Chapter 10
Wednesdays Are for Subterfuge
“I knew you were stupid, but I did not think you entirely devoid of sense.”
“What are you on about now, Fitz?”
“You took her to the rose garden? At Rosings? Are you daft?”
Darcy looked toward the window with his lips pressed in a hard line. “Where did you hear that?”
“It is all over the house! I heard two servants speaking of it in the corridor. Apparently a gardener saw you embracing her. Really, Darcy! I thought you had more sense.”
“Lady Catherine was not at home, and she came to call on our cousin with Mrs. Collins. Anne had the energy for only one guest, so I offered to show Elizabeth the garden. Nothing untoward occurred.”
“So you did not embrace her by the fountain?”
“Well, I,” he stumbled over his words and finally said in a rush, “she stepped back against the edge of the fountain and nearly tumbled in. I merely saved her from a dunking.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at him with suspicion. “Because young ladies accustomed to vigorous walks are often falling into fountains.”
Darcy rolled his eyes.
“It is a wonder so many ladies survive into adulthood, what with their propensity to fall into fountains. Why, they should cordon off all public fountains immediately! The danger is too great! It will be hard to enforce on private estates of course, but I’m certain if we persevere, we can keep the young ladies of Britain safe from the menace of fountains. ”
Darcy exhaled gruffly. “You may think what you like, Fitz, but I have told you the truth.”
“Darcy, how do you not understand this yet? It does not matter what you were truly doing! It only matters that you were observed and in Lady Catherine’s rose garden, of all places. She will be furious when she hears of it.”
“Are you certain she has not already?”
“She has said nothing to me, but I imagine her maid will tell her.”
Darcy looked at the wall calculatingly.
“I know what you are thinking! Do not even consider trying to pay her maid for her silence. That will only guarantee she goes to our aunt and it will be worse for you because of it.”
Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suppose there is nothing for it. I must speak to Lady Catherine.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam slapped his back. “May God go with you, Cousin!”
Darcy merely glared at him.
Darcy marched to his aunt’s parlor in a dark mood.
He had not seen Elizabeth yet today. She had informed him after their walk yesterday that she would accompany Charlotte that morning.
Mrs. Collins would be visiting some parishioners in need of assistance, and both Elizabeth and Miss Lucas would accompany her.
He was disappointed, but Fitzwilliam said he would convince their aunt to invite the parsonage for tea that evening, so he could not be too dejected.
But he had become accustomed to her smiles, her hand on his arm, her little flirtations, and he was quite out of sorts having been without them for more than a day now.
How would he ever manage when she returned to Hertfordshire?
He would simply have to follow her thither—there was nothing else for it.
Having reached the parlor, he rapped swiftly on the door and let himself in on his aunt’s command.
“Darcy, there you are. I have been meaning to talk to you,” said his aunt in her haughty way.
“I need to speak with you as well, Aunt. Will you not go first?”
She pointed to a seat and nodded imperiously. She really was terrifically bad-mannered. How had he not realized it before? Fitzwilliam was right—she had been raised with proper manners, but she did what she wished precisely because she knew she could get away with it.
She began speaking at length about her steward—she was certain the man was stealing from her for the rents had been lower the last quarter than they usually were, and she did not believe for a moment that nonsense about the farmer who broke his leg or the other whose field had flooded. Such things never happened at Rosings!
Darcy paid scant attention to her, planning what he would say to his aunt and how he would say it.
She would be angry—no, she would be irate.
She would likely march down to the parsonage and give Elizabeth a tongue lashing.
She could make life very difficult for Mr. and Mrs. Collins as well.
He had not thought of that before. Fitzwilliam was right—he was stupid.
Taking Elizabeth to the rose garden, courting her under his aunt’s very nose, had been colossally shortsighted.
Now he must think quickly to remedy the situation.
He hated scenes and overblown tempers—very little was accomplished and everyone left discomposed.
If no one mentioned it to her, his informing her would be pointless.
Yet disguise was his abhorrence. He had no desire to live in secrets and shadows.
He was doing nothing wrong! He should not have to hide like an errant child sneaking biscuits from the larder.
And he must consider how she would treat others. It would be much better to allow her time to cool before she saw Elizabeth again.
Elizabeth! She would likely be angry when she heard.
If Lady Catherine knew, she would say something to Mr. Collins, who would lecture Elizabeth horribly and write to his family in Hertfordshire.
She would be rightfully angry with him if that were to happen.
It could destroy everything he had been working for.
There was nothing for it. He would have to tell her something. But he need not tell her everything.
“Lady Catherine, have the parsonage been invited to tea today?”
She stopped speaking abruptly and looked at him as if he were a talking cat. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering if Miss Elizabeth was feeling better.”
“Better? Has she been ill?”
“I do not think she was ill, but she did nearly stumble into the fountain yesterday when we walked in the garden. She seemed a little lightheaded, but it was likely only the heat of the day.”
“Falling into the fountain! How ridiculous! When I was a young lady, I never fell into any fountain, not at my father’s estate, and especially not at someone else’s!”
“Of course. But she did not fall in, only almost. I was able to catch her before she took a dunking.”
She preened. “Well, that was good of you. She must learn not to be so reckless! I will instruct her in this when she comes to tea.”
“Of course, Aunt.”
She continued on about her steward, the ungrateful tenants, and the impertinent neighbor who had dared invite her to a dinner when they were so clearly beneath her.
Darcy nodded and spoke when necessary, hoping his little explanation would be enough for her if she heard something from her servants.
Elizabeth had just stepped up to Rosings’s front door when she was seized by the arm.
“Pardon me, I must borrow Miss Bennet for a moment.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam!” she cried as he led her around the side of the house and into the shrubbery garden. “What are you doing?”
“Forgive me, Miss Bennet, but it was necessary.” Fitzwilliam looked behind them to make sure no one had followed, then slowed his pace and led her to an enclosed area blocked from the view of anyone in the house.
“Mr. Darcy!” He stood in the center of the wall of shrubbery.
“Good evening, Elizabeth.”
She looked around and saw that Colonel Fitzwilliam had disappeared. She looked back to Darcy with suspicion. “What is going on, sir?”
“When we were walking in the rose garden yesterday, we were observed.”
She looked nonplussed, then her eyes widened. “You mean…?”
“Yes. I have taken the liberty of telling my aunt that you felt light-headed and nearly tipped into the fountain. She will likely inform you of the proper way to walk in a rose garden at tea. Forgive my subterfuge, but I could think of nothing else to tell her that would both explain the situation and protect your reputation. Not that you would be the first lady to… fall into a fountain, but I did not want stories spread about you.”
She flushed, but immediately understood the situation. “I thank you, Mr. Darcy. I see why you chose what you did. Hopefully your explanation will mitigate any potential damage.”
He nodded, looking awkward and uncomfortable. She stepped closer, unsure of her own actions, but wishing to assuage his concern as well.
She reached out and touched his arm. “I am not angry with you, Fitzwilliam.”
He sighed heavily. “Truly?” He placed his hand over hers on his arm. “You are certain?”
She smiled mischievously. “I may change my mind after listening to your aunt instruct me in walking for a quarter hour, but at the moment, no, I am not angry with you.”
He sighed and lifted her hand to his lips. “Thank you, Elizabeth. I do not know what I would do if I lost you now.”
She was clearly surprised, but he thought she did not appear discomposed.
She flushed a little and looked at the ground.
He could not resist running the back of his hand down one flushed cheek.
Her eyes rose to meet his, and he raised her hand to his lips again, kissing it softly, then turning it over to kiss the inside of her wrist delicately.
Her eyes widened. “You truly love me, don’t you?” She flushed a deep red as soon as the words had left her mouth. She had not meant to say them aloud.
“Yes, I truly do.”
She smiled tremulously, her mind emptying of all thought.
“Come,” he said gently as he looped her arm through his and began to lead her back toward the house.
Elizabeth followed silently, wondering what one did with such a declaration when uttered by a man such as he. What did one do with a man like Mr. Darcy?