Page 24 of Tempted (Heart to Heart Collection #2)

Chapter 24

Pemberley

“S o… that is why you married Richard?” Georgiana asked in a tremulous voice.

“That is why he offered to marry me . I accepted because I saw no alternatives, and my family agreed.” Elizabeth looked down at her drink and swirled the glass. “I know what you must think.”

“It does not matter what I think,” Georgiana said. “Others’ opinions will matter far more than mine.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth groaned. “Yes, the earl and the countess… and Richard’s mother. What shall I tell them? How do I even explain today?”

Georgiana’s lips puckered into a worried frown. “We do not. If they learn your secret, it will be at the expense of mine.”

“But we cannot conceal it. How shall I make my excuses when the countess asks about the bruises on my arms or your swollen lip?

“All they need know is that I requested you to stay until William returns. I will send word to the countess myself.”

Elizabeth scoffed lightly. “I hardly think a personal request for me to remain with you is a cure for suspicion. Besides, I thought she outranked you so far that such a request would be scandalous.”

A crease appeared at the edge of Georgiana’s mouth. “If I know the countess, she will simply be pleased to believe we are getting on.”

Elizabeth fingered her glass. “Are we?”

“They say there is no surer means of securing an ally than to know their secrets.” Georgiana’s eyes raised to meet Elizabeth’s.

“But neither can remain a secret. I had already resolved to tell Mr Darcy the whole of my history with his cousin, and it would be deceitful in the extreme if you concealed your own affairs from your brother and guardian. I have no interest in the sort of friendship where we extort goodwill from one another by wielding damaging information.”

“And I have no intention of allowing anyone to hold that over my head. The surest way to disarm Mr Wickham is to tell my brother everything, no matter how I dread it or how greatly it infuriates him. Speaking of that, I am terribly curious. What were you going to do about me? You never meant to stand silently by and let me do as I pleased while William was away, did you?”

“I would be no friend to your family, or to you, if I did. No, I had a private word with Mr Bingley, if you must know.”

Georgiana stiffened. “Bingley! What in blazes could that milksop do to me?”

“Track you down in London or follow you to France if need be. I told him Mr Wickham’s name and the name of the friend you intended to meet in Paris. He vowed discretion, not to mention extreme diligence. I felt that until your brother’s return, he would be the one to best secure your safety while minimising the risk of scandal or family outrage.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed, and a low chuckle sounded in her throat. “I had not imagined you had it in you—not to confront a problem with all the grace of a rampaging bull.”

“I was rather clever, wasn’t I?” Elizabeth congratulated herself. “It is only a pity I have not found such a neat answer to other troubles.”

Georgiana nodded, her gaze drifting to the fire. “I am not looking forward to William’s return.”

D arcy did not telephone when he reached London. Though he had originally intended to do so, he could not think what he was to say to anyone, least of all with an operator listening in. He spent only one night in London and made for the Derby train the next morning. A note from Bingley was waiting at his townhouse, saying only that he had enjoyed Pemberley’s hospitality for nearly three weeks during Darcy’s absence, and hoped to speak to him as soon as he had returned about an important matter. Darcy tucked the note in his pocket, deciding whatever news Bingley had to share—and he had a fair idea what it was—it could wait.

A storm was gathering over Pemberley when he arrived that evening. Nearly dusk already, the clouds cast an ominous gloom over his return. Darcy paused as he stepped down from the cab he had hired in Derby, glancing up at the light glowing from the windows. The music room seemed to be where he would find everyone.

Georgiana was alone when he entered, playing something slow and meditative. Her brow creased and her head wove in tempo, her eyes half-closed as she felt the music. It was four entire measures before she happened to glance up, and that only an incidental movement of her eyes. She started and dropped her hands as if he had caught her in the act of stealing something.

“William! You are home.”

“What, no kiss on the cheek?” he asked. “I thought you might have missed me.”

“Oh, of course.” She hastened from the stool, a nervous smile pasted on a face suddenly grown pale. She stood on her toes to greet him, then stepped back with her hands laced. “How was your journey? Did you learn anything?”

All the relief at finally coming home fell from his expression. “Yes.”

Georgiana’s mouth opened in a soft, “Oh,” as Darcy glanced about the room, searching for evidence of her companions.

“I need to speak with Mrs Fitzwilliam at once. Is she here?”

Georgiana wetted her lips. “If you mean, has she gone to Matlock, not yet. Lady Matlock invited her, but I… asked her to stay. Until you came back.”

He tilted his head, one brow arched. “I confess, I did not expect to hear that. I am pleased, Georgiana. You were rather inhospitable before.”

Her teeth flashed in another nervous smile. “Indeed. But come, sit—may I play you something, William? You look weary, and the music always relaxes you.”

“No, but thank you,” he declined, holding up his hand in a steadying gesture.

“Then I shall have something brought to your room while you refresh yourself. Sherry, perhaps? Or, if you have much to discuss this evening, you might prefer coffee?”

“Georgiana, please. I have scarcely set foot in the door! What has come over you?”

She closed her mouth, and her eyes seemed to grow luminous. “Nothing. I will call for Elizabeth.”

Darcy turned and watched his sister nearly scurry from the room in amazement. “Elizabeth?” he repeated out loud.

T here was no need for him to speak a word.

The moment Elizabeth entered his study—probably before that, in fact—her face reflected understanding. She met his eyes once, then her countenance fell, and she swallowed. “It is certain, then?” she asked in a fragile voice.

He sighed and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I am afraid we have much to discuss.”

Gingerly, she pulled out the chair and sat on the front edge of the seat, her back rigid and her jaw tight, in much the same manner as that first interview back in London. “Yes,” she agreed softly, “we do.”

Darcy could not settle himself so easily. He paced round the back of his own chair, then eventually braced his hands on it and leaned heavily forward. “I was able to speak to Lieutenant-General Kenny-Kelly in Johannesburg. He gave me the report in person.”

She stared at the top of his desk. “Did he suffer?” Liquid eyes raised to him when he was slow to answer. “Was he captured? Tortured?”

“It… appears he was taken prisoner, along with over four hundred others. Most of them were freed just recently at Johannesburg, but some eighty men were not accounted for.”

She drew her lower lip between her teeth, and her eyes sparkled as she blinked rapidly. “There is nothing more?”

“No.” He slowly drew out his chair and sank into it. “The Afrikaners are not savages. I do not think they would torture their prisoners for no reason, but sleeping sickness has decimated the corps. I could not speak to any of the men who had been captured with him, but the time has come for us to be rational.”

Her throat trembled as she sniffed. “Yes.” She tried to set her mouth, but it quivered uncontrollably, and a whimper rose, unbidden, from her breast. After a few failed attempts at self-restraint, her body buckled, and she clapped a hand over her mouth with a halting, “I-I’m s-so-sorry!”

Darcy allowed her space to weep, but watched her gravely, seeking—now more than ever—assurances of her sincerity. She did not fling herself across his desk in a melodramatic display. Rather, she seemed to turn inward, to fight her own battle of grief.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured.

She tipped her chin away, as if denying him entry to her sorrow, her hand shielding her face.

It was a silly and pompous thing to do, perhaps, but he found himself walking around to stand behind her, then turning her chair and tenderly taking one of her hands between his own. Her grip was immediate and fierce, and she rocked her head against his forearm. In that odd embrace, he cradled her, feeling the damp of tears through his sleeve and the heat of her breath close to his chest. She heaved sporadic gasps against his arm, her hair becoming tousled in the thread of his jacket.

After a long while, she forcefully regulated her breathing but did not pull away. She clung to his arm, her eyes clenched and, Heaven help him, he held her just as tightly. Her body softened, her fingers more gentle than desperate on his sleeve, and she felt so natural in his arms that he nearly forgot how she had come to be there. When he found his cheek resting on her head, the urge to nuzzle her hair nearly overpowering his senses, he drew back.

It was a moment before they had both composed themselves once more. Darcy reclaimed his seat, with the desk safely between them, as he fumbled for what to say.

“Sir,” she began in a voice scarcely above a whisper, “there is something I have wished to tell you. Something I ought to have said… before… and it can wait no longer.”

This recalled him to his senses, and he patted down his breast pocket until he found that letter and tossed it on the desk. “Yes, I expect there is.”

She tilted her head and blinked at the address, then carefully picked it up. “How did you?—oh, I see. Richard’s belongings.” She pinched her lips together as she fingered the broken edge of the envelope. “Have you read it, then?”

“Forgive me, but yes.”

Her head bobbed slowly. “Then you know some of what I was about to say, but not all—not the worst.”

He leaned forward, lacing his fingers over the desk. “Tell me everything, Elizabeth.”