Thirteen #2
Richard gave a low chuckle. “Of course you are. The Serpentine is notoriously treacherous for little girls armed with crumbs.”
Georgiana studied him for a moment longer, her expression gentle but knowing. “It would not be such a bad thing, you know—to think of your own happiness for once.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. He kept his eyes fixed on Anne, who was now attempting to convince a particularly bold duck to accept a crumb directly from her fingers.
“My happiness is not the issue,” he said quietly.
“Is it not?” Georgiana’s voice remained soft. “You have spent years arranging everyone else’s comfort and security. Anne’s. Mine. Even Aunt Catherine’s, in your own way. Perhaps it is time you allowed yourself to want something—or someone—for yourself.”
He did not answer. The words lodged somewhere behind his breastbone, heavy and unspoken.
Beside him, Richard shifted his weight but wisely held his tongue.
At the water’s edge, Anne laughed again—a bright, uninhibited sound—and Elizabeth turned her head slightly, the corner of her mouth curving in response. For one unguarded second their eyes met across the grass.
Then she looked away, colour rising in her cheeks.
Darcy exhaled slowly and turned to the carriage.
“Come,” he said. “We should not keep the horses standing.”
As they walked back, Georgiana slipped her arm through his and gave it a gentle squeeze. She said nothing more, but the small gesture carried understanding enough.
Darcy did not look at his sister, the image of Elizabeth kneeling beside his daughter, sunlight in her hair and patience in her hands, refusing to leave him.
A precaution, he reminded himself.
Nothing more.
Yet even as the thought formed, he knew it for the lie it was.
Upon returning to Grosvenor Street and the ladies scattered to their respective rooms, Richard declared that after all the fresh air they had acquired, decent port was required, and Darcy agreed. The alternative was to remain at his desk thinking of Elizabeth’s mouth, and that would help no one.
They walked the short distance to White’s in silence. Once settled in a quiet corner of the club with a bottle of excellent port between them, Richard stretched his legs and regarded his cousin with open amusement.
“You were very attentive of the ladies at the Serpentine,” he observed. “Even Georgiana noticed.”
Darcy’s fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. “Must we discuss it?”
Richard ignored the deflection. “Theoretically speaking,” he began, swirling the port in his glass, “what would actually happen if you were to marry beneath your station?”
The question landed with deliberate vagueness but unmistakable aim. Richard did not mention Elizabeth by name. There was no need, because they both knew precisely whom they were discussing.
Darcy set his glass down with care. “I have no intention of marrying beneath or above my station. I have no intention of marrying at all.”
“No?” Richard’s tone remained light, almost conversational.
“Then let us speak purely in hypotheticals. Suppose a gentleman of your rank and fortune was drawn to a woman who, while gently born, possessed neither fortune nor exalted connections. A governess, for example. What consequences might follow?”
Darcy exhaled slowly. “The usual ones. Society would gossip. Some doors would close. My aunt would likely suffer an apoplexy.”
Richard chuckled. “Lady Catherine’s apoplexies are legendary, but not fatal so far. Come now, Darcy. Be honest. What would truly happen?”
Darcy stared into the ruby depths of his port. “My uncle and aunt would be disappointed. They have certain expectations.”
“Expectations,” Richard repeated. “My parents would welcome any woman with a pulse if she would consent to marry me, a bachelor at seven-and-thirty. They have grown desperate. After the catastrophe of my elder brother’s marriage to a lady of impeccable lineage and zero affection, they have revised their standards considerably.
They want their remaining son happy. They want grandchildren who are not raised in cold silence.
A governess who makes you smile and treats Anne with kindness would, I suspect, be received with relief rather than outrage. ”
Darcy remained silent for a long moment.
Richard leaned forward, his voice dropping.
“You are not my brother. You are not bound by the same chains. If you wished to marry a gentlewoman—even one currently employed as a governess—I believe my parents would not oppose it. They might grumble for appearance’s sake, but they would not stand in your way. Not if she made you and Anne happy.”
Darcy turned the glass in his hands. The idea, once spoken aloud, refused to retreat.
“You are right, Richard,” he said at last, quietly. “They would not oppose it. And even if they did, I would not care. The only obstacle that matters is whether the lady in question—let us say a governess—would accept my suit.”
Richard studied him for a moment, then gave a low laugh and clapped him soundly on the back.
“Poor bastard,” he murmured, affection clear beneath the words. “You are well and truly caught.”
Darcy did not deny it.
The clock on the mantel showed a quarter to six. Darcy straightened abruptly.
“We should return,” he said. “It is nearly time for dinner.”
Richard raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you hurry home for dinner?”
“Since I have a governess who expects me at the table,” Darcy replied, already rising.
Richard’s smile was knowing, but he said nothing further. They left White’s at a brisk pace that bordered on undignified for two gentlemen of their station. Darcy set a punishing stride, and Richard matched it without complaint, though his occasional sidelong glances spoke volumes.
They reached Grosvenor Street just as the hall clock chimed six. Darcy handed his hat and gloves to Barton with more haste than elegance and moved directly to the dining room.
Elizabeth was already there.
She stood near the window, speaking softly to Georgiana. When she turned at the sound of their entrance, their eyes met for one brief, charged moment.
She looked away first.
Darcy took his place at the head of the table, acutely aware of every inch of space between them. Richard and Georgiana joined them, filling the room with easy conversation.
Darcy watched Elizabeth across the candles as the first course was served. She answered Georgiana’s questions with grace, and barely glanced at him.
Yet every time their eyes did meet—however briefly—the memory of last night flared between them undeniably.
Darcy reached for his wine and drank deeply.
A precaution, he reminded himself.