Page 13

As the carriage left the village of Hunsford and turned on to the main road toward London, Fitzwilliam Darcy allowed his eyes to close and pressed his aching head back into the cushions.

He had not slept well in weeks and barely at all on the two nights since his failed marriage proposal to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Elizabeth . The very thought of her name made his stomach clench.

He had returned from the parsonage that evening full of wounded fury.

How dare such an impertinent, ungrateful slip of a girl refuse him !

His insulted ego had kept him energized through the night, writing a letter he was determined would expose her to the truth and shame her with his innocence.

In hindsight he could only marvel at how blinded he had been to his own bitterness.

Darcy’s fury had lasted until the moment he had placed his letter in her hand the next morning.

He had stalked through his aunt’s groves for nearly an hour, irritation mounting at being made to wait (entirely neglecting the fact that they had no appointment).

When he had finally sighted her, he had marched up with all the hauteur which the young Master of Pemberley, nephew of the Earl of Matlock, could muster.

Darcy cringed in memory of the arrogant tone he had used to demand that she read his letter, leaving her no way to defend herself from such an impropriety. Gentleman, indeed! More like the actions of a spoiled, petulant child denied a new toy for the first time in his life.

He had practically shoved the letter into her hands, he remembered.

But the next moment she had looked up at him and, in the warm light of an otherwise insignificant Thursday morning, all his self-righteous anger and hurt pride had melted away, leaving only a great, aching sorrow that threatened to collapse his chest.

Feeling the overwhelming need to hide himself away and weep for the first time since the death of his mother, Darcy had forced himself to make a deep bow, took one last look at the lady who had stolen his unwilling heart, and then turned to walk stiffly away.

He strode swiftly with little idea where he was heading except that it was away from Elizabeth and away from his aunt’s house.

Eventually, he found himself descending a rocky outcrop to a ledge jutting out over a creek.

Discarding coat and cravat, Will leaned back against the large willow whose draping branches formed a protective green curtain between him and the world.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his face, but no amount of his father’s strictures on the effeminate nature of tears could stop them from coming, leaking silently from his eyes.

How could it possibly have gone so wrong?

Some hours passed before Darcy’s sense of duty nudged him hard enough that he felt it over the pain of his broken heart.

Although he wished for nothing more than to remain alone in his peaceful green grotto, he knew that the longer he remained away from Rosings, the more strident would be his aunt’s demands when he returned.

Sighing, he stood and, after donning his coat and setting himself to rights, climbed up and re-entered the world, feeling exhausted.

Taking the most direct route back to the main house, every field and flower seemed to remind him of some delightfully witty comment or arch look by Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Darcy had just reached the paved courtyard at the rear of the house when the door opened and his cousin exited, clattering down the steps.

Seeing his younger relative, Colonel Fitzwilliam hailed him. “There you are, Darce! I was just coming in search of you, to make sure you didn’t miss luncheon.” He stiffened his features so as to mimic their aunt. “Had you done so, your future mother-in-law would be most displeased.”

The cousins rarely mentioned Lady Catherine’s matrimonial plans for her daughter between them. Darcy had only the energy to give Richard a pained look. Did even his cousin—as close as any brother—understand him so little?

Genuinely concerned by his cousin’s ill appearance, Richard drew him off to a more private corner in the courtyard. “What has happened? Did you talk to Anne? I’ve wondered if she even wants to marry, given her poor health. Though certainly she wouldn’t refuse you, given her mother’s attitude.”

The irony that Fitzwilliam could come so close to the cause of his misery and yet simultaneously be so far off the mark struck Darcy forcibly. Fighting back the grief that had plagued him earlier, he let out a mirthless laugh and forced himself to speak before his cousin might make another guess.

“No, Richard. Such a thought never occurred to me.” Leaving his cousin to wonder if he was referring to asking Anne de Bourgh to marry him or to the possibility of being refused, Darcy continued; “Come, let us repair to the dining room before we are missed.”

Richard made a last attempt. “Darce, are you certain you are well? Truly, you are exceedingly pale. If you are ill, we can put off our departure again. Is that why you missed dinner last night?”

Darcy waved him off and started up the steps. With no desire to explain his absence the previous evening, he concentrated on the present. “I slept poorly and skipped breakfast to get some fresh air. We shall depart tomorrow morning as planned.”

“Very well. We can visit the parsonage after luncheon to farewell the Collinses and their guests.” The Colonel had followed Darcy into the house and this last was uttered as he entered the room where their aunt waited.

“Why ever would you be visiting the parsonage on your last afternoon at Rosings?” demanded Lady Catherine, turning from one nephew to the other.

“Certainly you had much better spend your remaining time with Anne.” She waved in the direction of her daughter, missing how the girl shrank back into her wool shawl.

Seeing that Darcy had no intention of responding, Richard applied his most charming manner. “Ah, but we must farewell our new acquaintances before leaving Kent, for we would not wish our poor manners to reflect badly upon yourselves.”

Even Lady Catherine could find no fault with his logic and so she was forced to adopt the idea as her own. “Very well— you shall visit the parsonage this afternoon. I’m certain that Mr. and Mrs. Collins shall appreciate your condescension.”

The Colonel nodded obediently and managed to hide his smirk in a glass of wine.

After allowing a footman to serve her, Lady Catherine continued.

“Miss Lucas has little to recommend herself other than being a quiet little thing, but Miss Bennet has a bit of wit about her. I believe I shall have her extend her visit. Certainly she is nothing to Anne, but she is a genteel, pretty sort of girl even if her unfortunate connections and lack of fortune make it impossible that she shall marry anyone of consequence.”

Darcy started at how close his aunt’s words came to his own.

Oblivious to her nephew’s discomfort, Lady Catherine continued, “Indeed, she has managed to gain herself a reasonable education despite the lack of governess or masters. Though such independence in a lady would be deplorable at our level of society, of course, I believe she has done well to raise herself within the sphere in which she was born.”

Darcy could not restrain his desire to defend Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet is the daughter of a respectable gentleman.”

His aunt dismissed the comment with a flick of her hand.

“Don’t be simple, Fitzwilliam. Who is her mother?

Who are her uncles and aunts? If I imagined myself to be ignorant of their condition, I might admit that she had virtues enough but without the advantages of a more advantageous birth, she has little hope other than to throw herself at any available gentleman.

She should have married Mr. Collins when she had the chance. ”

To say that his aunt’s pronouncement made Darcy queasy was an understatement. And yet, there was more.

“Her mother must be beside herself— five daughters and an estate entailed away to a distant cousin. I remember the Countess of Waverly suffered much the same fate, although in her case, she had three daughters and the estate was inherited by a stepson who threw them all from their home less than a month after the death of the old Earl. The last I heard, she had the eldest girl married to a clergyman and the second to a retired army officer. As best as could be hoped for, I suppose, and she has some reassurance of a home in her dotage.”

Darcy’s stomach churned and his attention wandered as his aunt began to expound her uninformed yet strident opinions on entailments.

He needed some solitude to consider why her words so upset him.

It was a similar feeling that he had felt when, at university, he had been confronted by a mathematical equation that appeared to be solved but some inner sense told him that further exploration would reveal a fatal error in the derivation.

Though inelegantly phrased, Lady Catherine’s words about the Bennet family’s circumstances were little different from the rules that had been imprinted upon him since birth.

Had he not used similar logic to discourage Bingley from pursuing Miss Bennet?

He cringed—perhaps that was not the best example.

As he considered his aunt’s statement, what struck him most clearly were her final words.

He had never considered why Mrs. Bennet’s nerves might be so frayed…

why she was so desperate to put her daughters forward.