Page 61 of Count the Cost (The Secrets of Elizabeth Bennet #2)
D arcy had never been so glad to reach Pemberley. He had raced back from Kent, then hurried his servants into packing and preparing to leave for Derbyshire.
He was still not certain how he had managed to persuade Georgiana to stay at Matlock House, and inform his aunt and uncle, but somehow he had done so, despite his agony of spirit and anguish.
Georgiana had wept. “William, I do not know what has happened, but how can I allow you to travel alone? Please permit me to come too.”
He was sorry to have caused her distress, but he had little energy to comfort her, and hoped the letters he would write might ease her mind over the coming weeks. He would surely be able to hide his feelings at such a distance.
Once at Pemberley, he shut himself away from the world. He accepted no callers, and moved only between the stables for his dawn rides, his library and bedchamber.
He could not sleep, neither could he concentrate on business.
His mind was haunted as her image floated before his eyes.
His only respite was when galloping across the fields and through the woodlands.
Yet even then, he would think about how she would love walking out along the many paths and tracks.
Elizabeth. Elizabeth.
He had hoped that the pain would ease; hoped she would fade from his memory. But even a month had failed to improve his spirits, and he knew not what to do.
There was a knock on the library door, and before he could respond, the door banged open and Richard strode in. “Before you say anything, Darcy, I have apologised to your butler for barging past him and refusing to take no for an answer.”
He crossed to the decanter. “I will pour myself a drink, and one for you, too. Then you can tell me what has happened.”
Darcy put down his pen. It was no use, anyway. The ink had dried on the nib again as he had been lost in his dreary recollections. He would have to replace it as he had many others.
“What are you doing, coming all the way up here?” he grumbled. He certainly did not wish to have his cousin’s manner and bonhomie grating on him.
But he rose to his feet and joined him by the fire, sinking into the chair opposite, and accepting the whisky.
He glowered at the glass; he would not have another.
Alcohol was not the way to drown his sorrows, and he had eaten so little that it would not take much to go to his head.
He stifled a sigh of discontent, it would hardly affect his work; he was barely managing anything as it was.
He realised he had been lost in his thoughts — again — and lifted his gaze to his cousin. Richard was gazing at him in silence.
“Can you not tell me what troubles you, Darce?” His voice was quiet and uncharacteristically gentle. “We are all worried about you, both family and staff. This is unlike you and … well, I am here to see if I can help.”
Darcy shook his head. He was not about to reveal Elizabeth’s secret. Elizabeth.
No, he would prove worthy of the trust she had not had in him. He could do that for her, if nothing else.
“It is about Miss Bennet, isn’t it?”
Darcy jerked, and a few drops of whisky splashed onto his waistcoat. He brushed them off with his hand, glaring at Richard. “Do not do that!”
“There is my answer.” Richard shook his head. “I imagine she is not here?”
“Of course not! What do you take me for?” Darcy snapped.
“If she is not in the north, then why are you?” Richard was persistent, Darcy knew, and he leaned back, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He must not reveal anything.
There was a long silence. He knew the next thing would be that Richard would say something provocative. But he did not expect what came.
“I had not taken you for a coward, cousin.”
Darcy clenched his jaw; he must not react. Must not.
“Or perhaps it is a healthy sense of fear?” Richard enquired.
“You are very predictable, Richard.” Darcy tried to sound indifferent. But he would admit — only to himself — that his mood had lightened just a little at his company.
“She is a very intelligent and independent lady. I saw that even though it was the only time I met her,” Richard observed, and Darcy clenched his jaw. He did not want to think of her.
But his cousin was persistent, even without getting the response he probably wanted, and Darcy scowled.
“I noticed when we went to the Abingdon box. Remember? At the theatre? You seemed to come alive. And then when you came to dinner at Matlock House, Mother noticed, too. It was like seeing the real you again. The one we used to see before you lost your parents, before you shut your emotions up and pushed everyone else away.”
A knock on the door stopped his cousin, to Darcy’s relief. “Luncheon is served, Mr. Darcy.”
He looked up. “You know I am having a tray in here.”
“I countermanded that, Darcy.” Richard put his glass down, heaved himself to his feet and reached his hand out to haul Darcy up. “I am hungry and you need to be a proper host.”
Darcy grumbled under his breath but acquiesced, and they walked through to the dining room. He had to admit, the smell of the food stimulated his appetite, where he had not been inclined to eat before.
Richard made only light conversation as he allowed Darcy to eat with more pleasure than he had for the last month. But, as they finished, Darcy’s mood darkened again. He knew Richard would not permit him to retire with no more conversation.
Sinking back in the high-backed wing chair, the welcoming warmth of the library soothing, despite his cousin’s presence, Darcy attempted to keep his wits about him.
Would Elizabeth enjoy this library? She is a great reader and endlessly curious.
But Richard was watching him. “You told me her family were vulgar and boorish. Do you still think that?”
“I do.” Darcy felt a twist of guilt at his disdain. “But they are a close-knit family who love each other unconditionally.”
Richard tipped his head curiously. “Do they? And you said the estate was entailed. Are they mercenary?”
Darcy shrugged. “The mother is anxious, obviously, but I do not believe Mr. Bennet would consent to his daughters marrying against their wishes.”
I wonder if he knows about his daughter’s wealth?
“That is unusual,” Richard acknowledged. “Has he ensured they have good dowries?”
Darcy shook his head. As long as the questions didn’t impinge on Elizabeth’s secret, he would answer. “I doubt it. The estate brings in about two thousand, I heard. I think it could do better, but he seems an indolent man.”
“From what you say, it seems impossible that she is what she seemed to me to be when we met. A beautiful, witty, charming and intelligent young lady.”
“I believe she spent much of her childhood visiting the relations in town.” Darcy shrugged, attempting to feign indifference.
“You met them. They are quite genteel, despite being in trade.” He looked away.
“I repeat, the family are dreadful, but Miss Elizabeth Bennet — and her elder sister — are all that is ladylike.”
Richard leaned forward, his expression intent, and Darcy stiffened.
“So, Darcy. There is nothing wrong with the lady, therefore it is you. You are afraid of what society will say if you take a lady with such poor connections.”
Darcy bit back his instant response. He would not fall for his cousin’s needling; he knew it too well.
But Richard was determined. “I always knew you cared more for appearances than even your happiness. But think of Georgiana. You have never taken a wife, a lady who could befriend her without selfish reasons. Miss Bennet could help Georgiana gain confidence again, give her a sense of self-worth.”
Darcy jerked. Had Richard noted that attractive trait of Miss Bennet’s, her innate confidence in herself as a worthy person? He clenched his jaw. He would not respond, it would only make things worse.
Richard rose to his feet and stared down at Darcy. “I think I should retire. But, think, cousin, think . What are you protecting? Your pride? Or your heart?”
He bent to meet Darcy’s eyes. “You pride yourself on your honesty. So you need to be honest with yourself at least.” He rose and went to the door.
“Goodnight, cousin.”
Darcy leaned forward, his head in his hands. He was being honest with himself. He admitted freely to himself that he loved her. It was not his pride keeping him from happiness, he knew he loved her.
But she did not trust him. She had not trusted him with her secrets. How could one build a life and a partnership without trust? And it meant she did not love him. Time and again she had said she would not marry. Now he knew why.
He rose heavily and returned to his desk. He could not push away thoughts of her now Richard had reignited them. He could write to her, explain himself. He had done this before, but thrust them all in the fire. She would not want to receive them.
As he sat down, he looked at the doeskin sample in front of him. Mr. Reed had brought it over to him to show him what he had sent with his nephew to this mysterious buyer — to Elizabeth. He picked it up, rubbing it between his fingers.
Elizabeth would have gone to a local tanner, seen how the skin was worked, looked at the various processes, her face alight with curiosity and satisfaction.
He closed his eyes. How he loved her. There was nothing else of hers he could have. Certainly not her. His heart would never be whole again.