Page 21 of Mr Darcy Gets Angry

They chose to wait for Lord Matlock, though it meant another day’s delay. His lordship carried the letter from Miss Henry’s mother, the papers from Mr Phillips, and might also hold other intelligence of consequence that could influence the colonel’s opinion of her family.

Besides being wise, the decision secretly pleased Darcy, for it gave him another day in Elizabeth’s company. He hoped they might find some moments alone, for Lady Matlock had lately kept to her rooms, and Mary was always in the library whenever her ladyship was absent.

Darcy arrived before breakfast, and, once the meal was done, they found themselves together, not venturing too close, since any person might enter, yet wholly content in one another’s presence.

Though he was happy, his joy was dimmed by the anger he felt in knowing that his dear cousin was in such danger. At times, his words betrayed this temper, most of all when Miss Henry was mentioned, and the least allusion was enough to bring them back to the peril in which he stood.

“I long for all to be concluded, that we may discover the truth and Miss Henry’s share in this design. I wish her gone forever from his life, whether she plays a principal part or but a slight one in this strange drama acted about Richard.”

“You must cease to be so angry,” Elizabeth pleaded. “I feel your anger in my heart as if it were a dagger.”

“I cannot, when, at the very time we ought to enjoy our happiness, we are to hasten a hundred miles to save Richard from her.”

Yet it was never long before Elizabeth’s smile drove most of the worries from his mind.

Despite her protest, Darcy drew near, eager to press his lips to hers. “Cease your struggling,” he said, holding her fast. “I cannot remain away from you.”

“Behave yourself, sir; someone may come in at any instant,” she ordered, yet her tone was more an invitation than a reproof.

“And that person will find me kissing my betrothed.”

“Yet it may ruin my reputation—”

“I shall marry you in any case,” he said with playful gravity. “Indeed, with your reputation ruined, I shall be the only one willing to marry you.”

“Stop this nonsense, Fitzwilliam!”

But he could not, for it was the first time she had called him so.

Even when close to him, she had the power to say, “Let us be seated. We must speak of our journey.”

“We shall have abundant time tomorrow in the carriage, and it is needful besides that your uncle should hear the plan,” he murmured half thoughtfully in her ear, making her tremble and forget all else.

His lips sought hers after every answer, until at last she remained quietly in his arms, her gaze fixed upon him.

“You asked me to be your wife,” she whispered.

“I remember,” he said softly at her ear, while his lips traced the tempting line that followed the neckline of her gown.

“Stop,” she said, though it was more entreaty than command.

“You do not wish me to stop.”

It was true; yet neither could she allow him to proceed. “Stop; we must speak of the wedding.”

Curiously, that subject checked him at once, as though he were eager to discuss it.

“Why are you so angry?” she asked again, when he had seated himself in an armchair.

“You made me stop because you wished to speak of our wedding,” he replied.

“I wish you would first tell me the truth. I must know the real dangers of this affair, for I must prepare with care what I am to say to the colonel.”

Darcy regarded her with tenderness. He could scarcely believe that, only weeks before, he had been so foolish as to hesitate to marry her.

He was glad of his aunt’s approval, yet he understood that in the end, he required no one’s approval.

Elizabeth was the woman for him—not only beautiful beyond measure, but a lady of firm character, lively intelligence, and quick discernment.

“As we speak, there are at least three men in the Tower guilty of crimes less than that of which my cousin may be accused.”

“In the Tower?” Elizabeth cried in dismay. “But that must mean—”

“Precisely. It means death.”

He saw her grow pale and lay a hand upon her heart.

“My God.”

“It is called treason, my love, and the Regent does not trifle with such a charge in time of war—nor at any time.”

“But the colonel is innocent,” Elizabeth exclaimed in distress.

“Yes, we know it, but if he has married this woman, her guilt may destroy his life, and even if he proves his innocence, the scandal would be irretrievable.”

“Married her? But when, and how?”

“As Lady Matlock said, she might be in Eastbourne with him, and even married to him.”

This apprehension darkened the whole of the day; their own happiness was forgotten in the face of such a threat.

The arrival of Lord Matlock brought yet greater gloom. Darcy opened the door to an old man bowed beneath anxiety and sorrow.

Though all pressed him to rest after his journey and recover from the unease of so grave a mission, he said firmly, “There is no time for rest; if we do not save him, our peace will be lost forever.”

Unhappily, every person in the room agreed.

“I thank you, Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary, for remaining with Lady Matlock. It was most gracious of you.”

With difficulty, and often faltering from anger or from grief, Lord Matlock related what he had discovered upon his journey.

They listened without daring to interrupt, for in the mind of each was but one question: was what they knew of Miss Henry and her family sufficient to convince Richard of the error he would commit if he married her?

“If they are not already married,” murmured Lady Matlock, and for a long while no one spoke.

At length, Darcy laid out the plan in a few words, entreating his lordship not to accompany them, for his strength was exhausted.

“The only persons to whom Richard will perhaps attend are Miss Elizabeth and myself. Mr Gardiner’s presence is sufficient for such a party. We would not alarm him.”

“Or her,” Lord Matlock added with disdain.

“You believe she is with him?”

“Yes—and how could a lady travel with a gentleman, save as his wife?”

They dined in a sombre spirit; every new intelligence served only to deepen their unease.

Darcy at last read the infamous letter and turned so pale that Elizabeth feared for his health. His anger broke forth at every line, subsiding only when his eyes rested upon her.

“She deceived me at Brighton,” Darcy said.

“I believed Richard had at last found a lady suited to him, one who would value him for his exceptional qualities. How false she proved! I remember the difficulty of persuading her to join us at Netherfield. And that woman who attended her, whose whole mind seemed fixed upon Miss Henry’s reputation—she plied me with a thousand questions.

Yet their only object was to determine whether Richard was the perfect prey. ”

“Though she forgot to ask where Netherfield was situated,” Mary observed.

“Yes, that was indeed an omission,” Darcy agreed, looking with admiration at Mary, who now appeared to him almost as accomplished as his future wife.

“Stop tormenting yourself, Darcy! She deceived us all,” Lord Matlock said. “Almost all,” he added, glancing at his lady. “She did not succeed in deceiving Lady Matlock.”

“I was incredibly superficial,” Darcy admitted. “She seemed to me a handsome and clever woman, with some fortune, who perhaps wished to advance into the higher circles of London; yet that did not appear necessarily amiss.”

He had far more to say, but refrained out of pity for his aunt, who could scarcely forbear weeping.

“I must depart at once. I still have many things to prepare.”

He looked with sadness and concern at his uncle and aunt, who now seemed two aged and despairing creatures.

Yet, when he took his leave, Lady Matlock’s eyes were as two sharp arrows.

“Save him, Fitzwilliam—and let that woman rot in hell…or in the Tower.”

Lord Matlock merely bowed, and when Darcy was gone, nothing remained in the dining-room but desolation and grief.

“Are you afraid?” Mary asked.

“No, I am scared by the fury Mr Darcy betrays at every step.”

“It is natural. Colonel Fitzwilliam is like his brother,” her sister endeavoured to console her.

“I know; yet I would rather behold him vehement than heated. I cannot well explain it. My fear is not of the dangers that may await us, but of his manner when confronted by that lady.”

“He will not kill her—”

“Assuredly not; yet he may endanger our very mission by uttering unguarded words, as he once did in Kent.”

“No, Kent lies far behind us, and that man exists no longer. You have changed him. Place your trust in him!”