Chapter Four
Darcy
The declaration hung in the air like smoke after cannon fire, impossible to recall.
Darcy’s mind raced through possibilities. Denial? Clarification? Escape? To his surprise, his mouth made the decision for him. “Indeed. Miss Bennet is quite correct. We are engaged.”
The lie felt foreign on his tongue, yet some instinct deeper than rational thought compelled him to support her claim.
She had been trying to help him, however misguided the method, and contradiction now would expose her as either a liar or a schemer whilst leaving him untouched by censure.
Whatever chaos she had inadvertently created, he could not bring himself to abandon her to face the consequences alone.
Better to present a united front and unravel this tangle privately than to publicly dispute her before witnesses already primed for scandal. These women were clearly up to something and Miss Bennet had attempted to shield him.
Miss Bennet’s face had gone pale, her eyes wide with what appeared to be her own shock at what she had wrought. Her lips parted slightly as if she might speak, then closed again. She had not fully anticipated his cooperation, nor perhaps what her impulsive declaration would set in motion.
Small comfort, that. They were both thoroughly entangled now.
Mrs Thorne’s expression transformed from fury to icy composure with remarkable speed.
“I see. How very unexpected. Come, girls.” She turned to her granddaughters with brittle precision.
“Clearly our congratulations are in order, although one might question the propriety of announcing such matters in so irregular a fashion. Good evening, Mr Darcy. Miss Bennet.”
The three women swept away, leaving Darcy and Miss Bennet standing alone in the sudden silence that followed their departure.
That silence lasted approximately three seconds.
“Lizzy, you are engaged to Mr Darcy?!”
The shriek came from a younger woman who bore a striking resemblance to Miss Bennet, her voice pitched to carry not merely across the immediate vicinity but possibly to the next county. Several heads turned in their direction, curiosity transforming into avid interest.
“Lydia, please—” Miss Bennet began, but the protest died as more voices joined the chorus.
Mrs Fitzgerald clutched at her companion’s arm. “An engagement! How sudden!”
“They must have known each other before,” a voice noted from somewhere. “They are both English after all.”
“What a match! Miss Bennet has done well for herself.”
Darcy watched the gossip ripple outward in waves, each repetition adding embellishment and conjecture.
Within moments, their fabricated betrothal had acquired the solidity of established fact, transformed from desperate improvisation to accepted truth by the irresistible force of collective speculation.
This could not be happening. He had navigated three London seasons with his freedom intact, had deflected matrimonial schemes from families far more sophisticated than these provincial Irish fortune hunters.
Yet here he stood, accidentally engaged to a woman he had met mere hours ago, because she had sought to rescue him from a situation he might well have managed himself.
The irony would be amusing if it were not so catastrophic.
Three young ladies descended upon them with unfettered enthusiasm, all speaking at once in a torrent of exclamations that permitted no possibility of response.
“Oh, Lizzy, this is wonderful!”
“How romantic!”
“You must tell us everything!”
The one who seemed to be the youngest, the same individual who had shrieked, turned to him. “Mr Darcy, I am Lydia Bennet, Lizzy’s youngest sister. And this is Kitty, that is, Catherine, our fourth sister. And this is our cousin Effie Ahearn.”
The other two curtseyed, their faces alight with happiness.
“We are so pleased to meet you properly,” Kitty added. “We had not the slightest notion that Lizzy had formed an attachment! She is turning out to be so reserved about these matters.”
“Reserved!” Lydia laughed. “Lizzy, you sly creature! You were always the cleverest of us, but this surpasses everything. To snag a fine prospect on such short notice, and a wealthy one at that! Everyone has been speaking of Mr Darcy’s estates and fortune since he arrived in Westport.
You must have worked very quickly indeed. ”
The words bit at Darcy uncomfortably. Wealthy prospect. Worked quickly. The general perception of his circumstances had preceded him here as everywhere else, reducing him to nothing more than an attractive sum of money and property waiting to be claimed.
He glanced at Miss Bennet, seeking some indication of her reaction to her sister’s tactless excitement, and caught the mortification that flashed across her countenance before she attempted to master it.
“Lydia, that is not—I did not—it was not like that at all—” Her protest died unfinished, overwhelmed by the continued onslaught of congratulations.
Darcy recognised several faces from earlier introductions such as Lady O’Brien, the O’Connells, Sir Cormac Kennedy—all wearing expressions of astonishment, curiosity, and in some cases barely concealed envy.
“Mr Darcy, Miss Bennet, such wonderful news!”
“What a delightful surprise!”
“Certainly, young love does not wait!”
The felicitations arrived in waves, each speaker adding to the growing certainty that an engagement had indeed occurred.
Darcy maintained his courteous mask through sheer force of will, nodding and murmuring appropriate responses whilst beside him, Miss Bennet appeared to have frozen, her face pale and her responses perfunctory.
Mrs Ahearn appeared at his elbow, her eyebrows furrowed in visible distress. “Mr Darcy, Elizabeth, perhaps we ought to retire indoors? The excitement has rather disrupted the party, and I think some privacy might be advisable for the newly betrothed couple.”
Newly betrothed.
The phrase sat wrong and ill-fitting, yet he inclined his head in agreement, grateful for any excuse to escape the public theatre this had become.
“An excellent suggestion, Mrs Ahearn. Thank you.”
They proceed towards the house—himself, Elizabeth, and Mrs Ahearn, trailed by what seemed half the gathering, all eager to extend further felicitations or extract additional details. A woman’s voice carried above the general din with clarity.
“I knew it! Did I not say that new prospects awaited us in Ireland? My Elizabeth, engaged to Mr Darcy of Pemberley! She has done excellently well!”
Mrs Ahearn ushered them into a sitting room and moved to close the door against the crowd, but Miss Bennet’s mother slipped through before the barrier could be established. She positioned herself next to them, practically vibrating with satisfaction.
“This is wonderful news! We must begin planning immediately. The wedding breakfast, the invitation list, the trousseau, there is so much to arrange!”
“Sister, surely they require time to become better acquainted before the arrangements commence?” Mrs Ahearn’s interruption carried unusual firmness. She turned to Elizabeth and Darcy, her expression thoughtful. “You have only just met today, have you not?”
Mrs Bennet waved away the concern. “They like each other well enough for Mr Darcy to make an offer, surely they are eager! Elizabeth is not the sort to accept a proposal without some basis of affection. She has always been far too particular for her own good.”
Mrs Ahearn studied them both with shrewd attention. “I have the distinct impression that the announcement took you both by surprise. Rather as though neither of you had anticipated the news becoming public in quite a fashion, or perhaps at all.”
A sparrow pecked at the glass outside, the only sound audible. Beside him, Darcy could see Miss Bennet’s hands twisting together in her lap, her knuckles white with tension. She looked, he realised with growing concern, as if she might actually faint.
Mrs Bennet frowned, her triumphant mood dimming as she took in her daughter’s pallor. “Lizzy? What is the matter? You look quite unwell.”
“I...” Miss Bennet’s curled her hands into fists before releasing them again. “I find I have developed a severe headache. Mama, might I be excused to retire for the evening?”
“A headache? Now? But there is so much to discuss—”
“Your daughter has had rather an overwhelming afternoon,” Darcy cut in. “Perhaps rest would be beneficial for her. I shall call tomorrow, when she is recovered, and we might address matters then with clearer minds.”
For a brief moment, Mrs Bennet looked as if she wished to protest this delay in her matrimonial celebrations, but something in his tone forestalled argument. “Very well. However, I do think a simple headache hardly warrants such fuss when one’s engagement has just been announced.”
Miss Bennet rose unsteadily, swaying slightly before catching herself against the arm of the settee.
She did not look at him nor did she look at anyone, in fact.
Her gaze remained fixed on some point beyond the room and she departed without another word, moving with the careful deliberation of someone navigating unfamiliar terrain in darkness.
The door closed behind her with a soft click that seemed unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet.
As Darcy watched her go, he had the recognition that he needed to leave as well.
He, too, had to understand what had just occurred and determine how best to navigate this impossible situation.
Remaining here would only invite more questions and complications layered upon an already complicated mess.
“I shall take my leave too,” he announced, rising. “The hour grows late, and I must return to Glenmont Hall. Mrs Ahearn, Mrs Bennet, I thank you for your hospitality this evening. I shall return to speak with Miss Bennet once she is recovered.”
Mrs Bennet beamed at this promise. “Of course! How thoughtful you are, Mr Darcy. I am certain Elizabeth will be quite herself by morning, and you may make all your plans together. And of course, you shall need to speak to Mr Bennet. It is traditionally the father who gives his blessing for such things. But he will, of course. He will with delight.”
Darcy merely bowed and made his escape before either lady could detain him further. He collected his hat and gloves from a hovering servant, acutely aware of the curious glances from guests still lingering in the entrance hall.
He made his way to his carriage with as much haste as dignity permitted. The evening air struck cool against his face, a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere within.
He leant back against the seat as the vehicle lurched into motion, closing his eyes as the surreal events of the past hour swept into his mind.
He was engaged to Elizabeth Bennet.
Except, of course, he was not actually engaged.
The entire thing was a fabrication, a desperate improvisation that had spiralled catastrophically out of control.
By tomorrow morning, surely, cooler heads would prevail and the gossip would settle.
They could speak privately and devise some tactful means of retracting the announcement with minimal damage to her reputation.
Darcy opened his eyes and gazed out at the darkening Irish countryside rolling past the window.
Elizabeth Bennet was undoubtedly an interesting woman, the most engaging conversationalist he had encountered in months.
Under different circumstances, he might have welcomed the opportunity to know her better, to explore whether the rapport they had established during their conversation might develop into something deeper.
But marriage on the basis of a single afternoon’s acquaintance and an impulsive lie told to thwart fortune hunters was another matter.
He barely knew her and she barely knew him.
They had shared one pleasant conversation and a few dances.
That hardly constituted foundation for a lifetime commitment.
His parents’ marriage had been built on years of acquaintance and affection developed over time.
He had always imagined his own marriage would follow a similar pattern, allowing for an understanding of his partner’s character and temperament.
This bore no resemblance to that vision.
The carriage turned onto the road leading to his lodgings, and he permitted himself a moment of bitter amusement. He had survived London’s countless social ambushes and maintained his freedom with meticulous care.
Ireland, it seemed, required different strategies.
And then there was his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. He would find this situation hilarious. Darcy could already envision his cousin’s reaction. The raised eyebrows, the poorly suppressed grin.
And the inevitable commentary about how even the great Fitzwilliam Darcy could be caught in a matrimonial trap when he least expected it.