Chapter Sixteen
Darcy
I t had been a week since the ball, and Darcy was a man unsettled. The memory of that near-kiss haunted him, a moment when he had leaned too close, let his guard slip too far. He had blamed the sherry in the aftermath—convincing himself it had loosened his resolve—but the truth gnawed at him. The feelings Elizabeth stirred within him were far more dangerous than intoxication, and infinitely harder to suppress.
He had spent the past week in determined avoidance, walking a fine line between civility and distance. He attended meals with Elizabeth and Georgiana, exchanged pleasantries, but otherwise retreated into the refuge of his study. His conversation was measured, his attention strained.
Elizabeth, it seemed, was preoccupied with her family’s affairs, frequently visiting Hartley House. She had not confronted him about his altered demeanour, though Darcy could not decide if this was a relief or a greater torment. She must have noticed—how could she not? Yet she chose to say nothing, which left Darcy in a state of constant anticipation.
Each encounter with her felt precarious, each shared glance more significant than it ought to be. His thoughts, despite his best efforts, continually returned to that moment by the fire—her soft smile, her warm eyes, and how easily he might have…
Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. No, it was better this way. Distance was safer.
A soft knock interrupted his brooding. Before he could respond, Georgiana entered his study with the quiet confidence she reserved for matters she felt important.
“Brother,” she said gently, “I must speak with you.”
He glanced up from his correspondence, feigning nonchalance. “Is it urgent? I am in the midst of reviewing these letters.”
“It is urgent enough,” she replied, moving to sit opposite him. She clasped her hands in her lap, her gaze steady.
Darcy sighed inwardly. He knew that look. “What is it, Georgiana?”
She hesitated for a moment, then spoke carefully. “Why are you avoiding Elizabeth?”
His eyes flicked back to the papers before him. “I do not know what you mean,” His tone was clipped, defensive.
Georgiana frowned but pressed on. “You do. You have been distant. I have seen it, and I am certain she has as well.”
“I would prefer not to discuss this,” he said, his voice firm, hoping to end the conversation.
“But I feel I must.” Her words were soft yet resolute. “You are my brother, and I care for your happiness—and Elizabeth’s.”
Darcy pushed back in his chair, folding his arms. “My happiness is not your concern.”
“I beg to differ,” she said quietly, her composure unwavering. “You always act this way when something unsettles you. You withdraw, hoping no one will notice.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “Georgiana, I assure you, there is nothing to concern yourself with.”
“Then why do you avoid her?” Georgiana tilted her head, her voice gently insistent. “You dine with us, but you do not linger. You speak, but your words are few. And Elizabeth—she may not say it, but she feels it. She misses you.”
He stood abruptly, as if motion could dispel the weight of her words. “This is hardly your concern.”
Georgiana remained seated, calm and composed. “You have spent your life protecting me. Can I not do the same for you now?”
Darcy’s shoulders sagged. He turned away, staring into the fireplace. He heard her rise, her footsteps soft on the carpet as she approached him.
“You care for her,” Georgiana said quietly. “I see it. And I believe she cares for you, even if neither of you will admit it.”
Darcy’s breath caught. He closed his eyes, wrestling with the truth he could no longer deny. “It is complicated.”
“Feelings often are,” she replied gently. “But you cannot resolve them by running away.”
There was a long pause. Darcy finally turned to face her, his expression weary but sincere. “I fear hurting her. Or making a fool of myself.”
Georgiana smiled softly, reaching for his hand. “She is already your wife, Fitzwilliam. You need not court her anew. But perhaps… you could let her see the person you truly are, the one you let so few see.”
Darcy stared at her, her words both a comfort and a challenge. For a moment, he said nothing, then gave a slow, reluctant nod.
“Perhaps,” he murmured.
Georgiana squeezed his hand, her eyes bright with encouragement. “That is all I ask.”
With that, she left the room, leaving Darcy to grapple with the tangle of emotions he could no longer ignore.