Page 25 of Beyond Pride, Past Prejudice

“You do not need to come every day. I am not on my deathbed,” Darcy said one afternoon as the colonel entered the library—not in his usual stormy manner but almost on tiptoe, like a man stepping into a house recently struck by tragedy.

“It is enough that I see you at the club, at dinner, or in the park—I have begun to feel as though you are following me.”

“I am following you,” the colonel replied, choosing to answer in the same vaguely sarcastic tone, hoping that in such an atmosphere, Darcy might feel able to speak freely, to tell him what was truly happening.

“Well, since you are here, sit down and let me pour you a glass of brandy to calm your nerves.”

“Drink does not calm me,” the colonel said, watching his cousin closely. He looked thinner—though he had never been stout—but something was altered in his appearance, and the colonel wondered whether a deeper, inner change had begun to appear outwardly.

“Do not look at me like that,” Darcy said.

“Where else should I look?” asked the colonel, and both of them began to laugh, a little more at ease. In truth, though he would never say so aloud, Darcy felt at ease only in the presence of his cousin and Georgiana.

The arrival of Lady Catherine had unsettled him. For the past few days, he had done everything in his power to avoid her. But his aunt was unrelenting and always managed to find him, repeating the same refrain concerning his supposed engagement to her daughter.

“Lady Catherine is convinced that I shall marry Anne,” he said.

“And you?”

“I remain undecided.” And though the colonel searched for a trace of irony in his voice, the words sounded painfully sincere—Darcy had truly begun to consider the possibility of marrying his cousin.

“Family marriages are no longer well regarded—unless one is of royal blood. And even there, the results have not always been…favourable.”

“Well,” Darcy muttered, clearly uninterested, “perhaps not Anne.”

“Lady Olivia?” asked the colonel after a brief hesitation. He sensed that he must not let the subject drop, that he must lead it, somehow, towards Miss Elizabeth, even if he had to name other ladies.

“With Lady Olivia, the matter is more complicated,” Darcy replied just as seriously.

“What do you mean?”

The colonel felt that it was a good moment to find out what had happened between his cousin and that lady, as it was an event that brought an embarrassed expression to his face every time she was mentioned.

Darcy exhaled audibly, a sound that betrayed the unrest of his mind.

“I experienced a most peculiar incident with her. Just before I left for Pemberley, her father, Lord Grantley, invited me to dinner, and we had scarcely finished the first course when he excused himself.”

“You were left alone with Lady Olivia?” the colonel asked, astonished, suddenly feeling a chill in the well-heated room, for such a situation was nearly inconceivable.

It bore the mark of a scheme in which Lady Olivia had even involved her father.

But he shook off the thought—such tales belonged to fiction.

And yet, in Darcy’s hesitation to continue, there was something undeniably strange.

“Yes, but what is most surprising is that I was not shocked…not then, at least. I am now, but at the time, it seemed quite natural. I had consumed a brandy or two, and I believed that sense of ease was due to the warmth of the room and Lady Olivia’s liveliness—”

“But where was her sister? Where was their companion?”

“It was only the two of us and…”

“And?” the colonel asked, chilled again.

“And nothing more, Richard. Enough of this interrogation,” Darcy replied curtly, clearly drawing a firm end to the confession.

The colonel, however, felt that more had taken place, but if Darcy did not wish to speak, he could not press him further.

For the moment, his only desire was to learn more of what Darcy felt for Miss Elizabeth and to try to turn both his eyes and his heart towards her, even when he was discussing Lady Olivia or another woman.

“Do you have feelings for her?” the colonel asked.

To his surprise, his cousin’s voice was full of anger when he asked, “For whom?”

“Lady Olivia,” replied the colonel with much innocence, even though deep inside him he rejoiced, for his cousin’s love was still anchored to Miss Elizabeth’s memory, and that was obvious.

“Do not speak nonsense. One misadventure where love is concerned has been enough for a lifetime. I no longer intend to rely on sentiment—”

“You are mistaken!” the colonel exclaimed.

“No. My mistake was in Kent when I decided not to propose but failed to leave. Every day I remained near her only weakened my resolve, and in the end, I was proved wrong. She is not the woman for me.”

“One does not abandon so easily something that might lead to true happiness—happiness of a kind you would never know with an Anne or a Lady Olivia.”

“Do not be absurd. With Elizabeth, I would always have been at war.”

“And so you chose the silence of the desert instead?”

Darcy looked at him and smiled. “I did not know you had such romantic notions. Have you begun reading novels for young ladies?”

“Perhaps. Unlike you, I can only read about love—I cannot feel it. In my case, the choice of a wife will rest on motives other than love.”

“As it will in mine,” Darcy replied, and again, his face darkened with dejection.

“Please do not abandon your feelings yet, I beg you—for all those in the world like me, who cannot hope that love might lead to marriage.”

Darcy was silent, sipping his cognac. However, that silence filled the colonel with a quiet joy again, for his plea had not been dismissed with scorn. The silence meant that Darcy was still reflecting, and that hesitation to forget the past was a good sign, no matter how meagre it was.