Page 5 of A Matter of Murder
“Doesn’t she understand this holiday is for her own safety?” Bingley asked.
Darcy thought of the (unfortunately, many) examples he had collected since he’d first become acquainted with Lizzie in which she had blithely thrown caution to the wind. “Yes. But while she’s here, she can’t be doing what she really wants.”
And that was to find Lady Catherine. Darcy couldn’t blame her—he wanted the woman found so she’d stop toying with all of them. But he also knew Lizzie. Neither caution nor relaxation were her strong suits. While whisking her away from London might have been the safest thing for her and her family, it was also the thing most likely to drive her—and by extension, him—mad.
“And your father?” Bingley asked. “Have you heard anything more from him?”
Darcy grimaced and took a sip. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and withdrew the travel-worn letter that had been sitting next to his heart all day. “He’s responded about how I would expect,” he said, and handed the letter to Bingley.
Charles Bingley was the only one he would trust with the letter. Not that he didn’t trust Lizzie—but he didn’t want her to ever read what his father had written about her. He looked awayas Bingley opened the letter, the memory of his father’s words echoing painfully in his head.You’ve shamed me and the firm’s name by taking up with that woman.I expect you to cut all ties with her and her father’s business immediately.
Bingley let out a low whistle.
“What part are you at?”
“The one where your father accuses you of debasing the entire legal profession.”
Darcy finished his drink and got up to pour himself another. “Ah, that entire paragraph was so touching. Second only to the part where he wrote that Darcys are too good to dangle after some base bluestocking, and then said that Lizzie has likely set her cap on me.”
Bingley’s eyebrows went up as he read. “If there is any lady who is the least likely to ensnare a man into marriage, it is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Try telling that to my father.”
“What are you going to do?” Bingley asked, tossing the letter aside.
Darcy poured himself another splash of whiskey—but not too much. It wouldn’t do to get sloppy, not with dinner ahead of them. “I can hardly tell him the truth.”
“Which is?”
Darcy stared down into the amber liquid. It was easier to tell his drink than it was to face his best friend. “Which is that I would propose and marry her in a heartbeat if she’d have me.”
“If she’d have you! What possible reason would she give for throwing you over?”
Darcy appreciated his friend’s indignation on his behalf. It made him feel the slightest bit better. “I came close to asking,” he admitted. “During the whole business with Tomlinson and that storehouse fire...”
His throat tightened when he thought about that early-morning carriage ride through London just three months earlier, when he had finally declared his intentions. He hadn’t proposed, exactly, although he would have gladly, if that had been what she’d wanted. She’d asked for time, which he was glad to give. It would give him no pleasure to have her acquiesce to his proposal because she didn’t want to disappoint him, or because she thought it expected of her.
“And why didn’t you?” Bingley asked. “Was it Mrs. Bennet? I admit, she can be rather blunt and she has all the social graces of a canon, but—”
“No, it wasn’t her mother. Lizzie said she wasn’t ready, and I won’t force the matter, even on the slim chance that it would placate my father.”
“You’re a brave man,” Bingley said, with a small bit of admiration in his voice. “But your father...”
“He probably wouldn’t accept her anyway. It’s not just our association he objects to—it’sher.”
Edmund Darcy was an exacting man who expected his son to act rationally and to rarely show emotion. Growing up, Darcy had learned to hide everything from his father—his tears andsorrows, disappointments and flashes of anger. But he’d also learned to hide other things, too. Laughter and smiles, his triumphs when he succeeded at school, and the immense pride he felt watching Georgiana grow up to be as smart as she was beautiful. His father would have scoffed at all that emotion—feelings were weakness, and in order to succeed he must always come from a position of strength.
Darcy had spent so many years living up to his father’s rigid expectations that he almost hadn’t known what to do when he’d first encountered Lizzie and all her fiery passion and obvious emotion for her cases. But one thing was certain: He loved her, and he would not go back to pretending to be the cold, unfeeling automaton his father wanted. Nor could he pretend he didn’t love Lizzie.
Which put them at an impasse—for now.
“Forget him,” Darcy said, taking the letter back and stuffing it into his inner jacket pocket. “He’s not here, and we have bigger problems.”
Darcy could tell that Bingley wanted to say more on the subject, but he simply nodded. “Have you had any news?”
“No,” Darcy said, and his frustration leaked into his tone. “I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of Graves since we decided to leave London. There have been no new letters. Lady Catherine could be anywhere by now.”
“Well, she’s not here at Netherfield,” Bingley said, setting his glass down with a loud thunk. “And you all are safe to ramble the grounds as you please.”