Chapter 4
“I am trying to enjoy my cognac in silence, but it is difficult to be quiet,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, seeming amused by his own words while sipping from the elegant crystal glass. He gazed into the distance, focusing on the amber hue of the drink, pretending not to notice Darcy’s faint smile.
“Stop admiring the brandy and tell me what troubles you,” Darcy replied, the smile lingering on his lips. His cousin was not a man of subtleties, and his face was as legible as a book. He clearly wished to know something, and the unease in his expression was marked by both hesitation and curiosity.
“Ever since your return from Pemberley, I no longer recognise you,” he said at last. His words seemed to stir a storm upon Darcy’s face, one he made no effort to conceal.
Darcy took a sip of his own cognac, uncertain.
It was not in his nature to confide in others; yet, the incident last summer—when Georgiana had come close to disgrace at the hands of Wickham—had brought them closer.
The colonel had accompanied him to Ramsgate without hesitation and had been the one to stop him from challenging Wickham to a duel.
It had been a difficult decision, but it was the right one; such a confrontation would have forced Darcy to reveal the reason for the duel, and Georgiana’s honour was of far greater importance.
They had spent nearly a month together at Pemberley after Ramsgate, sharing their misgivings more openly than ever before.
Although Darcy had not cared much for such candour at first, he had come to admit—even if only to himself—that those long conversations had helped him through that difficult period.
“I went to Pemberley after Christmas to run away…from myself,” he said eventually. A long silence followed, and Richard rather expected his cousin to say no more. But he was mistaken.
“Am I weaker now because I can no longer keep to myself what weighs on my mind?”
“You are asking me this?” the colonel replied, surprised.
“I am asking myself, rather—but I do not know the answer. I advised a friend not to pursue a certain young lady I believed to be interested only in his wealth. But now I do not know how to advise myself.”
“Ah…so it is about a young lady,” the colonel uttered with some hesitance.
“It might be,” came the rather stern answer, which strangely reverberated about the room.
Silence reclaimed the library, but it was too late for Richard to feign indifference.
His curiosity triumphed, for never before had Darcy shown interest in any young lady within their social circle—much to the dismay of many a mother who had hoped to see her daughter married to such a wealthy and eligible gentleman.
“I fled Hertfordshire at the end of November. That is the truth.”
“You deserted…in the face of a young lady?” Richard asked, incredulous. The idea that Darcy might be gripped by fear, of any kind, seemed impossible.
“You could say that I did.”
“Was she after your money as well?” asked the colonel, plainly now, for it was clear a young woman from Hertfordshire lay at the heart of the matter.
“No, not she. But her family—” Darcy stopped, a grimace of distaste crossing his face, saying more than a hundred words might have.
“I do not understand,” the colonel admitted honestly.
“Indeed, it might be difficult. Briefly, I met a young woman in Hertfordshire who intrigued me from the first moment I saw her. As I came to know her better, my admiration only grew. But then her family made its distressing appearance.”
“Distressing? Good heavens, Darcy!” the colonel exclaimed in exasperation. “You are not marrying her family!”
“There, you are utterly wrong, dear cousin. A family such as hers could very well ruin even the happiest of marriages.”
“I do not know where you get such notions,” the colonel replied, still incredulous.
He was genuinely pleased that his cousin had found a woman he admired, and he, personally, did not consider any family a sufficient obstacle.
He spoke firmly. “Look at Diana. She comes from a family of merchants, yet today, no one would guess her father is not a duke. And her parents are decent, pleasant people who have never pushed themselves into society without an invitation.”
“It was precisely Lady Oakham and her parents I had in mind as a fortunate example of such a match working perfectly. The young lady is very much like Lady Oakham in many ways. Still, her parents and sisters behave as though they belong behind a market stall.”
The silence again conquered the room. Darcy looked around the familiar and cherished space as if in an attempt to find courage or confidence.
His library lay tucked within his grand London house, which his family had owned for five generations.
Although the house had undergone many changes, especially during his mother’s time, the library had remained untouched, a sanctum of silence and thought with ancient furniture and an impressive collection of books.
Its tall sash windows gazed out over the garden beyond, which could not be compared to Pemberley’s immense park yet had an undeniable charm.
“And if they were more like Diana’s parents?”
Darcy started; for a few moments, he had forgotten the conversation, and even the colonel, lost as he was in thought, and reality returned with a distressing reminder of his dilemma.
“I would marry Elizabeth Bennet at once!” he exclaimed, and only then realised, too late, that he had spoken without genuinely reflecting on his words.
It was, indeed, more than he had intended to reveal, for only a few evenings prior, that very name had been uttered during a dinner with the entire family at the Matlocks’ house.
Anne, who was staying in London with her aunt and uncle, had received a letter from her mother, mentioning the presence of guests at the Parsonage.
And Colonel Fitzwilliam, who possessed an excellent memory, had not forgotten the name of a particular person, who proved to be Mr Collins’s cousin—the same one Darcy had just revealed inadvertently.
Finally, the colonel understood why Darcy was so eager to escort Anne home before Easter.
It was a promising sign—it might suggest that his inner struggle was not yet settled and that there remained a chance he would decide to ask for her hand.
Although he had no intention of saying more about the woman he admired, Darcy did not end the conversation.
“Why do you suppose it would be better for me to marry a woman about whom I harbour such hesitation?”
“From what you have told me, your hesitation is not towards her but her family. That is a significant distinction.”
“At present, yes. But a year from now, when her family descends upon the peace of Pemberley, I doubt that particular reservation will still seem minor.”
“What I mean is, in the case of that young lady, your concern lies with those around her, not with her character. That is unlike so many other women of our acquaintance, regarding whom your reservations are far more direct.”
“What do you mean?” asked Darcy, curious. “Which young ladies do you mean?”
The colonel paused briefly, intent on forming a response that might stand against the reasoning of his cousin, who had a talent for turning every argument to support his own view.
“Lady Olivia, for instance.”
“Lady Olivia?” Darcy repeated, and to the colonel’s surprise, he caught a flicker of embarrassment on his cousin’s face, the meaning of which he could not reasonably interpret.
“Yes, she is an exceedingly clever woman—but not one with many scruples.”
“Indeed?” exclaimed Darcy, startled by the colonel’s vehemence. “Are you certain of that?”
“I am very certain. I have a reliable method for discerning the honesty of ladies who seek to marry—their behaviour towards me.”
“What do you mean?” asked Darcy, laughing, suddenly somewhat more at ease.
“I mean that I am a man of nearly thirty, tall, elegant, from a prestigious family, and relatively entertaining.”
“And handsome.” Darcy laughed again. “No one would dispute that.”
“Well then, I have learnt to judge young women by how they approach me. To first observe their behaviour in your presence or my brother’s—both of you being wealthy. The women interested solely in fortune pay me no mind at all, while they fawn over you—and Andrew, too, before he was married.”
Darcy ceased laughing and studied his cousin attentively.
It was, indeed, a good method—perhaps not infallible, but not without merit.
In truth, he had considered the same matter himself, though less deliberately.
When the two of them were together, most women hung upon his every word and scarcely glanced at the colonel.
“There may be something in what you say,” Darcy admitted. “And Lady Olivia?”
“She is the worst of them.”
“You are unjust.”
“I am realistic, Darcy. Lady Olivia belongs to that category of women who would stop at nothing to ensnare a man like you. Yet she would never marry you , only your fortune. You saved your friend from such a match—but who will save you?”
“You?” asked Darcy, smiling once more.
“Me? You never listened even to Lady Anne, whom you adored. How could I possibly dissuade you from marrying Lady Olivia or another of her kind?”
Darcy did not reply, though it was clear he was reflecting. A faint trace of concern passed across his face, though he made no effort to share it. Instead, he said, “Then I shall marry Cousin Anne. She is surely not of that kind.”
He was joking, but the colonel did not find the remark amusing.
“You jest, but Lady Catherine is dangerous in her own way—as dangerous as Lady Olivia, I would say.”
“Then what is left to me?” asked Darcy.
“The young lady from Hertfordshire?” replied the colonel with conviction.