22. Twenty-Two

Twenty-Two

T he carriage rattled to a halt outside Matlock House, its grand facade rising against the bleak London sky and its stately windows gleaming in the gray light. He stared out the window, his thoughts a tangled, oppressive web.

What had he done wrong?

Darcy stepped down before the footman could offer assistance, his boots striking the pavement with a resolute thud. The crisp air stung his cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the sharp ache in his chest.

Elizabeth’s voice played in his mind, each clipped word and guarded look a dagger twisting deeper. He adjusted his coat as he ascended the steps, the bitter taste of failure lashing at his mind. Where had everything gone so wrong? He had thought—foolishly, perhaps—that they had begun to understand one another. More than understood—that they just might be two halves of the same whole.

But her withdrawal, her coldness… it was as if a door had been slammed in his face, and he could not see how to open it again.

He hesitated at the door, his gloved hand hovering over the knocker. For a fleeting moment, he considered turning back, coming again another day. What could he possibly say to his uncle or his sister when his thoughts were so wholly consumed by her? But retreating now was unthinkable. He took a breath and knocked firmly.

The butler opened the door, bowing slightly. “Mr. Darcy. Welcome.”

Darcy nodded curtly, stepping inside. The warmth of the grand entry hall did little to thaw the cold knot in his chest. His uncle’s townhouse was immaculate, as always, but the opulence grated on him today. The world of polished marble and gilded mirrors felt shallow, false, after the authentic sense of home he had found in Hertfordshire.

Or thought he had found.

As the butler took his hat and coat, Darcy cast a glance toward the staircase. He could already hear voices drifting from the drawing room. One of them—his aunt’s familiar tones—carried an unmistakable note of inquiry. He squared his shoulders and followed the butler toward the sound.

“Darcy,” Lady Matlock said as she rose from the settee, her tone clipped, her keen gaze sweeping over him. “You look thinner. Are you eating properly?”

Darcy inclined his head politely. “Aunt.”

Lady Matlock gestured for Darcy to take a seat, her sharp gaze fixed on him as though trying to uncover his purpose. “We were not expecting you. I trust this is not merely a social call.”

Darcy inclined his head, settling into the chair opposite her. “It is not. I came to speak with Georgiana—and with you, Aunt.”

Her brows lifted faintly, though her expression remained imperious. “Georgiana? What could be so pressing that it requires you to appear unannounced? We heard you were in Hertfordshire at… some house.” The curl of her lip was impossible to miss.

Darcy hesitated, briefly running a hand along the armrest as he considered his words. “I was, and I am returning as soon as I have finished some other business here in Town. I wish to invite her to join me in Hertfordshire for the rest of the festive season.”

Lady Matlock’s lips thinned, and she straightened in her seat. “Hertfordshire? Whatever for? I have heard whispers about this Netherfield—what on earth are you doing there?”

Darcy met her gaze. “I am hosting a Christmas gathering. It is an endeavor involving Sir Thomas and his household. I suppose you do remember Sir Thomas.”

She released a sigh. “I remember what Richard told me of him.”

“He may have saved your son’s life, and mine. At the very least, he spared us months of imprisonment in a French gaol—a penalty he bore, himself, in our place.”

“You needn’t belabor the point, Darcy. We sent him a handsome gift, but that was eight years ago. What shall we do now? Laud every odd whim the man takes upon himself? This… this scandal—”

“—Is nothing more than the world turning its back. But Sir Thomas did not. I believe what he is doing to be worthwhile, and I would like Georgiana to be part of it.”

Her silence stretched for a moment before she leaned back slightly, one hand lifting to adjust a fold of her sleeve. “And you imagine it is appropriate for a girl of Georgiana’s standing, on the cusp of her presentation, to immerse herself in such… peculiar company?”

Darcy’s jaw tightened. “If this gathering is unfit for Georgiana, then it is unfit for anyone. I would not ask her to come if I believed it would harm her in any way. On the contrary, I think it will be good for her—to see such kindness and resilience firsthand, and to take part in something meaningful.”

Lady Matlock’s gaze narrowed. “And you have decided all of this without so much as a letter to inform me? You might at least have spared me the shock.”

“I thought it best to speak in person. I wanted to explain my reasoning and ensure Georgiana has a choice in the matter.”

Lady Matlock studied him. “A choice, is it? You think a girl of her age would refuse her brother when he appears so set on this whim of his? And what of her reputation, Fitzwilliam? Have you considered the scrutiny she might face?”

“I have,” Darcy replied firmly. “And I trust Georgiana’s strength of character to rise above it.”

“Rise above it? That scandal-ridden den of misfortune?” Her voice dropped as if the very word might summon some dreadful specter. “Your uncle is appalled, and I cannot say I disagree. You risk your reputation— and our reputation—with this folly.”

Darcy stood taller, his voice measured. “What I risk, Aunt, is my own. Not yours, nor my uncle’s.”

“Is that so?” she shot back. “Do you truly believe you can shield this family from the consequences of your actions? You have always been stubborn, Fitzwilliam, but this… this is madness. If you have any sense left, you will leave the whole wretched business behind and focus on your future.”

“My future is precisely what concerns me,” Darcy replied. “And I intend to shape it with purpose.”

Her jaw hardened. “I can hardly refuse you, Darcy, but I must demand that you reconsider.”

“Ask her,” he insisted, “to speak with me privately, Aunt. I have considered, and I find this to be in her best interests.”

“A fine sentiment, but how does this reflect on Georgiana? You are asking her to mingle with these… projects of Sir Thomas, while risking the opinions of any reputable families present. She is to make her debut next year, Fitzwilliam. This could very well tarnish her standing.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened, but he did not rise to the bait. “It is Christmas. And they are but people, Aunt, just as you and I are. People who have been dealt harsh blows and deserve compassion, not judgment.”

“Compassion,” she echoed dryly. “A sentiment best saved for decent people who will actually feel the honor of it.”

Darcy’s blood heated. After the confusion with Elizabeth, the crushing of the only hope that had inspired his heart in… well, in far too long… this was all too much. “Aunt, I will brook no disputes on the matter. Please ask my sister to come down.”

Lady Matlock’s ample breast rose in a resigned sigh. “You are your father’s son in all the ways I least expected, Fitzwilliam. He would never have dreamed of such… audacity. Very well, speak to her. But do not say I did not warn you.”

D arcy turned at the sound of footsteps, and a flicker of warmth crossed his face as Georgiana entered. She hesitated on the threshold, her hands loosely clasped, her expression an uncertain mix of curiosity and delight.

“Brother?” she said, her voice lifting slightly. “I did not know you were here!”

Darcy rose, crossing the room to greet her. “Georgiana. I came because I have a matter to discuss with you.” He glanced toward Lady Matlock, who watched with narrowed eyes, then back at his sister. “Would you sit with me?”

Georgiana’s brows knit slightly, but she nodded and took a place on the settee. Darcy sat beside her, his posture relaxed yet deliberate, as if willing her to feel at ease.

“Bingley and I have been staying in Hertfordshire, at Netherfield Park, for some weeks now,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “It is a house with an unusual history—one tied to a man whose courage and selflessness have saved lives, including my own.”

Georgiana’s eyes widened slightly. “Yes, you wrote something of that. You met Sir Thomas again?”

“Yes.” Darcy inclined his head. “He has taken in people in need, offering them safety and a chance to rebuild. Bingley and I have been assisting him with an effort to unite his household with the surrounding community.” He paused. “And I would like you to join me there for Christmas.”

Georgiana’s lips parted in surprise. “Join you? At Netherfield?” She glanced at her aunt, who was already stiffening in her chair. Then she turned back to him, her expression guarded. “But why me? What could I possibly contribute?”

“Your presence, for one,” Darcy said gently. “You have a gift for making people feel at ease, Georgiana. And I believe you would find it as enriching as I have.”

Lady Matlock let out a derisive sniff. “Enriching? Georgiana, I must remind you that you are to make your debut next year. Fitzwilliam, desist from this nonsense. Do you honestly think mingling with such company will elevate her standing?”

Darcy’s gaze hardened, but his voice remained even. “If Georgiana wishes to decline, she is free to do so. But I will not have her pressured into a decision by fear of appearances.”

Georgiana hesitated, her eyes darting between them. “Will it… will it cause harm to your plans if I refuse?” she asked, her voice soft.

Darcy leaned forward, meeting her gaze. “Not harm, no. But your presence would mean a great deal—to me and to others.”

Georgiana studied his face for a moment, her expression searching. Slowly, she nodded. “If you believe it is right, then I will come.”

Lady Matlock’s chair creaked as she shifted. “You are making a mistake, Fitzwilliam. Mark my words.”

Darcy stood, offering Georgiana his hand. “Thank you, Aunt. Your hospitality, as always, has been most illuminating.”

Lady Matlock’s lips pursed. “If this folly casts a shadow over her prospects, Fitzwilliam, you will have only yourself to blame.”

Darcy inclined his head, his tone calm but final. “If it does, Aunt, then I will answer for it.” Turning to Georgiana, he added gently, “We will stay at our townhouse for tonight, and possibly tomorrow—depending on how long my other business takes. You will need to have your trunk packed. Ask the maid to assist you. I will wait.”

Georgiana nodded, her eyes flitting nervously between her aunt and her brother before she disappeared down the hall.

Lady Matlock’s gaze bored into Darcy. “This is reckless, even for you.”

“Reckless? No, Lady Matlock. It is deliberate, and not without cause for hope.”

The silence stretched until Georgiana returned, two footmen trailing behind with a heavily laden trunk. Darcy stood, fixing his aunt with a calm but unyielding gaze. “Thank you for your hospitality, Aunt. Please extend my regards to Uncle. I will not be troubling him in his study today.”

Her mouth opened, no doubt to launch another protest, but Darcy’s resolve was set. He took Georgiana’s arm and led her toward the door, their footsteps echoing in the grand hall.

An icy wind was now bristling its way through the London streets, but it was a welcome reprieve from the oppressive stuffiness of Matlock House. He helped Georgiana into the carriage, her fingers trembling lightly against his. Once she was seated, he turned to direct the footman to secure the trunk before climbing in beside her.

He should have spoken to Lord Matlock. Any other day, he would have, but today, he had no words for his uncle. No heart for arguments. All he wanted now was to finish his remaining tasks in London and return to Netherfield. To put things right, if it were even possible.

But as the carriage rolled away, Darcy could not shake the hollow ache that followed him. Without Elizabeth waiting for him when he got back, even his greatest efforts felt incomplete—like the hollow shell of a dream that might never be whole.

E lizabeth fumbled with the teapot, the lid slipping from her fingers and clattering onto the tray. She hissed under her breath, quickly righting it before any tea spilled. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her cup, but even that small motion felt futile. She sank back into the chair by the window, her fingers gripping the fabric of her skirt as if anchoring herself to something solid. Beyond the narrow street below, the world moved on without her, but she could barely make sense of it. Her throat ached, tight with the tears she refused to let fall.

She had barely slept the last two days. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Mr. Darcy standing in the Gardiners’ parlor, his expression so open, so wounded, as though her coldness had struck him like a blow. Could she have been so mistaken in him? Her mind churned. She had always prided herself on her ability to read people, to discern their true natures, but with Darcy…

It did not add up. Everything about his demeanor, his words, his actions—they had all seemed so genuine. And yet… how could a man so accustomed to power and privilege truly understand the feelings of those less fortunate? The temptation of using and manipulating—it had to be second nature to someone like him, as natural as breathing. A man who had never lacked for anything might not even realize how his actions could harm others.

That had to be it. His charm, his gentleness—they were merely tools of a man who always got what he wanted.

But her heart rebelled against her reasoning, whispering that Darcy was different. He had shown her consideration, vulnerability, and even respect. Her! A country girl of small dowry with a family that was sometimes… embarrassing… and an uncle in trade. Most gentlemen of wealth and connections would never even bother to learn her name, but Darcy had sought her out. Seemed to have permitted himself to develop feelings for her.

And now… she might never see him again.

A tear slipped free before she could catch it, and she dashed it away hastily as her aunt entered the room.

Mrs. Gardiner stopped short, her perceptive eyes narrowing as she took in Elizabeth’s forlorn posture. “Lizzy,” she said gently, crossing the room to sit beside her. “What is the matter? Are you unwell?”

Elizabeth shook her head quickly. “No, Aunt. I am quite well.”

Mrs. Gardiner tilted her head, her tone softening. “This would not have anything to do with Mr. Darcy, would it?”

Elizabeth’s breath caught, but she looked away, attempting a laugh. “Mr. Darcy? Why, do I look angry?”

Her aunt reached out, laying a hand over Elizabeth’s. “You cannot fool me, Lizzy. I saw the way he looked at you when he was here. And I saw the way you looked at him. Did something happen?”

Elizabeth shook her head again, this time more forcefully, though her voice trembled. “Sometimes people… they simply change their minds. That is all.”

Mrs. Gardiner regarded her for a long moment, her brows knitting together, but when it became clear Elizabeth would not say more, she sighed and straightened. “Speaking of changing minds…” She hesitated, then added, “Your uncle and I have decided not to host our Christmas party after all.”

Elizabeth turned to her in dismay. “What? Why not?”

Mrs. Gardiner folded her hands in her lap. “Several of Mr. Gardiner’s business partners sent their regrets just yesterday. They have suddenly decided on journeying to the country rather than remaining in London. Without them, the party would feel quite diminished.”

Elizabeth bit her lip. She had been relying on the party as a distraction, something to fill the gaping void in her thoughts where Mr. Darcy had firmly lodged himself. “I see.”

Her aunt gave her a small, apologetic smile. “Do not fret. We have another invitation that promises to be even more festive.”

Elizabeth frowned slightly. “Another invitation?”

Mrs. Gardiner nodded. “A gentleman from the North, a Mr. Broadmere, is presently in London and hosting a ball. Rather suddenly, or so it seems. Your uncle only received the invitation yesterday.”

“Mr. Broadmere?” Elizabeth repeated slowly. “Who is he?”

“His name is familiar, but I confess I do not know him,” her aunt admitted. “I believe he is running as MP for Derbyshire.”

Elizabeth’s heart gave a sudden, uncomfortable flip. “For Derbyshire? Does he mean to challenge Mr. Darcy?”

Mrs. Gardiner blinked in surprise. “Mr. Darcy? Was he planning to run for MP?”

Elizabeth nodded stiffly, her pulse quickening. “He told me so.”

Her aunt frowned thoughtfully. “That would certainly bode ill for Mr. Broadmere. The Darcy name carries considerable weight, and with the Earl of Matlock’s influence as well, it would be a daunting challenge. I wonder why Mr. Broadmere would even consider it. Surely, he must know his chances are slim.”

Elizabeth’s mind raced. “When did Mr. Broadmere announce his candidacy?”

“I believe this ball is his official announcement,” Mrs. Gardiner replied. “As far as I know, it is a recent development.”

The pieces clicked together with startling clarity. Elizabeth’s skin shivered with a deep thrill as realization dawned. If Mr. Broadmere was only now announcing his intentions, it could only mean one thing.

Darcy had withdrawn.

That had to be it! The cryptic visit to his uncle, the darkened sorrow in his eyes when he spoke to her, when he begged for her understanding. Why, she… she had misjudged him!

And she was never so delighted to be wrong in all her life.

She rose quickly, her chair scraping against the floor. “Aunt,” she said, her voice tight, “I need to go home.”

Mrs. Gardiner looked up at her in alarm. “Home? To Longbourn? Lizzy, whatever for?”

Elizabeth’s hands trembled as she reached for the back of her chair to steady herself. “I cannot explain, not yet. Please, Aunt… I must go. Today. Right now!”