Page 44 of Beyond Pride, Past Prejudice

“I can scarcely believe I have only just found you after riding for nearly an entire day,” said the colonel, stepping into Darcy’s room at the inn in the dead of night. “Forty miles in a single day? Where are you rushing off to?”

Although it was nearly midnight, Darcy had not yet gone to bed.

He was not even preparing to do so, still dressed in the clothes in which he had travelled.

Only his coat lay across a chair, and he had unfastened a few buttons of his shirt.

He looked at the colonel, confused, almost disbelieving that he was truly there, but stepped aside to allow him into the room.

On a small table sat an untouched supper, and the colonel, having eaten nothing all day, threw himself at it without hesitation.

“What are you doing here?” asked Darcy, though it was quite clear what had brought his cousin hither.

Contrary to his expectations, he was glad to see him.

Only after ten miles of wild riding had he stopped to breathe and comprehend his actions.

He had left with such overwhelming fury that it had paralysed all reason, and the mad gallop had been the only cure for his despair.

“What do you suppose I do?” the colonel replied at last, yet only after his hunger was somewhat appeased. “I am riding to London to catch a madman.”

Darcy gave a short laugh, though there was no amusement in it.

“I am sorry I left without a word.”

“Would you care to tell me what is going on?”

Darcy was silent for some time, uncertain what to say. But he would have to speak to someone eventually, and the colonel was the best confidant he could hope for in so dire a situation.

“Lady Olivia,” he said at last.

“I gathered as much—”

“From whom?” Darcy asked at once, alarmed, for he could not bear the thought that everyone—least of all Georgiana—might come to know of such a tangled affair, one that could well end in a marriage his sister would be forced to accept.

“I saw who was sending you letters,” the colonel said without hesitation, unashamed of his curiosity or concern.

“Discretion is not a strength in our family,” said Darcy, not reproachfully but merely stating a fact.

“If you had wanted discretion, you ought to have behaved accordingly.”

Darcy shook his head, disheartened, and the colonel at once regretted his rebuke.

“Let us calm ourselves,” he said, for Darcy’s current state could lead to no sound decision. “Lady Olivia, then…”

Darcy nodded. “An unintentional mistake. No—unconscious would be more accurate.” He fell silent again, but the colonel was now familiar with the rhythm of his confessions. He knew Darcy would speak, given time, and he would wait for it.

“Darcy, in order to help you, I must know what occurred.”

“No one can help me,” Darcy replied, distraught.

“Do not speak such nonsense. Anything can be arranged…” His speech faltered; he was afraid of saying too much. Emotion often betrayed him, but now he needed to be the strong one.

“I remember you telling me about that strange evening at Lady Olivia’s.”

“Yes, it concerns that night. I drank too much, it seems—”

“You do not drink too much,” the colonel interjected, surprised, for he had never seen his cousin lose control, not even in their rather unruly youth before the death of Mr Darcy senior.

“It simply happened…and suddenly I found myself in her private parlour, lying on a very generous sofa, my shirt undone.”

The colonel looked at him, incredulous. “But—”

“I know! Uncle Albert has warned us many times never to mix strong cognac with unmarried women,” Darcy proffered with a faint smile. All the young men in the family had, in their youth, appreciated Uncle Albert’s somewhat improper advice when they had cared to listen.

“I am fairly certain I only had two glasses.”

“Two glasses do not make a man forget himself—”

The colonel stopped short. “God!” he exclaimed. “Uncle Albert had never heard of laudanum.”

“Nor had I, except in the hands of physicians,” said Darcy, and suddenly, he recalled the dizzying sensation with which he had returned to awareness—unlike any drunkenness he had experienced before, although he had known intoxication once or twice despite the colonel’s ideal image of him.

“You believe she went that far?”

“What did she write?” The colonel was tense, caught between fear and anger but determined not to let Darcy ruin himself. He was relieved he had found him before he reached London.

“That I have dishonoured her. And among many florid turns of phrase, she begs me to save her from disgrace,” murmured Darcy, and the colonel saw on his cousin’s face something rare—perhaps never seen before—shame.

“Yes, I am ashamed to have let myself be so deceived, for it was clearly a plan,” he admitted, meeting the colonel’s gaze.

“A direct threat would not have struck you so deeply. She weeps upon your shoulder over two pages, pleading to be rescued from dishonour.”

“Perhaps she is sincere, and we are imagining horrors—that she drugged me with something stronger than cognac.”

Darcy let out a deep breath, unable to hide the storm of emotions inside him but quietly thankful his cousin was there.

For the first time since that morning, he felt calm enough to face what had happened.

The colonel’s direct and unflinching way of speaking helped him begin to make sense of it all.

Honesty had always been the guiding force in Darcy’s life, and that same sense of truth had led him to act as he had earlier that day.

He felt he had done wrong—whatever the nature of that wrong—and must act accordingly, even if that meant putting his future in danger.

The colonel had huge doubts, but he had to admit that his cousin was in a dreadful position.

There were few things society did not forgive a gentleman for, but to dishonour a lady of high birth was foremost among them.

London would be slow to forgive, if it forgave at all, unless he married her.

And Lady Olivia, though still weeping and pleading, might soon resort to methods far less sentimental.

Darcy was in desperate straits, but he must not act rashly.

“And you agree this…is not right?”

The colonel nodded gravely.

“I agree. But you must find a way to delay matters. In the morning, you must write to her, saying you will return in ten days and will do what is honourable.”

“What if I left forever for Pemberley?” Darcy asked hesitantly. Both men knew that the young lady he had left behind in Bath would follow him anywhere, not caring she might live far from London for the rest of their days as long as she would be his wife.

“Have you written to her ?” the colonel asked.

“Yes. I begged her forgiveness and asked her to forget me.”

“Our valets will arrive in the morning with my carriage. We shall stop in Reading at Uncle Albert’s.”

Darcy gave a silent nod. Uncle Albert, their grandmother’s much younger brother, was indeed the refuge he needed in such moments.

“We shall inform the ladies where we are and say we shall return in a week.”