Chapter 42

42

D arcy sat again in Bingley's library to escape the increasingly frenetic talk of the wedding breakfast; his mind far from the dinner conversation and the bemusement of the other men at his own distraction.

Richard had now taken up the reins of being the entertaining conversationalist guest, talking to the rest of the party in the drawing room.

Darcy relished the silence to think over the events of the day.

Miss Elizabeth had been good to his sister this morning. She had suggested he and Richard sit in the music room, and he had observed the two ladies together as they enjoyed each others' company.

Then she had asked them to walk outside so she could speak to him, and had told him that Gardiner was her uncle. She had said she and her father didn't want him to be surprised to discover the fact at the wedding.

He supposed that had been thoughtful of her, but when he looked back over the entirety of their acquaintance, there were many instances over the last months where she could have told him, especially the occasion when they talked outside the practice room at Netherfield. He frowned as he thought back. Yes, she could have told him then, instead of making him think her uncle was a lowly worker in the print shop.

His ire rose, and today, she had seemed to castigate him for thinking exactly that, although he was sure he had never mentioned it again.

And the information made him suspicious. There was something else she was keeping from him, as she had done with this news.

Secrets. Never a good thing in a marriage.

He screwed his eyes shut and pressed his hand hard against them. But it didn't help. His mind was disobedient. He could see her at the instrument, her face uplifted, her eyes closed, as she sang, weaving a spell around those who listened — he groaned, and rose to pour himself another brandy.

How was she doing this to him? He had always decried those who avoided their problems by drinking. This must be his last one, and he drained it, put down the glass and returned to the chair.

What was it about her? His mind ran through the faceless, poorly-remembered debutantes that Aunt Alice had paraded before him, tried to recall the speech and manners of the young ladies who clustered round him wherever he went in town. Not one had been memorable enough to touch him in the way Miss Elizabeth had.

Was it just her playing, and her singing? Surely not; he had found her disconcerting enough when he had apologised to her after his insult at the assembly. He'd never known a young, unmarried lady who had dismissed him so coolly, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Perhaps that was it, and he merely wanted what he could not have. He ought not to stay in Hertfordshire; there was always his work, and he could keep himself busy and forget her, as he had forgotten all the other young ladies.

In a year or two, he would look for a bride in town with the right connections — when he had forgotten Miss Elizabeth.

… Miss Elizabeth, with that chestnut tendril always escaping her pins and down by her left ear. Her ear was dainty and shell-like. Elizabeth's figure as she strode out around the gardens, eschewing the languid stroll affected by other ladies. Elizabeth's face, caught in the light as she poured her emotions into her music.

The way her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she had watched her father play chess with Richard, and her absolute concentration on the game. He groaned again; how could he forget her when her every movement, and her every action, was seared into his mind?

"Here." Richard was by his side, holding out a glass of brandy to him. When had he entered the room? How long had he been watching Darcy's struggle?

"No, thank you …" his voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat. "No, cousin. I thank you, but I have taken enough tonight."

Richard didn't speak, but turned and rang the bell. When the footman entered, he ordered coffee, before coming back across the room and dropping into the chair opposite Darcy.

There was a long silence. Now his cousin was there, Darcy had nowhere to look, but he did not want to close his eyes. Elizabeth — Miss Elizabeth — would be there, her vision taunting him in his struggles.

"William?" Richard's voice was quiet and understanding. He rarely called Darcy by his given name.

Darcy sighed. "Yes, Richard?" He smiled slightly; he always called his cousin by his given name. To call him Fitzwilliam would be the height of confusion.

"That is better. Now, tell me about Miss Elizabeth."

Darcy's eyes snapped open properly. "What about Miss Elizabeth?"

"You are thinking of her, and your thoughts are not happy ones."

Was Darcy ready to confess his confusion? No. "I am not."

"Not thinking about her, or not having unhappy thoughts? Either way, I will call you a liar." Richard's gaze was steady and compelling in his own way.

Darcy looked away, into the fire leaping in the grate. "How would you know?"

Richard's shrug was obvious in his voice. "You may be oblivious, Darce, but I too loved an unsuitable woman."

That woke him up and he froze. "Richard. I am sorry, I never considered you would …" he stopped, unable to think of the right words to continue.

Richard shrugged again. "Nobody did. You have to just continue, act as usual, and eventually you get over it enough that the black dog on your shoulder becomes less oppressive. But I would not wish the experience for you."

Darcy hesitated. "Was the … is she really unsuitable, could we make it work for you?"

"That is good of you, Darce, but no. It was a long time ago, and the lady is married elsewhere."

Darcy winced. "I am sorry." How would he survive it if it was Elizabeth who was married and he could have no hope, no hope at all? His heart sank into his boots. No, lower than that — into the very ground.

A coffee cup was pressed into his hand. When had that arrived? He really must pull himself together. At least it was Richard who had found him, and not Bingley or Hurst. He nodded his thanks and returned his gaze to the fire.

"So why are your thoughts of her so disordered?" The quiet voice prodded at his heart. It might not hurt to tell his cousin.

"Even if she agrees that Aunt Alice can sponsor her into society, they will never accept her properly. Georgiana needs a society lady to assist her in her come out."

"Mother can sponsor her as she would if you were not married. What Georgiana really needs is a friend as her sister. Someone who knows how to be a friend, and understands reticence and shyness."

Darcy huffed a laugh, staring into the flames. "Miss Elizabeth has never known a moment's shyness in her life!" He found himself smiling.

"No, but she has a shy younger sister, and another who is reticent."

Shy? Darcy winced at the thought of loud, brash, Miss Lydia, but then recalled the next youngest; the one they called Kitty. But, shy or not, her behaviour was atrocious, too. And he supposed Richard meant Miss Mary when he spoke about a reticent sister.

His heart bounded with a moment's hope — then sank again.

"No. I cannot make a match with a lady who keeps secrets, who fails to trust me with all her dearest concerns; and who tells me what I need to know when it is far too late. Miss Elizabeth has squandered my respect by keeping facts from me."

"So she told you something this morning when we walked in the gardens at the end of our call."

Darcy nodded. "Let me explain."

Darcy had told him everything, and he waited for Richard to say that he understood, that Miss Elizabeth was at fault for not trusting him. Then his cousin stirred. "So you want a wife who has no secrets from you?"

"Of course. How can I protect her properly otherwise?"

"But you have secrets from her. Have you told her about Wickham and Georgiana?"

Darcy jerked upright. "Of course not! Nobody must know what happened — although I have alluded to it to explain why I am cautious around new people."

"So you are permitted to keep secrets from people you do not know enough about to trust, but Miss Elizabeth is not permitted the same rights."

"It is entirely different, Richard, and you know it!"

Richard's eyebrows went up. "Remember Miss Felicity Ramsbotham?"

"The latest young female your mother introduced to me? Vaguely." Darcy was suspicious.

"Did she tell you when her courses were due?"

"Richard! Don't be disgusting. Of course not."

"So she is allowed to keep that a secret." Richard nodded. "Has Hurst told you exactly what he humiliating mistakes he made at school?"

"This is all entirely too ridiculous."

"Is she pursuing you?"

"No!" Darcy was becoming exasperated. "She is not mercenary."

"So you believe that she ought to spout all her secrets to men even if she is not pursuing them?"

"The situation is completely different. This may well be something that is important to a future with her."

His cousin nodded. "So, compare it with her needing something that may be important to a future with you." He glowered at Darcy. "You have told her, then, the extent of Pemberley and your annual income, the number of tenants you have, everything you expect of a wife and how you will control the way she uses her talents when she is your wife?"

Darcy sighed. "I told you, she is not mercenary. And all that would be discussed if we ever were to become betrothed."

Richard shook his head and sighed. "You are being nonsensical. Expecting her to trust you enough to get betrothed without knowing your secrets, but also expecting her to spill out every one of her secrets so you can decide if you want to get betrothed." He leaned forward and stabbed his finger at Darcy. "And do not forget, there have been attempts to compromise her, to gain possession of whatever secret it is. Why the devil ought she to trust you? She is barely acquainted with you, and you have not proved yourself a gentleman about this. As far as she is aware, you are trying to get Mother to have her accepted in society so you can possess her voice and her talent without caring a jot about her!"

He strode to the door. "You don't deserve her, Darcy. Not unless you can understand her concerns. And trust that she will tell you when the time is right for her!" He slammed the door, leaving Darcy shattered and alone.