Chapter Eight

Darcy

D arcy poured two glasses of his best cognac and handed one to his cousin, Richard. Under normal circumstances, Darcy would have been pleased to see his cousin. He was one of the few people he still kept any sort of contact with, and he enjoyed hearing Richard's tales from both the battlefield and London society, of which Darcy was no longer a part. However, Richard's sudden, unannounced arrival made him rather uneasy. His cousin took the glass, smiled, and took a large mouthful.

"It is always a pleasure to see you. You always have the very best spirits," Richard said as he looked at the glass appreciatively. Darcy slipped into the seat across from him. They were in the drawing room, a poor choice, Darcy realised, because when looking out the window, one could see the burned-out remains of Pemberley's west wing, which was what his cousin was doing right then. While the stone structure of the grand manor house remained intact, the soot blackening the glassless windows which lay exposed to the elements, hinted as to the tragedy that occurred within. The external appearance scarred, but the true damage was internal. Rather like himself, Darcy thought.

"You really ought to get this fixed. It's a disgrace, leaving your home to look like this," his cousin said.

"Richard… Pray, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Darcy asked, not wanting to get into an argument.

His cousin looked at him again and took a deep breath before sliding his hand into his pocket, where he withdrew a letter.

"It seems I have been demoted from Colonel to messenger, at least where my father is concerned," he said, slipping the letter across to Darcy. "You don't need to read it. I can just tell you what's in it. I was there when it was written. And I already know that you're not going to like what it says, not one jot."

"I suspect I am to be chastised again for casting a dark stain upon the family," Darcy muttered.

"Yes, for your dalliance with this young lady, this Miss Elizabeth Bennet. The news has reached Matlock, and to say our dear aunt is fuming would be an understatement," his cousin said.

Darcy had already heard from Mr Lightower. Since the fire, most of his servants had left Pemberley, some because they could not bear to be in the house anymore after the devastation, others because Mr Darcy's changed personality made him difficult to work for. Unwilling to surround himself with new people, he'd pared down his staff to the bare minimum. Within the house, only Mrs Potts, Mr Cogsworth, and Mr Lightower were permitted—and all three now carried additional tasks. As such, Mr Lightower often ran errands for Darcy, and it was during one of these expeditions that he had become privy to the fact everyone in Lambton was talking about the unfortunate incident between him and Miss Bennet the previous week.

"Richard, I already told you, nothing happened. The lady slipped and I got my signet ring caught in her dress and it ripped while I was trying to help her up. It was an unfortunate accident."

"Be that as it may," his cousin said, unbothered, "alas all the world is saying that you were having a torrid affair. That you are a rake and a womaniser."

Darcy, let out a genuine belly laugh. "Womanising? Do I look like a gentleman who can get any woman he wants into his bed, Richard?"

"You make yourself sound as though you are a grotesque monster. You have some scars, so what? In the right light, it's hardly noticeable. You should see some of the men in my unit, the way they look when they return. Your scars? They are nothing compared to theirs," Richard said in his dry, matter-of-fact manner. It was one of the things Darcy liked the most about his cousin. He never sugar-coated anything, and he was often the only one who could draw Darcy out of his self-imposed gloom.

"So, what is it that Aunt Catherine would want me to do? Must I apologise to the woman's family?" Darcy asked.

His cousin leaned back, interlaced his fingers behind his head, and pulled his shoulders back. "Aunt Catherine and my father are both convinced that this is a scandal too far. Ever since the fire, you know very well what people say about you. Any goodwill people might have had after hearing about your loss has long since made way for idle gossip and tall tales."

"I know very well what people say," Darcy replied, eager to get to the core of the message.

"Well, my father thinks this is a prime opportunity for you to redeem yourself somewhat, while our aunt is more concerned with what may happen if you do not. To make a long story short, they have both reached the same conclusion, you should marry this Elizabeth Bennet."

Darcy had to force his hand away from the glass, because it had clenched so much he feared he might shatter it if he didn't.

"Marry her?" he parroted, unsure he'd heard correctly.

"That is right. They say if you were to marry her, all the talk about you being a recluse, a scary beast in his big manor would be silenced. As for her, the way it looks right now, Miss Bennet and her entire family might be ruined if you do not marry her. If news has spread to Matlock, it will spread further. You see, Aunt Catherine has already sent her vicar to speak to the young woman."

"Mr Collins? What does he have to do with anything?"

"It seems he's a distant cousin of Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Sister, aunt… It does not matter. I will not marry her. I will not marry anybody. I assure you, if I were to marry, it certainly would not be her."

"To hear Mr Collins, she is pleasant, beautiful, witty, with a strong character, although a little too unruly for his taste. Which is something I thought you would've liked. You always liked a challenge, didn't you?"

This Darcy couldn't deny. Before the accident, while he hadn't been a rake by any means, he had enjoyed the company of women who could keep up a conversation and talk about more than just their accomplishments. Miss Elizabeth Bennet certainly seemed like that sort of woman. Indeed, the passion with which she had spoken of her aunt and managed to knock Darcy down a few pegs due to his actions, intrigued him. Still, he was not going to marry her.

"This is ridiculous. This whole story will blow over," Darcy said.

"I am afraid it will not. Your status as the town recluse has drawn even more attention to the story, Darcy. And in this case, I'm afraid I must agree with my father and aunt. Marrying her would be best, both for her and for you. It would be a kindness to her," Richard said, gesturing to the still beautiful estate.

"A kindness? To be married to me?" Darcy rolled his eyes.

"Of course. This is a lovely estate. There is the eyesore, but that could be fixed. I think it would be preferable for her to marry someone like you, rather than to be facing always having this story attached to her. Also, I hear she has three younger sisters. If Elizabeth Bennet's reputation is ruined. They will not find husbands either. As for Bingley…"

Darcy let out a groan. He had totally forgotten about all of this.

"I know you have pushed him away, as you have pushed away everybody but me. But I know that deep down, you still care about him. He was your best friend. His sister-in-law's reputation is ruined, his in-laws' reputation… He will not be unscathed either. You know how these things go. His business could suffer," Richard said, raising his hand.

He was already exhausted by all of this. "I understand, but I cannot believe it has come to this. Surely, there must be something else that we can do?"

"It could be worse," his cousin said, "Listen to me now, Darcy. I know the man with a sense for business and opportunity is still somewhere inside that stubborn head of yours. You cannot deny this is a perfect chance for you to get all you want. You wish to hide yourself away from all the world. Very well. If you had a wife, you could do that for good. Pemberley could be restored to what it was, and opened to the public again, generating interest and income if need be. You'd not have to do anything, she could be the face of Pemberley."

Darcy was about to protest when Richard wagged his finger in his face.

"Think about it. When your parents were living, your father rarely ventured out. He tended to Pemberley's internal needs. It was your mother who visited tenants, your mother who went to church every Sunday to meet your residents and workers. It was your mother who went to the town fair and whatever else she did. She was the public face of Pemberley, freeing your father to do what he did best—conduct business. If you had a wife, she could fulfil that role."

"But who would want to be married to me," Darcy argued.

"A young woman who is facing her ruination. You would not even need to have a real marriage. It can all be pretend. You have a home that is large enough so the two of you would never even have to cross paths. Why not at least meet with her family? Collins says she has an uncle here in town, and an aunt who is from Lambton. Meet them, speak to them, and then decide."

While his cousin finished his drink, Darcy sank back in his chair, his hands buried in his head. Richard was correct. It was quite common for people to marry for practicality rather than for love. It was just that all of this was happening so quickly Darcy barely had a chance to comprehend it all. And yet he could not deny that what his cousin said made all the sense in the world.