by Jennifer Joy
Darcy would praise Elizabeth's cleverness rather than deem it insolent. "Aunt Catherine, does the appearance of a bonnet have any bearing on Anne's death? We must focus on the evidence before us. We know how she died, and now only require to determine at whose hands."
Richard added, "I hardly think it likely that an intelligent lady, as you have admitted Miss Bennet to be, would harm her hostess the very day of her arrival at Rosings. It is nonsensical."
Aunt Catherine pinched her lips together, not once taking her eyes off Elizabeth. "If you were not so clever, Miss Bennet, I could more easily dismiss you from guilt. However, you managed to secure a place in my household as well as an admirer who has favored you with gifts. Your apparent disinterest only makes me suspect you of using your feminine arts to secure the unknown gentleman's admiration on the basis of your association with my exalted household."
Her belief that her "exalted" nephews would never deem to look twice at Miss Bennet was their saving grace. If she knew the truth, the consequences would be … bad enough on a normal day, but with the poisonous need to avenge her daughter's death and appease her own grief, they would be disastrous.
Elizabeth's voice trembled, but her appearance gave the semblance of control. "I am well aware of the honor bestowed upon me by your ladyship, but may I remind you that it was Miss de Bourgh who extended the invitation to me, and it was you who demanded I prolong my stay? I am not here of my own free will."
"Is that so? And yet you accepted the gift just as you accepted my hospitality? Had you no interest in receiving my patronage or the inappropriate expression of admiration, you could have refused both. And yet, here we are…."
Aunt Catherine turned to leave, calling for Richard and Mrs. Jenkinson to follow with the empty laudanum bottle.
Darcy hated how his thoughtful gesture had been turned into a weapon against Elizabeth.
Aunt Catherine's argument that Elizabeth could have refused her hospitality was unreasonable to the extreme. He had been there and had seen how impossible a refusal had been.
Elizabeth faced him before she departed from the room. Such a mixture of anger and sadness brimmed in her eyes, he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and offer her what safety he could. And then a horrible thought struck him like a bull's-eye. She had not wished to receive the patronage of his aunt. He had given her no means to refuse his gift. What if she had not wished to accept his gift? Had he misjudged her and acted too swiftly as he had before at his proposal?
Her whisper of, "I am sorry," before she swept out of the room seemed to confirm it.
Chapter 25
Darcy could not comprehend why he should feel guilty over replacing Elizabeth's bonnet. Was it not good and proper for him to have done so when he had been the cause of its ruination? He would have felt worse had he not replaced it.
Around and around he argued in his own mind over the flimsy piece of straw, depriving himself of sleep. When the black night gave way to the gray dawn, he was awake to witness it.
Kicking off the blankets, he rose to pace the length of his room.
He would forever think of how the bonnet had brought him and Elizabeth together, as silly as it sounded. Perhaps that was why he could not dismiss it. They had shared laughter. It had started a friendship.
He still loved her. There was no point in denying it. Was it possible to be both friends and lovers? That is, if Elizabeth could ever return his affection.
He shoved his hands through his hair and trudged a path across the floor. The night before, his body had responded to hers and he had not doubted. Even Richard had recognized the scene for what it was — a hairsbreadth from a compromise.
He could still feel her fingertips fluttering against his shirt and her breath against his throat. She had been standing on her toes. She could have backed away, but she had not.
But nothing had happened. The relief mixing with his regret only muddled his memory of the moment, giving way to the doubt tormenting him.
Why had she apologized to him before she left Mrs. Jenkinson's room? Had she regretted her reaction? Had his gesture been too much?
Growing increasingly restless, his thoughts dense like the fog outside his window, Darcy dressed and went out of doors in the hope that the morning air would offer clarity.
One of the gardeners brushed his knees from the flower bed he tended and followed Darcy. Aunt Catherine had made good on her threat to have the servants prevent any escape. He would not be able to walk far.
Darcy squinted his eyes to see through the morning clouds. His heart thumped with the enthusiasm of a puppy wagging its tail every time he saw a figure in the distance, and then would droop in disappointment when he saw it was not Elizabeth but another one of Aunt Catherine's watchmen ensuring he stayed on the property.
He explored every path he had ever met Elizabeth on as the sun's golden rays melted the fog around him, yielding to a cloudless sky so blue it hurt his eyes to contemplate. He needed to see her, to ask her once and for all if he had a chance before vacillating uncertainty drove him to madness.
He reached the lane separating Rosings from Hunsford parsonage. Had she found a sympathetic servant to allow her to call on her long-time friend?
Darcy turned to ask the gardener, "Am I allowed to call at the parsonage?" with no small amount of sarcasm.
The man grinned, his leathery face creasing with lines. "I do as I am told by her ladyship. I was told to follow you, and I have lived up to my duty. If you wish to call on the rector's family, then who am I to prevent you from doing so? I will only wait until you have done, and be grateful for the rest, Sir."
Darcy could appreciate how a sense of humor would be helpful for any servant in his aunt's employ, and he thanked the gardener before crossing the lane.
Mr. Collins was elated to receive him, and Mrs. Collins sent for tea immediately. Nobody else was in the parlor.
Darcy settled in to the chair nearest to the door, determined to be polite but brief in his stay.
The flattery began immediately. Mr. Collins beamed as brightly as the sun, saying, "We are honored, indeed, to receive the nephew of our illustrious patroness in our home. Her ladyship recently made some improvements to the parsonage, and her generosity is clearly reflected in the proportion of the rooms and the shelves in the bedchamber closets."
Darcy mumbled something agreeable, and Mr. Collins continued, "I am pleased my dear Cousin Elizabeth is a source of comfort to her ladyship during her mourning."
Darcy looked to Mrs. Collins for an explanation, but she shrugged her shoulders, equally baffled as to the meaning of his comment.
Fortunately, Mr. Collins proceeded in his conversation without any encouragement from Darcy. He added, "The loss of her only daughter will leave a void in her ladyship's affections, which my cousin seems to have filled."
What an incredible assertion! Darcy looked in astonishment at the clergyman. To think that Aunt Catherine would see Elizabeth as a daughter was as ridiculous a claim as Mr. Collins becoming the next Archbishop of Canterbury.
Mrs. Collins poured their tea. "I am not certain Miss Elizabeth and Lady Catherine will ever enjoy the close intimacy of a daughter and mother, but I suppose it is better for Lady Catherine not to be alone in that great house."
Mr. Collins patted his wife's hand. "Of course, you would say that, my darling. You were not there when Lady Catherine personally requested my cousin Elizabeth's presence yesterday during a matter of extreme delicacy and confidence," he said condescendingly.
Mrs. Collins' lips tightened into a thin smile, and she handed Darcy his cup and saucer.
"Thank you, Mrs. Collins," he said as kindly as he could. "Where is Miss Lucas?" he inquired, preferring Mrs. Collins conversation to that of her husband's.
That earned a genuine smile. "You have a younger sister, too, Mr. Darcy. I am certain you concern yourself over her safety as much as I do for my sister. Miss Elizabeth is a good friend to me, and I am grateful she told m
e of the latest news from Rosings. Knowing there to be a murderer about, I felt it best for my sister's safety that she return home to Hertfordshire."
Darcy knew Elizabeth's loyalty to her friends and family was strong, but he wished she had not been so forthright.
"You shall rest easier knowing she is out of harm's way." He sipped from his teacup.
Mrs. Collins leaned forward and set her tea aside. "You and I both know how troublesome little sisters can be," she said conspiratorially.
What could she possibly mean? So far as he knew, Mrs. Collins knew nothing of his sister.
Mr. Collins chuckled. "Cousin Elizabeth ought to know about that. She has three younger sisters of her own, and they are quite troublesome indeed. I would hardly compare Miss Lucas or Miss Darcy to them though, my dear."
While Mr. Collins was mostly correct in his estimation of Elizabeth's younger sisters, it grated on Darcy's nerves to have them spoken against. "With a villain about, we must see to their safety. I applaud Mrs. Collins' good sense in sending Miss Lucas away."
Mrs. Collins sighed. "Although, with the militia in Meryton, I do not know if she is any safer there either. Villains take on many forms, do they not, Mr. Darcy?"
She looked at him for confirmation, and all he could do was nod. First, she had implied that his sister might be troublesome. Now, she mentioned the militia in connection with a villain. She was already privy to information about their investigation that did not pertain to her. What else did she know?
Mr. Collins, never one to be left out of the conversation when he could impose his superior knowledge upon others, said, "Ah, the militia. The protectors of our shores and shires. My cousins seemed to be quite taken with one gentleman in particular, a charming fellow."
Mrs. Collins provided the name Darcy least wish to hear. "Do you mean Mr. Wickham? He is not to be trusted. Miss Elizabeth warned me of him for my sister's sake. No maiden is safe in his company, and we waste our breath speaking of him here." She shifted her weight in her seat, her eyes flickering over to Darcy.
"What did she tell you of Mr. Wickham?" he asked.
"We keep no secrets from each other. She told me everything." Mrs. Collins raised an eyebrow and inclined her head toward her husband as if to explain her motive for not revealing more in his presence.
Darcy's heart plummeted down to his toes. Was that the reason why Elizabeth had apologized? It made much more sense than apologizing over a stupid bonnet. Had Elizabeth told her dearest friend his sister's secret?
Darcy drained his tea, burning his tongue and throat. By what justification had she thought it right to breach his trust when she had told him she had burned the letter and had sworn her silence? How could she do such a thing?
He felt sick. Elizabeth had lied to him. The woman he had believed he could trust, who had won him over, was no different from anyone else who had attempted to use him for their own amusement and selfish gain. And he had allowed it to happen.
Mrs. Collins asked, "Mr. Darcy, are you well?"
Darcy forced a smile and tugged at his cravat. "I only feel the warmth in the room after having walked a great deal this morning. I should take my leave." He set his empty cup and saucer on the table and rose to stand. "Thank you for your hospitality. I wish you a good day."
He departed, doing his best to keep his composure. If his manners seemed abrupt, he took bitter comfort in the fact that they did not expect any better from him.
He had been a fool to believe he could ever care for someone in the manner in which he craved — that Elizabeth was different and deserving of his trust. Had he learned nothing from a lifetime of disappointment? He had known better. He ought not to have let his guard down.
With each step closer to the great house, his heart grew colder until not even the sun warmed him.
Elizabeth left the library at the promise of a beautiful spring day outside the window.
She had hoped William might find her there, the morning mist being too heavy to enjoy the flowers in the garden completely. However, the morning had passed and she had yet to see him.
She wanted to thank him for the bonnet. She ought not to have apologized the evening before, the mistake of being seen with the bandbox not being her own. The last thing she wanted was for him to believe her ungrateful — or worse, unwilling to accept his generous gift. Lady Catherine and Mrs. Jenkinson could choke on their heightened sense of propriety!
She walked around the house and was rewarded for her trouble when she saw William approaching the rose garden. He walked with purpose, and she flattered herself that his hurried clip was prompted by his eagerness to see her.
"Mr. Darcy!" she called with a wave.
His head snapped over to her and his gait faltered, but he continued, his expression grim and hard.
She drew closer to him. Something had troubled him, and she wanted to offer her friendship and a listening ear if he required it. They were friends after all.
When she was close enough she could speak without shouting, she said softly, "William."
He stopped an arm's length away from her. He looked directly in front of him and said through clenched teeth, "May I be of assistance to you, Miss Bennet?"
She staggered back, the harshness in his tone distancing her from him. "I had hoped I might be of assistance to you, Mr. Darcy," she answered in turn.
He clenched his fists at his side as he turned to face her. "Yes, I know how you like to help your friends. Well, you have done quite enough already. Now, if you will permit me, I will take my leave."
William walked away from her, and she stood stunned at the change in him.
Chapter 26
There were several times during the course of the day when Elizabeth's path crossed William's — and her spirits waned every time he turned away from her.
The afternoon lingered mercilessly. Being trapped at Rosings had been oppressive before, but now… Elizabeth had not realized how much she enjoyed William's company until he deprived her of it. That he did so deliberately was intolerable.
Why this unbearable avoidance? What change had come over him? She dissected every conversation they had shared, and she picked at her every expression and action. But the more she pondered, the more baffled she became and the stronger her frustration grew.
Dinner was a frigid affair. What little conversation they had was forced and meaningless.
By the end of the meal, Elizabeth's puzzlement had turned to anger. Who did Mr. Darcy think he was to treat her with repulsion without so much as a hint to its cause? Oh yes, he was Mr. Darcy once again. Insufferable man!
Lady Catherine rose from the table. "I am greatly fatigued and wish to retire for the evening," she declared, leaving Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy, and the colonel to see to their own entertainment.
Elizabeth jumped at the opportunity presented to her. As soon as the door closed behind Lady Catherine and Colonel Fitzwilliam had the good sense to dismiss the servants, she marched around the table to him.
Forgoing niceties, she asked plainly, "What has happened?"
He gave her a look of disgust before turning his back and leaving the room without a word.
She gasped, her hurt at his cut more easily borne in anger.
Even Colonel Fitzwilliam's jaw dropped at his cousin's rudeness.
Elizabeth crossed her arms over her stomach, wrapping her hands around her waist, and stewed at his retreating figure.
Very well. Leave. It seemed to be his solution to inconveniences. It had worked well enough to separate Mr. Bingley from Jane. If he was too proud to speak to her, then she did not want his company anyway. There was nothing he could say to explain his behavior and justify his actions toward her. She must have been right about his character all along. Mr. Darcy was nothing but an arrogant blackguard, and she had been right to hate him before.
If only her eyes would stop prickling, she would glare at him properly. And as soon as her stomach ceased its nauseating twisting, she would laugh to make light of h
er mistake. If only the lump in her throat would clear, she would curse Fitzwilliam Darcy for making her feel so wretched. Because it was not until this moment, the second his indifference had crushed her hopes and trampled on her vulnerable heart, she realized she loved him.
Blast it all, who was the fool now?
Darcy stomped up the stairs, needing to distance himself from her. He reminded himself that the openness in her expression was not an honest one. Her apparent ignorance was nothing more than an act. She had fooled him completely, but he would never allow it to happen again. His dear sister's reputation depended upon it — a reputation which she had claimed to protect with the same loyalty she extended to her own family.
Her betrayal cut him to the core. He had been a fool to trust her so fully; to care.
"Darcy," he heard Richard call behind him.
Darcy continued to his room. He did not want to hear what he knew Richard would say. Still, he left his bedchamber door open behind him and sat in a chair by the fire.
Richard marched in behind him, as Darcy had supposed he would, and closed the door a touch too vigorously.
Pointing his finger as if it were a dagger, Richard roared, "What has come over you? You were abominably rude to Miss Bennet."
He would side with the manipulative maiden. He did not know of her treachery. With a scoff, Darcy said, "You would not attempt to defend her if you knew how she has betrayed not only my confidence, but she has compromised Georgiana's future."
Richard's hand fell to his side, and he sat heavily in the nearest chair. "That is a serious accusation, Darcy. What proof have you?"
Darcy recited to the best of his ability the entire conversation from Hunsford parsonage. Richard stared into the fire, his jaw moving from side to side in deep contemplation.
In conclusion Darcy said, "Is it not as painfully obvious to you as it was to me that Miss Bennet chose to share a confidence I had entrusted to her with Mrs. Collins?"
