Page 25 of Colour My World (The Bennet Sister Variations #3)

Bingley and his sisters had gone ahead—Miss Bennet’s name on his lips, joy on his face. Miss Bingley offered a smile of clipped precision, Mrs Hurst, a nod of quiet dignity. They had entered the house first, leaving Darcy at the door.

He had lingered too long. Long enough for Longbourn’s man to appear.

“Mr Bennet awaits you, sir.”

So be it. He followed, was shown in and found the study silent.

Mr Bennet, hands folded, sat behind his desk. His expression was unreadable. He did not rise. He did not speak. He did not gesture.

Darcy closed the door himself. He crossed the carpet and seated himself in a chair before the desk. The silence stretched. A knock broke it.

“Enter,” Mr Bennet said.

Bingley stepped inside, glanced between them, and took the empty chair beside Darcy. The silence resumed.

Bingley did not take well to silence. “Well!” he burst out, rocking forward in his chair. “Here we are!”

Darcy closed his eyes briefly.

Mr Bennet lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed, here we are.”

“Miss Elizabeth looked well,” Bingley continued, undeterred by the utter lack of response. “Quite well, I should say. And Jane—Miss Bennet—oh, sir, I cannot tell you how delighted I was to see her again. A vision, truly! And Miss Mary. She is quite, er, serious, is she not? And—”

“Mr Bingley.”

Bingley clamped his mouth shut.

“Much as I enjoy your company, I assume this visit is not merely to deliver your assessments of my daughters.”

Bingley shifted uncomfortably. “Er—well—”

Mr Bennet turned to Darcy. “I assume you have something to say.”

Darcy’s chest tightened. He had rehearsed every approach, every word—and now that the moment had come, nothing sufficed.

Mr Bennet waited.

Darcy shifted his weight but offered no reply.

Bingley fidgeted.

Mr Bennet’s lips tightened. “I see.” He sighed, then leant forward. “If you are unprepared to make amends, you are welcome to leave.”

Bingley shot up from his chair. “No!”

Darcy stiffened as Bingley whirled on him, face red with fury.

“I will not have it,” Bingley said through clenched teeth. “You have put me in the worst possible position. You humiliated Miss Elizabeth, abandoned me to explain it, and now sit there in silence? I swear, Darcy—” He raised his fists. “If you will not apologise, I shall thrash you here and now!”

“You would strike me?”

“I would and gladly, if it might knock some sense into you.”

Mr Bennet leant back in his chair. Bingley slapped the tabletop.

Darcy had had enough. He had not come to spar with his friend. “Sir. Might I have a private word?”

Bennet’s lips quirked. “Ah, he speaks.”

Bingley raked a hand through his hair, eyes afire. “Very well.” He turned sharply on his heel and strode out, the door shutting with a decisive click.

Darcy exhaled.

“You have something to say, I assume.” Bennet steepled his fingers. “Or shall we consider your silence an apology?”

* * *

The air between them felt charged, less a silence than a held breath.

“The move is yours to make.” Mr Bennet glanced to his left. Darcy spied an elegant chessboard. The pieces awaited play.

Darcy raised an eyebrow. Mr Bennet shook his head. “A future reward, should you earn it.”

Darcy poked at his temple. “I must ask for your utmost discretion.”

A flicker of amusement crossed Mr Bennet’s face. “You mistake me for a village widow, sir.”

Not desiring to chuckle, Darcy trapped his upper lip between his teeth and counted to five. He then unburdened himself.

“I was eleven years old when my mother died.”

Mr Bennet’s expression remained neutral.

“She was…my compass. My anchor. The most wonderful woman that ever existed. I remember her voice most of all. Soft, unwavering.” He shook his head. “She had this way of making certainty out of nothing. I believed her when she said all would be well. And then, one morning, nothing was.”

Darcy stopped talking. The only sound was the slow tick of the mantel clock.

“My father…” Darcy drew a breath. “He loved her fiercely. So deeply, I think, that when she died, he, his heart, died as well. He—” Darcy pressed his lips together, forcing down the tightness in his throat. “He withdrew.”

Mr Bennet’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

Darcy exhaled sharply. “I do not mean to say he neglected me. He fulfilled every duty—my education, estate management, business affairs, but… There was no closeness between us. We shared a house, not a bond. I have never said that aloud. To anyone.” Darcy glanced at the firelight flickering in the hearth. “And then there was Georgiana.”

Mr Bennet gave a knowing nod. “Your sister.”

“She never knew our mother’s voice.” Darcy rose, crossed to the hearth, and stared into the amber glow. “My father could not bear to look at her. She reminded him of what he had lost. That a grown man, a wise man, her father , could turn away from her…is beyond comprehension.”

“But he did.”

“He did.” Darcy looked at Mr Bennet. A memory rose unbidden.

Georgiana, at five, trailed a ribbon around the sculpted hedges, her curls catching the light as she skipped through the maze. She sang to the green creatures: leafy deer, trotting hounds, and a great lion crouched in the corner.

I had sat astride Goliath and watched her through the topiary leaves, willing the moment to last.

“Georgiana was my mother’s image. She was born with a full head of blonde curls. But that was not all. She had my mother’s eyes—one blue, the other the same but ringed in gold.”

Mr Bennet’s brows lifted.

“She was just thirteen when our father died. Still more child than woman. I became her only family. Once, only a brother. Then, without warning, her guardian—father, in all but name…. It changed everything. I could no longer indulge her fancies or join in her laughter. I had to correct her. Guide her. Protect her. It was a burden beyond the strength of most men, let alone a youth scarcely past his majority. I had no time to be foolish, no time to be careless. I had to become…what I am.”

“You make it sound like a sentence.”

Darcy said nothing.

“Was there no one to assist you? Lend support?”

“My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam—Richard—shares Georgiana's guardianship. But he is a soldier, and I am a man of property. He carries his own burdens.”

Mr Bennet tilted his head. “And your mother’s family?”

“My uncle, the Earl of Matlock, is a man of duty and consequence, but he is fair. His wife, well, she is as one would expect of an earl’s wife.”

Mr Bennet lifted a brow. “Which is?”

“Formidable.”

A small, amused snort came from the older man.

“And then… There is his sister.” Darcy resumed his seat. “A tyrant. And utterly absurd.”

Mr Bennet’s lips twitched. He steepled his fingers. “I see. I daresay every family suffers one such relative, though mine has made an art of it.”

Darcy gestured in a bid for him to continue.

Mr Bennet sat back. “My cousin, a foolish parson, will inherit Longbourn when I die.”

“A parson, you say?”

“A clergyman. Hunsford.”

“Hunsford?”

Mr Bennet pursed his lips though a small smile crept out. “Do you mean to echo me all afternoon?”

Darcy ignored his quip. “When you say Hunsford parsonage, do you mean…?”

“I do.”

They said it together: “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

Darcy stared and then laughed. Not the measured sort expected of a gentleman, but something else. Unrestrained, maybe. Mr Bennet joined him.

The weight on his chest lessened for the first time he could remember. He wiped the mirth from his eyes but continued to laugh.

When their glee faded, Mr Bennet rose from his chair. “It seems fate is fond of unlikely kinships. ”