Chapter 8 #2
“Imp! Now I know you are taunting me. If you are to make a retreat, then allow me to accompany you. You will be in need of my protection against this frightful colonel. How fortunate that I decided to send my carriage on and enjoy the walk through Pemberley’s woods.”
“How do you propose to join me when you are on the wrong side of the river?”
“What little faith you have in the British army that you consider this trickle to be an obstacle!” Swiftly, he stepped along the half-submerged rocks of the river, his arms aloft to keep his balance, and arrived at Elizabeth’s side with a soft thud.
At close quarters, she could see the thin, puckered scar that ran up his neck and the jagged corner of his ear.
Time may have been kind, but it had also not been entirely merciful.
He caught her looking and flashed another disarming grin, seemingly relishing in her curiosity.
“Tell me, then, my mysterious maiden—when we met before, did I do you the honour of greeting you properly?”
He truly does not recognise me. Elizabeth thought of her younger self, her half-boots forever caked with mud, ink smudged on her fingers, her ringlets escaping from her ribbon.
How different I must seem! Feeling unexpectedly shy, she forced herself to look up into his face and murmured, “The first time we met, you offered to take me on an adventure.”
With a roguish smirk, he offered her his arm, his body warm next to hers. “And did I?”
Elizabeth recalled their first meeting; Richard Fitzwilliam had burst into the middle of Georgiana’s dancing lesson and informed the oversensitive Mr Guichard that his instruction was to be ceased at once, for Miss Darcy’s favourite cousin had just arrived, with two young puppies that were in desperate need of exercise.
Disregarding all the Frenchman’s impassioned protests, he had swept a squealing Georgiana into his arms and regarded Elizabeth with mischievous familiarity.
‘And you can come too—should you be brave enough for an adventure or two,’ had been his words, and with that, he, Elizabeth, and Georgiana had spent the rest of the day out of doors, laughing, running, and chasing the dogs.
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, thinking of all that had passed between that moment and now. “Yes, you did.”
A servant informed Darcy that Colonel Fitzwilliam had arrived.
He waited for ten minutes or thereabouts.
To his annoyance, his cousin did not come directly to him.
Suppressing his impatience at being kept waiting, he rose in search of the laggard.
Echoes of laughter, male and female, reverberated through Pemberley’s corridors, and he followed the noise to its source.
Descending the main staircase, he was confronted by an unwelcome sight: Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet standing side by side as though they were old friends.
His cousin was talking with animation, his whole body turned towards her, his words causing Miss Bennet to gasp and splutter with mirth.
A sharp pain burnt under Darcy’s sternum.
Miss Bennet had never laughed so openly in his presence, nor had she looked so radiant.
He bristled at his cousin’s rudeness. What was Fitzwilliam about, talking to Miss Bennet in this intimate way when he was expected elsewhere?
Darcy had half a mind to bar his cousin’s admittance to Pemberley and compel him to continue his journey to Haddon Court without delay.
He reached the bottom of the stairs. So absorbed were they in their conversation, they had not noted Darcy’s arrival.
He coughed loudly, watching as Miss Bennet broke away from Fitzwilliam, disquiet settling across her face. “Cousin,” he said curtly. “Forgive my interruption.”
“Darcy!” Ever the open book, Fitzwilliam stepped towards him, arms outstretched, and clasped his hand.
“How pleased I am to see you! You can end my torment. This wonderful creature insists that we have met before, but would you not agree that any gentleman worthy of the name man would not forget such beauty?”
Choking on his outrage at the colonel’s familiar tone, Darcy glanced at Miss Bennet, whose red cheeks suggested that his cousin had overstepped.
“May I introduce Miss Elizabeth Bennet. You may remember her from when she stayed with us five years ago,” he said coldly.
“She is visiting Pemberley with her aunt, at your father’s request. I expect you to pay her every courtesy. ”
Fitzwilliam’s mouth fell open. “Little Lizzy Bennet!” Eyes wide with delight, he spun and grasped her hands.
“You have put me to the blush! What a fool, of course you are—what other maiden could provoke me so artlessly? If you chose to chastise me, I should not blame you. It would serve me well to be thoroughly scolded for my poor memory, for now, when I look again, I can see the Lizzy of old staring back at me.”
Again, Miss Bennet appeared deeply uncomfortable.
Darcy could not like the way Fitzwilliam held her hands so warmly in his.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Bennet.” Both turned to look at him.
He stared meaningfully at Fitzwilliam. “Her name, in this house, is Miss Bennet. Anything less than a respectful appellation is unacceptable.”
“Naturally, Mr Darcy.” This unnecessary emphasis on Darcy's honorific did nothing to abate his temper. Provokingly, Fitzwilliam turned his attention back to Miss Bennet; Darcy thought he detected his cousin pulling a face, to which Miss Bennet bit her lip and looked away.
Darcy’s ill-temper worsened. “If you have finished your conversation, Fitzwilliam, I kindly request your presence in my study. My understanding is that your stay at Pemberley is to be brief—there is much we need to discuss.”
“Yes, of course, Mr Darcy.”
Despite his cousin’s impudence, Darcy resolved not to give Fitzwilliam the satisfaction of goading him into losing his temper.
He bowed stiffly. “Miss Bennet, I believe my sister awaits your return in the morning room.”
She gave an equally formal curtsey. “I shall go there directly.”
Darcy made for the stairs. Behind him, he heard Fitzwilliam say, in that irritatingly amiable way of his, “Once I am finished with my dull stick of a cousin, I shall come and find you. I wish to know everything that has happened in the years since we last met.”
Over the clipped echoes of his own angry footsteps, Darcy only just discerned Miss Bennet’s bashful reply. “I should like that very much.”