Chapter Three

T he next morning, Darcy awoke in his bed at Netherfield. Immediately and unbidden, the remembrance of those lovely, dark eyes haunted his first moments of awareness. Mysterious, sparkling, engaging, warm, arousing. And her smile. How had he ever believed a woman beautiful before he had seen Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Her conversation, her figure, her nature. All combined to create the most alluring lady he had ever encountered.

The thought caused a surge of heat through his chest that extended out into the rest of his limbs. And she had acknowledged that she welcomed his overtures. It made his heart soar. That Elizabeth Bennet would be his was all of the cheerful sustenance that his soul needed. Now he felt more than equal to return to London and begin sorting through the finances again in earnest. He had an even more compelling reason to restore the Darcy fortunes to their former glory. His first priority had been to repair the damage done to Georgiana's dowry. Added to that was his sincere intention of making an offer for the hand of Miss Elizabeth.

He had not intended to speak so intimately with Elizabeth. His hopes had been for just one turn together on the dance floor as a way to bookend his time here in Hertfordshire. But the moment he had felt the pressure of her hand in his, those eyes of incomparable beauty brimming with happiness staring up at him, the gentle heat from her figure, Darcy had shocked himself by unexpectedly broaching the subject of their mutual admiration. It had been a thing done in the moment, most unusual for him.

The very real possibility of his being unable to restore the family fortune intruded on these happy thoughts. He was almost certain that he was able to undo his father's ill-judged investments at the advice of Wickham. But what if he failed? Doubt chilled the warmth that the memory of Miss Elizabeth had roused in him. Darcy leapt up as rapidly as if he had been showered with cold water.

As he dressed, he admonished himself for not keeping other avenues of action open. Darcy's natural sense and ability to judge with indifference compelled him to tamp down his burst of passion for Miss Elizabeth and examine other options.

He went downstairs and was the first to arrive in the breakfast-parlour. It was just as well, for Darcy's temper was stormy. Sitting back from the plate of food that had been more pecked at than consumed, he ruminated on the various courses of action that lay before him.

Ignoring the brewing rage against Wickham and the soft-hearted gullibility of his father, Darcy crossed his arms as he stared out of the window at the bright sun of the morning, hoping it would help light the path before him.

Sell part of the grounds at Pemberley? His shoulders gave an involuntary shudder at the mere thought. This would be the simplest solution. Was that equitable to the tenants and surrounding community? Darcy could never be certain of the intentions of a buyer and their conscience. What if the buyer were a scoundrel or one who intended industries that depended on almost slave-like labour and wages to function? No. The nearby village of Lambton and the tenants who had rented from Pemberley for generations deserved no such uncertain fate. This was a problem created by the Darcy family and, if any were to suffer under it, it would be a Darcy and not the innocent populace of the countryside. He would do all in his power to ensure that they felt little effect from the poor decisions of his father.

Darcy rubbed a hand over his forehead in frustration. He would use the sale of land as a last, desperate resort if further failed speculations were discovered. A curse on Wickham passed his lips. The local population had already suffered enough from Wickham's schemes and seductions without adding this.

Marriage? Marriage to a wealthy lady. It was not an unfamiliar or even ignoble path. Many gentlemen of the ton had made no secret of their intentions to ensnare a lady of wealth. A fine name with centuries of history behind it, a grand estate; these did nothing to ensure the owner had the means to maintain what was passed down to them. Many a union that Darcy knew of began with anaemic coffers, necessitating the wooing of a lady with an impressive dowry. Before he had met Elizabeth Bennet, he would have begun to consider this course of action more seriously. But now—with his heart so firmly in her possession and after the nod of their mutual understanding at the ball last night—the thought of a mercenary marriage left him cold.

Whatever faults his father might have had in the management of the Darcy investments, he could not be accused of subjecting himself to a loveless union for the sake of strengthening finances. Darcy had frequently witnessed instances that plainly displayed the true regard and affection that existed between his parents. He had always assumed that he too would have the comfort and joy of a marriage with a woman who was his equal in spirit and intellect. A helpmate to whom he could turn for advice and support in dark times. Darcy speculated that, had she lived longer, his mother would have had a moderating influence on the senior Mr Darcy and investments would have been made that were conservative and well-advised. But, she died not long after Georgiana's sixth birthday. In his grief, Darcy's father had let himself be misled by those who did not have his best intentions at heart.

He tapped a spoon on the edge of his cup and, in a moment of weakness, allowed himself to entertain the idea of an advantageous union. Could he really do that? He had made no formal pledge to Miss Elizabeth. Perhaps his love could be brought under regulation. The spoon hit the outer edge of the tea cup, and the concentric circles that danced outwards through the dark liquid kept his focus as he speculated upon that unpalatable possibility.

A list of the few ladies of his vast acquaintance who would be willing to marry him once his weakened position was known ran through his thoughts. There was his cousin, Anne de Bourgh. The thought of it made bile rise in his throat. Anne was of a sickly constitution. Added to that was the hard truth that Darcy found her company extremely wearisome, and he could not bring himself to seriously contemplate the possibility. Of all the ladies of his acquaintance who were unattached and possessed a dowry that could be of significant material advantage to his fortune, few held even a modicum of attraction for him.

This train of considerations could not help but bring the visage of Elizabeth Bennet, smiling warmly at him from but an arm's length away, into the forefront of his awareness. To go the rest of his life and never again see that smile and the radiance from those eyes caused an ache in his chest. Any other lady was a shadow when brought in comparison with her unaffected loveliness.

Darcy sighed, weariness from the late night and his anxieties making the future appear bleak and colourless. The door of the breakfast-parlour opened. In strode Miss Caroline Bingley. At that precise moment, a bashful cloud retreated and a ray of sun illuminated her through the tall windows. Darcy was struck by her bearing and the healthy glow of her skin. One of her thick eyebrows raised in a restrained greeting. In a rush, it occurred to Darcy that perhaps the answer to his troubles had been before him all along. Miss Bingley's dowry was not enormous, but it was large enough that it would be of material benefit till his investments had time to recover. Her company was by no means irksome. At times, he found himself pleasantly diverted by her sharp insights and wry speculations. Her face was handsome enough. Her comportment was meticulously proper. Darcy gave her a tentatively welcoming smile.

Miss Bingley's eyes twinkled in return. She sat and reached for the dry toast. It scraped out a raspy protest as she picked it up. For reasons he could not define, it was as if a schoolfellow had raked his fingernails across the slate in a classroom. Darcy felt his jaw clench and a shudder run up his spine at the grating sound. The meagre warmth he had felt at her entrance evaporated.

"Were you witness to any of the antics of the Bennet family last evening? Their follies and nonsense were so multitudinous that I completely lost count. That Mary Bennet and her bellowing at the pianoforte! For her to imagine that she possessed the talent needed to display herself at a ball with so many people present… Well, scandalous, truly scandalous." Miss Bingley covered her mouth with her hand in an imitation of repressed laughter. Darcy felt a cool wave of revulsion wash over him. He turned his head to disguise a frown of disgust. For the sake of money, he had briefly contemplated a lifetime of breakfasts with Miss Bingley. The thought shamed him.

"It is no wonder, I suppose, given the limited access to masters and tutors in the neighbourhood," Darcy countered, startling himself at his sudden desire to defend Miss Mary Bennet. "Were she exposed to a better education, I have little doubt that her playing would become quite respectable. I do not think she possesses a high degree of natural ability, but there are many ladies who are purported to be talented at the pianoforte and are really only well-practised. Exposure to performances by experienced professionals is also necessary to develop as a musician. Without travelling to London or hiring a master, she has little chance of improvement. For the local society, I suspect she is viewed as being very accomplished. It is no fault of her own that her confined circumstances prevent further growth. To place the entire blame on her would be akin to scolding a plant that is not healthy due to the soil under it being poorly cultivated."

Miss Bingley blinked and her smile became rigid. Inhaling sharply, she pressed on, "I have no doubt you are correct in some points, but the rest of the family? Can you imagine relations whose speech and actions cause so many reasons to blush?"

An image of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Anne's mother and Darcy's aunt, flashed through his mind. Many were the times in company with her when he had to look away to conceal a pain of mortification at her tart, unasked-for declarations.

"It is true. The Bennets do possess some rather discomforting qualities. But there are also some remarkably fine, natural refinements there—perhaps most especially among the two eldest sisters—that cannot be taught at any school nor purchased at any price."

"Refinements such as fine eyes and pert opinions?" Miss Bingley asked with a cutting edge to her tone.

Darcy's jaw tightened at the teasing barb. "Intelligent opinions may be dismissed as bold by some, but they are so rarely to be found in society that I imagine it rankles those who are unable to follow a train of thought that is deep and original."

The silence that fell over the breakfast room was thick and complete. When Darcy turned his gaze back to Miss Bingley, she had a stony look of resolve. He stood and placed his napkin next to his plate.

"I am going back to London today. I must inform my man."

"But, sir! We have not yet discussed a subject that is of no little import to the both of us."

Darcy braced himself, unsure to what she could be alluding.

"Charles seems determined to pursue Jane Bennet. This is more substantial than one of his passing fancies. I need not tell you how poorly such a connexion would reflect on all of us. My sister and I have already determined to make him see sense, but—"

Miss Bingley stood and came very close to Darcy. He resisted the overpowering impulse to step away.

"—I acknowledge that you appear to have a sway over Charles that neither of us do. If you could but delay your trip to London for a few days, I am certain several firmly phrased statements from you would alter his determination to settle on the Bennet girl. We all know you to be a formidable, persuasive man who is able to command those around him with decisiveness."

Miss Bingley dropped her eyes down during the last few descriptive words. Peering back up at him through her fluttering lashes, she gave him a demure smile.

"I have no intention of dissuading a friend from an action that will most likely secure him a happy future. He is not in want of wealth, so that should be of little consideration for him. He is a fortunate man—" Darcy paused, cleared his throat, and shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. The recollection of his own obstacles that stood in the way of a formal proposal of marriage to Miss Elizabeth felt like sacks of heavy grain, one on each shoulder. "Excuse me, but I refuse to lend my support to any contrivance that you and Mrs Hurst may be forming. I think Charles could do much worse than a lady of Miss Bennet's disposition. Now, if you will pardon me."

Darcy stepped around the astonished Miss Bingley and strode towards the door.

"You are an entirely different being than you were when we first came to Hertfordshire, Mr Darcy! These quaint rustics have begun to degrade your sense of decorum."

Darcy almost stopped and turned. However, the sting of that last comment was buzzing in his ears, and he had no wish to lengthen an encounter that he found so deeply displeasing.

"And then there was the tunnel that was to extend from an area to the north of Pemberley that would have emerged in Ireland. It was an interesting idea, but one that proved—as an investment—unprofitable and ill-advised."

Mr Cromtook twisted at the quizzing glass before his watery, pale blue, left eye, then cleared his throat in a dramatic and gargling fashion. His wig was powdered so thoroughly that it resembled a cloud.

Darcy shook his head and turned away. His gaze fixed itself into the street below as his mind wished himself a hundred miles from here.

Mr Cromtook had recently discovered another cache of the late Mr Darcy's investment records in a previously unknown bank. The ancient family solicitor had been working diligently over the last year to attempt to track down every scheme, speculation, and ruse into which Darcy's father had been cajoled.

Darcy and Mr Cromtook had slowly assembled a trail of false records, massive withdrawals, and debts that was staggering to even begin to contemplate. As close as they could figure, Mr Wickham had lured the older Mr Darcy into investments and, during the settlement, shaved many hundreds of pounds off for himself. Wickham's habits were too well-known to Darcy to imagine that the stolen capital had been put to good use. The only ones who had profited were most likely the gambling dens and houses of ill repute. Darcy had unwittingly accepted his father's reluctance to share business matters with him as the right of the head of the family. His faith had been misplaced and abused terribly.

Darcy sighed, resisting the impulse to rest his forehead against the cool pane of glass before him. Speculation as to what Miss Elizabeth might be up to at that very moment caused a brief ray of warmth in the dark office of the solicitor. One corner of his mouth lifted hopefully.

"And then there was the company that was developing pontoon shoes—"

"What?" Darcy snapped as he turned to stare in wonder at Mr Cromtook.

"Shoes that enabled the walker to step on water and cross rivers and lakes. The drowning death of the inventor has dampened enthusiasm for the venture." Mr Cromtook wheezed out a hissing laugh at his very minor joke.

Darcy turned his gaze back to the window. "I am glad someone finds this amusing."

"I apologise, Mr Darcy. I pleaded with your father to allow me to manage his investments more closely, but he kept all of these ventures secret. I had also mistakenly assumed that you were fully aware of these transactions. However, your father's trust in Mr Wickham was extraordinarily deep and unwavering. I had hoped that one of these wildly speculative ventures would have turned out to be truly rewarding."

"That seems more and more unlikely."

"Yes. There is one that I think may be of some value, but I understand so little of it, that I do not wish to give rise to false hopes."

Darcy turned and sat heavily down in the chair on the opposite side of Mr Cromtook's desk. The small, old man shuffled several mountains of papers until a small exclamation of discovery escaped his lips.

"Yes, yes. Here it is. Boulton and Watt. Steam engines. Something about boats. It seems that Mr Wickham may have accidentally made a decent investment decision."

"Steam engines? I have heard of steam devices being used to pump water out of mines. And, here in London, there is one used at a brewery, is there not? Yes, I recall—the Barclay and Perkins brewery. My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, has always wanted to visit and catch a glimpse of the mechanism."

Mr Cromtook shrugged. "It sounds fantastical. Steam being used to move things about. However, Boulton and Watt is a respectable company, and apparently your father speculated on a sort of engine for boats that they are developing."

Despite the very dire circumstances, Darcy could not help but feel his curiosity rise at this mention of an investment of his father's that might have been a particularly good one.

Mr Cromtook paused once again to screw his quizzing glass in tighter and then coughed loudly whilst he peered at the paper before him. "It was one specific innovation. Well, I can make out little from this. A visit to the factory will be in order, I think. Do you wish me to accompany you?" He ended this question with a prolonged, dramatic series of coughs.

Perceiving that the demands of a visit to a place of business that might be noisy and dangerous could be injurious to Mr Cromtook's health, Darcy shook his head. "No, thank you, Mr Cromtook. I think your expertise would be better utilised by staying here and making sure this is the last of the hidden investments that my father and Mr Wickham made."

"Yes. Let us hope that there will be no more unpleasant surprises awaiting us. As I said, I wish your father had consulted me when he committed such large swaths of the Darcy fortune to so many unusual projects. I think my advice would have prevented at least a few of them from occurring." Mr Cromtook removed his quizzing glass and began to clean it vigorously with a handkerchief.

Darcy stiffened and inhaled expectantly. From experience, he knew this was the old man's way of pausing before broaching an uncomfortable subject.

"There are other avenues open to you, Mr Darcy. If I may be so bold, there is of course the possibility of selling off some land from the Pemberley estate."

Darcy quelled his first impulse to react with an angry curse. To ignore sound advice from a man with over half a century of experience would make him just as guilty as his father had been for circumnavigating Mr Cromtook completely.

"That will be the very last arrow in our quiver, Mr Cromtook. Although I truly appreciate your candour in suggesting it, I intend to do all in my power to transfer the Pemberley estate to the next generation intact and whole, just as I received it."

"I understand and commend your honour, sir. Although, it is my belief that, once circumstances are known, there will hardly be any blame laid at your doorstep."

"That may be so, but if I can save Pemberley from being broken up and sold off as well as keep my father's reputation intact, I would consider that the best of all outcomes. If I can begin to recover some of what was lost, no one else need know the extent of the damage. I do not relish the idea of others speaking ill of him. He made his poor choices out of a—" He paused, the words tasting sour on his tongue. "—a fondness for George Wickham. My father had a regard for the man that was hardly deserved."

"Yes, I do agree with you there. Well, it is helpful for me to know your intentions. If I may suggest one further plan of action? One that need not be so unpalatable as the selling of property?"

Darcy snorted in anger. "You need not say it aloud, Mr Cromtook. I know the alternative to selling off property is to offer myself up on the marriage market. But without a fortune? Just Pemberley to entice a young lady of means? I have no title, though my family is a noble one with a long lineage."

Darcy began pacing back and forth in the well-furnished office. Mr Cromtook's desk passed by him several times before he trusted himself to speak aloud again. "If there were a young lady of means whom I found—whom I could—"

"Bear to wed?" Mr Cromtook added with a sympathetic, wry smile.

"Something like that. I would consider it, but—" He could not continue. The thought of Elizabeth's smile was not an image, it was a feeling that had wrapped around his heart and would not relinquish its hold. To never have that smile directed at him— for him—ever again was too much for him to even contemplate. And knowing that she had indeed intimated that she found him pleasing and welcomed his advances made the idea of abandoning all chances for her more than he could abide.

He was willing to attempt anything. Anything at all to be able to offer her a comfortable future and a position of distinction. It was what she deserved. It was what she was born for. Darcy knew in that moment that he would even descend so low as to involve himself in an investment in business and trade. He would do it for her.

Mr Cromtook raised both his eyebrows, maybe understanding many things that were left unsaid. "I see. It seems that you may want to visit this company of Boulton and Watt and learn more of your father's investment. Perhaps it will prove fruitful."

"But why? We may soon be at war with America! To travel there would be utter folly!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam stood before Darcy, his arms outstretched. The blazing fire in Darcy's study was a pleasant respite from the dark work that Darcy had been engaged in that morning at the manufacturing warehouse of Boulton and Watt.

The complexities of the science of steam had seemed, at first, beyond anything that Darcy could comprehend. However, once he had reaccustomed himself to the language and concepts that had intrigued him during his school years, he had caught on quickly. The past week had been spent in laborious study and actual physical exertion as he learnt the workings of the giant copper and wooden apparatus that was a steam engine.

"Cousin, this will be difficult for you to fully comprehend, but I inherited the responsibility of the future of all who depend so completely upon Pemberley for their livelihood. It is a burden that falls to me and me alone."

"I say, there is no need to be churlish. You underrate my abilities. I am perfectly able to know that you have a great deal to contend with."

"Yes, but should anything occur that would cause a significant reduction in your circumstances, you have your father and older brother to consult and aid you. Even your mother has some resources of her own, and I am sure that fine lady would not hesitate to help Georgiana if need be. Over half of Georgiana's dowry has disappeared! And no doubt the rake had meant to obtain the rest by convincing her to elope."

"Which would have occurred if you had not been struck with a sudden fancy to join her at Ramsgate. Why you would not allow me to scalp him with a bullet, I do not know. A duel would have rid the world of his miserable presence for good!"

"You know that duels are illegal, and I have no wish to further the tragedy by also getting you killed. Lord Matlock would never forgive me."

"How touching," his cousin replied dryly. "As usual, your sentimental nature is overwhelming me."

"Ridicule me, if you wish, but I will not allow that man to commit murder upon my family as well as almost bankrupt us."

Fitzwilliam paced before the fire, blocking some of the warmth that Darcy had been enjoying. With a sigh of frustration, Darcy said, "It is imperative that I travel to America to make certain that this one possibly sound investment of my father's has some sort of financial fruition."

"You are correct that my mother would be more than willing to aid Georgiana in whatever needs she has. Perhaps, to help you retrench your standing, my father—"

Darcy's hand shot up, palm out, to halt the speculation of Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I shall never beg to Lord Matlock. I would sooner take a turn at piracy than plead for a loan from your father."

"But I am certain, if you allowed more than just myself and Mr Cromtook to be fully familiar with all the circumstances, he would be moved to aid you."

"I completely agree. Your father would take pity on me, yes. And I would never be able to look in a mirror again. It is out of the question. I must make this effort. You must see this. If I can accomplish this and prevent any tarnish upon the reputation of my father, I will be exceedingly pleased."

Colonel Fitzwilliam groaned in frustration before walking over to pour himself a generous portion of port. Swinging back toward Darcy, with his glass extended out in an accusatory jab, he asked in a cutting tone, "And why not some passable-looking heiress? I have overheard many a lady comment that they would not object to waking up next to you in the mornings."

Darcy raised his eyebrow in silent scepticism.

"Perhaps it was not stated in those exact words, but you know very well that women think you pleasing to look at. Why, at some balls, they are like moonstruck heifers, gazing mournfully after you have passed!"

Darcy snorted and shook his head in disbelief.

"It is true! I have noticed what occurs when your back is turned and heard what is said when they do not realise my close proximity. Just pick one who is comely to look at, melodious to hear, and appealing to reach for in the dark of night. Good marriages have been built upon less, I assure you."

Darcy's intellect privately concurred with his cousin's advice. It would have been sound and tempting in the not-too-distant past. However, Hertfordshire had changed all of that. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was now the fondest wish of his heart. The recovery of some little of the money that was syphoned away from the Darcy estate would enable him to maintain the lands and make a formal offer for her hand. A small smile spread on his lips at the thought of her. Mistaking this for agreement, Colonel Fitzwilliam sat opposite Darcy with a broad grin and a wagging finger.

"Now, now, cousin. You cannot already be imagining the wedding night without first informing me of the lucky woman. Is it Miss Walsonton? The niece of Baron Clettybark? Or is there a dark horse in the running that you have not told anyone of? Come, come. I promise not to steal her away from you. Well, if I can help it. You may charm the ladies with your looks, but I have swagger and bearing that only a military man can possess. Or the widow, Mrs Haltrench? She is young and wealthy, though the wedding night will not be a new experience for her. However, I have never thought that would be a terribly bad thing. In fact, it may be much more fun."

"Good God. Leave off with your bawdy speculating! I have no intention to ask any lady to marry me till I can steady the course of the Darcy finances."

"So, you admit it. There is a particular lady in the offing. Wait a moment. You were recently in Hertfordshire. No, it cannot be… I will not be brought round to believe it for a moment. Some country lass?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam guffawed most unbecomingly. Irritated by both his accuracy and his mocking tone, Darcy stood and faced the fire in an effort to hide his discomfort.

"You can tell me. I know I can be a burr in your side on occasion, but you know that I will maintain your secrets. Is there an understanding?"

There was a pause that extended out for several moments. Darcy dared not turn and face him.

"By your lack of an outright denial, I will assume there is at least some sort of agreement between you and the lady. As I recall, Miss Bingley was staying at Netherfield when you were."

"It is not her. I can vow to that," Darcy exclaimed as he whipped around, his patience at an end. "And I must beg you to keep your ridiculous assumptions to yourself."

"But, if she is no more than a countrified beauty, Pemberley—even in its most severe straits—would be a step up, I imagine. There is no need for this wild journey to America. Ask the girl for her hand and beg my father for a loan."

"No. I appreciate your counsel, but I must see this through my own way as best I can."

Colonel Fitzwilliam slumped back in his chair as he drained the remains of his glass with one gulp. "You and your damnable pride! It will be the death of you."

Darcy repressed a sudden, violent shudder. He was glad his cousin had not witnessed it. The thought that perhaps his cousin was correct, perhaps his pride would be the death of him, left him low-spirited and chilled, despite the fact that he was just a few feet from the blazing, cheerful fire.