, or I should have knocked."
"I ought to have run you through," Richard grumbled. "Why are you waking me at such an ungodly hour?"
Darcy shoved a letter into his cousin's chest. "It's from Georgiana," he said, as he brushed past him.
Richard's demeanor shifted instantly. Without a word, he tossed his sword onto the bed and hurried toward the small halo of light cast by the single candle on the mantle.
For a few minutes, Darcy paced the room in the dark, the creaking of his footsteps the only sound breaking the silence.
"What in damnation!?" Richard burst out. "Is she truly so dull-witted as to think Georgiana must be compelled to marry over such a trifling breach of propriety? If that were the case, Edward would have been married a hundred times over. What can she mean by it?"
Darcy turned to face his cousin, his hand resting on the casement of the window, his expression one of pensive concern.
"I am certain she is acting to prevent a union between her brother and Jane Bennet," Darcy explained. "She does not approve of her family's association with the lower gentry, a sentiment she has expressed often. I am certain she hoped that a connection with the Darcy name would elevate her own standing in society. While she has long expressed her preference for me rather overtly, it seems she is now seeking to secure the connection through other means."
"She cannot think it would work, surely?" Scoffed Richard.
"I suspect she is counting on my sister to be weak-willed and tractable," Darcy sighed. "Why else would she attempt such a brazen scheme? Georgiana will not marry Bingley; that is not my concern. Yet, I cannot remain at ease when dealing with someone so reckless and unpredictable. Regardless of her judgment, she remains capable of inflicting irreparable harm on innocent people."
"The most dangerous enemy is the one who is desperate," Richard said, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Blast that treacherous creature! Why must it fall to us to hold Bingley's sister accountable for her vile behavior? Shouldn't this be Bingley's responsibility?"
As Darcy observed his cousin, a flicker of gratitude kindled within him. Richard was as close to a brother as Darcy would ever have, and seeing his mounting frustration made Darcy's own heart feel considerably lighter.
"I'm not certain he's even aware," Darcy replied. "Miss Bingley is many things, but simple she is not. Perhaps she hoped Georgiana might approach Jane, planting seeds of doubt about Bingley's fidelity. I cannot say for sure, and, practically speaking, it hardly matters."
Richard scoffed, "If that is true, then I must believe him to be guilty of some negligence. He, of all people, must know who he has in his care."
Darcy hesitated slightly before replying in a low voice, "If experience has taught us anything, it must be that no one is omniscient. Besides, I am inclined to think his distraction is in part of my making. Since my letter, I believe he has been courting Miss Bennet in earnest."
Richard shot him a skeptical look. "Do you always take credit for everything? You're as bad as our aunt. If Bingley were so in love with Miss Bennet, he wouldn't have taken your advice and left Hertfordshire in the first place."
"It was prudent advice," Darcy said, rubbing his forehead absently. "Gentlemen of good breeding do not pursue ladies of inferior birth, especially if there is not at least some mutual attraction."
Richard smirked. "No, gentlemen of 'so-called' good breeding, take them as mistresses." Noticing Darcy's disapproving look, he added with a wry smile, "I know that's not your way. As much as it pains me to flatter you, I'll admit you have principles, even if it's only to your own detriment."
"I am certain we are not so very different in this matter."
"No, we are not," Richard replied with a dramatic sigh. "Though it does serve the cause of my honor that I can afford neither a wife nor a mistress—let alone both."
"Lacking an estate does not make you poor."
"Yet, I should like an estate, nonetheless."
"Then do us all a favor and marry Anne—though I care little about that at present."
"Have you considered pistols at dawn?" Richard asked with a wry grin. "With Miss Bingley, of course."
"I should think her brother might like to take that honor upon himself," Darcy muttered.
"I would volunteer if I thought you would allow it," Richard said with a half-smile.
Both men fell into a pensive silence before Richard let out a breath, saying, "What are we to do?"
Darcy rubbed his jaw wearily. "I will go to London to speak with Bingley. He stands to lose the most if Caroline presses her claim. I am powerless to do more than disassociate myself from her, but Bingley will be able to do more."
"I sincerely hope so," Richard barked. "If he does nothing, I'll have to go there myself."
"And do what, precisely?"
Richard scowled in the dim light. "Do you really think Bingley is capable of giving no quarter? This is a form of treason, after all."
"I think he is capable of it; it is the confidence he lacks," Darcy said, shaking his head. "I cannot predict his state of mind when he learns of this. I have had only one letter from him since I wrote, in which I admitted that I may have been too hasty in my judgment of Miss Bennet's attachment."
"Really?" Richard said, opening his mouth, then clamping it shut, evidently too stunned to reply. Eventually, he asked, "What brought about this change of heart?"
"I was wrong," Darcy said simply.
"- and you just decided this? On your own?"
"I am not so arrogant as to refuse to admit when I have erred," Darcy snapped irritably.
"Oh yes, you are well known for changing your mind," Richard muttered under his breath, then regarded him dubiously. "Why not send a letter?"
"Bingley is not, at the best of times, a faithful correspondent. I do not trust a letter to be read promptly."
"An express, then?"
"I would also like to see Georgiana."
"Well, you hardly seem to need me," Richard said, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. "You've taught me well how to be superfluous."
"What am I to say to Georgiana?" Richard gripped his shoulder bracingly. "Tell her the war can't last forever, and the French surrender is imminent."
Darcy gave an involuntary bark of laughter. "You are useless."
"Proficiently so," Richard replied with a grin.
As Darcy crossed the room to take the letter from his cousin, he refolded it neatly and added, "I am counting on you to tame the dragon until I return."
Richard inhaled slowly. "That is a thankless task if I ever heard one. Lady Catherine will not take kindly to your sudden departure without an explanation. She will be relentless in her questioning."
"Surely an interrogation by our aunt is nothing for one of His Majesty's most valiant men?"
"The French do not have dragons," Richard mumbled.
Darcy gripped Richard's shoulder bracingly. "If she gets out of hand, show her your sword as you did me."
"I will not dishonor Lady Catherine by assuming a blade would intimidate her."
"You are not wrong. I am sure anyone who dared threaten would succeed only in provoking her further."
"What shall I say has called you away?"
Darcy made a vague hand gesture. "Tell her it was an urgent letter from my solicitor regarding a pressing investment. You need only plead ignorance regarding the specifics. I will return in three or four days."
"Assuming Caroline can be brought to heel," Richard said doubtfully.
"She is not a dog."
"Isn't she?"
Darcy did not respond to this. Instead, he strode purposefully to the door to call for his man and ready his horse. He would be off as soon as there was light to see. He had only one thing left to do before leaving Kent, and he prayed silently that fortune would favor him.
A little over an hour after a flurry of spartan preparations, Darcy and his horse stood on the gentle slope overlooking the path to the parsonage. Restlessly, he toyed with the stiff leather of the reins, pulling them through his fingers while Adonis diligently nibbled mouthfuls of wet grass at Darcy's feet. The air was clean, cold, and damp, and the first blush of morning sun illuminated the dew like so many drops of glass, crystallizing the soft greenery around him.
The deep, hollow sound of the horse's chewing was comfortingly familiar to Darcy, helping to temper the anxious anticipation rising within him. With a small sigh, he scratched his companion idly on the withers, wondering whether Elizabeth Bennet would be more pleased or vexed to find him here.
As he stood watching the place where he hoped she would appear, memories of the previous day washed over him like a gentle tide. The unexpected moment when her eyes met his through the window, a lingering look, a fire dancing in her gaze. Their private exchange in his aunt's drawing room, where her smiles, her attention, her spirit were—if only for a moment—his alone.
Yet all too soon, a leaden curtain fell between them as Lady Catherine intruded on their conversation, unwilling to tolerate any space where she did not wield absolute control. The wedge was frustratingly driven back into place just as Darcy began to wonder if it was his presence that brought the color to her cheeks, if it was his conversation that made the light dance behind her eyes.
It was a far cry from declaring love, yet within these observations lay a tiny thread of promise—a tentative green shoot, fragile yet hopeful.
Though duty and affection called him to his sister's side, Darcy was certain no harm would come from delaying his trip to London by an hour. He hoped to find Elizabeth alone before beginning the day-long journey. Part of him did not want her to wonder about him, and perhaps more importantly, his own inner turmoil longed for the comfort of her presence, however briefly it could be his to ask for. Georgiana's months of melancholy loomed over him like a gathering storm, and he felt as helpless to stop it now as he had ever been. No prospect seemed less appealing than the journey to London, alone but for his own thoughts.
Would that I was not going alone, Darcy thought, the yearning achingly familiar.
Darcy was by nature a man of action—pragmatic, decisive, and resolute. Yet, he found all this useless when it came to being a confidant and comforter to his young sister. Darcy had felt ineffectual and clumsy as he struggled to navigate the turbulent waters of female adolescence. Despite all his best efforts, he had still seemed to fail Georgiana when she had needed him most, and he dreaded the idea that he was poised to do so again.
It was Elizabeth—who, despite never having met Georgiana—knew the words to mend a broken heart, who understood how to listen, how to offer kindness, and ultimately how to love a lonely girl. And all of this she accomplished through nothing more than the strength of her words. To Darcy, there was no virtue in any woman that could compare to this.
Then suddenly, he saw her. Her form was unmistakable as she walked briskly down the lane. As he watched, she raised her skirts to hop lightly over a puddle in the road. Her vibrant spirit was apparent in every movement of her body and every expression of her face. As she unknowingly bent her steps in his direction, he rapidly considered how he might draw attention without startling her. But before he could devise anything, their eyes locked irresistibly. She stopped short, frozen like a hare spotting a hound.
"Oh!" she exclaimed with a start. "I — I did not— that is, I am astonished to see you, Mr. Darcy."
Darcy straightened at the sight of her and bowed deeply. "It was not my intention to alarm you, Miss Bennet, but I must confess that finding you this morning was indeed my aim."
"It would seem you have succeeded," she replied, raising her brows as she regarded him. "You do have an odd habit of startling me while I am out walking, Mr. Darcy. Perhaps sometime you might consider calling during proper visiting hours?"
Alone in the bright dawn, he did not attempt to stifle his smile. "I do not favor parlor rooms, Miss Bennet. I find there is too much noise and not enough sense."
Elizabeth's eyes crinkled even as she glanced demurely at her hands. "How am I to account for your calling on me in the lane then, Mr. Darcy? Have you another sister with whom I might correspond?"
"I am not so blessed as you are, Miss Bennet. I have only Georgiana," Darcy replied. "Might I walk with you for a moment? There is something I wish to discuss with you."
Elizabeth gave a small nod of assent. Darcy detected an odd air of reticence about her this morning for which he could not account. As she resumed walking, Darcy fell into step beside her, Adonis trailing along behind, his sleek and muscled frame now as low and docile as a donkey's.
"He is quite a handsome fellow," she remarked, glancing at their companion whose ears were swiveling to listen to the sounds of the glade awakening around them.
Darcy shrugged. "He regards it only because of the extra food and attention it gets him. Handsome is a means to an end for him."
"It does seem the way with many dashing young men," Elizabeth said with a chuckle, "but he is the handsomest by far."
Darcy smiled. "He is flattered, I am sure."
Elizabeth tilted her head, her eyes revealing an impertinent twinkle. "Do you often walk your horse, Mr. Darcy?"
"I've no doubt he would prefer a ramble to the long journey we are to undertake. We are bound for London this morning."
Elizabeth looked at him in surprise, but when she met his gaze, her eyes dropped quickly, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks. After a moment, she said, "I understood you intended to stay in Kent longer."
"Indeed I did. Though, I hope I will return soon, if I am so fortunate." They walked in silence for a time, Darcy savoring the simple pleasure of her company.
"Lady Catherine cannot be pleased to see you go," Elizabeth remarked.
"I have no doubt she will be exceedingly unhappy when she discovers my departure," Darcy replied. "I fear I have left my cousin Richard to suffer her outrage alone. She is. . . unused to disappointment."
Elizabeth laughed softly, a low and sweet sound that delighted him.
"No. I do not doubt it."
A companionable silence fell between them once more. Darcy knew he must come to the point soon, yet he wished for a few more unspoiled moments. But, it was Elizabeth who broached the topic first.
"Might I inquire about the business that takes you away so abruptly?" Elizabeth asked, her voice laced with genuine concern. "I hope all is well?"
"All will be well," Darcy replied, reaching into his coat pocket to withdraw the letter, passing it to her wordlessly.
Elizabeth scanned the paper, then glanced quickly at Darcy before hastily unfolding the note to read.
Darcy watched intently as her eyes raced over the page, her brow furrowing in concentration as she absorbed the information held within. Circumstance aside, he found he enjoyed her features just as much when they were serious. When she finally finished, she let out a single, frustrated expletive under her breath. Darcy's lip twitched.
"How dare she!" Elizabeth said in a venomous whisper. "So you are to go to Georgiana? Today?" she asked, her tone sharp.
"As you see," Darcy replied, holding up his reins.
"Oh!" she exclaimed angrily, her vexation momentarily beyond words. She let out an unladylike growl of anger.
"I assure you, Miss Bennet, I will do whatever is necessary to protect my sister," Darcy said firmly. "You need not worry that she will be forced into marriage or that Miss Bingley will escape the consequence of her actions. No one would do more for Georgiana than I. You must trust me in this."
Elizabeth lifted her chin as she held his gaze for a moment, her expression fierce, yet still somehow inscrutable. At last she gave a solitary nod.
"I do."
As she turned back to the path, Darcy's heart swelled with sudden triumph. He fought to keep his face neutral, afraid to reveal how deeply those two syllables affected him.
After walking in silence for a time, Darcy became aware that Elizabeth had begun wringing her hands in a gesture of apparent agitation.
"Is something the matter?" he asked tentatively.
Elizabeth looked up at him, an oddly penitent expression on her face. "I have a confession to make, Mr. Darcy."
He waited as she seemed to wrestle with her thoughts.
"It was I who asked Georgiana to mention Jane's being in London to Mr. Bingley," she said at last, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. "When she wrote to ask if her suspicions were correct, I requested that if she saw Mr. Bingley again, she should mention Jane's being in London to him."
"I see," he said at last, sensing her gaze from the corner of his eye.
"I did not know that anything ill would come of it," she said, her words coming out in a rush. "Had I known she would go to such lengths to assist me, I would never have asked her. Though I am flattered by her eagerness, I would never wish her to come to harm."
Darcy shook his head. "Do not think I hold you or my sister accountable for this. Others are to blame for this dreadful debacle. And unlike you, their intentions were not selfless."
Silence fell between them again as they walked some dozen yards, with only the soft sound of footfalls between them. Then Darcy said gently, "You have my trust, Miss Bennet. Do not doubt it."
He heard a tiny exhale escape her as she looked away wordlessly. The sun had risen more fully now, and the sky had turned a vivid blue that chased the golden hues from the horizon. Adonis released a world-weary sigh, as if to dispel the lingering tension between them. Elizabeth gave the horse an amused smile.
"I had hoped I might ask your opinion on something," he said, trying to suppress the faint note of trepidation that threatened.
She looked up at him curiously.
He cleared his throat, searching for a way to pose his question that did not make him feel foolish. "How might I—" He trailed off, looking at his hands before trying again. "That is, what do you think I should say? To Georgiana, I mean."
He glanced at her quickly before continuing, "In her letter, she seemed so… unhappy. I do not wish for her to return to how she was in the autumn, yet I fear I do not know how to speak to her without doing more harm than good."
Elizabeth gave him a smile of such sweetness he could not properly draw breath.
"Mr. Darcy, it is clear to me that your sister loves you every bit as much as you love her. You are so very similar in your mutual desire to be perfect for one another, and so eager to forgive. I have no doubt that she needs only your presence," she said soothingly. "Say only what feels genuine. I cannot teach you the correct sentiments, for they would be my own, and not yours."
She reached out then, hesitating slightly before resting her hand lightly on his arm. "You can say nothing wrong if you speak from your heart, . I am certain it cannot dishonor you."
At her words, a surge of tender feelings rose within him, and Darcy reflexively covered her hand with his. When this proved insufficient to convey the depth of his gratitude, he slowly brought her hand to his lips, closing his eyes as he pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles. As he held her hand, he could feel the bounding pulse beneath his fingers. With a small smile, he carried her hand down through the crook of his elbow to rest it gently on his forearm. Without another word, he resumed the path, savoring the warming sun and the feel of her nearness.
As they continued in companionable silence, Darcy found his mind returning to all that had transpired between them since he had first arrived in Hertfordshire. He knew not what the future held, but there was yet some promise in that. He couldn't change the past, but he held onto the hope that perhaps even now he was reshaping his future.
All too soon, the path circled back to the spot where they had first met, and he was obliged to say his farewells. "I am exceedingly grateful to you, Miss Bennet," he said sincerely. He put a foot in his stirrup and swung into the saddle. "For everything."
"Take care of my friend, Mr. Darcy," she replied, her color high, but her voice steady.
He paused, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. "Always," he promised.
And at last, he was away, cantering off with a smile on his face, the warmth of her touch still lingering on his arm. As he rode, the countryside unfolded before him, vast and full of possibility, much like the future he now dared to believe in. The rhythmic beat of Adonis's hooves echoed the jubilant beat of his heart, and for the first time in a long while, he thought of the future with pleasure.
502, 25182, 914, 297, 308 (193)
