18. Eighteen

Eighteen

F our days had passed since Darcy had sent his letters, and Meryton bustled with midday activity. The grey sky above threatened snow, and the air held the crisp bite of winter. Darcy stood near the market square, adjusting the cuffs of his gloves, his gaze shifting toward the approaching carriage.

At last, the vehicle came to a halt with a creak of wood and jingling harnesses. The door swung open, and Colonel Fitzwilliam descended, his boots striking the snow-dusted cobblestones with purpose.

“Darcy! Greeting me in town instead of at Netherfield, are you? A rather quaint scene you’ve chosen for this reunion. What happened to my dignified cousin?”

“Needs must,” Darcy replied, shaking his cousin’s hand. “You are here to assist, not to critique.”

Fitzwilliam arched a brow. “Assist with what, exactly? You’ve been maddeningly vague.”

Darcy gestured toward the pub down the street, its windows glowing warmly against the frosty air. “You shall see soon enough.”

Fitzwilliam hesitated, a smirk tugging at his lips. “A public house, Darcy? You, willingly stepping into such a den of common conviviality? I should have the apothecary examine you on the way.”

“I trust your wit is as sharp as ever,” Darcy said, his tone flat but his pace brisk as he led the way toward the pub.

“I am merely trying to imagine what grave calamity has driven you to such measures,” Fitzwilliam said, following. “Do tell me you’ve not taken to rustic indulgences.”

“Your imagination,” Darcy said over his shoulder, “is both unnecessary and unwelcome.”

“And yet, I shall continue imagining all I like.”

Darcy shot him a look, sharp enough to warn but lacking the bite to silence him. “If you could temper your sarcasm for five minutes, Fitzwilliam, you might notice that we are being watched.”

Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow, slowing his pace slightly. “Watched? Ah. I see now.” His voice dropped, though the smirk remained. “This is theater, then.”

“Of a sort.” Darcy inclined his head subtly toward a small cluster of shopkeepers standing just outside the draper’s, their conversation halting as the two men passed. “And thank you for bringing your father’s newest carriage. I wonder that he did not object.”

“Who says I asked him?”

“I see. Well, whatever means you employed, I daresay I am grateful. It is important that we be seen.”

“Doing what? Strolling with an air of consequence?”

Darcy suppressed a sigh. “Engaging with the community. Showing that Netherfield’s occupants—Sir Thomas’s people—are not beneath our notice, which means they are not beneath theirs .”

“Fascinating,” Fitzwilliam murmured, glancing around at the curious glances they were garnering. “And here I thought your talents lay in accounting figures and brooding.”

“Keep your voice down,” Darcy muttered, steering him toward the entrance of the inn. The smell of roasting meats and the warm hum of voices greeted them as they stepped inside, the sudden heat brushing the chill from their coats.

“Now you’ve really lost me,” Fitzwilliam said, his tone pitched low. “You hate places like this.”

“Yes,” Darcy admitted. “But this is where people talk. And I mean for them to talk about the right things.”

“Such as?” Fitzwilliam asked, though his gaze wandered to the barmaid who had paused mid-motion, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of them.

Darcy removed his gloves deliberately, meeting Fitzwilliam’s gaze with quiet intent. “The party. The preparations. And the fact that we are here, inviting them to attend.”

Fitzwilliam chuckled under his breath. “Well, this is unexpected. Very well, Darcy. Let us play our roles.”

They approached the Golden Fox, a modest but respectable establishment on Meryton’s high street. Darcy stepped inside first, his gaze sweeping the room. The warm hum of conversation buzzed around them as townsfolk sat gathered at tables, their faces lit by the glow of the hearth.

Darcy selected a table near the center of the room and gestured for Fitzwilliam to sit. Fitzwilliam hesitated, clearly nonplussed. “Here? Truly? Not a private alcove?”

“Yes, here,” Darcy said evenly. “And keep your voice at a volume the room might appreciate.”

Fitzwilliam raised a brow but took his seat, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “You never fail to amuse, Darcy. First, a public house, now you instructing me on manners. What next?”

Darcy waved over a serving girl and ordered drinks for them both. As soon as the ale was brought to the table, he lifted his mug and nodded toward Fitzwilliam. “To the season, and to good company.”

Fitzwilliam’s brow furrowed as he hesitated. Darcy gave him a pointed look, and Fitzwilliam seemed to understand. Lifting his own mug, he mirrored Darcy’s toast. “To good company.”

Darcy leaned back slightly, his gaze sweeping the room before settling on Fitzwilliam. “This Christmas party we are planning—” he began, deliberately raising his voice a fraction.

“Oh, yes,” Fitzwilliam replied, catching on just enough to follow Darcy’s lead. “I have heard about this grand affair. Do tell me more.”

Darcy nodded as though Fitzwilliam’s response was natural. “Sir Thomas has been most generous in offering Netherfield for the occasion. It shall be a truly splendid evening. Music, dancing, a grand supper—every detail carefully considered.”

Fitzwilliam took a long sip of his ale, his eyes narrowing slightly at Darcy over the rim of the mug. “And the company, I imagine, will be equally delightful.”

“Indeed,” Darcy said smoothly. “The ladies of Meryton are quite remarkable.”

Fitzwilliam nearly choked on his drink. “Remarkable, are they?”

“The prettiest and most agreeable ladies you ever met.” Darcy’s eyes met his cousin’s, the faintest flicker of warning passing between them. Fitzwilliam cleared his throat and composed himself. “Yes, I suppose they must be.”

Darcy tilted his head as though pondering his cousin’s words. “You shall see for yourself, Fitzwilliam. I daresay you may find the evening… enlightening.”

Fitzwilliam’s face warmed with suppressed amusement, but he gave a short nod. “I am sure I shall.”

Their conversation continued in this vein, carefully measured yet loud enough to carry to the nearby tables. Darcy noticed the glances exchanged among the other patrons, their curiosity growing with every word. By the time they left the Golden Fox, he felt confident their mission had been successful.

“ Y ou are a puzzling creature, Darcy. If I did not know better, I might think you enjoyed our little display.”

“Hardly,” Darcy replied. “It was necessary.”

“Necessary, was it? Well, whatever it was, you should do it more often. It suits you.”

Darcy ignored the jibe as they entered Netherfield house. Roberts greeted them in the hall and directed them toward the drawing room where Sir Thomas awaited. Darcy stepped inside first, his gaze immediately seeking the baronet, who sat by the hearth with an open book in his lap.

“Fitzwilliam!” Sir Thomas exclaimed, rising with a broad smile. “It has been far too long. A colonel now, eh? Who the devil thought to promote you?”

“Sir Thomas,” Fitzwilliam laughed, stepping forward to clasp the older man’s hand. “I would say you are a sight for sore eyes, but I fear my own appearance might be the more pitiable.”

“Nonsense,” Sir Thomas said with a chuckle. “You look well, my boy. And your presence here is most welcome.”

The door opened again, and Bingley strode in, shrugging into his coat as he entered. “Ah, Darcy, there you are! I was beginning to think you two would never return. What, did Fitzwilliam’s carriage take a wrong turn?”

“Bingley,” Darcy said, his brow furrowing. “What is the rush?”

Bingley paused, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Do not tell me you have forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“Dinner at Longbourn, of course,” Bingley said, his grin widening. “We are expected shortly. Do hurry, Darcy—we cannot afford to keep the ladies waiting.”

Darcy froze, a mixture of surprise and something perilously close to anticipation washing over him. Dinner at Longbourn? He had not been informed.

Bingley gave him a knowing look, one that seemed to say, I planned this, and you will thank me later. Darcy sighed inwardly but reached for his own coat.

“Very well,” he said. “Come along, Richard. Let us be off.”

E lizabeth crossed the room in restless strides, her gaze darting toward the window before she turned back to Jane, who sat at the dressing table adjusting the ribbons in her hair.

“Lizzy, if you do not stop pacing, you may find yourself with nothing left to tread on.”

Elizabeth paused mid-step and raised a brow. “I had not realized my movements were so disruptive.”

“They are not disruptive,” Jane replied, her hands stilling for a moment. “They are… telling.”

“Telling?” Elizabeth echoed, crossing her arms. “I am merely passing the time until dinner. Shall I sit and wait in silence instead?”

Jane turned to face her, one corner of her mouth lifting ever so slightly. “You are waiting for more than dinner, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth blinked. “For the company, perhaps. That is natural.”

“For Mr. Darcy,” Jane said matter-of-factly.

Elizabeth pressed her lips together, but Jane’s knowing look did not waver. With a sigh, she sat down on the edge of her bed. “Is it so obvious?”

“To me? Yes,” Jane replied. “But I know you best. So, tell me—are you falling in love with him?”

Elizabeth’s cheeks heated. She hesitated, then gave a small, reluctant nod. “I think… perhaps I am.”

Jane’s face brightened, though she wisely refrained from any exclamation. “And why do you think so?”

She chewed her lower lip as her eyes squinted in thought. “He is kind, though he takes great care to disguise it. Thoughtful, though he says little. And I admire how sure he is, Jane. He knows who he is and what he stands for, and he… well, I suppose he does exactly as he pleases, but what he ‘pleases’ to do is good.”

Jane smiled, leaning forward slightly. “Then you approve of his character as well as his wealth?”

“Oh, bother! You know very well I care nothing for that.”

“Well, you should. ‘Twould be a fearful shame if you fell for a man who had not two pence to rub together.”

Elizabeth sighed. “What I mean, Jane, is that when I first met Mr. Darcy, I had set him far from my mind. He was amusing to flirt with, but it was nothing serious. I thought such a man could have no possible interest in…” She looked down at her hands. “Well. Perhaps he still does not. And I could hardly blame him, of course, but I am gratified that he has taken such an interest in Sir Thomas’s predicament.”

Jane crossed her legs and leaned back primly against her vanity. “Ah, she finally admits it! I told you, Aunt and I had a terribly useful idea, putting Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy in the way of learning about Netherfield. You cannot accuse us of doing anything more than leading the horses to water, Lizzy. It was up to them to drink, and so they did.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I think, rather, that you employed hefty doses of both guilt and temptation, but so far, the gentlemen have made no objection.”

“Mark my words; they have no intention of doing so.”

“Oh? What makes you so sure?”

Jane blushed and fought back a giggle. “You cannot ask me to say.”

Elizabeth arched a brow. “What? Has Mr. Bingley told you something? You do appear to be in his confidence.”

Jane’s mouth dropped open in sheepish denial. “But it was not only what he said, though. I am not blind, Lizzy, and neither is anyone else. It seems to me that Mr. Darcy is rather captivated by you.”

Elizabeth blinked, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Do not be absurd, Jane.”

“I am not,” Jane insisted. “He watches you, Lizzy. Not in the way some men do, with idle interest or fleeting admiration. He observes you as if he is memorizing everything you do. It is as though he wants to understand every part of you.”

Elizabeth’s her heart quickened, though she shook her head. “You imagine things.”

“I do not,” Jane said firmly. “I think Mr. Darcy admires you deeply. And if you would let yourself believe it, you might see it too.”

Elizabeth could not bring herself to answer. A quiet thrill ran through her at Jane’s words, but she tempered it with caution. Hope, she knew, was a precarious thing.

T he faint jingle of carriage bells outside drew Elizabeth’s attention from the bouquet she was arranging. Jane, beside her, adjusted a stray ribbon on the mantle garland, pausing when the noise grew closer.

“That must be them,” Jane said, smoothing her gown and casting a glance at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth met her sister’s gaze with a smile she could hardly restrain before following their mother toward the front door. As the door opened, the sight of Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and a man Elizabeth had not met filled the threshold.

Darcy inclined his head politely, stepping aside to gesture to his companion. “Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth. Forgive me for the last-minute addition to the party, but may I introduce my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed with a warm smile. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”

Mrs. Bennet curtsied deeply, her face lighting with eagerness. “Oh, a pleasure, Colonel! No surprise, sir, at all, for Mr. Bingley informed us this very morning that you were expected. Oh, my heavens, how well you look in your regimentals! I always said it was patriotic—yes, yes, patriotic to think a man looks at least ten times handsomer in a red coat.”

Oh, good heavens . Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek as Kitty and Lydia practically spilled forward in unison, their wide eyes fixed on the Colonel. They were about to start drooling.

“Come in, come in!” Mrs. Bennet insisted. “The weather has been so wretched, and you must be chilled. We have a fire in the drawing room—and refreshments, of course.”

Mr. Bennet appeared in the hallway, his hand resting on the doorframe as his sharp gaze swept over the new arrival. “Ah, so this is the famous Colonel Fitzwilliam. Welcome, sir. I trust my wife has not overwhelmed you already.”

The colonel laughed, his voice rich and warm. “Not in the least, Mr. Bennet. Your hospitality is most appreciated.”

Darcy stepped forward then, his eyes flicking to Elizabeth for a fleeting moment before turning to address Mr. Bennet. “I trust we are not arriving too early?”

“Not at all,” Mr. Bennet replied. “Though I would suggest you pace yourselves—Mrs. Bennet’s enthusiasm knows no bounds.”

“Oh, Mr. Bennet! You do tease me so.” Mrs. Bennet protested, though her indignation was clearly for show. She turned back to Colonel Fitzwilliam with a dazzling smile. “Please, you must tell us more about your regiment! My daughters have such a keen interest in all matters military.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled graciously, though he seemed to sense the trap. “Perhaps after dinner,” he said. “I find such tales are best accompanied by good wine.”

Elizabeth’s gaze shifted to Mr. Darcy, who was studying the exchange with what looked like a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. She tilted her head slightly, catching his eye just as he turned toward her.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “I trust you have been well since last we met?”

She curtsied lightly. “Quite well, thank you, Mr. Darcy. And you?”

“Perfectly, thank you.”

That seemed to be an intimate conversation for Mr. Darcy—at least, as intimate as he would permit in public. His eyes, though—she had learned a little of how to read them now, and there was a sort of sweetness there that she could swear had kindled only when he spoke to her. Perhaps Jane was right…

Before she could say more, Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands, ushering everyone toward the drawing room. “Come, gentlemen, come! There is tea waiting, and we cannot have you standing in the cold hallway like beggars.”

Elizabeth lingered a step behind the group, her thoughts catching briefly on Mr. Darcy’s expression. It had been so brief, but she could have sworn there was something unspoken in his gaze—something that lingered with her even as they entered the warmth of the drawing room for drinks before dinner.

L ater, as they were called into the dining room, Elizabeth found herself next to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Darcy, she noticed with a pang of sympathy, had escorted her mother to her seat and was now ensnared at the other end of the table. Mama was already chattering at him about goodness-knew-what, but he seemed to bear it all with polite endurance.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Colonel Fitzwilliam began, lifting his glass faintly in polite deference. “It must be quite a change, having my cousin and Mr. Bingley descend upon your corner of the world.”

Elizabeth glanced toward Mr. Darcy, who appeared entirely absorbed by her mother’s detailed account of Mary’s musical talents. A faint smile touched her lips. “Change is seldom unwelcome, Colonel, provided it is of a tolerable nature.”

Fitzwilliam chuckled. “And has it been tolerable, then? I admit, my cousin can be a difficult man to pin down in unfamiliar surroundings.”

“Oh, you do him too little credit. Mr. Darcy has been most obliging. Hosting a Christmas party for the entire neighborhood is no small undertaking. One might almost think him determined to charm all of Hertfordshire.”

“Charm?” Fitzwilliam said, raising a brow. “Now, that would be an unexpected endeavor for Darcy.”

Elizabeth’s smile widened. “Would it? You speak as though you doubt his ability.”

“Not his ability,” Fitzwilliam corrected with mock seriousness. “Only his inclination. My cousin is rather particular about the company he keeps.”

“Then I suppose we should all feel honored by his presence,” Elizabeth said lightly, though the glance she cast toward Darcy carried a hint of curiosity.

Fitzwilliam followed her gaze, his expression softening. “Honored, perhaps. But also assured. When Darcy sets his mind to something, you can be certain he will see it through.”

Elizabeth tilted her head. “And what might he have set his mind to here, Colonel?”

Fitzwilliam paused, his fingers tracing the rim of his wineglass. “That,” he said, his tone thoughtful, “is a question best answered by observing him. Darcy’s actions often speak louder than his words, if one knows where to look.”

She regarded him for a moment, intrigued despite herself. Before she could respond, Fitzwilliam’s smile returned, disarming and warm. “But enough about Darcy. Tell me, Miss Elizabeth—what part do you play in this grand endeavor? From all I have heard, your family has been rather instrumental in its success thus far.”

Elizabeth hesitated, caught between amusement and uncertainty. “I would not say instrumental, Colonel. We have merely… lent our assistance where it seemed appropriate.”

“Ah,” Fitzwilliam said with a knowing nod. “Modesty becomes you, Miss Elizabeth. But I suspect there is more to the story than you let on.”

Elizabeth gave a small laugh, shaking her head. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, you are determined to credit me with far more than I deserve. I assure you, my contributions have been quite ordinary.”

“Ordinary?” Fitzwilliam said, a glint of mischief in his eye. “I doubt Darcy would see it that way.”

Something like butterflies tickled her stomach. “And what makes you think Mr. Darcy has taken notice of anything I have done?”

Fitzwilliam grinned. “Because I know my cousin. He has a way of noticing what others overlook. And if he speaks of something—or someone —you can be certain he has considered it carefully.”

“High praise,” Elizabeth said demurely, though her heart was pattering in her ears. Was the colonel talking about her , or his other endeavors? “It is fortunate, then, that he appears to approve of this particular undertaking.”

“Oh, he approves, Miss Elizabeth. In fact, I would venture to say he sees it as more than just a party.” Fitzwilliam leaned back slightly. “My cousin does not take on causes lightly. When he involves himself, it is often with an eye toward a greater purpose.”

Elizabeth’s brows knit faintly. “What purpose could he have here, beyond aiding Sir Thomas and his household?”

Fitzwilliam’s expression grew thoughtful, the humor in his voice giving way to something more measured. “Darcy has ambitions, Miss Elizabeth—though he does not often speak of them openly. For years, he has considered the possibility of public service. I think Bingley first put the idea in his head, but my father also took up the cause. He has been urging him to consider a seat in the House.”

Elizabeth’s fork paused midway to her plate. “Yes, he has spoken of it.”

“He has? Why, that is very interesting, indeed. He must be thinking on it even more seriously than I had realized.”

“Well, I would hardly know, sir. He did speak of it, but with little relish, I thought.”

“Aye, that would be Darcy. More natural gifts and endowments than any one man ought rightly to have, and he hardly likes any of them. But he would be a natural fit in politics, even if he did not care for it. His business acumen, his devotion to his tenants and his family duties, and his ability to manage complex affairs… all of these are qualities that would serve him well in such a role.”

Elizabeth nodded slowly, her fork resting forgotten on her plate. “And what does he hope to accomplish in Parliament?”

Fitzwilliam smiled faintly, leaning back with a comfortable ease. “Ah, Darcy is always on about inequities—how to address them, how to create opportunities for those who have none. It is why this endeavor at Netherfield matters so much to him. If handled well, it could serve as a model for what might be achieved on a broader scale.”

Elizabeth’s stomach twisted, though she kept her expression composed. “A model,” she said softly. “And does he believe the neighborhood will welcome such… innovation?”

“Public opinion is a curious thing, Miss Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam replied, his tone easy but sharp with meaning. “It can be fickle, certainly, but Darcy has a knack for earning respect where it matters. A man like him does not need universal approval—just enough to tip the scales.”

“And those who do not approve?” she asked, her voice quieter now, her thoughts racing.

Fitzwilliam shrugged lightly, the gesture entirely too casual. “They will be won over. Darcy knows how to seize an opportunity, and his name carries weight. His actions speak for themselves.”

“Or,” Elizabeth pressed, her throat tight, “are they framed to speak for themselves?”

“Ah, framing,” Fitzwilliam said, his smile turning wry. “An astute observation, Miss Elizabeth. Humanitarian causes are quite fashionable, you know. They make an excellent platform for a political campaign—provided, to use your own words, they are ‘framed’ correctly.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught. “And what exactly does that entail?”

“The public must feel inspired,” he said matter-of-factly, as though discussing the weather. “A sense of pity. Perhaps moral superiority. Perception is everything, Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth’s gaze flicked toward Darcy. He was nodding politely at her mother, his expression open and attentive, entirely unbothered by Mrs. Bennet’s effusions. He glanced up at Elizabeth, catching her eye for just a moment, and smiled—genuine, unguarded. To Elizabeth, it felt like the twist of a knife.

She turned back to Colonel Fitzwilliam, forcing her voice to remain steady. “And do you believe Mr. Darcy would… frame things correctly?”

Fitzwilliam chuckled lightly. “My cousin is many things, Miss Elizabeth, but he is no fool. He knows how to make an impact.”

Elizabeth’s stomach churned. Was this what Darcy intended? To turn Sir Thomas and the residents of Netherfield into objects of pity, all to serve his own ambitions? The thought filled her with a cold dread.

Her fork clinked softly against her plate as she set it down. Darcy caught her eye once more, his expression warm and unwittingly disarming. She could not bear to meet it and turned her attention instead to her untouched meal. Fitzwilliam continued speaking, but his words faded into the background, leaving her thoughts to spiral in dismay.

Could she have been so completely wrong about him?