Chapter Sixty-Seven
M r. Darcy vanished the minute they returned to Netherfield. Mr. Fitzwilliam looked in the drawing room, then banged hard on Mr. Darcy's bedroom, then went back downstairs to check the library. He finally ran his cousin to ground in the billiard room. "I have looked everywhere for you, Darcy," he complained.
"And you have now found me."
"What is the matter with you?"
Silence.
Mr. Fitzwilliam shrugged. "I shall not waste my time, then," and he headed for the door.
"Wait."
"Yes?"
"Miss Elizabeth still says I must speak with Georgiana in order to let the poison out of my heart. I had hoped she would have changed her mind over the past weeks and would permit our relationship to progress."
Richard managed to not roll his eyes. His cousin was a brilliant man, of that there could be no doubt, but his understanding of the finer points of human emotions was often lacking.
"Do you think Miss Elizabeth wrong?" he asked.
"I suppose she is not wrong."
"So will you speak with Georgiana?"
"I will have to, evidently."
"Be aware, Darcy, that Georgiana is angry with you as well."
"Angry at me ? On what possible grounds?" Mr. Darcy was genuinely bewildered.
"I think you should hear it from her. But remember this, Darcy: evil triumphs if good men do nothing. I know not who first said it, but I believe it to be true. If England did not send men across the sea to stop Napoleon, he would conquer all of Europe."
"You are doubtless referring to me not having Wickham locked up years ago for debt."
"I am, yes."
Mr. Darcy left the room. He managed to make his way to his bedroom without encountering anyone other than an upstairs maid; she took one look at his countenance and scurried quickly out of his way.
That night, he was tormented by thought of Georgiana, of Wickham, of his father, of collecting debts, of Wickham in prison, of Georgiana working for Mrs. Younge as a scullery maid…the images went round and round in his head, depriving him of sleep. By the time the sun crept over the horizon, he had come to understand.