Page 24

Chapter Nine

Darcy returned to his desk after dinner had concluded, the unfinished letter to Colonel Fitzwilliam requiring his attention.

The candles cast flickering shadows across the study as he contemplated the delicate balance required in his correspondence.

He had promised Elizabeth a solution, yet the path forward remained unclear.

One thing, however, was certain: he could not interfere with Bingley’s intentions regarding Jane again.

That misguided intervention, born of what he had believed was friendly concern, had caused too much pain already.

He picked up his pen, then set it down once more.

The memory of Bingley’s face when Darcy admitted his interference in his relationship with Jane Bennet still haunted him.

The hurt, the betrayal in his friend’s eyes had been a painful lesson in the consequences of overstepping.

Darcy had justified his actions then as protection, believing the Bennet family connections unsuitable, the mother vulgar, the younger sisters wild.

How ironic that he now found himself entangled in protecting the reputation of the wildest Bennet sister of all.

“I cannot do it again,” he murmured to the empty room, rising from his chair to pace before the fireplace. “I cannot presume to direct Bingley’s life a second time.”

The flames danced in the grate, casting warm light across the polished wood floor.

Darcy stopped before the fire, hands clasped behind his back, mind working through the dilemma.

Bingley had forgiven him for the first interference, but that forgiveness had been hard-won and came with an unspoken condition: never again.

Their friendship had mended, but another such breach of trust would surely shatter it beyond repair.

Yet if Bingley returned to Netherfield, called upon the Bennets, and innocently queried where Lydia was, after mentioning he had been at Pemberley, the consequences could be devastating.

Not just for Lydia, whose ruination would become public knowledge, but for all the Bennet sisters.

Even his own family could be touched by the scandal.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. He turned to find Elizabeth at the doorway, a concerned expression on her face.

“I wondered if you might still be awake,” she said, entering the study and closing the door quietly behind her. “You seemed troubled at dinner.”

Darcy gestured for her to join him by the fire. “I have been considering our predicament with Bingley.”

Elizabeth crossed to stand beside him, her presence a comfort even in silence. The firelight caught the warm tones in her dark hair, the thoughtful depth in her eyes. Her capacity for rational assessment, even in matters close to her heart, was one of the qualities he most admired in her.

“Have you come to any conclusion?” she asked after a moment.

“Only that I cannot interfere with Bingley’s intentions toward your sister,” Darcy replied, his voice firm despite the frustration he felt at the limitation. “I have done that once before, to the detriment of everyone involved. I will not repeat that mistake.”

Elizabeth studied his face, her expression softening with understanding. “Your friendship with Mr. Bingley is important to you.”

“It is,” Darcy acknowledged. “But more than that, I question whether he would heed my advice this time, even if I offered it. He was most emphatic about making his own decisions regarding Jane in the future.”

“I believe you are right about that,” Elizabeth said, moving to take a seat in one of the chairs flanking the fireplace.

Darcy joined her, appreciating as always her practical approach to problems. “But I honestly cannot say whether Jane would welcome his return, or not. She had found enough distance to consider his actions dispassionately, and learning that he had allowed himself to be so easily persuaded away from her, after showing her such particular attention… I do not think it endeared his character to her. Certainly, she will not be so easily won over a second time.”

“Well, that is for Jane to decide for herself, and certainly without any further interference from me,” Darcy said firmly, although privately he thought Elizabeth might have a point.

Not least because Jane herself had appeared, when he last saw her, to be looking forward rather than back.

Darcy had even thought there might be some mutual admiration between Jane and Colonel Fitzwilliam, though that was surely an impossible match due to the colonel's need for a wealthy wife.

“Jane is capable of determining her own future, I believe; let us concern ourselves only with the far thornier problem of Lydia,” Elizabeth agreed.

“Indeed!” Darcy sighed, looking down at the unfinished letter. While the colonel was aware of all the particulars of Lydia’s current situation, Darcy still needed to be mindful of what he put to paper, lest the letter somehow fall into the wrong hands.

“The right incentives might persuade someone suitable,” Elizabeth said carefully. Her expression revealed her discomfort with the mercenary nature of such an arrangement, yet her practical nature recognised the necessity.

“Financial incentives, you mean.” Darcy did not phrase it as a question. They both understood what would be required.

“Yes,” Elizabeth admitted. “It is not how I would wish for any marriage to begin, but given the circumstances...”

“It may be the only option,” Darcy finished for her.

A comfortable silence fell between them, both contemplating the moral complexities of their situation. The fire crackled in the grate, sending occasional sparks up the chimney. Outside, the wind had risen, rustling the ivy that climbed the walls of Pemberley.

“I shall finish the letter tonight,” Darcy decided. “I will explain the situation as delicately as possible and ask for his counsel.”

Elizabeth rose, moving to his desk. She glanced at the unfinished letter, then at Darcy. “Would you like me to help compose it? Four hands might make lighter work of such a difficult task.”

Darcy felt a surge of gratitude for her offer. It was still novel, this partnership, this sharing of burdens that had once been his alone to bear. He joined her at the desk, pulling a second chair alongside his own.

“I would welcome your assistance,” he said, sitting beside her. “Richard knows you now as family. Your voice in this matter carries weight.”

Together they composed the letter, Darcy writing while Elizabeth occasionally suggested phrases or approaches.

They mentioned Lydia as ‘our mutual acquaintance, the young widow in Leicester’, and their concern that the Bingleys’ visit to Netherfield after being at Pemberley might reveal that certain persons were not where they were supposed to be.

The only solution was a respectable marriage, as soon as possible, and they wondered if Colonel Fitzwilliam might be able to suggest a suitable candidate.

“Should we mention the potential for financial arrangements?” Elizabeth asked as Darcy prepared to conclude the letter.

He considered, then nodded. “Fitzwilliam understands how these matters work. I will indicate that resources are available if a suitable situation can be arranged.”

Darcy added the final paragraph, then signed his name with a flourish. Elizabeth read over the completed letter, nodding her approval.

“It strikes the right balance,” she said. “Honest enough to convey the urgency, yet discreet enough to protect Lydia’s reputation should the letter somehow go astray.”

Darcy folded the letter and sealed it with wax, pressing his signet ring into the hot substance. “I shall have it sent first thing in the morning by special messenger. We should have a response in ten days or perhaps more, depending on whether Richard is in London or has been sent elsewhere.”

Elizabeth touched his arm lightly, a gesture of gratitude that warmed him more than the fire. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam.”

The use of his given name, still rare enough to be notable, indicated the depth of her feeling. Darcy covered her hand with his own.

“We face this together,” he said simply.

“Together,” she agreed, her smile tired but genuine. “I should retire now. Georgiana mentioned wanting to visit Lambton tomorrow morning.”

“Sleep well,” Darcy said, rising as she did. “I will join you shortly.”

After Elizabeth had gone, Darcy remained in his study a few moments longer.

He placed the letter on the small table by the door, where it would be collected for delivery in the morning.

The weight of responsibility sat heavy on his shoulders, yet he felt more capable of bearing it with Elizabeth by his side.

The arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam himself at Pemberley, twelve days after Darcy had dispatched his letter, was unexpected enough.

That he appeared with a companion, a captain in his regiment by the looks of his uniform, was even more surprising.

Darcy observed the two men dismounting in front of the house from his study window, noting the serious set of his cousin’s features.

Whatever solution Fitzwilliam had devised, he had clearly wasted no time in implementing it.

Darcy straightened his waistcoat and made his way to the entrance hall, arriving just as Mrs. Reynolds was welcoming the visitors.

“Cousin,” Darcy said, extending his hand. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

Fitzwilliam clasped his hand firmly. “Darcy. I received your letter and thought the matter warranted immediate attention.” He gestured to his companion, a tall man with an excellent bearing and thoughtful brown eyes. “May I present Captain James Wallace of the 7th Light Dragoons.”

“Mr. Darcy,” the captain said, bowing with precise formality. “I am honoured by your hospitality.”