A Perilous Match

Chapter 3

Darcy House, London

D arcy paced the length of his study in agitation for some minutes as his cousin Richard looked on. Thus had been their evenings since he had returned to Town following his disastrous proposal in Hunsford. His cousin rose and calmly poured himself a finger of Scotch, admiring the deep hue of the amber liquid, and lamenting aloud that his father had no love for the whiskey.

Richard then settled into a chair by the fire.

Darcy continued to pace with a furrowed brow.

“You are in love with her,” Richard said with a hint of amusement.

“What?”

“Elizabeth Bennet. You are in love with her.”

Darcy did not reply.

“It was obvious at Rosings that you liked Miss Elizabeth and I had a mild sort of suspicion that you were infatuated.” Richard flashed a smile at him as though this was a rather entertaining conversation on his part.

“I am not infatuated,” Darcy protested.

“No,” Richard agreed, “you are in love with her.”

Darcy stopped pacing and raked a hand through his hair and stared resentfully at his desk. Piles of paper and ledgers were stacked high as he had tried to make sense of his uncle’s estate and holdings; yet this urgent business could not banish Elizabeth from his mind, though there had been moments—how blessed they were—when he had thought it possible to recover from this attachment in time. The numbness of shock was a great deceiver. The lady herself had quickly disabused him of the foolish notion within moments of their unexpected reunion.

His traitorous heart beat as wildly as ever in her presence.

He could not deny Richard’s assertion, and so poured himself a tumbler of whiskey.

“It is a spectacularly imprudent choice, of course,” Richard was saying, “but you have the luxury of disregarding financial considerations in your choice of a wife.”

“I will not be marrying Elizabeth Bennet.” He let out a resigned sigh. It was the first time he had admitted as much aloud. Would the slice of pain he felt at each pronouncement of her name ever fade?

“You think her unsuitable?” Richard asked.

He should think her unsuitable. He did think so for a long time. By every measure of society, Elizabeth Bennet was not the ideal choice for his bride. But he loved her; he simply… loved her, and the brief interval in which he had given in to his desire to make her Mrs Darcy had been bliss. He had allowed himself to imagine her here in this house and with him at Pemberley, her smiles and fine eyes dancing, enlivening every inch of his sometimes-sombre homes. He wanted the privilege of speaking with and waking with her each morning, her long curls cascading down her back in the privacy of their chambers. He’d spent an inordinate amount of time dreaming of taking down the hair pins himself.

How foolish he had been to think she was his only for the asking. To think that whatever scruples he’d voiced to himself—to her—had ever outweighed this clawing need for Elizabeth in his chest.

Dear God, he needed her, almost as much as he loved her. It was unsuitable, insupportable, unthinkable to be without her, and yet, this was exactly the future he was forced to inhabit.

He could not forget her. He had no choice in the matter but to love her and suffer under the knowledge that she despised him and would rather flee his presence than to exchange a few courtesies on a crowded London street.

Darcy poured himself another whiskey and dropped into a chair by the fire.

“You could do worse,” Richard urged when Darcy remained silent. “Aunt Catherine is determined to marry you to Anne and since you inherited the title, I regret to say that my father is now seeing the merit in such an alliance.”

Darcy groaned. “I will not marry Anne regardless of how many Fitzwilliams join in Aunt Catherine’s crusade.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said Richard. He studied his cousin for a long moment, while Darcy continued to glower at the fire. “You could marry Miss Elizabeth, you know. She is the daughter of a gentleman, and you are now the official head of the Darcy family. You may do as you wish.”

“Grandmama would protest anyone being considered as head of the Darcy family—besides herself of course,” he deflected.

Richard raised his glass. “Likely,” he acknowledged. “The Marchioness is formidable, but she is not likely to protest any choice of yours.” It was no secret that Darcy had always been her favourite grandchild as his father, George Darcy had always been her favourite son.

“As long as that choice is not Anne.”

His cousin nodded. There was no love lost between Lady Catherine and the Dowager Marchioness. “Lady Dorset may well support your marriage to Elizabeth Bennet.”

“I cannot marry Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy reiterated and tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Why ever not?” Richard asked. “I grant you that the circumstances of her family leave much to be desired, but you have never followed the dictates of the Ton, and I cannot imagine that the wishes of Aunt Catherine or my father would hold much sway in your choice. They have not so far.”

“And they do not now.”

“Then, why not make her an offer, Fitzwilliam?”

“She despises me, Richard,” Darcy admitted flatly. He grasped a poker and began to poke at the wood to encourage the dying flames. It was easier than seeing any look of sympathy or pity from his cousin. He felt awkward and ridiculous for disclosing the information or exposing any portion of his pain. However, he needed to speak and there was no one else he trusted so dearly.

Richard took the chair opposite. “How can you know that?”

“She was quite clear when she rejected my proposal.”

Richard appeared justly stunned. Apparently, he had been of similar mind that a lady would not reject any sensible offer of marriage. His sisters had certainly followed the Fitzwilliam practical view of matrimony and had married suitably wealthy and connected gentlemen.

“I cannot believe that any sensible young lady would reject such an offer. I may have to revise my opinion of her intelligence.”

Darcy bristled at this judgement. “She was quite right to reject me. It was a thoroughly insulting proposal.” He raked fingers through his hair and loosened his suddenly constrictive cravat. “I will not repeat what was said between us, but I dwelt more upon the honour of my hand than upon my love for her.”

“Right… well, that is… unfortunate,” Richard stammered. He took a long drink of Scotch. “How did you come to say such things to her?” he asked, then winced at the callousness of his words.

Darcy shrugged as he finished his own Scotch and stared into the empty glass. He swallowed a bitter laugh. “It doesn’t matter now. I am rejected and she hates me.”

“Perhaps if you—”

He slammed his tumbler onto the table, interrupting Richard and drawing another, astonished glance from his cousin.

“It was not only the mode of my address that was so disgusting to Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said. “She had other considerations, such as the fact that I separated Bingley from her sister.”

“By Jove!” Richard exclaimed and stammered an apology for his unintentional interference. At least Darcy now knew where she had received knowledge of his role in the affair. It didn’t really matter now, after all was said and done and told Richard so when he persisted in expressing his regret.

“You will have to tell Bingley,” Richard said.

“Yes, I know.”

“Do you think that you were wrong about Miss Bennet’s feelings?”

“I do not know,” Darcy conceded. “It is likely. Miss Elizabeth certainly believed that her sister’s feelings were deeply wounded by Bingley’s defection.”

“She may have been wrong,” Richard replied.

There was something in his cousin’s tone that drew Darcy’s attention. It had not escaped his notice that Richard admired Jane Bennet, but then most men seemed to admire her. He could not understand such admiration after having been introduced to Elizabeth. How could his cousin admire the sister more? There was something beguiling in Elizabeth’s aspect that her sisters lacked. She shone brighter than all of them, especially in her anger or agitation. Darcy firmly believed that he had not—nor would he ever—see her equal again.

“Whatever Jane Bennet feels, it is for Bingley to discover and I mean to deliver him to their doorstep in Gracechurch Street myself.”

“That may go a long way in improving Miss Elizabeth’s opinion of you.”

Darcy scoffed.

“I do not think her opinions are as intractable as that suggests,” Richard said.

“Yes, well, she believes me to have ruined the prospects of a friend for no other reason than caprice.”

Richard looked disbelieving.

“I told you that Wickham had been in Hertfordshire.”

His cousin frowned. “You should tell her the truth about Wickham.”

Darcy hesitated. He had almost done so. There were pages filled with his ink upstairs, a letter never delivered, but sealed up and full of his confession and doubts. He still thought about delivering it into her hand if he could be sure of no interference.

“I doubt that she would believe me,” he said.

“I do not believe that Miss Elizabeth is devoid of a sense of fairness,” Richard said. “She should want to know your side of the story. God knows what he’s told her.”

“So far as Georgiana is concerned, it is not my story to tell.”

“You would not have to disclose the particulars of Georgiana, but she deserves to know something of the man that could pose a danger to her younger sisters.”

He conceded that his cousin a point. “I will think on it.”

The sound of approaching footsteps caused both men to straighten their appearance. Lady Dorset, Georgiana, and Mrs Annesley could be heard chatting amiably about their purchases, and then his grandmother enquired of his whereabouts.

With a groan, Darcy exchanged a glance with Richard and began to make his way to the music room, which was his sister’s special domain when she was in residence.

***

Darcy was surprised by the elegance of the Gardiner townhouse when he alighted from his carriage the next morning. Though Gracechurch Street was habitually busy, the Gardiner home occupied the quieter, more residential end. A newer construction, it was well-maintained, the servants keeping the London soot clean of the windows and doorway.

He was… nervous. It was a foreign sensation to Darcy. He had not even been nervous before his disaster of a proposal. Yet, now he knew that he risked rejection. He took a deep breath and requested his coachman to wait for him. He did not expect to be long.

Darcy was quickly admitted upon giving his name. The butler’s eyes were wide and his bow just on the side of obsequious. He inwardly cringed. Elizabeth would not appreciate reminders of the differences in their stations and how such differences had grown in just a fortnight.

He was almost relieved to discover the Gardiners were not at home and left his card. He was not sure that he was ready to face her before he could provide some evidence that he understood her reproofs. The pain of their reunion was still fresh and her eagerness to flee his presence was not something he was eager to repeat.

Perhaps the presence of Bingley would be enough to soften her towards him. He wanted her friendship, if not her love, and he valued the fierce loyalty she demonstrated towards those dear to her. He found that he wanted that loyalty for himself.

Darcy gave the direction to his friend’s house in Park Lane and settled back into his carriage. He had a confession to make.