21. Twenty-One

Twenty-One

D arcy stood by the window of his room, his gaze drifting over the snow-covered grounds of Netherfield. He could already imagine the party in full swing: the music, the laughter, the house glowing with warmth and light. The image brightened as his thoughts fixed on Elizabeth Bennet.

He allowed himself a rare indulgence, picturing her beneath the mistletoe, her eyes sparkling with humor and challenge as they so often did. He could almost feel the soft brush of her hand in his, her breath warm against his cheek as he leaned in to…

He stopped himself. His imagination was dangerous territory, but the thought refused to be banished entirely. The vision deepened, becoming more than the fleeting joy of a Christmas kiss.

What if this was not just a moment? What if this was a beginning? The idea stirred something primal, something that had been growing quietly since he first saw her wit flash like lightning across a room. What would it be like to have Elizabeth as a permanent fixture in his life—not just for a night, but for all the nights to come?

It was a notion that had become his muse over the last days—the delirious intoxicant that made his blood heat and his stomach flip in the sort of anticipation he had not known in years. He just needed to speak to her—to learn her feelings and confess his own.

That, however, had been the problem. He could not very well haunt her drawing room. This present circumstance had offered all manner of opportunities to be in company with the Bennets, but over the past days, Darcy had only seen the father. And he had said nothing of his second daughter in Darcy’s hearing.

But surely, there was nothing to concern himself about. She was not a fickle woman—of that, he felt sure. Just a matter of poor timing, of too many things happening. He would have the pleasure of her company again soon enough. And hopefully soon, he could speak to her about making that permanent.

His mind turned, almost reflexively, to Georgiana. Would she like Elizabeth? He could not imagine otherwise. Elizabeth’s charm and warmth would be the perfect complement to Georgiana’s youth and inexperience, drawing her out, encouraging her, making her laugh. The thought made him smile—a rare, unguarded smile—and with it came a sudden resolve.

Georgiana must attend the party.

It was not merely a whim; it was a certainty. Elizabeth must meet Georgiana, and Georgiana must see the woman who had captivated him so thoroughly. But his smile faded as he considered the complications. Georgiana’s reputation was delicate, especially with her debut at court looming next year. Would it be unwise to bring her to Netherfield, given the whispers surrounding Sir Thomas’s household?

But then again, if this party was not respectable enough for his sister, then it was a sham. Everything he had been working toward would be meaningless. He could write to Georgiana and explain everything, but words on a page would not suffice. No, he would have speak to her in person while he was in London, escort her back himself. She deserved to hear it all in detail from him, and he trusted her judgment enough to let her decide.

The sound of sleigh bells outside broke his reverie. Darcy moved to the window, his breath misting the chilled glass as he watched a sleigh come to a halt in the drive. Mr. Bennet stepped down first, brushing snow from his coat, followed by Miss Bennet, her pale face framed by the fur-trimmed hood of her cloak. Darcy’s gaze swept the sleigh once, then again, and his breath hitched—Elizabeth was not there.

His brows drew together. Where was she? A dull weight settled in his stomach, disappointment sharper than he expected. For a moment, he remained by the window, composing himself, before striding purposefully down the stairs and toward the drawing room, his boots echoing softly against the polished floor. Through the open door, he saw Sir Thomas standing near the hearth, flanked by Mr. Bennet and Miss Bennet. A stack of papers rested in Miss Bennet’s hands, and she was speaking quietly as he stepped into the room.

“Thank you for bringing the finalized guest list,” Sir Thomas said, inclining his head toward Mr. Bennet. “Mrs. Bennet’s contributions, I assume, were… enthusiastic?”

Miss Bennet’s hands tightened slightly on the papers. “Very much so. She regrets not coming herself. I—I believe she is presently taking tea with my Aunt Philips.”

“And no doubt planning all manner of frivolity. You may want to rethink the… er… expenses you had decided to authorize, Mr. Bingley… and Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy approached, nodding briefly to the group. “Miss Bennet. Mr. Bennet. I trust the journey was not too uncomfortable?”

Miss Bennet glanced at him, her eyes meeting his for the briefest moment before darting away. “Not at all, Mr. Darcy. Though the roads are still a bit uneven.”

Darcy frowned slightly. Her complexion was pale, and her voice—though calm—carried a hint of strain. As she handed the papers to Sir Thomas, Darcy caught Bingley’s eye. His friend’s usual brightness was muted, his brow furrowed in what Darcy could only describe as concern.

“Have you reviewed the list already?” Bingley asked Miss Bennet, stepping closer. His tone was light, but the way his gaze lingered on her face betrayed his deeper thoughts.

“I have,” she replied, offering a faint smile. “I believe it is in good order, though Mama may still try to add a name or two before the day of the party.”

Sir Thomas chuckled, though his attention flickered briefly to Darcy. “A list in flux, then. Well, I trust we can accommodate whatever changes come.”

Miss Bennet glanced quickly at Bingley, murmuring something Darcy couldn’t catch. Bingley’s brows lifted slightly, and he turned to Darcy with a deliberate air. “Would you care to review the list, Darcy?” he asked. “Sir Thomas and I could use your input on the final numbers.”

“Of course,” Darcy said, stepping closer. As Sir Thomas handed him the papers, he noticed Bingley’s sidelong glance at Miss Bennet. Darcy’s curiosity burned, but propriety held his tongue.

The conversation carried on with details of the party’s logistics, but Darcy’s thoughts remained elsewhere. Miss Bennet kept avoiding his gaze, her tension evident despite her outward composure. And Elizabeth—her absence loomed over the exchange like a shadow. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand, though the questions churned relentlessly in his mind.

When the discussion concluded, Darcy caught Mr. Bennet watching him again, his gaze sharp but unreadable. Bingley lingered for a moment as the Bennets prepared to leave, his shoulders tight with some sort of anxiousness as he hovered near the lady. Darcy bid them farewell with the requisite politeness but could not bring himself to stand at the door to watch as they plunged into the cold.

Instead, he hurried back into his room and leaned on the window sash, gazing to the north, toward Longbourn. Something was amiss, and every instinct in him screamed that all was not right with Elizabeth.

S carcely ten minutes later came the knock at the door, and he did not even need to wonder who it was. “Come in,” he called.

Bingley entered, his manner roughened by an edge of urgency. “Darcy,” he began, running a hand through his hair, “we have a problem.”

Darcy straightened, his entire body going rigid. “What is it?”

Bingley’s face was a mixture of frustration and guilt. “It’s Miss Elizabeth. She’s gone to London.”

Darcy blinked, the words hitting him like a slap. “London? What do you mean she’s gone to London?”

“This morning. Miss Bennet told me. She left rather suddenly, it seems, without much of an explanation.”

Darcy stared, his mind refusing to process what he was hearing. “Without—what reason did she give?”

Bingley hesitated, and Darcy had scarcely ever seen his friend looking so pale. “Apparently, none that satisfied her family. Something about the Gardiners hosting a Christmas party for his business partners… you see, nothing so very urgent, but she insisted on going to help. Miss Bennet said they tried every possible measure to convince her to stay.”

Darcy’s voice sharpened. “Every possible measure? What does that mean?”

“Well…” Bingley looked sheepish. “Miss Bennet even told her sister that we were engaged.”

Darcy’s head jerked back, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Engaged? What nonsense is this, Bingley?”

“No, no, not engaged,” Bingley clarified hastily, raising his hands as though warding off an attack. “Not exactly. But she might have implied we were… courting.”

“Courting,” Darcy repeated flatly. “She implied it? To Miss Elizabeth?”

“Yes,” Bingley admitted, his face coloring in irregular blotches. “It was a desperate attempt, you see. Miss Bennet thought if Elizabeth saw others embracing happiness, she might reconsider… whatever it is she’s trying to run from.”

“And…” Darcy stalked closer to Bingley, inspecting his friend closely—every nervous twitch and uneven breath. “… did this supposed announcement come as a surprise to you?”

Bingley swallowed and slipped a finger under the edge of his cravat. “Ah… no. Well, the timing, surely. We had not thought matters would spiral so quickly, but we did speak of… that.”

“You spoke of marriage to each other, or simply the prospect of persuading Miss Elizabeth, and…” Darcy arched a brow and pointed at his own chest.

Bingley gulped. “A bit of both, but… m-more the latter.”

“More the…” Darcy’s outrage surged. “So, let me understand this correctly. You and Miss Bennet devised some scheme to manipulate her sister’s feelings—and mine—by fabricating a courtship?”

Bingley flushed deeper, shifting uncomfortably. “It wasn’t like that, Darcy. We thought it might encourage her, that’s all.”

Darcy’s laugh was short and humorless. “ Encourage her? With a lie that could very well damage Miss Bennet’s reputation if word got out? Or were you planning to make this pretense a reality?”

Bingley opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly caught off guard. Finally, he muttered, “I’ve been considering it.”

Darcy’s brows shot up. “Considering it? You had bloody well better be doing more than considering it!”

“I am!” Bingley snapped, his tone defensive now. “I’ve thought of little else, in fact! But I hadn’t planned to act so soon, and certainly not under these circumstances.”

Darcy let out a sharp breath and paced toward the window, his boots thudding against the wooden floor. The snow-covered grounds outside looked pristine, untouched, and offered no solace for the chaos in his mind. He turned back to Bingley, his anger not yet spent.

“And why,” Darcy demanded, “were you and Miss Bennet so determined to push Elizabeth toward me? Was it your idea or hers?”

Bingley hesitated, his expression a mix of guilt and defensiveness. “Miss Bennet might have suggested it first. She said her sister has always been difficult to please and that no man she has met has ever measured up. She…” He cleared his throat and shifted uneasily. “She—Miss Bennet, that is—she even said that Miss Elizabeth f-f…”

“Go on. You have got this far,” Darcy snapped testily.

Bingley cleared his throat again. “Well, Miss Bennet had a rather serious suitor once. She said she fancied him herself, though it was little more than a girlish intrigue, but—”

“I think I know where this is going, but you are not making a strong case.”

“No, no, hang on. This fellow even wrote Miss Bennet some very fine poetry, but Miss Elizabeth thought him a worthless cad, and fairly ran him off before he could declare himself. And since then, she has scarcely let another man near her sister.”

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “Either Miss Elizabeth has just risen again in my esteem, or you have just been subject to the worst fleecing I ever heard. You honestly believed the lady when she told you all this?”

“Miss Bennet had nothing to conceal,” Bingley retorted hotly. “She wants nothing but happiness, for herself as well as her sister. But knowing her sister as she does, she has come to believe that unless Miss Elizabeth can be induced to fall in love herself, she will never credit that others might do the same. But up until now, no man has ever caught the lady’s attention, much less her regard. Miss Bennet thought you might be the one exception.”

Darcy’s mouth ran dry—not from disbelief, but from the blunt openness of what Bingley was saying. “And you agreed with her?”

“Yes,” Bingley said, his tone softening. “Because it’s true—for you as well as for her. Darcy, in the weeks we’ve been here, I’ve seen you laugh more, smile more, live more than I ever have before. And it’s because of her. She’s good for you. You know it, and I know it.”

Darcy stared at his friend, his emotions warring between indignation and the undeniable truth in Bingley’s words. “And what about Elizabeth? Did it occur to either of you that she might not appreciate being maneuvered like a pawn in your matchmaking efforts?”

Bingley winced but did not back down. “We thought she might need a nudge. That’s all. But clearly… something went wrong.”

Darcy’s gaze turned distant as he pieced together the fragments of the puzzle. Wrong? That was putting it only mildly. Indeed, something had gone wrong—horribly, painfully wrong—and now Elizabeth was gone. He clenched his fists. “I’m going to London.”

Bingley blinked, startled. “To find her?”

“To fix this,” Darcy said, his tone clipped and final. “Whatever misunderstanding has driven her away, I will not let it stand.”

Bingley let out a breath, relief flickering in his expression. “Then I suppose I’d better wish you luck.”

Darcy’s lips tightened, but he said nothing more. His thoughts were already in London, with Elizabeth, determined to set things right.

E lizabeth Bennet bustled about the Gardiners’ drawing room, her hands full with a tangle of ribbons. “Aunt, are you certain we have enough? We could order more before tomorrow.”

Mrs. Gardiner glanced up from the sprig of holly she was affixing to a centerpiece. “We are perfectly well-supplied, my dear. And you are entirely too industrious for a girl on holiday. Surely, you ought to rest.”

Elizabeth gave a forced laugh, her fingers nimbly arranging the ribbons into a neat bow. “I find I prefer to be busy.”

Her aunt’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly. “You have not mentioned the Netherfield party once since you arrived. Tell me, is everything in order for it?”

Elizabeth’s stomach lurched, but she immediately forced a smile. “Oh, I am sure they have it well in hand. Jane has such a knack for these things, and Mr. Bingley is… quite enthusiastic.”

“Only Mr. Bingley?” she asked with a knowing look. “What about—”

Elizabeth was already bracing for her aunt’s inevitable question when the butler appeared at the door.

“Forgive me, Mrs. Gardiner, Miss Bennet. A caller has arrived and asking for Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth frowned, setting aside the ribbons. “A caller? For me?”

“Yes, miss. Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth’s heart skipped painfully, her hands freezing mid-motion. She managed a weak “Oh.”

Her aunt’s brows lifted in surprise, but a sly glint entered her eyes as she rose to her feet. “Well, well. Speak of the devil.”

Devil… hardly a devil. But certainly, no angel, either. Elizabeth swallowed and barely had time to swipe trembling hands over her flaming cheeks before the door opened, and there he was. Tall… impeccably dressed, as always, but for that one curl of hair that liked to fall over his forehead… eyes searing and searching, and hands flexing uncomfortably at his sides, but anyone who did not know him well would never be looking at his hands.

Darcy stepped into the room with the kind of quiet authority that seemed to shift the very air around him. His gaze swept the space once before landing back on her, and the weight of it sent a rush of heat to her belly.

He inclined his head, his movements as deliberate and composed, but it was the way he held himself—contained, yet undeniably present—that left Elizabeth’s pulse racing. She couldn’t have moved if she tried; every muscle seemed caught between the urge to flee and an unfamiliar desire to tumble into his arms and pillow her head on his chest.

“Miss Elizabeth.”

“Mr. Darcy.” How she managed to keep her voice from cracking was a mystery, for her heart was a riot.

Darcy’s eyes seemed to clear all at once, as if he had forgot her aunt was there, too. He drew in a breath and turned. “And Mrs. Gardiner. Thank you for receiving me just now.”

Mrs. Gardiner’s curious gaze flickered between them. “Mr. Darcy, how lovely to see you again.” she said briskly. “But I am afraid I was just stepping out to speak with my cook about an urgent question she had. I shan’t be more than a few minutes. Elizabeth, dear, would you entertain Mr. Darcy for a moment?”

Elizabeth turned to her aunt, mortified. “Aunt!”

“I shall not be long,” Mrs. Gardiner said with a pointed smile, sweeping out of the room and leaving the door ajar just enough for propriety.

Darcy watched her leave, his brow furrowing slightly before he turned back to Elizabeth. “I apologize for arriving unannounced.”

Elizabeth swallowed, willing her voice not to shake. “It is quite unexpected. What brings you to London, Mr. Darcy?”

He hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully. “A number of things, but perhaps first of my concerns is my sister. She is staying with our aunt and uncle for the season. I came to escort her to Netherfield.”

Elizabeth’s brow arched. “Your aunt and uncle—the Earl and Countess of Matlock?”

“Yes,” Darcy said, a note of confusion in his voice. “Why do you ask?”

Elizabeth’s pulse hammered in her ears. “No reason,” she said tightly, her thoughts spinning. So, this was the uncle in the House of Lords, the one Colonel Fitzwilliam had implied would play a role in Darcy’s supposed ambitions. And Darcy had come to town expressly to call at their home.

Darcy went on, his tone casual. “I expect an… interesting conversation with my uncle when I see him. Matters should be settled soon enough. And I had some other arrangements to see to—some of which, I had hoped to discuss with you.”

Elizabeth’s hands clenched at her sides. Rage and hurt surged through her, sharp and unrelenting. So, it was true. Darcy did mean to exploit Netherfield’s residents for his political gain. Fitzwilliam’s hints had been no exaggeration. And worse, he wanted her to be a party to it all!

Her throat felt tight, but she forced her words out. “I am sorry to hear I shall miss the Christmas party. I am sure it will go splendidly.”

Darcy’s brows drew together in confusion. “Miss it? You cannot mean—”

“I shall be staying in London,” Elizabeth interrupted, her voice brittle. “I… expect I shall see you at the wedding.”

Darcy’s face hardened, dismay flickering briefly before it gave way to something sharper. “The wedding? If you mean your sister’s supposed ‘engagement’ to Bingley, I must correct you. At the time she said it, it was untrue.”

Elizabeth stared at him. “‘At the time’?”

Darcy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It may not remain untrue for long. I would not be surprised if Bingley proposes any day now. But Miss Bennet only said what she did in the hope of encouraging you toward your own happiness.”

Elizabeth’s heart gave a great pang, her anger mingling with something more complicated—something she did not want to name. Darcy’s gaze pinned her in place, and for a moment, she thought she might drown in the intensity of it.

“I…” she stammered, searching for something, anything, to say. But all that came was a whispered, “ Why ?”

His expression softened, the harsh edges of his features melting into something achingly sincere. “Because, Miss Elizabeth, your happiness matters.”

Her breath faltered, his words piercing through the guarded thoughts she clung to. His gaze held hers with a quiet force, as if he were reaching out to touch something deeper within her—something that had broken that night at dinner, over Colonel Fitzwilliam’s boasts.

She turned away abruptly, her hands trembling. “I… wish you success with the party, Mr. Darcy. And with all your other… endeavors. Now, if you will excuse me.”

“So…” She heard him sigh so deeply that she could almost swear the buttons on his waistcoat were straining. “You will say nothing? No acknowledgment, no recriminations? We were friends, I thought.”

Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut until a tear leaked out. “Yes,” she whispered.

“And was I imagining it, or could we have been… something more?”

Her throat ached, and her chest trembled. She dared not speak—she could only clap a hand to her mouth as her head bowed and her shoulders quaked.

“I see.” Another heavy sigh. “May I ask, Miss Elizabeth, what has changed? Have I offended you somehow? Please, tell me so that I may put it right.”

She opened her mouth and had to force the sound out. “I—I would not have you alter… anything, sir. You must do as you feel fitting, and I must do the same.”

There was a pause, during which Elizabeth could no longer avoid looking at him. She risked a glance over her shoulder, and his face… it was stricken. Ghostly and agonized, with tears glittering just at the corners of his eyes. She looked swiftly away.

“I… I do not understand. Elizabeth, please, I—”

She turned back, pasting a smile on her face. “You should go, sir. I would hate for you to miss your appointment with the Earl of Matlock.”

Darcy said nothing for a long moment. Then, softly, “Of course. Good day, Miss Elizabeth.”

She did not look back as he left, but the sound of his retreating footsteps echoed long after he had gone.