Page 11 of The Rogue’s Widow (Sweet Escapes Collection #3)

H is London house had never felt so vacant and dull. Darcy had declined three invitations to dinner, for anyone whose company he might have enjoyed were presently in the country. His days were dry and solitary, but he was not so greatly in need of conversation that he wished to endure long evenings of revelry with ladies and gentlemen he cared little for. What he truly lacked, what he most longed for, was someone other than a simpleton or a sycophant to talk to.

After a fortnight of no such luck elsewhere, Darcy found himself knocking at the one door where he might find someone with whom he could truly converse, someone to challenge or even anger him: Richard’s flat. Much to his surprise, his cousin even received him.

“To what do I owe the honour?” Richard greeted him with surly irony dripping from his tones.

“Merely paying my respects,” Darcy answered. “I did not call when last I was in London.”

“I never expected you to this time, either. Oh, yes, Mother told me four days ago that you were in Town. What, did no one else offer to receive you?”

“Quite the contrary. I had hoped to speak with you, but if you still cling to old grievances, I shall depart.”

Richard scoffed. “It is not I you must ask, but my wife. She has still not forgiven you for our last meeting.”

“For what? Speaking the truth? I said no more than I always say.”

“Precisely.” Richard shook his head and set his hands at his hips. “I suppose you may as well sit down and have a drink while you are here.”

“And I suppose I must thank you for being a gracious host.” He accepted both seat and drink from his cousin and paused for a moment before speaking again. “How is Anne?”

Richard shrugged. “You cannot expect a man to truly know how his wife does. Creatures of mystery, they are.”

“They needn’t be. There is such a thing as a rational woman.”

Richard grunted into his glass. “You do not say. Where are these unicorns, the enchanted forests of Derbyshire?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then set a trap and put one in a bottle for me,” Richard grumbled. “I should like to see such a mythical being with my own eyes.”

“I doubt Anne would appreciate the comparison. She would not come off well.”

Richard rubbed his forehead with the back of his fist. “Why did you really come today, Darcy? It was not to sing the praises of my bride.”

“No.” Darcy emptied his glass and set it aside. “I never despised Anne, you know. I never had a high opinion of her—I made no secret of that—but what happened was not entirely her fault.”

“I know. It was Lady Catherine’s poison and Wickham’s golden tongue, but you did blasted little to rectify the matter. You could have told Anne why you would not marry her yourself.”

Darcy snorted. “She cannot possibly be that simple. What if she had been with child, as we all suspected at first? Did she truly think I would claim it as my own?”

“You of all men ought to know how to resolve such a dilemma,” Richard mumbled. “You manage enough other people’s lives.”

“And having her marry you was the best choice in every respect—not least because Anne’s inheritance allowed you to retire from the military.”

“Darcy, I just told you my wife can be irrational, but in this case, I nearly understand her feelings. How long did you leave her with no indication of your intentions? And then after Wickham had misled and used her badly, she looked to you to save her. When you never even answered her letter…”

“I was busy preventing Wickham’s next conquest!” Darcy spat. “Pardon me if I cared better for my fifteen-year-old sister than a woman of six and twenty who knew perfectly well what could come of her liaison. She sought to manipulate me in the situation as surely as Wickham did, mark my words—she thinking she could force me into a marriage to preserve the family honour, and he believing I would pay handsomely for his silence. The fool is yourself, for continuing to defend the lady’s wounded feelings to me when her own better sense ought to have informed her reality.”

“You know Anne better than that by now. She is her mother’s daughter in every respect.”

“Which is why she persisted so long in her delusions of an engagement to me. I still say a hearty measure of good sense would not serve the lady ill.”

“Good sense, you say? Constitutionally impossible, by both breeding and upbringing. In fact, I do not think the woman exists of whom it could be said.”

“I heartily disagree. Many are the women who by either prudence or diligence avoid such trials and pitfalls as our cousin had fallen into. And if such a woman does stumble or is dealt a wretched hand, she ought also to have the wits to overcome it.”

Richard narrowed his eyes and uncrossed his boots. “By Jove, Darcy, who is she? The unicorn has a name, does she not?”

Darcy looked away. “I speak in general terms, Richard.”

“Bollocks. Some faerie has spread her magical dust over your expensive lapels and now you are comparing every woman to her. What is her name?”

“There is no such lady,” Darcy retorted testily. “And even if there were, I am no mooncalf or fresh-faced lad.”

Richard nodded and pensively drew out a cigar from a box beside his chair. “Of course not. How silly of me. No lady has ever succeeded in turning your head.”

“Bloody right. A waste of a man’s energies, the creatures are.”

“Oh, yes. Frivolous, the lot of them. You are better off avoiding them altogether, even if they possess the faces of angels.”

“Just so,” Darcy agreed. “It would not matter to me if the handsomest woman in all England were to alight just before me with a mind like a law student and the integrity of a saint.”

“Naturally,” Richard agreed. He carefully sniffed the length of his cigar, his expression detached and cool. “You would not even blink twice.”

“Nor would I be troubled if such a person could nurse a poor opinion of me, just as Anne does. It is not for me to fret over each time my words and deeds have been misunderstood or I was judged to be arrogant for acting upon my own sound instincts.”

“Certainly not. You need not defend yourself.”

“No, indeed.” Darcy nodded with a tip of his glass and a facetious half-smirk. “It would not matter if unicorns and faeries did exist in Derbyshire, for it is not as if I could take her for my bride.”

“A pity about her lack of pedigree and fortune,” Richard sympathised round the butt of the cigar.

“Those I could nearly overlook, if it were not…” Darcy bit off the last words and glared at his cousin. “But no such person exists.”

“A pity, for I almost had you tricked into giving up her name!” Richard laughed. “Very well, there are no mythical beings in Derbyshire. But did I hear—it was probably only rumour—that you managed to marry off old Bernard Wickham before he died? That must have been satisfying, putting the nail in the coffin of George Wickham’s aspirations, so to speak. I suppose I ought to congratulate you for bringing Bernard round to reason at last. Whom did you find to marry him?”

A sudden queasiness made Darcy’s stomach clench and his face turn sour. “No one special. A reduced gentlewoman whose father’s estate fell to the next male relative. You know the sort—there are dozens or perhaps hundreds of such women.”

“Of course,” Richard echoed as he stuck the cigar back between his teeth. “Nothing unique about such a woman at all.”

Darcy met his cousin’s eyes and discovered an odd twinkle there—a peculiar cunning that hearkened back to long-ago days of youth when one would discover the other’s secret. But this time, the confession was too dear, too impossible. And so, he swallowed the last of his drink and rose to his feet.

“It was good to see you, Richard,” he said. “Please give Anne my regards, and my hope that we may all meet under the same roof again as family.”

Richard came to stand beside him and gave him his hand. “It was no punishment to see you either, old boy.”

They walked together to the door, and Darcy stopped to offer a final expression of goodwill. “Will you come to Matlock this autumn? If you do, I hope you will come to Pemberley for a bit of shooting.”

“Oh, I do not dare,” Richard answered with a strange smile. “I hear the forests around Pemberley have unicorns.”

E lizabeth found an excuse to remain at Pemberley that first Sunday after Mr Darcy’s departure. Miss Darcy seemed depressed, she assured herself. She had her duties—now even more than before, for had it not been for her, the master of Pemberley would have remained at home and his sister would still be in comforts. Throughout the day when she would normally have gone to her family, she clung close by her charge, soothing herself that in this, at least, she was doing something right.

Whether Georgiana Darcy perceived the reason for Elizabeth’s sombre manner could not be certain. However, on the following Sunday when Elizabeth proclaimed her intent to remain again, Georgiana would not hear of it. And so, to Corbett she went. The Bennet family attended church services together, then retired for an afternoon of leisure. Elizabeth and Jane pardoned themselves for a quiet ramble up the lane, having little to say and no particular object in mind.

Jane sighed nostalgically, gazing over the neighbouring field. “I am coming to like it here in Derbyshire very much, but it is still not quite like home. Do you remember how we all used to walk to Meryton of an afternoon?”

“Or to Lucas Lodge to see Charlotte,” Elizabeth replied with a smile.

Jane’s brow creased. “Better not recall her name in front of Mama. She still resents that Charlotte is now the mistress at Longbourn. Unjust, she calls it, saying the house should never have gone to Mr Collins.”

“Poor Mama!” Elizabeth agreed.

“Oh, but she is growing more settled each day. That is all thanks to you, Lizzy. I know you still regret…”

“Regret?” Elizabeth crossed her arms and watched her feet as they walked. “That is not precisely right—at least, not as it was.”

“No? That sounds like a different opinion than you professed before.”

“Perhaps I learned something I did not know before.”

Jane looked sceptically to her sister’s face, but allowed the subject to rest when Elizabeth said no more. “Did you get the letter from Uncle Philips?”

“Yes. He said it was perfectly legal for me to sell Corbett Lodge to anyone I chose for any amount I deemed satisfactory, even as little as a pound. He also said there would be no impediment even if I wished to sell it to Mama or to you, since Mama is a widow and you are unmarried—no husband to claim it.”

“I know.” Jane laughed quietly. “Lydia opened it before I caught her. She tried to make the seal look as if she had not broken it, but when she was discovered she pulled it out again and read it to everyone.”

“She is becoming sly! And brazen. We must guard her more carefully, I see.”

“It is true, but I am more concerned just now with your notion of selling to one of us. Why would you do such a thing? Is it not enough that the house belongs to you?”

Elizabeth tightened her arms about her middle and lifted her shoulders. “I no longer feel that it was unjust that George Wickham did not receive his brother’s property, but I am not yet comfortable calling it my own. Perhaps if I sold it to Mama, she would not suffer in her conscience as I do. It would either be her or you.”

“You cannot think of it! You are the only one with the boldness to make the best of it. I… would not even want it.”

Elizabeth smiled warmly at her sister. “Of course! I hope that soon you shall have no need of a house. You will be far more agreeably situated.”

Jane blushed. “Mr Bingley has no serious designs, Lizzy. I shall not make myself unhappy over him.”

“Ah, you say this, but you have already done so! Fear not, for I am sure the gentleman will return this autumn and you will see much of him then.”

“Oh, do not embarrass me! Pray, let me defer thinking and speaking of him until I see that he truly has come back.”

“If you wish.”

“But Lizzy—” Jane stopped and turned seriously to her sister. “Truly, what is this business about transferring the ownership of Corbett to one of us? You are not considering it seriously, I hope.”

Elizabeth frowned. “No. The idea was upon the recommendation of one I thought to trust, but now I see that perhaps it was little more than a diversion. I suppose if I ever entertained a suitor and desired that Corbett should remain a home for our mother and sisters, I could consider it again… but I expect one marriage was enough for me. Besides—” she offered Jane a wan smile—“it is not as if I have had gentlemen beating at the door. I shall remain forever as I am and be grateful.”

“Dearest Lizzy! Do not give over the notion of your own happiness so easily. Somewhere, there is a gentleman who would count it an honour to win your regard.” She impulsively embraced her sister, and with arms laced about each other’s waists, they began walking again, each lost in her own thoughts. Some minutes later, they both stopped when another figure appeared in the road. “Lizzy, who is that woman?”

The woman appeared to be a farmer’s wife, and when she saw them, she hastened her steps with apparent intent to speak to them. “I have never seen her,” Elizabeth admitted.

The woman was not tall but walked with brisk purpose. She was carrying a basket that appeared to be too heavy for her, and when she drew near, it was difficult to judge her age. “Mrs Wickham?” she asked and dropped an immediate curtsey.

Elizabeth nodded. “I am. And you are?”

“Oh! Sakes, ma’am, I meant no disrespect. I’m Mrs Brown, and I were going to see a poor sick lad a quart’ mile up the road. I tho’ when I saw you tha’ you must be the Mrs Wickham I’ve ‘eard so much on.”

“Indeed so. Why, in that case, I have been wishing to meet you as well. What is this you say about a sick lad?” Elizabeth asked.

“Jacob’s boy,” Mrs Brown answered. “Took sick last week. ‘Tisn’t serious, no’ if I can get me draught to ‘im.”

“Are you a sort of apothecary?” Jane asked in wonder.

Mrs Brown shook her head. “Me da’ was. I’m nought but a widow wha’ knows a few remedies. I cure where I can for a few eggs or a bi’ o’ cheese, and sometimes nothin’.”

“That is very fine,” Elizabeth praised her. “I had heard nothing of you, other than you were a kind neighbour and were responsible for the rum cake my mother so fancied.”

“‘Tweren’t nothin’,” Mrs Brown answered. “I do wha’ I can, since the landlord cares nothing for his folk. A brutish lord and master, he is.”

Jane put her fingers to her lips. “Dreadful! I hope I do not know this landlord.”

“I daresay you do,” Mrs Brown replied solemnly. “Everyone for fifty miles knows Mr Darcy. But what is there to be done against such a man?”

Elizabeth was slitting her eyes and pursing her lips. “Indeed,” was her careful response. “Have you had many dealings with Mr Darcy?”

“A great many. As I understand you have as well, Mrs Wickham, I would advise you not to trust everything you hear.”

Jane gasped and turned pale at this ill report of a man of whom she had been inclined to think well, but Elizabeth only looked grave. “I will remember your cautions. As you are on a mission of mercy, I shall not keep you. It was a pleasure, Mrs Brown.”

She inclined her head to the woman, then clasped Jane’s hand to turn back the other way. “Jane,” she whispered when the woman was safely behind them, “did you notice anything odd about the way she spoke?”

Jane glanced over her shoulder. “No. She talked just like all the other farmers.”

“But that is just it!” Elizabeth hissed. “She spoke thus until she began slighting Mr Darcy. Then she was suddenly able to pronounce her ‘h’s and her inflections sounded more polished.”

“Oh, Lizzy! You do sound far too suspicious. One would almost think you were searching for some conspiracy!”

“Perhaps I am. Mr Wickham spoke warmly of her, and I have since discovered reason to doubt his assertions. I think I shall ask Miss Darcy if she knows Mrs Brown.”

Jane sighed and shook her head. “All I wanted was a pleasant walk this afternoon.”

Elizabeth linked her arm through her sister’s. “Dearest Jane! Let us go on, then, and have no more talk of Wickhams or Darcys or anything but that which gives us pleasure.”

Strangely, however, Mr Darcy was foremost in her thoughts all the rest of the day.