Page 18 of Under Such Circumstances (Desperately Seeking Elizabeth #1)
RICHARD FITZWILLIAM POURED himself more brandy. He was in the study of his cousin Mr. Darcy’s town house in London. “If she wants a Season, capital, yes. She should get married. She’s a young and vibrant woman, and she should have all the excitement any girl her age has.”
“No, I agree,” said Mr. Darcy, who was sitting on the other side of the room, nursing his own glass of brandy. “At least, it seems to me that she should make her own decision about this.”
“Well, it has been nearly a year since it occurred,” said the colonel, settling down in a chair opposite Mr. Darcy.
“It would make sense that she has had enough time to put it all behind her, whatever befell her. I thought we were of the collective belief that Wickham had not actually deflowered her, however.”
“Were we?” muttered Mr. Darcy. “This was, I think, primarily because we did not think the short time that they had been alone together with absolutely no chaperone was very long.”
“Was that the reason?” The colonel couldn’t remember, truly.
“It is only, given what happened with Miss Bennet, I think we have no reason not to think he is rather quick about it.”
The colonel grimaced.
“Speaking of Miss Bennet? Anything to report?”
Between himself and Mr. Darcy, they had been keeping a surreptitious eye on Elizabeth Bennet.
Hertfordshire was not a formidable distance from London, so, one of them was there, watching her.
If not every day, then at least several times during the week, one of them would go and spend a day close by, often close enough to eavesdrop on things that were occurring in the house.
They did not trust this activity to servants and undertook it themselves, and they did not really talk about why they were doing it. They were both in agreement that it was a good thing they were doing, however.
“Well, yes. They seem to be leaving to go to the house.”
“The Weythorn place,” said Mr. Darcy.
“Yes, have you had a chance to discover anything about it?”
“Other than its location and its former use as a hunting lodge for some knight or other, no,” said Mr. Darcy. “Also, that it was owned by the aunt, the Miss Matilda Bennet. Her name is on the deed.”
“And do we know who signed it over to her?”
“No,” said Mr. Darcy. “It seems to have been made with a fresh and new deed, no history of former owners on it. I inquired with the clerk when I went to investigate, and they said that this looks as if someone did not want anyone to learn who had gifted the house or why.” This had been ascertained by sneaking into Longbourn and looking at the deed itself, which was in Mr. Bennet’s possession.
“Well, if it’s to hide some affair, it makes sense,” said the colonel.
“Does it, though?” Mr. Darcy shook his head. “How many men gift their mistresses houses, and do any of them attempt to hide it?”
“True,” said the colonel, nodding.
Neither of them had said much about discovering that Elizabeth was illegitimate, either.
This was something they had discerned from overhearing one of the conversations between Elizabeth and her father.
Darcy had been the one lurking outside the Longbourn windows, crouching behind bushes, to spy on this conversation.
He’d reported the information back to Richard, who’d only acknowledged it, never reacted.
Mr. Darcy peered into his brandy glass. “It’s only that I have to say I don’t entirely understand it. Why is my sister willing to be married when Miss Bennet is so clearly damaged by whatever it was Wickham subjected her to?”
“Well, perhaps Wickham did not actually do much to Georgiana?”
“Perhaps,” said Darcy.
“Or perhaps it is as I said, that Georgiana has had time to put it behind her?”
“Perhaps.”
“You don’t believe it’s either of these things.”
“I don’t have a theory myself, I’m afraid. I’m only puzzling over it. I wonder if it means something,” said Mr. Darcy. “What are they doing with the house? Are they going to sell it?”
“I rather think she intends to move in,” said the colonel.
“Oh,” said Mr. Darcy, furrowing his brow.
“Well, it is as she said to us earlier,” said Richard. “She wished it for herself, to settle somewhere alone.”
“Yes, I know, but that was when she thought she might have been with child,” said Mr. Darcy.
“In a situation like that, it would have been best to concoct some likely story, but to separate her from everyone else, anyway, so that people wouldn’t think overmuch about the story, wouldn’t try to put two and two together and realize the babe’s parentage was suspect.
If we know she is not with child, then shoving her off in a house by herself and having her live on her own, it’s not going to help her reintegrate into society. ”
“Well, it’s what you did with Georgiana.”
Mr. Darcy grimaced. “Yes, I suppose it is similar, but it’s different, more respectable than this, and Georgiana is living with a matronly companion, whereas Miss Bennet shall be there all alone, which is going to look eccentric, at the least, and improper, at the worst. If she should change her mind, if it is as you say and after some months, she is able to put it all behind her, it will be materially more difficult for me to—for her to find a husband. ”
“You were about to say ‘for me to marry her,’” said Richard, glaring at him. “You still wish to marry her yourself, despite how much you claim you have given up on it. You say that over and over, and you never mean it.”
Darcy sighed. “I mean to mean it.”
“What does that mean?”
“I think of her often, I suppose.”
“Well, so do I,” said Richard, but he didn’t say aloud that when one was spying upon a person and spending every spare second speculating on her movements and her past and her parentage and all of that, well, it was likely one would think often about her. “But I know I can’t marry her.
“You really can’t,” said Darcy.
“But you could.” The colonel chuckled softly. “You, of course, are free to marry anyone.”
“Oh, not anyone,” said Darcy.
“Truly, you could marry the most notorious courtesan in England—no, in France—”
“Do they have courtesans in France anymore? Who is now rich enough to keep courtesans?”
“You see what I’m saying, however.”
“It’s not true. There would be consequences if I chose to marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
She was not a good choice before all this happened and this information came to light, after all, and now she is a recklessly terrible choice.
And this is to say nothing of the fact that she doesn’t want to marry me, and is not interested in marrying anyone at all, in fact. ”
“Yes, but it would likely be better for her to marry you,” said the colonel in a low voice.
He knew this was true. He wanted Elizabeth, and he wasn’t entirely certain why this was.
He couldn’t say that the interest hadn’t been borne from some odd competitiveness between himself and Darcy, but it had moved quite beyond that now.
There was something about finding that poor woman in rain and mud, the way she had been ravaged and used, and the fact that it had pierced him, wrenched his own heart.
He wished to make things better for her, and he wished for her to be happy.
So, now, he had taken responsibility for her in some odd way, some way that made it seem deeper, a truer kind of romantic attachment than simply finding a woman pleasing or diverting.
It was a layer beneath that. “She is doing herself no favors at all holing up in that little house alone, after all.”
“You don’t think that,” Darcy muttered, and he drained all of his brandy in one gulp. “You want her for yourself.”
“I suppose I do,” said the colonel, drinking a large swallow of brandy himself. “But I want what’s best for her more. She should be convinced to marry you.”
“No,” said Darcy, shaking his head. “No, that won’t work. You don’t know her the way I know her.”
“Oh, please,” said the colonel. “You and I spent all that time at Rosings, and we visited the parsonage thrice a week, and you never said anything. You just stared at her, mostly. I engaged her in conversation. I know her.”
“I have observed her. You have gotten her to speak to you, but you don’t see her as I do. Anyway, I lived under the same roof as her for days upon days when her sister was ill at Netherfield. I know her better than you do.”
“You don’t,” said the colonel.
“When I tell you that she will not listen if you attempt to tell her that she should marry, believe me.”
“I never said I was going to go and tell her to marry you,” said Richard, drinking the rest of his brandy.
“I never said I was going to do you favors , Darcy.” He was annoyed, because he did not like the fact he was going to have to give this woman up, and he was annoyed, because Darcy was never going to give up on her, and he was annoyed, because this would mean he’d have to look at her for the rest of his life and never get to have her but know that Darcy was having her, likely getting seven children on her or something, and Richard would have to see each of those little ones running about, proof of the union between Darcy and Elizabeth. It would be insupportable.
And then an idea occurred to him.
It was a terribly wretched idea that was beneath him.
It was the sort of thing that would cause such a rift between him and Darcy that Darcy might cut him out of his life.
He wouldn’t do it.
He looked down into his empty brandy glass.
He definitely wouldn’t do it.
“THEY CAME TO stay here for months while your mother was increasing,” Mrs. Exley was saying as she sat at a table in the kitchens, where they were gathered to sit and speak.
Elizabeth and Jane were both there. Mrs. Exley wasn’t exactly a proper guest, but she was also not exactly a servant, and the kitchen seemed as good a place as any to sit and speak. They were drinking tea.
“My father was here too?” said Elizabeth.
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Exley.