Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Moonlight streamed through the window in Darcy’s bedchamber, and he lay on top of the coverlet.
He did not know the hour, only that he should have been asleep long ago if he were ever to get any type of rest. He closed his eyes and drank in the silence, hoping for a reprieve from this unwelcome churning in his chest, but it was no good.
All he could think about was Miss Bennet and the letter he had received from his cousin that morning.
My father has begun to sleep a little better, which is a relief to me.
I do not think he rested for the entire duration of my brother’s illness.
Last night, in his study, we spoke of the fragility of life and the importance of one’s legacy.
Then, before we retired, he clasped his arms around my shoulders and remarked how grateful he was for my presence.
I cannot remember the last time he embraced me in such a way.
Marriage to Lady Violet would bring him joy, and I find myself seriously contemplating his wishes for an advantageous union.
This information that his cousin was thinking of marrying Lady Violet should have been a source of jubilation to Darcy, but he could not help picturing Miss Bennet’s face when she received the news.
His hare-brained scheme to marry Miss Bennet was known only to you, Darcy reminded himself, but with no small amount of unease he recalled the attention his cousin had paid to her.
At the minute, Fitzwilliam spoke only of his contemplating marrying Lady Violet.
However, Darcy was sufficiently acquainted with his cousin’s temperament to know that this specific mention indicated Fitzwilliam had likely changed his mind regarding Miss Bennet.
And what if he should marry Lady Violet?
the villainous voice inside him dared to whisper.
Surely she would be a better match for the new Viscount Callan, heir to Haddon Court, than Miss Bennet, whose uncle lives in Cheapside and—Lady Acaster aside—who has precious few connexions to recommend herself in the world.
Sitting up, he groaned, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands over his face.
And if Fitzwilliam decides not to marry Miss Bennet, then you would be spared the pain of witnessing their unbearably happy life.
It was not a comfortable thought, but it was true nevertheless.
He stood, pulling a banyan across his shoulders, and retrieved his slippers from under the bed.
Pacing about the room, he went to the window and looked out onto the moonlit gardens, the silver light casting an ethereal glow over the estate.
A board creaked in the corridor beyond his bedroom.
Candlelight flickered under the gap at the bottom of the door.
A terrible foreboding writhed in the pit of his stomach.
Georgiana. For no other reason would he be disturbed in the dead of night.
He flung the door open. On the other side was Mr Talbot, his nightgown still visible under his coat.
“Forgive me, sir. It is Miss Darcy.”
Darcy did not want to hear Mr Talbot’s apologies. “Take me to her.”
Georgiana was standing by the lake, her arms outstretched, like an angel.
Her feet were bare, her nightdress muddy.
Next to her was a woman also in a nightgown and slippers, her shawl wound tightly around herself.
Darcy crossed the grass in great long strides, his lungs screaming as they fought off the rising panic.
Reaching his sister’s side, he saw that her eyes were open, but they were glassy.
Footsteps in the muddy verge indicated that she had been very close to walking into the water.
Carefully, so as not to alarm her, Darcy placed his hand on his sister’s shoulder and brought her close to him. “Georgie dearest,” he murmured in her ear. “You have had a bad dream, and you need to return to your bed. I am here to show you the way.”
She nodded against his chest. Relief flooded his body, and he pulled her tighter towards him, her thin frame dwarfed by his large one.
He dropped his arm to encircle her waist and cautiously guided her back towards the house.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a movement and looked towards it.
The young woman was following them. So occupied was he with his sister that he had not properly looked at her.
Miss Bennet. His heart nearly stopped. Their eyes met in recognition, but neither of them spoke for fear of disturbing Georgiana.
In his distraction, he lost his grip on his sister, and she stumbled.
Miss Bennet swiftly came to her rescue and supported Georgiana from the other side.
“George, is that you?” his sister whispered, clutching desperately at Darcy’s nightshirt.
“No, dearest, it is your brother,” he replied. “I shall take care of you.”
“I am sorry.” Her voice was drenched with tears. “I never meant to hurt you. I just loved him too much.”
Darcy steadied her. “Come, let us find you a soft bed to sleep in.” He glanced at Miss Bennet, whose expression was pained.
Eventually they reached the steps leading to the house.
Mr Talbot was there, candle in hand, awaiting them anxiously.
Just before they reached the butler, Darcy turned to Miss Bennet.
In a low voice, he said, “Go to my study and tell no one. I wish to speak to you privately, without my sister knowing.”
“Please give Miss Bennet the candle,” he said loudly to Mr Talbot. “You and I shall escort Miss Darcy upstairs.”
He looked meaningfully at Miss Bennet. “Will you be able to find your way on your own?”
Eyes wide, she nodded in understanding. “Do not worry about me—Georgiana must be your first concern.”
Darcy did not like the idea of Miss Bennet wandering Pemberley’s darkened corridors alone, but he had no choice other than to say, “I thank you for your assistance, Miss Bennet, and I bid you goodnight.”
He watched as she curtseyed and slipped away into the shadows. Setting aside his misgivings, he told himself this was the best course of action. Of all people, he wished for her to know the truth.
Elizabeth lit and stoked the fire in Mr Darcy’s study, thankful for some occupation for her unsteady hands.
Unable to face Mr Darcy in only her nightgown, she had returned to her room to hastily pull on a dress.
Aware of the impropriety of this meeting, Elizabeth had hesitated.
It was not too late to change her mind. But then Mr Darcy’s face, troubled and grave, flashed through her head.
Whatever he wished to say, she would hear it.
Besides, after the events of the night, she could not just return to her bed as though nothing had occurred.
Georgiana had been so close to entering the water.
Elizabeth shivered. She found a leather armchair, and with one hand clasping her shawl to her chest, she half-dragged, half-lifted the seat to bring it closer to the fireplace.
In the corner was a chest containing several blankets, and she chose the largest one, wrapping herself in it as she curled up on the cold leather.
A pulsing anticipation rushed through her body at the thought of meeting Mr Darcy alone at this late hour.
What could he possibly say to me? I did try to wake his sister, but she grew agitated—did I do the wrong thing?
Georgiana’s desperate whisper echoed in her ears.
She loved a man called George. Elizabeth squeezed the blanket.
Could she have meant Mr Wickham? Closing her eyes, Elizabeth’s pulse raced as she remembered him, standing in the doorway of the servants’ entrance eyeing all the maids as they passed.
Handsome, charming, and completely ruthless, there had not been one thing she liked about the man.
‘You must keep away from him,’ had been Mrs Reynolds’s whispered advice, and she had followed it most diligently.
She inhaled raggedly. Georgiana could not love Mr Wickham.
Opening her eyes, she blinked away the tears.
No woman should be near that scoundrel. As the flames grew steadier, her tension eased a touch, the blanket’s fabric coarse against her skin.
Her body was torn between nerves and exhaustion, and she did not trust herself to shut her eyes again.
There was a soft knock at the door. “Miss Bennet?” Mr Darcy’s voice was muffled. “May I enter?”
The absurdity of Mr Darcy politely asking for permission to conduct a clandestine meeting was not lost on Elizabeth, and she fought the impulse to laugh. Nervously, she smoothed over the wayward strands of hair that had escaped her plait. “Come in.”
Mr Darcy entered, carrying a candle. He looked relieved to see she had started a fire and crossed the room to warm his hands. “I feel strangely cold despite the good weather.”
Smouldering light illuminated his tall, strong frame scarcely hidden under the fabric of his banyan, and Elizabeth pulled the blanket tighter around herself, feeling more exposed than she ever had in her life.
“How is Miss Darcy?” she whispered. “Is she abed?”
He gave a grim laugh. “For now.” Turning from her, he went to a cabinet and prepared himself a glass of brandy. His hand stilled, and he glanced over at her. “I do not often drink at this time,” he said. “And I surely do not know whether it is more discourteous to offer you one or not.”
“It is two o’clock in the morning!” Elizabeth admonished. “It is not the polite time for anyone to be drinking!”
A dry, sad chuckle escaped his lips. “Permit me this transgression, then. I need something to steady my nerves.”
There was silence, and at last Elizabeth ventured, “When did Miss Darcy’s sleepwalking start?”