Page 14 of The Rogue’s Widow (Sweet Escapes Collection #3)

M rs Wickham did not come down until dinner, and when she did arrive, she slipped wordlessly to Georgiana’s side and seemed to take no notice of him.

Darcy was careful not to make her uncomfortable by looking her way across the table—unless, of course, he sensed that her attention was elsewhere. Those few glances he did snatch were telling. She wore a non-descript, mouse-grey gown—not unsuited to her half-mourning, but entirely inappropriate for her complexion and figure. She must have resumed styling her hair herself, because he could not imagine any lady’s maid in his employ fashioning such a plain, dowdy coiffure when the lady had such lustrous, thick hair to work with. And her colour… was she feverish or blushing?

“Oh, Mr Darcy, I pray, do tell me what you think.”

He drew a short breath and commanded his senses once more before turning to Lady Sophia, seated beside him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Why, what we were just talking of! Mother was speaking of plans for Georgiana’s come-out, and she sought my opinion on her gowns. After all, Mother has no patience for sitting through hours upon hours of fittings any longer. I cannot think how wearisome she finds it all, for you know how her back pains her these days. Anyway, she had already selected some shades and fabrics for Georgiana, but I told her—you must think me dreadfully irreverent—I said they were all rubbish, and we must begin all over with bolder shades and heavier silk. Am I not right? A girl of her station must stand out, should she not?”

“There are many ways in which a young lady may ‘stand out,’ as you put it. She needn’t attire herself as a peacock just to turn the eye.”

“Ah, Mr Darcy, you speak like an older brother, but you must think like a single gentleman. She must first catch the eye, before aught else, for who knows but that the most eligible gentleman may find his attention diverted by another female with brighter plumage? And by then, all hope is lost, do you see?”

“If he is so easily diverted with no head to look for more than bright feathers, then I daresay he is not the man I desire for my future brother.”

Lady Sophia laughed. “Mother said you would think thus, but no matter. We shall have Georgiana turned out as a princess when the time comes, and you will hardly know her when she enters the room. Is that not right, Anne? You have heard our plans, and can you say you do not approve?”

Anne cast a casual eye over Georgiana, who was shrinking in her chair, and gave a careless flip of her hand. “Naturally, she ought to appear in a fashion worthy of her station, but I think it hardly matters. Georgiana Darcy would hardly need to show her face at all, and she could command the best suitors. With a fortune such as hers, success is practically guaranteed, so long as she does not waste her youth and looks in waiting on the indecisive sort.” She blinked slowly and bestowed a long, cold look on Darcy before drawing a sip of her champagne.

Darcy felt an uncomfortable burn forming along the ridges of his ears, but he made a show of not hearing Anne’s pointed jab. Richard, however, was less tactful. His cousin muttered something incoherent, then tossed his napkin over his plate and rose. He made a curt bow to Mrs Wickham, who was seated near him, then he left the room without another word to anyone else.

“Ah, dear Richard,” sighed Lady Sophia. “Mother is forever speaking to him about his temper. What can have set him off this time?”

No one bothered to answer, and the rest of the meal was carried on in near silence.

E lizabeth performed her duty by Miss Darcy that evening—sitting near her at dinner and giving reassuring glances whenever certain topics made her uneasy. Later, she turned pages for her at the pianoforte when the family’s appeals induced the shy girl to play for the party. Colonel Fitzwilliam never returned, which Elizabeth found odd. No one else seemed to miss him, which she found even odder.

Mr Darcy was nearly silent all evening. He sat in a long chair by the window, occasionally gazing at it as though he could see into the blackness of the night. When he was not looking there, his eyes seemed to rest upon his cousins with a peculiar gleam. Elizabeth had not been so many months in his house without recognising something of that expression. Mr Darcy seldom spared a thought for those persons who were unremarkable, which meant that he found something either appealing or abhorrent in the ladies. Given the gentle replies he made whenever they spoke directly to him, Elizabeth decided it was the former case.

“Elizabeth?” Georgiana whispered. “I do not recall the next bit.”

Elizabeth looked at the music page and realised that she had lost track of Georgiana’s playing. Talented musician that she was, she had continued from memory for as long as she could, but now the piano had gone quiet and all eyes had turned to them. She managed a flustered apology and turned two entire pages over to catch up to the place where Georgiana had left off.

“Something the matter, darling?” Lady Sophia asked. “Why, the poor child is grown weary. Anne, my dear, we have been unkind to our young cousin, asking her to keep us entertained all evening.”

“I do not see how she can be fatigued after a mere hour,” Mrs Fitzwilliam replied. “Darcy always assured Mama that Georgiana played ‘very constantly.’ Is that not right, Darcy? I wonder if it can be true, as you claim.”

Georgiana was quietly gathering her music, looking down to avoid the gazes of any in the room, but Elizabeth was watching Mr Darcy. He had slanted his tall figure back in his chair, his head tipped in the manner of a man at leisure, and he offered a laconic frown to his cousin’s query. “I am not in the habit of speaking untruths.”

“But are all your claims valid?” asked the lady. “I daresay you have believed things that were not true.”

“Such as?” he asked in what appeared to be mild interest.

“Truly, Darcy, such a thing would not be for me to say. However, if you were predisposed for or against a certain person, can you say that your judgment would never err?”

“I expect no one can say as much, though I have made it the study of my life to avoid such mistakes.”

“And you would not leave a person in doubt about your opinions of them?” Mrs Fitzwilliam pressed, her tones brittle.

“Never, unless they were determined not to hear, or unless the confession of such an opinion would give pain.”

The lady made a derisive expression to her companion. “I have never known you to be greatly troubled over the feelings of others, Darcy.”

“Now, my dear Anne,” Lady Sophia soothed, “did not Darcy think of your comfort when he invited me on this little visit to Pemberley? Goodness knows, it was not for my own sake.”

“You do him too much credit, Sophia. I know very well what he is about, and my comfort had little to do with it.”

Elizabeth discovered only belatedly that she was still watching Mr Darcy, for his eyes shifted in her direction when Georgiana discreetly excused herself from the piano bench. His gaze brushed lightly over his sister, settled on Elizabeth for a half a pulse beat, then flitted away, leaving her feeling both rumpled in spirit and superfluous to the moment. She quietly rose and could not decide whether she was dismayed or relieved that he gave her no further notice as she walked by him towards the door.

“On the contrary, Anne,” he said in a cheerful tone, “your pleasure was chief among my concerns. Every host wishes for his guest—particularly if she be a lady—to have a close companion in the party in whom she might confide and take comfort.”

Lady Sophia offered one of her cultured trills of laughter. “There, do you see, Anne? He pays us both a compliment.”

“Or he means to insult us both,” Anne Fitzwilliam retorted drily. “Darcy always means more than he says.”

“I meant no insult,” Mr Darcy answered. “But I do always speak the truth. I thought of my own pleasure as much as yours when arranging for your stay.” He finished this remark with a warm smile at Lady Sophia, then turned his attention to his drink.

Elizabeth could bear no more. She had traversed the room slowly, finding an excuse to close the piano or gather Georgiana’s forgotten shawl as she went, but now she turned away in humiliation. Whatever heedless words had once slipped from Mr Darcy’s lips or flowed from his pen, it was clear that he had now thought better of them.

It was for the best. Truly—she had been right before when she had reminded him that any alliance between themselves would be reprehensible. And yet… there was that nagging thrill in her heart whenever he was close, a comfortable resonance whenever she looked upon his face, and a pleasant shiver up the back of her neck whenever his voice sounded in her ear. She had grown fond of being near him, accustomed to his sardonic witticisms, and rather enamoured of… well, that thought was better forgotten.

Elizabeth was now alone in the hall and quite put out with herself for having lost track of Miss Darcy. The young mistress was likely already upstairs dressing for bed, but Elizabeth could feel no sense of weariness or fatigue. Rather, she was restless, and craved a long, soothing book. She gave Miss Darcy’s shawl to a maid and bent her steps towards the library.

She lingered some while, pondering over the selections more out of fretfulness than indecision. Nothing suited her tastes, but at last she settled on an old favourite, thinking that within its pages, at least, she would be at peace. Tucking it close to her chest, she turned around and nearly screamed when she discovered Colonel Fitzwilliam leaning against the stack just behind her. She fell back, covering her mouth and trying to compose herself.

“My apologies, Mrs Wickham. I did not intend to startle you.”

She steadied her breath and amended her posture to something more dignified. “I protest that you must have intended to startle me, standing so close and approaching so silently as you did.”

One side of his mouth tugged upwards and his blue eyes slowly roved from her head to her toes and back again. “Intriguing,” he muttered under his breath. “I would offer to help you find something, but it appears you already have.”

She glanced at the cover of her book, then repositioned it just before her chest. “Indeed. If you will excuse me, sir—”

“Pray, Mrs Wickham, a moment. I had been hoping to speak privately with you and now is an opportune time.” He stepped nearer, his manner a curious mixture of masculine assertiveness and warmth.

Elizabeth drew back until she pressed against the shelf. “I will ask you to keep a respectable distance, sir.”

The colonel stopped, one brow arched. “What is… oh! I see how it is. The lord of the manor routine, eh? You have nothing to fear from me, Mrs Wickham. Faith, I warrant that Darcy would skin me and place my head on a pike if I gave you any offence.”

Elizabeth relaxed somewhat. “He might speak in my favour, but I doubt, sir, that Mr Darcy would take up my grievances against his own cousin with such vehemence as you claim.”

The colonel gave another crooked smile and his eyes seemed to circle round Elizabeth’s face once more. “Let us not test which of us is correct. What I meant to ask you, if I may, pertains to your esteemed brother-in-law. When was the last you saw him?”

Elizabeth blinked at this sudden shift from her expectations and tried to recall the facts. “A fortnight ago. My younger sister said on Sunday that he had gone to London just after his last call. If you wished to see him, perhaps you would have done better to remain where you were.”

“Perhaps.” The colonel crossed one leg over the other and leaned more heavily against the shelves. “What makes you think I came to see Wickham?”

“Why… the very fact that you asked me about him,” Elizabeth stammered with some indignation.

The colonel scoffed. “If I need to speak with George Wickham, I have no trouble finding him. Nor do I need to ascertain with my own eyes that the cretin still draws breath, for I have sufficient contacts anywhere he might think to go.”

“Then I do not understand why you would desire to speak with me about him. Perhaps you should address Mr Darcy to learn what you wish.”

“No…” He pursed his lips and studied her face. “I have already learned a great deal. Have you spoken often with Mr Wickham?”

“Some. He appears to wish to be friendly with me, but after I understood… certain things about his character, I decided to remain more circumspect.”

He laughed, but the humour did not touch his eyes. “Few are the women who hold to such a resolve when it is George Wickham working upon them. I know none who do not eventually fall to his charms.”

Elizabeth lifted her chin and shifted the book in her arms to one side. “I submit to you that you do not know me, Colonel. Excuse me, please.”

He stepped aside and allowed her to pass, but then turned after her. “Pray, Mrs Wickham, one more thing, if I may.”

Elizabeth stopped and drew a long sigh before turning back. “Yes, Colonel?”

“My wife and my sister—what are your opinions on them?”

She glanced away and wetted her lips before answering. “I beg your pardon, Colonel, but I am merely employed here. I do not have the luxury of opinions.”

“Aha, but you have formed them, nonetheless! I can see it in the way you clench your teeth whenever they speak.”

“I think you are mistaken, Colonel. My one responsibility here is to be a friend and counsellor to Miss Darcy. It is a duty I take seriously, and one in which I am determined not to be found wanting—at least, not more so than I was already. If I should seem ill at ease, it is all due to concern for her, not myself.”

The colonel nodded slowly. “You have a sharp tongue, Mrs Wickham. That alone does not recommend you to your current post.”

“A fact that Mr Darcy must surely regret. I understand you perfectly, Colonel.”

He raised his brows. “You do, do you? Hmm.” He raised a finger to stroke his upper lip, then gave one more terse nod. “Well, Darcy must know what he is about. I imagine matters will change rather soon, and Georgiana will no longer have need of a companion.”

She tilted her head. “Of what do you speak?”

“Why, when Darcy marries, of course. He has been reluctant coming to the point—some nonsense about trying to avoid marrying back into certain family connections—but his feelings and intentions would be obvious even to a blind man. We will have a wedding this winter, I wager.”

Elizabeth turned away, her cheeks hot and her stomach crawling oddly. “Good evening, Colonel,” she managed.

“Are you not taking the book you selected?” he called after her.

She glanced down and discovered that at some point in the colonel’s revelation, she had pushed the precious book back on the shelf and now stood empty-handed. She looked at it longingly—if only it could settle her! “No,” she decided. “I am no longer in the mood for reading. Good night.”