Chapter 25

As much as Darcy thrilled to have Elizabeth by his side, her reminder of the upcoming contests was unwelcome. For the hundredth time he wished he had never agreed to any of them in the first place. All it had done was lead to Elizabeth’s injury, display Miss Bingley and Anne’s worst character flaws, and now, pose potential danger for the racers. Since he had already managed two treasured conversations with her without using such ham-handed techniques, he could not recall why it had ever seemed a good idea. He was thankful Elizabeth would not participate in the curricle race, at least, and hopefully Miss Bennet would follow suit—but he had no idea how skilled a driver was Miss Bentley; nor did he think much of Miss Bingley’s proficiency at the reins. But that was the whole point, was it not, of Lady Catherine’s insistence upon the race in the first place? Anne was expert, and would likely beat them all.

“Georgiana asked me if she might participate in the race—she is every bit as good a driver as Anne, probably better, because she is an expert horsewoman as well,” he said to Elizabeth, wishing he had an excuse to take her hand once again. “Her suggestion was that I let her go up against Anne, having the other participants draw straws for her clue if she wins.”

“Will you permit her to do it?”

“If she truly wanted to, I would—but as I pointed out, it would not lessen any risk. Curricle racing is dangerous no matter the venue. No one is likely to withdraw simply because Georgiana participates. This whole stupid event is an attempt by Lady Catherine to flaunt one of Anne’s few proficiencies, allowing her to spend thirty awkward minutes in my company.”

“You do not like this.”

“I do not. But how can I prevent it?” He sighed.

“I really believe you cannot, since your relations are so heavily in favour. Lady Catherine sounded very reasonable in her arguments for it. The earl is not a man easily crossed.”

“I have allowed myself to be henpecked by them all, I am ashamed to admit.”

She laughed, and he could not help feeling better, simply by hearing it.

“Such a vehicle as this provides a wonderful feeling of freedom,” she said, sighing. “I suppose it is very liberating for Miss de Bourgh. I would probably enjoy learning to drive one. Although driving in London would not be nearly so pleasant.”

“Acquiring skill enough to manage the hectic pace of town would take some time,” Darcy agreed. Because he wanted very much to argue with her stated goals of a spinster’s life, he added, “It is nothing like driving in country lanes with country breezes.”

Then again, she had not claimed to want to live in town. More than likely, she would choose a property in a quieter place, perhaps on the other side of England. The idea was unaccountably distressing.

“What do you fear most about the curricle race?”

“A curricle is not a carriage. Even the Berlins—which are smaller, lower, and heavier, than, for instance, this or even Bingley’s curricle—are still much lighter than a typical coach. They are easily manoeuvrable, but it means they are easier to tip than a sturdier vehicle.”

“Surely on a short, straight track with ponies trained to the task, it is not too dangerous. Especially as the ladies, apart from Jane and I, are experienced drivers. Unless Mr Bingley has determined to purposely convince Jane, she will not attempt it.”

“I doubt he would do that. He is not fond of the race idea, either.” He paused, as another notion struck him. “Would she race if Bingley urged her?”

She looked adorably confused at this line of questioning, although he was not even certain why he had asked it.

“Your sister appears so very…self-contained,” he tried to explain. “I hope that you will not be offended, but I cannot tell whether she truly enjoys Bingley’s attentions, or if she accepts them because he is a single, wealthy, eligible male who would be an excellent match for her.”

Elizabeth raised a brow at him. “Why is it that expressing a hope that a person will not be offended always heralds the articulation of something offensive?”

“I apologise,” he said immediately. “I did not mean to imply she is a fortune hunter. I only meant to indicate extremes, between a truly interested female and one indifferent, except to, er, external circumstance. Bingley has known several of the latter, and almost none of the former.”

“I am sorry to hear it. But concerning Jane’s feelings, I hesitate to say anything without making clear she has not mentioned her feelings about Mr Bingley to me. By my observation and in my opinion, she is taken with him. But I once interfered on her behalf in a matter of the heart, you see, and managed to wreck both Jane’s life and mine.” She tried to overlook the pang that rose when she spoke that confession and quickly added, “I will attest that her character is finer than that of anyone I know—she would never allow vanity, envy, or greed to influence her feelings. Yet, even with all her many virtues, she has never grown into that most detestable of creatures—a prig. Mr Bingley would be the most fortunate of men, should he earn her regard. She would never toy with his feelings.”

He was unaccountably pleased by her valiant defence of her sister, and could not resist a tease. “If her character is so much finer, might you be swayed by greed, Miss Elizabeth? If a fellow settled enough upon you to feel true security, for instance?”

He was sorry he had asked, even in jest, at her forlorn expression. “I have learnt that sometimes, even settlements can provide no security. Nor love, either. Jane disagrees with me. I hope she will not be hurt.”

Were you hurt? he wondered, but could not ask, and did his best to keep his response even.

“Bingley is very young still. I would not recommend to him marriage before the age of five-and-twenty, at least.”

“Even if love comes to him at two-and-twenty? The head before the heart, is that it?”

“It seems what you have chosen, as far as love is concerned,” he pointed out.

She opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again. “Indeed, Mr Darcy. It is, I think, the safest way.” But she looked sad about it, and he was astonished at himself for desiring a different objective: changing her mind.

“I have fallen in love,I think,” Darcy said. He knew how Richard would consider it—Richard, who was cynical, hard-nosed, and negative about everything and everybody. There had been a time when he had been his greatest friend and comrade; the man who had returned from Portugal was not the same and certainly never acted as if he cared one bit for his daily visits. Nevertheless, Darcy continued to treat him as if he were still his dearest friend in the world.

“Oh?”

It was more of a grunt than a question, spoken in an almost perfunctory manner—as if the speaker was barely paying attention. It was also a good deal better than the response Darcy had expected.

“Of course, she will not have me. She has determined never to marry—she has had a rough go since her father died. I suspect I do not know the half of it.”

“Pity,” Richard replied succinctly.

Darcy was unsure whether he meant that it was pity Darcy was feeling, or if his cousin simply did not care about the whole matter. He chose to believe the former.

“I have considered whether or not it might be simply pity. Grief, guilt, beauty—she possesses all of it. I want her, that is certain, but I have wanted before. I have felt sympathy before. This is different.”

“Doubtless every lustful man must think so,” Richard said, his voice acerbic. But there was no heat in it.

Fury or apathy had been Richard’s response no matter the subject for over a year now. But as much as Darcy wished for a return of the friend he had loved, he never forgot his relief that his cousin had returned at all—so many had not.

“What? No diatribe on women in general, with particular criticism towards me, specifically?”

Simply because he had not given up on Richard did not mean he accepted his sullen temper without comment. Usually when he grew sarcastic, Richard grew angrier. This evening, he hardly seemed to notice.

They sat in the comfortable chairs on the terrace of the dower house. At first, Richard had been too ill to leave the house; later, he chose not to except at full dark—often shirtless, roaming the estate with a cutlass brought back from Portugal, terrifying most the gardeners. But the last couple of months, he came out of doors every evening. Darcy suspected that since he had informed him of Georgiana’s thwarted elopement, Richard had been scouting about in broad daylight. His questions a few days prior regarding Miss Bentley had proved it.

“Would your current mood of only moderate petulance have anything to do with Miss Bentley?”

“I am never petulant,” Richard protested. “I am merely quick-tempered and brusque.” He had not denied the young lady was on his mind.

How interesting.

“Perhaps you will have more to say when I tell you Miss Bentley has entered a curricle race on Saturday?”

“What the devil?” Richard’s eyes were wide with shock.

“Blame Lady Catherine. She wanted Anne to win one of these stupid contests, and arranged it for Saturday afternoon at Lambton—they will use the track at the village grandstand.”

Richard shoved back his chair, standing, looking as if he wished to punch something. “I blame the earl. To agree to this is beyond stupidity.” He paced the terrace from one low stone wall to the other. “Did you even do a rudimentary check to see if she knows a curricle from a corn-cob?”

“You mean, did I call her a liar when she said she possessed the skill to drive? No, I did not.”

Richard scrubbed a hand through his hair, while inwardly Darcy marvelled; his cousin seemed genuinely distressed.

“I do not like the idea either, but it is doubtful any harm can come to them in such a brief contest.”

“Is that how you feel about Miss Elizabeth racing? Will you be so cavalier when she turns too sharply and loses control of her pair?”

Darcy opted against revealing that the Bennet sisters were not participating. “There shall be no turns—they will use the straight only. I will send a footman once it is over, with news of her safety.”

Richard replied with not a word—merely strode off the terrace and into the night.

Darcy sighed, aggravated. He had counted upon Richard providing some sensible, convincing arguments for all the reasons why he should not fall in love with Elizabeth. Heaven only knew, he could not rely upon himself.