Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Colonel Fitzwilliam had accepted his cousin's summons, assuming he wished to discuss Georgiana. She had recently turned seventeen, and as her joint guardians, Darcy and he had agreed it was time she was out in society. It being her first Season, and they both being men, the enterprise was proving somewhat perplexing for all of them.

But Georgiana, it seemed, was not the issue presently on his cousin's mind. Sitting in a comfortable wingback chair in Darcy's study, Fitzwilliam watched him pace up and down, perturbed to see him thus affected by the mere sight of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He knew Darcy had been badly burnt—not only by her rejection, but by his subsequent failure to improve her opinion of him—but the matter had nevertheless seemed closed. Many months had passed since Darcy conceded defeat and abandoned all hope of securing her affections, and it had been a long time since he had so much as mentioned her name.

"I must say, your disquiet surprises me," Fitzwilliam said carefully. "I assumed your regard for her would have begun to wane by now."

His cousin did not reply.

"Is this not, in part, why you have come to London? I thought you agreed it was time to put yourself about a bit, meet some other women."

"I am here for Georgiana's coming out. If any notions exist of me being ‘put about', they were decided by your mother alone."

"She has a point, though. You will have to start thinking about marrying soon. You are not getting any younger."

"Neither are you."

" I do not need an heir."

Darcy came to an abrupt halt and fixed him with a dark glower. "Fitzwilliam, I did not ask you here to talk about my future progeny. I asked you here because I need your help."

Fitzwilliam splayed his hands in a defensive gesture. "A thousand pardons. I am at your service. Tell me what it is you need." He crossed his arms and listened, with increasing amusement, as his eminently sensible, Cambridge-educated, universally respected cousin explained that he had inadvertently wedged himself behind some plaster of Paris theatre scenery to avoid having to talk to a woman.

"You have convinced me," he said when Darcy finished speaking. "Never mind being put about—you ought not to be allowed out in public at all. You are a menace to society."

"How so?"

"You cannot go about eavesdropping on young ladies' conversations. You will get yourself a reputation!"

"I did not deliberately eavesdrop—I was trying to avoid her notice. But you are missing the point. Did you not hear what I said about the man she agreed to meet?"

"No, I was too busy enjoying the image you painted." Fitzwilliam receded somewhat when, rather than getting nettled, his cousin grew observably more distressed. "Forgive me. Tell me again—Miss Bennet was talking to whom, about what?"

Darcy rubbed a hand over his face. "I did not recognise the woman, but the man she was describing made Wickham sound like a saint by comparison—a gambler, a rake, and a sot."

"Why on earth did Miss Bennet agree to meet him in that case?"

"Her companion made a joke of it—said he was not that bad and was actually a great favourite."

"Well then. Perhaps there is nothing to worry about."

He shook his head. "Except I recognised the name, Fitzwilliam, and I think there is something to worry about."

"And the name is…?"

"Rutherford. It is maddeningly familiar, but I cannot think where I have heard it."

Regrettably, the name was familiar to Fitzwilliam also. " Lord Rutherford?" Darcy nodded, and he winced. "I think I know it, too—and if it is the same Rutherford, then I am afraid I do recall hearing it said that he is something of a cad."

"Damn!" Darcy resumed his pacing. "I was hoping you would tell me I had misheard, and actually, he was a fine gentleman."

"Really?" Fitzwilliam asked sceptically. "Your regard for Miss Bennet is very clearly unabated. I find it hard to believe you would be pleased by the prospect of an upstanding young nobleman, sweeping her off her feet."

"I should infinitely prefer it to hearing that she has agreed to meet a bloody whoremonger!" he retorted fiercely.

Fitzwilliam conceded with a nod of his head. Evidently, far from having overcome his attachment, Darcy remained as unreasonably concerned for, as vehemently defensive of, and as violently in love with Elizabeth Bennet as he had been a twelvemonth ago. He knew from experience there would be no talking his cousin out of it. "Well then, what do you intend to do about it?"

"I do not intend to do anything. I was hoping you would agree to warn her."

"Me?"

Darcy stood still again and nodded. The daylight had faded to the point where they really ought to have lit some candles, but neither of them had, and his face was shrouded in shadows. His eyes nevertheless gleamed with urgency.

It was an urgency Fitzwilliam did not share. Miss Bennet was a delightful young woman, but she had made her choice. Her happiness was no longer any business of his. "Why must I be involved? Warn her yourself."

"I cannot. She wants nothing to do with me."

"I hate to state the obvious, old boy, but that rather puts paid to your notions of gallantry. You must leave her to make her own mistakes."

" Mistakes ? Fitzwilliam, if we were talking about her wearing unsuitable shoes for bad weather or taking a wrong turn through town, I might understand that remark. We are talking about a woman's safety ."

"Granted, but she is by no means friendless. Let her family look after her. It is not your concern, no matter how dearly you obviously wish it were."

"They do not know the danger. Just as they did not know about Wickham—because I considered it beneath me to warn them."

"Then call on Mr Gardiner and warn him ."

With a heavy sigh, Darcy dropped into a chair and ran a hand through his hair. "I have told you—Elizabeth wants nothing to do with me. I cannot simply appear at her uncle's house and begin dishing out edicts on whom she ought and ought not to associate with. She would resent the interference."

"Ah. Now I begin to see."

Darcy's ultimately successful machinations to separate his friend Bingley from Jane Bennet had been among the chief grounds for Miss Elizabeth Bennet's antipathy towards him. Yet, both parties had since married other people, and to the best of Fitzwilliam's knowledge, at least one of them was content. He had heard of far worse outcomes in marriage and could not agree that there was much basis for anyone to hold a grudge over it still.

"Surely Miss Bennet has forgotten that old grievance by now."

"If she has, that is even less reason for me to want to remind her of it," Darcy replied. "That is why I was hoping you would agree to speak to her."

"Darcy, sending me to do your bidding still constitutes interfering. It would be more honest to speak to her yourself."

He opened his mouth as though to object then closed it again and averted his gaze. "I cannot face it," he said at length. "How do you think I ended up behind the blasted pillar in the first place? I know she does not want me—I have no desire to see it writ all over her face. But I feel too much to do nothing. Do not make me beg, Fitzwilliam. Will you help me or not?"

"Of course I shall," he said quietly, rueful of having made sport of the matter. "What would you like me to do?"

Darcy sighed with obvious relief, a smile dancing briefly at the corner of his mouth before his countenance was once more overtaken with gravity. "She has arranged to meet this Rutherford fellow at the gallery tomorrow at noon. Will you go—try to intercept? She knows you, and she knows you helped me deal with Wickham. If you could somehow let it be known that Rutherford is not to be trusted, she will listen to you, I am sure of it."

Fitzwilliam gave him a decisive nod. "Consider it done."

"Thank you. It means a great deal to me."

"Good. You can pay me in advance with dinner. Come on." He stood up and marched to the door, all anticipation for a hearty meal and some livelier conversation.