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Page 26 of A Most Unfortunate Gentleman

Netherfield

Elizabeth

Elizabeth turned, surprised to find the gentleman who had entered the room with Mr. Darcy now standing behind her.

His face was pleasant, his smile warm, and there was a look of quiet amusement in his eyes, as though he had observed more than he let on.

She had paid so little attention to him when he entered with Mr. Darcy that she hadn’t noticed whether he had left the room with them or remained behind.

And yet, here he was now, standing just behind her.

“Good evening, miss,” he said.

Elizabeth curtsied lightly. “Good evening, sir.”

“I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion,” he continued, still smiling, “but would I be wrong in assuming that you are Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

She blinked. “You would not be, sir. Though I must ask, how do you know me? We have not been introduced.”

“I have had the benefit of Darcy’s conversation,” he replied, his tone easy, but not without meaning. “He spoke of you a lot.”

Elizabeth’s brows rose. “Did he?”

The gentleman gave a small, knowing tilt of his head. “Of course, he did. It was all he could talk about.”

Elizabeth fought back a smile, though a curious flutter stirred in her chest. The notion of Mr. Darcy speaking of her—frequently, no less—was unexpectedly warming.

And yet, the warmth could not quite silence the other questions.

Where had he been all this time? And who, precisely, was the young lady by his side?

She pushed the thoughts aside and lifted her chin. “And what, may I ask, led you to connect me to his descriptions?”

“When I saw the young lady dancing with Mr. Bingley,” he said, nodding toward Jane, “I thought she must be the eldest Miss Bennet. Mr. Darcy made it clear that Bingley is most devoted to her company. And when I saw you and noted the resemblance, I took the liberty of assuming.”

Elizabeth regarded him with curiosity, the initial tension easing somewhat. “Then I must suppose you are a friend of Mr. Darcy.”

“A cousin,” he replied. “Fitzwilliam is my name. Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

Elizabeth blinked at the name. Of course.

Colonel Fitzwilliam. Mr. Darcy had mentioned him once before.

He was the only cousin he had spoken of, come to think of it.

He never mentioned the one he was betrothed to.

Perhaps she was the young lady with him tonight.

The thought pricked at her, though she tucked it away for now.

But Mr. Darcy had also said that the colonel and his sister were both in London. And here the colonel stood before her. It followed, then, that the lady who had accompanied them must be his sister. Georgiana. The name stirred gently in her memory.

“Mr. Darcy has mentioned you to me,” Elizabeth said, her tone mild. “He said you lived in London. With his sister.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam gave a half-laugh. “Ah, I fear not quite. Georgiana does not live with me. She resides in Grosvenor Square under the care of her companion and staff. I visit when I can, of course. But she prefers the comforts of her own household.”

He turned slightly, scanning the ballroom as if seeking them. “She and Darcy were just at the door before I began socialising. I assumed they were still nearby.”

Elizabeth’s gaze dropped for a moment, a soft exhale leaving her lips. “Mr. Darcy stepped out with a lady a few minutes after he entered. I believe it must have been Miss Darcy.”

“That is odd,” Fitzwilliam said, his brow creasing. “All he has spoken of for the past three weeks is how desperate he was to return to Hertfordshire. And now that we are here, you say he left the room again?”

Elizabeth did not trust herself to answer at once. Her chest tightened with something that felt like confusion, and not a little hurt. If he had so longed to return, why then disappear the moment he arrived?

Colonel Fitzwilliam glanced at her and seemed to read more than she said. His expression softened.

“Perhaps I should go looking for him. God knows he has suffered enough these past few weeks to be left alone tonight.”

He paused and bowed slightly. “Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth. We shall speak more properly another time.”

With that, he turned and was gone, leaving Elizabeth sitting amidst the candlelight and murmured conversation of the ballroom.

She watched him go, her thoughts pulling in every direction. So it had been Georgiana. That knowledge brought with it a quiet relief she did not care to examine too closely. But Mr. Darcy’s sudden retreat still puzzled her. And his cousin’s words lingered.

He had suffered?

She frowned, her gaze drifting again to the now-closed doors. She ought to be angry still. Indignant, even. He had left without a word, vanished from Hertfordshire, and returned just as abruptly.

But the ache beneath her thoughts told a different story. And it had been growing since the moment he looked at her and walked away.

Elizabeth turned slowly and pressed a hand to her brow, as if to steady her thoughts. She needed air. And more than that, she needed clarity.

***

Darcy

Mr. Darcy led Georgiana out through the side hall and into the quiet of the orangery. The lamps within offered a soft, golden glow, and the distant hum of the ball was muted beneath the glass dome. A few servants passed in silence, casting only brief glances before retreating.

“I am sorry for pulling you away so suddenly,” Darcy said, offering her a seat near a marble fountain. “I had no choice.”

Georgiana sat, her brows drawn together, her gloved hands folded in her lap. Her voice, when it came, was soft. “What is wrong, Fitzwilliam? You’ve been a shadow of yourself since returning to London. And I cannot pretend I haven’t noticed...there were moments when you seemed barely present.”

Darcy swallowed. He had not told her everything—not about the accident on the road, nor the string of misfortunes that happened before or after. It all seemed so implausible, even to him. But he didn’t think his sister would understand it.

Georgiana’s hand reached out gently to take his. “The only time I have seen you truly happy these past few weeks was when you spoke of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Darcy’s expression faltered.

“I believe she is in there somewhere. But now we are here, and suddenly, you left the ballroom without so much as seeing her. Forgive me, brother, but... are you having second thoughts about coming?”

“No,” he said quietly. Then, firmer: “There is something I must tell you.”

Georgiana sighed, her eyes fixed upon him.

“I saw someone inside,” Darcy said slowly, “and had I known such a person would be present, I never would have brought you here.”

“I don’t understand,” Georgiana said. “I thought you wanted me to meet this lady you’ve spoken so much about.”

“I do,” Darcy replied, glancing toward the ballroom. “I do want you to meet Miss Elizabeth. But it is not her I speak of.”

Georgiana’s brow furrowed. “Then who did you see?”

He hesitated for a long moment, then said the name with deliberate weight. “Wickham.”

Georgiana froze. “George... is here?”

“He is. I am certain it was him I saw. If I had known he was in Hertfordshire, let alone Netherfield, I would never have brought you here to stir old wounds.”

Georgiana sniffled softly, her posture drawing in as though the very name had summoned an old ache.

Just then, Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the orangery. “If you had known who was here?” he asked, clearly having overheard.

“Wickham,” Darcy said flatly.

The colonel’s face flashed hot. He looked between his cousin and Georgiana. “Are you sure?”

“I would know that scoundrel in the dark,” Darcy answered. “And worse still, unless he is impersonating someone else, he seems to have joined the militia.”

Fitzwilliam turned a glance toward the ballroom, then back at them. Georgiana sat with her eyes fixed on her lap, her hands clenched so tightly they had gone white.

“I just spoke with Miss Elizabeth,” the colonel said. “I had gone to introduce myself, and she mentioned seeing you leave with Georgiana. I came to see why you’d gone. I hadn’t realised it was because you saw that snake.”

Darcy bit his lip, regret creeping into his features. “Only God knows what scheme he’s plotting this time. It would seem my path is cursed with yet another interruption and misfortune.”

“Fitzwilliam...” Georgiana’s voice was faint as she reached for his hand.

Darcy turned at once, his features sinking. “I am sorry, Georgie. I should not have said that. I did not mean it that way. This is not your fault. He is the one who—”

“Instead of calling this misfortune,” Colonel Fitzwilliam interrupted, his voice calm but firm, “have you considered that it might be fate giving you another chance?”

Darcy frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“If we can discover what Wickham is doing here, we might stop him before he does something terrible again. More importantly, Colonel Forster commands the militia in Meryton. He is a friend of mine. If Wickham truly wears a red coat, I can have eyes on him within the day.”

Darcy turned fully to his cousin, his posture stiffening with renewed purpose. “That is an excellent idea.”

“For this to work, however,” Fitzwilliam continued, “you may want to stay away from the ballroom. It is best if he does not see you. Or Georgiana. Or even me, if possible.”

“I wouldn’t want to be around him either,” Darcy said grimly. “Lord knows I might lose my composure and strike him. That would do nothing but ruin Bingley’s evening. And with the opinion Meryton already holds of me, I would only be deepening their disapproval.”

“I’ll find a way to send word to Colonel Forster immediately,” Fitzwilliam said.

“Let us hope Bingley hasn’t seen me,” Darcy added. “He has a habit of being too warm and too loud. If he spots me, he might announce my presence with a flourish.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled. “He is busy with Miss Bennet. I doubt he will take his eyes off her unless someone pries him away.”

“Then we had better enter the main house through the side corridor, before Miss Bingley or her sister sets eyes on us. They can be... persistent.”

“What about the servants?” Georgiana asked quietly. “The few who passed this way have looked at us rather oddly.”

“We’ll just have to hope they assume Darcy has already greeted Bingley,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “And likely they won’t disturb him until after the dancing ends. If I can get word to Forster before then, we may still be in the clear.”

“But what if the colonel is in the ballroom too?” Darcy asked.

“I doubt it,” Fitzwilliam replied. “Forster is sharper than an arrow. If he had been there, he would’ve spotted me while I spoke with Miss Elizabeth.”

He paused, his expression thoughtful. “And speaking of Miss Elizabeth, I think you need to speak to her as soon as you can.”

Darcy looked away, his gaze settling on the soft shadows cast by the orangery’s lamps. The light glinted faintly off the glass panes above, but he took no notice. His jaw tightened, his breath shallow with restraint.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I believe you are right. However… I just have to wait a little longer.”