“I have business meetings on the morrow.” He avoided her eyes and feigned interest in a book laying on the side table. He was not lying. He was supposed to meet with Bingley, but one could hardly call that business.
“Very well.” His grandmother released his elbow and took a step back. “Then whilst you are taking care of that business, you can go to St. George and cancel with Mr. Blair for Friday.”
His eyes met hers and he could see a steely determination rather than her usual humour. She would not sway from whatever plan she had concocted in her head. “Why would I cancel with Mr. Blair?”
“Because I will contact your uncle in the morning. I believe he still owns a small estate in Ireland. I will accompany Lizzy there to ensure she is well and happy. She has suffered enough misfortunes without counting a marriage to you amongst them.”
His heart dropped and his eyes widened. Never had he dreamed his grandmother would take Miss Bennet’s part over his. Never had he thought she would leave him vulnerable to the plans of his father.
“You would have me marry Anne…”
“No, Henry could handle your father, and I do not think Anne would mind being publically jilted. She would likely find humour in the experience.”
“I… I… ” He stammered. “You would take Miss Bennet’s part?”
His grandmother stepped forward and held his face between her hands. “No, Fitzwilliam, I would do this for both of you.”
He furrowed his brow at her sorrowful demeanour.
“If you do not care enough to make her at ease, then she is not the young lady you should wed. Your marriage would be a miserable one for both of you, and that would break my heart.”
He placed his hands over his grandmother’s, eased them off his face, and held them clasped within his own for a few minutes, while he attempted to find the words for what was in his heart. In the end, he could only kiss her on the cheek before walking out the door.
Chapter 8
Darcy departed the withdrawing room and headed straight for his chambers. He slammed the door behind him and paced back and forth in front of the fire.
“I am not arrogant or conceited!” He made a particularly sharp pivot. “I cannot believe Grandmamma…” he began again, before his rant was interrupted by his valet.
James stood in a timid fashion just inside the dressing room door. “Pardon me, sir, but I presumed you might require assistance changing for the evening.”
He cast a quick look at his evening attire. “Yes, of course.”
As he disrobed, no care was taken, no attention paid to how the articles landed once they were shed. His topcoat and waistcoat were thrown on the bed, and Darcy yanked and pulled at his cravat, but the confounded thing would not yield in the slightest.
“Blast!”
“If you will allow me.” His valet’s voice came from behind him.
He took a deep breath and exhaled while his man worked at the knots he had tightened in his frustration, and soon enough, was freed from the constricting cloth. He rubbed his sore neck for a minute before he pulled roughly on the closure of his shirt. James stood to the side, nervous and out of sorts.
When he handed off the last of his clothing, James gave a quick bow. “If you require any further assistance this evening…”
“You may retire; I can fend for myself.”
“Very good, sir.” The valet then strode out of the door.
Darcy stared in the direction of the dressing room. His valet’s brevity was strange, and had to indicate there was talk below stairs.
He could call James back to report on what was being said. No, that would not do. His grandmother had a very loyal house staff, and without a doubt, they would side with her. The last thing he could stand to hear was that he was incorrect.
He continued to pace, but with a freshly poured glass of brandy. He had been wronged. Not so much by Miss Bennet, although, if she had had a problem, she could have let him know. He had no idea what was in her mind, after all!
His grandmother’s words kept echoing through his head.
“You have dismissed her at every turn by your refusal to engage in the simplest of conversations!”
“You sound more like George Darcy than Fitzwilliam! I am ashamed of you.”
“Your subsequent behaviour has left her to wonder to whom she is truly betrothed: the gentleman who rescued her from Meryton, or this silent haughty man who has replaced him.”
He took a long drink from his glass and squeezed his eyes shut as if it could stop the voice in his head.
“I am nothing like my father.” He dropped into a chair facing the fire and stared straight ahead past the flames as if entranced. He remained thus, engrossed in thought, for several hours. His mind whirred, the brandy left forgotten.
Every encounter he had with Miss Bennet was dissected and analysed and then analysed again. At one point, he leaned forward and attempted to remember the conversations instigated by him since their arrival in London. There must be… but he could not think of a single one. Sure, he had been witness to many instances where she had spoken and laughed, but those had all been due to questions or discussions begun by his family.
With this, he conceded he had not made any effort to get to know Elizabeth. The revelation resulted in further questions. Why? He had been in company with her every evening, and sometimes in the morning, for the last week. His eyes found her often enough. Could he be avoiding her?
Something inside him screamed he had indeed found the answer. Avoiding her kept her distant, reason enough to change their fate; yet, he had been deeply unsettled when his grandmother announced they would not wed. He groaned aloud, set his glass on the side table, and rubbed his hands up and down his face.
All week, planned meetings kept him away, and if not, other reasons were found to avoid the house during the day, but the evenings were unavoidable. Elizabeth was always there, her eyes sparkling as she spent a pleasurable evening with his family.
Had he not figured it out the day before, the reason for staring at her so?
It was her eyes. They were wide, doe-shaped and brown, which was not necessarily eye-catching, so to speak, at a glimpse. But when one took one’s time and observed Elizabeth, they were striking. She had the most brilliant, expressive eyes—full of life, full of laughter. One could not help but stare into them, attempting to discern the mischief that lay in their depths.
Sighing, he dropped his head against the back of the chair.
Elizabeth.
He had never allowed himself to think of her so familiarly, and she had never attempted to become on more familiar terms with him, so he had let things be.
He rested his elbows on his knees as he stared into the fire. Had he attempted to erect a barrier for himself? His mother on her deathbed begged him to marry for love, but what good had it done for his father or even his Grandmamma, who after all these years still mourned her husband? She was devastated upon his death, not as altered as his father, but he caught her from time to time in front of his grandfather’s portrait, usually shedding a tear or sometimes quietly weeping.
Despite that barrier, Elizabeth still continued to garner his attention without even trying. A part of him worried about becoming too close to her, a rather absurd thought when one considered it, yet what if she never felt more than appreciation for him?
An unequal alliance was another legitimate fear. What if he fell in love with her, but she was never able to return his affection to the same depth of regard? That could be a miserable existence, too.
“Blast!” He lifted his head and downed the last remaining dregs of his brandy.
At that moment, a light knock drew his attention. Who would still be awake at this hour? He strode to the door where his grandmother stood just outside in her nightclothes.
“I was passing and heard you swear.” Her voice was soft so as not to disturb anyone nearby.
“I apologise if I offended you.”
“It would take more
than a silly word like that to offend me.”
He gave a small snort in amusement.
“Would you care to speak of it?”
Darcy moved aside, allowing her to pass, and she took a seat on the sofa. He returned to his chair, but sprang back up almost immediately. “I was partaking of some brandy. Would you care for some?”
“Yes, I think I would. Thank you.”
Once they were both situated with their glasses, she turned to the side and drew her legs up under her gown. “I assume you are worried over having to marry Anne or whether your uncle can handle your father.”
He furrowed his brow and shook his head. “No, I was thinking of Miss Bennet… Elizabeth.” Her eyebrows rose as she took a sip of her drink. “You do not have to look so surprised.”
“But I am. I still think it best that I take her to Ireland.”
“Perhaps I do not want you to do that.”
She propped her elbow on the back of the sofa and rested her head on her hand. “Really? Why is that?”
“There are a multitude of reasons. The first, and probably foremost, I made a promise to her uncle that I would care for her. I would be going back on my word if I allowed you to take her. That would weigh heavily upon me.” He shifted forward, his forearms on his knees, cradling the glass in his hands. “Second, I still think our best chance is with one another. And lastly, I feel drawn to her in a way I have never experienced before. I have caught myself wondering if I was supposed to overhear her predicament, if I was supposed to offer for her in order to save her.” His head dropped down and he stared into his brandy. “It was as if God had put us both in that time and place for a reason.”
She tilted her head and watched him intently for a few minutes. The examination was just beginning to annoy him, when she broke the silence.
“I never thought you one to believe in providence.”
He released a laboured breath and shook his head. “That is true, but as much as the idea of this marriage frightens me, the thought of breaking my promise terrifies me—and not just due to father’s ultimatum.”
“Is that why you shut yourself off from her this week?”
“I do not know. I thought I would be relieved if a change in circumstances occurred, and we were no longer required to wed, but when you announced you would not allow the marriage to occur…”
“You were not relieved.”
Relieved? No, he was frantic that Elizabeth would be taken from him. She would no longer be under his protection.
“No, and my first thoughts were not for myself; they were of concern for her.”
“So you are frightened of a future with her and also frightened of a future without.”
He grimaced. When had he become so chicken-hearted? “I think so.”
She chuckled. “I have never known you to have so many fears.”
His head shot up as his arm dropped to his lap. “I have never been so confused! I was scared when my mother died, but that situation was different. I was not this conflicted.”
His grandmother stood and made her way over to him, taking his face in her hands as she had earlier, and tilting his head back so their eyes met. “If you think you can care for her—love her—then do not hide from it.”
“What if she never feels the same? What if we wed, and I fall in love with her, and she never has any affection for me?”
“Lizzy has such a big heart, Fitzwilliam. I do not think that will happen.” She brushed a curl back from his temple and smiled. “Look at the way she has accepted the mad Fitzwilliam clan. I daresay she will even be fond of Richard when she meets him.”
His lips quirked up on one side in amusement, and she gave him a kiss on the forehead before she released him to resume her seat.
“I have not had a letter from Richard in some time.” His cousin’s lack of correspondence was always of serious concern.
“Neither have Henry and Elinor. His communications are rare with us whilst he is away with his regiment, so I must assume he is well.”
Darcy remained quiet. He agreed with his grandmother and deep down, hoped she was correct.
“I believe I will retire.” She rose to place her glass on the side table.
“I was surprised to see you at my door this late.” He went to her side, holding out his arm to escort her.
She placed her hand near his elbow. “I was not sleepy after our argument and was heading to the library for a book when I heard you. The light streaming from under the door was greater than just the fire, so I knocked. I do hope the interruption was not unwelcome.”
“No, Grandmamma. It was not unwelcome.”
She patted his cheek and stepped through the doorway. “I will see you in the morning, dear. Perhaps you would join Lizzy and I when we break our fast?”
He grinned and nodded his head. She may have had a plan for Elizabeth, but she must still have some faith in him. “Yes, ma’am. I will be there.”
“Good night, Fitzwilliam.”
He wished her the same and ensured she arrived to her rooms without incident. When the door clicked shut behind him, he surveyed his bedchamber and sighed. He was not tired.
A copy of The Lady of the Lake lay on the table beside the bed where he had left it the night prior. He took his usual spot, settling under the bedclothes before opening the cover.
He was not aware of when he fell asleep, only of how he awoke the next morning, still half-sitting up with the book laying open, face down upon his chest.
Elizabeth awoke the next morning determined to begin the day anew. Perhaps Mr. Darcy would wish to speak to her as he had the night before.
She did not hear Hattie bustling around in the dressing room, so she picked up her copy of The Lady of the Lake from the table beside her.
Hattie happened to arrive around the time she finished the last few lines. “Good mornin’, miss. I hope you slept well.”
“Yes, thank you. I believe I was in great need of it, too.”
“Well, from what is said downstairs, you missed quite the argument between Lady Matlock and Mr. Darcy.”
Her eyes grew wide, and she leapt up so she was face to face with her maid. “Please say the disagreement was not over me.”
Though the dowager was upset with Mr. Darcy over his behaviour towards her, she had not wished for her to scold him for it.
“Yes, miss. The yellin’ could be heard in the dining room where the maids were finishing up the cleaning from supper.”
Perhaps she could feign illness and remain in her chambers for the entire day… no, it would not solve anything. Hattie brought a jug of water in and placed it in the ewer, before bustling back to gather her clothes.
Elizabeth poured some of the warm water into the basin and began wiping down her face, neck, and arms. “Hattie? Did they say below stairs whether Mr. Darcy was very angry?”
“Well, his man was down rather quickly after goin’ up to tend to him, though he is pretty tight-lipped, that one. He never said a word.”
She closed her eyes in dread. What would she do if he was upset with her when they wed? That would not do. She would have to find some way to make amends.
Hattie chattered on about this and that while she helped Elizabeth dress and styled her hair. When she was ready for the morning meal, she reluctantly stepped out into the hall, took a deep strengthening breath, and left the safety of her rooms to brave the ire of her betrothed.
The food had not yet been laid out on the table and so she ventured to a conservatory she had found a few days prior. A small bench sat to one side, surrounded by plants and flowers, and she took a seat, admiring the dowager’s orchids in planters along the far wall.
Elizabeth enjoyed the warmth, especially on dreary days. That morning happened to be sunny, which made the room significantly warmer. She had just closed her eyes and tilted her face up to bask in the pleasant warmth when a distinctive deep voice brought her back.
“I am sorry to disturb you, but I hoped we could speak,�
�� said Mr. Darcy with a small bow.
“Of course.” Her voice wavered and her cheeks became heated. Why did her nerves have to assert themselves now? She shifted over and gestured beside her. "Would you care to sit?"
“I would. Thank you.”
“My maid informed me this morning of your argument with your grandmother, and I am mortified to be the cause. I had no idea she intended to…”
“Please, do not make yourself uneasy. Nothing was said that I did not deserve. My behaviour to you over the past week must have been confusing, to say the least, and I do owe you an apology. I had not considered you as I ought.”
His countenance bespoke of his remorse, and she could have cried in relief. He was not angry with her. The gentleman who she first met in Meryton seemed to have returned.
“Perhaps we should begin again?” she suggested tentatively.
His lip quirked up to one side. “I think that is a splendid idea, Miss Bennet.” He was silent for a minute as if unsure of what to do next. Elizabeth was just turning to ask him a question when he abruptly stood, circled outward a bit, and approached from directly in front of her.
“I apologise for the impropriety of approaching you without a formal introduction, but my name is Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
She swallowed back a chuckle and stood. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Darcy. My name is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He gave a brief bow and she curtsied. He gestured back to the bench, and she resumed her seat.
“I must ask your forgiveness once more, you see. I overheard a conversation recently, and I understand you to be in quite a pickle.”
She could not hold her amusement in anymore and burst into gales of laughter. Once she had calmed, she gave him a look of mock reproof. “And do you often make a habit of eavesdropping, sir?”
He wore a small smile as he shook his head. “No, this one was heard quite unintentionally. I assure you.”
His hand appeared before her as if he planned to assist her to stand, so she placed hers in his palm. Instead, he dropped to one knee, his hand still clasping hers. “I find myself in the position of wishing to offer myself as a solution to your problem. If you would have me, that is. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would you do me the great honour of accepting my hand in marriage?”
An Unwavering Trust Page 12
