Chapter 18
Darcy had not yet found the right words to tell Georgiana about Elizabeth. He could not decide which part of the story sounded worse: that an angel had rescued him from drunken misery, or that he was so desperate for help that he was prepared to take advantage of a woman in need.
He had been in Georgiana’s room for a day and a night before he made the attempt. He had spoken of everything else under the sun except that. Now, when the world had ground into silence, he knew that he must say something.
Darcy found himself telling his sister tiny fragments. It was like trying to fill the ocean with raindrops.
There is a young lady staying here…
…a few years older than you, Georgiana…
… I am sure you will like her very much, when…
When what? When he brought poor Elizabeth into this awful place? Such a sin would be the perfect climax to his Luciferian fall: to take his sweet angel and tear off her wings forever.
He had been ready to do it. He would have thrown Miss Bennet to the wolves without question a month ago.
Even though Darcy knew he was asking her for the impossible, he was ready to tie her to the task forever.
But that was before their honeymoon, when she was a stranger and a hope and a dream.
Now, she was Elizabeth: wonderfully and heartbreaking human. He could not lock her away.
Darcy spent three days in the music room, imagining how Elizabeth might feel in his place. Every passing hour was more tortuous than the last, but still he persisted.
Sometimes Miss Crocker brought him a tray, or tended to Georgiana’s needs, but her visits were always so brief that Darcy barely noticed her.
He assumed that Mrs. Reynolds had told the servants to intrude on the peaceful room as little as possible.
Certainly, Miss Crocker did not seem inclined to linger after her duties were carried out.
She did not even speak to her patient, merely checked her over like a show-pig and frowned irritably at anything that needed attention.
Darcy knew that he should challenge that.
Miss Crocker was efficient and professional, but her manner was that of utter disdain.
He would speak to Mrs. Reynolds… but that was when he left.
An insurmountable, exhausting task. The world outside the music room was loud and complicated.
The world within it was slow and silent, leaching minutes from hours in an endless, pitiful whisper, but it was easy.
On the third day the peace was broken. Darcy had been reading his sister a book. His head snapped up in amazement when a bright laugh sang through the air. Someone was outside the window, enjoying the autumn sunshine and making merry. Darcy drew back the green curtains a sliver and looked out.
It was Elizabeth. She was walking along the side of the house alone.
A little grey cat had run up and snatched at her skirt, making her laugh.
Normally the stable cats were feral, earning their keep as mousers and not as companions.
This one, however, had decided it wanted to play.
Elizabeth leaned down to stroke it and the cat made another attempt at her shawl.
She laughed again, scooped the cat into her arms, and cuddled it thoroughly.
She was so innocent. Darcy instinctively compared her to Georgiana and couldn’t help looking back over his shoulder. The contrast between his poor sister and his laughing wife made his head hurt.
No. It would be unthinkable to hold Elizabeth to her promise.
What a loathsome trade they had made! Elizabeth had offered to tie her life to his, and he had accepted with the careless greed of a desperate man. He had not cared enough, then, to see what a wretched purgatory it would be.
And it is an impossible task. He thought, staring at his sister and seeing her awful condition anew. Nobody can help her. Not even an angel.
The air in the music room suddenly felt stifling. Darcy rang for Miss Crocker as he stretched. His arms and legs cracked, the muscles stiff from his long days of idleness. As soon as the servant arrived, he kissed Georgiana and left.
The urge to go to Elizabeth was overwhelming. After so long in the darkness, Darcy longed to go out into the clean air and sunshine. He even took a few steps in that direction before his aching limbs convinced him otherwise.
He was not presentable (or even technically mobile; he moved with such a cacophony of clicks that he might have hired himself out to an orchestra!).
There would be plenty of fresh air in his room.
He could throw the windows open, lie on his soft bed instead of an uncomfortable chair, and change into clean clothes.
Even the thought of his pillows made him yawn. He headed upstairs and rang for his valet. He was deeply asleep when the servant arrived.