Darcy and Diamonds

by Caitlin Marie Carrington

  His cousin’s mouth gaped and Darcy heard a small shriek from behind him. Before he could finish his sentence, his baby sister marched into the room, grabbed a pillow from the sofa, and proceeded to hit him squarely on the head with it.

  “Darcy!” she cried. “What is wrong with you?”

  Darcy began to laugh despite himself.

  “Oh heavens,” Georgi cried. “He’s lost his senses!”

  “Hit him again,” Fitzwilliam suggested. “Perhaps harder?”

  Darcy grabbed the pillow and threw it at his cousin’s head. “Allow me to finish, Georgi! I thought you were busy, pacing in the gardens.”

  “A woman can only do that for so long,” she said crossly.

  “As I was saying,” Darcy paused, unable to keep a devilish grin away. “I refuse to give Fitzwilliam my permission to marry you—because he does not need it. You are a grown woman and you know your own heart and mind.” He met his sister’s eyes, so much like their beloved mother’s. “You’ve done a much better job taking care of yourself than I ever could. I wish you both all the happiness this world can offer.”

  Georgiana squealed and threw her arms around her brother, hugging him tightly before running to Fitzwilliam and kissing his cheek. Fitzwilliam could not stop stupidly grinning, Darcy thought.

  Then Darcy realized he was doing that same thing.

  Georgiana stood up and surveyed both men. “Don’t get foxed, now. At least, not without me!” She took Fitzwilliam’s cup and drank and surprisingly healthy amount. Then she grinned prettily and took a seat on the sofa. “Shall we eat chocolates and biscuits for dinner while we read?”

  “And this is how you will run your home?” Darcy joked. “I fear for the children.”

  Georgiana giggled and Fitzwilliam suggested cold ham and bread and then chocolates—and more brandy. They spent a quiet evening by the first fire of the season, and Darcy did his best to enjoy every single moment.

  But he could not stop thinking of her.

  Had Jane sent his gift, as he assumed she would?

  Had Elizabeth found his letter?

  Would she be horrified? Intrigued?

  Delighted?

  “Darcy.” Georgiana’s soft voice broke his reverie, and he looked up to find both his sister and his cousin staring at him. “You promise you aren’t upset with us?”

  He frowned. “Of course not. I admit it was a shock—but you are my family. I love you two more than anything else in the world—” He paused. He’d always said that, always proclaimed it, ever since his parents had died.

  But now…Elizabeth.

  “Because you look deuced upset,” Fitzwilliam said.

  Georgi and Oliver shared a look, one Darcy didn’t like at all.

  “You’ve been here a fortnight, brother,” Georgiana said. “You’re distracted—”

  “Rather typical,” Fitzwilliam said.

  “—Rather cross—”

  “Quite typical,” Fitz added.

  Georgiana threw him a look and he hid his grin in his cup. “And you spend all day reading or riding or going over my accounts.”

  “And how is this different than his normal behavior?” Fitzwilliam said.

  “Oliver.” Georgiana glared at him, then turned her attention back to her brother. “I know you are upset about the disturbances at Netherfield. But it is not your fault, you know. And if this Mrs. Potter is so very upset, well, she need not wear quite so many jewels to a summer house party in Hertfordshire!”

  “Hm. Not even a smile,” Fitzwilliam observed.

  “I see that. This is serious, indeed.” Georgiana stood up and came to Darcy’s side. “Brother, are you so worried about Caroline, then?”

  “No,” Darcy said. “I’m not worried about—”

  But he couldn’t finish the sentence. How to tell his family that what he was obsesses with was a petite, fiery woman who might hate him?

  Or she might now.

  He could not force Elizabeth Allerton to return his affections. And he had no idea if he should wait and give her time—or ride up to her doorway and demand to…

  What?

  See her?

  Kiss her?

  Throw her over his shoulder and carry her away?

  Damnation, all of that and instead he’d sent her three books. But what else could he do? Follow her to London like a puppy? No, she wouldn’t respect that. And with Elizabeth, it seemed the more he pushed—the further she pulled away.

  Darcy leaned forward and scrubbed his hands over his face. “It’s nothing,” he finally said. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  From his seat, staring down at the floor, Darcy could see Georgiana’s silk slipper begin to tap. This was not good. It meant she was planning something.

  “You take on too much responsibility,” she said. “And when you’re here, all you do is try to manage my estate. I have an idea!” She clapped her hands and beamed at the men. “Let us all go home!”

  “Home?” Darcy said. “But you are home.”

  “I mean home to Pemberley! I haven’t been in ages, and we can stay for Michaelmas! Oh, and Oliver, we can go to the Lambton Goose Fair!”

  Fitzwilliam met Darcy’s eyes and grimaced. “We…can?”

  “It will be such fun!” Georgiana’s dark skirts whirled as she turned to exit the library. “Pack your bags! Or rather, have your valets pack your bags! We shall journey on the morrow, and leave all our cares behind!”

  Both men stared at the empty space Georgiana left, though they could hear her calling for her maid as she ran down the hall.

  “She’s always like this,” Darcy said. “She gets an idea in her head and there’s no refusing her. Are you sure about marrying her?”

  Fitzwilliam grinned and raised his glass. “Absolutely. But what I’m not sure about is why you’re so distracted. Is it the attack on Caroline?”

  Darcy shrugged. “No, but that worries me. She had to have seen the man who attacked her, wouldn’t you agree? She was cut here—” He pointed to the area above his right brow. “And she said she was seated in a chair against the window.”

  Fitzwilliam nodded. “Her back against the wall? No one could have come from behind. And she hadn’t fainted? Even if she hadn’t seen the man come into her chambers, she would have opened her eyes. No one keeps their eyes pleasantly shut if they’re being attacked.”

  “And so she lied.”

  Fitzwilliam frowned. “But that’s not the question that’s bothering you, is it?”

  Darcy nodded. “Why would she lie? Whom is she protecting?”

  “Who does she care for, more than herself?”

  Darcy shrugged. “As far as I know? No one.”

  “If that’s true, she’s protecting herself. And there’s nothing you can do, is there? Unless that’s what’s really behind all this morose behavior. She always fancied you, yes? Did you secretly return her affections?”

  “God, no,” said Darcy, realizing how foolish that scenario would be.

  But then again—how very different was it from how he felt about Elizabeth? If he stayed here any longer, he might go mad. If he journeyed to London, he would definitely find a way to approach Elizabeth. And that just might drive her further from him.

  She needed time. And he would give it to her—for now.

  In the meantime, he would return to the place that always soothed his soul—Pemberley.

  24

  Elizabeth

  “I cannot believe this is the performance of a needle!” Aunt Gardiner exclaimed, leaning closer to examine the worsted work hanging on the museum wall.

  Elizabeth politely agreed, though Lydia looked heavenward and sighed loudly.

  “Don’t you think it marvelous?” Aunt Gardiner continued, peering closer at the framed piece of embroidered fabric. “All of these works look like the most exquisite paintings, but are in fact needlework.”

  “They’re lovely,” Elizabeth agreed, trying to sound enthusiastic.

 
“I’m glad you wore the blue,” Lydia whispered loudly, before wandering off and spinning in a circle, looking around the large exhibition space.

  Mary Linwood’s work filled two large rooms, at least one hundred feet in length. “I like this room, though. They call it the Gothic Room, did you know, Lizzy?” She sauntered closer, her dark eyes mischievous. “Too bad you made Mr. Darcy mad. I hear his Pemberley is even grander. You could have had the chance of receiving an invitation—but you’re so proud you couldn’t encourage him. Not even a little bit.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about!” Elizabeth said, trying not to let her voice rise. “And I am sure no one can ‘make Mr. Darcy mad,’ as you say. He is so cold as to be rather untouchable.”

  Liar.

  Lydia shrugged and eyes another of Miss Linwood’s works, this one of a dead bird. “Hanging Partridge?” She read the title aloud and shuddered. “I could have seen the real thing at home. And if you didn’t make Mr. Darcy mad, you’ve certainly made mama so!”

  “I know,” Elizabeth said, trying not to smile. “She still won’t speak to me.”

  “Ladies, have you seen enough?” Aunt Gardiner joined them. She was a great beauty, and to Lizzy it seemed her glowing good looks only increased as the years went by. Lizzy hoped one day to feel as composed and happy and lovely as her Aunt.

  She felt quite the opposite, in the two weeks since they’d left Netherfield and come to London.

  “I’ve seen quite enough,” Lydia said happily. “Shall we get something to eat before going home?”

  Their aunt laughed, as Lydia often used any excuse when they were out and about in the city to either eat, drink, or shop. “Not today, darlings. I must get home and pack if your Uncle and I are to go to Lambton in three days. Are you sure you won’t join us, Lizzy?”

  “She just wants to go back to Steadham House and hide,” Lydia teased. “And I don’t know why. I’m certain you won’t meet a rich man like Mr. Darcy in Lambton, or a worldly, diverting man like Mr. Gladwell—but at least you’ll meet someone. I don’t know. A turnip farmer?”

  Elizabeth stiffened, upset at how close her sister’s joke was to the truth; not the part about the farmer—though she was sure there were plenty in Derbyshire—but the fact that Lizzy really did want to run home and hide.

  She sighed and walked faster toward the exit of the museum.

  “Running away from Lydia?” Aunt Gardiner said quietly. “Or life?”

  Elizabeth laughed and slowed her pace, and Lydia came up on her right and linked her arm with her sister’s. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Lizzy.”

  “You didn’t,” Elizabeth said. “Well, perhaps just a little.”

  “I don’t think Elizabeth needs to have undue pressure on her to marry again,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “And that is absolutely not why we invited you to travel north with us, my darling. We simply value your company, and your presence will make those long hours in a carriage so much more delightful. And Mrs. Graham has asked if you will come to visit!”

  Elizabeth smiled as they stepped into the late-afternoon sunlight. London in September was warm and full of smog, noise, and people everywhere. Lydia was immediately distracted by a group of young men, shouting at one another by the street.

  “Perhaps you don’t wish to go because Mr. Darcy’s estate is near Lambton?” Aunt Gardiner said delicately. “I am not prying, my dear. But Jane wrote to me and said the great man himself was quite distracted after you left.”

  Elizabeth froze. She had known Pemberley, supposedly quite the grand country estate, was in Derbyshire. She had not known it was near Lambton.

  And although Jane had written her two letters in the two weeks since they’d left the disastrous house party, her sister had not mentioned Mr. Darcy more than in passing.

  “His estate is near your childhood home?”

  “Well, my house was in town and Pemberley, of course, is a good ride outside of it. But yes, I remember going to Pemberley often during holidays and festivals. Everyone loved the Darcys. But don’t worry.” Mrs. Gardiner placed a hand on Elizabeth’s arm and squeezed gently. “Jane tells me Mr. Darcy has left Netherfield and gone to visit his sister. You are in no danger at all of running into him, I’m sure.”

  Elizabeth nodded, that dread curiosity unfurling inside of her.

  How delicious it would be, to see Pemberley! If Mr. Darcy would not be home, she could just visit once with her aunt and uncle. If a home could tell her anything about a person, perhaps she might—

  Stop it, Lizzy. If you don’t wish to pursue a relationship with him, then you must not go. Stop these silly, trifling thoughts.

  Why hadn’t Jane written to her of Mr. Darcy?

  “Lydia! Step away from there!”

  Elizabeth looked up to see her aunt, panicked, as Lydia stood far too close to the group of young men. Aunt Gardiner and Elizabeth approached Lydia, who apparently did not hear them calling her name. Understandably, as the crowd was large and loud and growing by the moment—and centered around two young men who were violently fighting.

  Elizabeth reached Lydia first and grabbed her arm. Lydia didn’t even turn to look at her, however. Her mouth hung open slightly, she squinted her eyes, and she couldn’t seem to stop staring at the fighters. One, tall and broad-shouldered, had just been pulled off the shorter, slighter man. For a moment the tall one rested, as if he might walk away—then with a roar, he ran and attacked again.

  “Lydia, come away!” Elizabeth cried.

  Her youngest sister allowed herself to be pulled back to their waiting chaise, but she was unusually quiet on the ride home.

  “Lydia, what happened?” their aunt said gently. “Were you injured, or did someone say something to you?”

  Lydia blinked, as if just waking. “No, I am well,” she said, looking slowly from Elizabeth to their aunt. “It’s just—it was the strangest thing. I saw those two men get into an argument, and I swear I had seen it before.”

  Aunt Gardiner raised an eyebrow and Elizabeth could not help herself. “Darling, given how much you used to enjoy the company of the militia at dances and such, I’m sure you have seen two men fighting before!”

  “Oh, well yes,” Lydia said, a smile playing across her lips. But it soon fell and she became serious again, her large dark eyes shadowed. “But—what I mean is—it’s the strangest thing! It’s like I had a memory and lost it, and it suddenly reappeared. Does that make sense?”

  “I suppose so,” Aunt Gardiner said gently.

  “Tell us more, Lydia,” Elizabeth said.

  “I was watching the gentleman near the edge of the street. At first, I was just bored and thought they might do something interesting. Plus that one squat fellow—did you see him? I had to laugh, he was so very ugly.”

  “Lydia,” Elizabeth said. “You were talking about a memory?”

  “Oh, yes. Well, then this tall gentleman appeared. Extraordinarily tall. And do you know who he reminded me of?”

  “I can’t guess,” said Aunt Gardiner.

  “Mr. Darcy!” Lydia nodded at Elizabeth. “Did you see him, Lizzy? He was quite a tall fellow. Not nearly as handsome as Mr. Darcy—or as rich, you could tell—but he had that stately bearing, as much as ruffian on the street can. Well, then the short squat fellow and the tall, stately fellow begin to quarrel. And then, out of nowhere—it was quite exciting!—the tall fellow swings and strikes the short fellow, right in the nose!”

  “Oh dear,” said Aunt Gardiner.

  “And this reminded you of Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth said.

  “Yes!” Lydia turned in her seat, excited. “Yes, it did! It was the strangest thing. Do you remember—well no, you wouldn’t—but back when Jane first met Charles, the militia was stationed in Meryton.”

  “I remember,” said Lizzy.

  “We are here, girls,” Aunt Gardiner said.

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Gardiners’ stately home and Lydia impatiently paused from her story as
the footman helped the ladies down and they climbed the steps to the front door.

  “Hullo, Mr. Beerman,” Lydia said breezily, allowing the Gardiners’ butler to help her with her coat and packages. She turned and waited impatiently for Lizzy and their aunt to take off their coats and greet the staff at the door.

  “Finally,” Lydia cried, as they all walked to the back parlor. “Now that I remember, I simply must tell you all!”

  “Tell us what, darling?” Mrs. Bennet said as the three women entered the parlor. She was laying on the settee, three pillows under her head and one of their uncle’s older pugs on her lap. The dog whined happily at the new arrivals, though both he and Mrs. Bennet were too lazy to actually stand.

  “I remembered why Mr. Darcy looked so familiar!” Lydia pushed her mother’s feet off the settee and flounced down next to her. Lizzy and Mrs. Gardiner took seats opposite, and Elizabeth tried not to yell at her sister to hurry up and finish her story.

  What could a common street tough have in common with Mr. Darcy?

  “Mama, remember years ago, when the militia was stationed at Meryton?”

  “Such fun times!” Mrs. Bennet cried.

  “Yes, well, I had a few particular admirers at the time. There was Denny, and Roger—Lucas and Mr. Hayes. And one gentleman who was quite handsome. Do you remember Mr. Wickham?”

  Mrs. Bennet shrugged obliviously, simply happy to be talking about men in uniform.

  “I do,” Elizabeth said slowly. “He had charming manners, but…we did not know him well, did we?”

  He was the man Mr. Darcy detested. What had Mr. Darcy said? “I knew his history, as you did not.”

  “Perhaps you did not,” Lydia said, a saucy smile on her face. Mrs. Bennet gasped, both delighted and mildly scandalized.

  “Lydia, pray tell us what you are talking about,” Mrs. Gardiner cried.

  “Very well, it matters not now! Mr. Wickham and I were desperately in love—”

  “Lydia!” Mrs. Gardiner said. “That is outlandish and—”

  “Why did you not tell me!” Mrs. Bennet cried, pouting.