Tuesday, the 19th of November
The morning air at Netherfield was crisp, the sort that hinted at coming frost but still carried the last sigh of autumn.
Darcy stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back, staring at nothing.
He had scarcely slept—his mind a whirl of letters, glances, and consequences.
He had not yet resolved what he would do.
And now Georgiana was here.
The sound of carriage wheels crunching over gravel drew the attention of those assembled in the drawing room.
Mr. Bingley leapt up at once, all eager energy, while his sisters rose more delicately, smoothing their skirts and exchanging pointed glances.
“Ah, that must be Miss Darcy,” Miss Bingley said, with a polished smile that did little to conceal her underlying cunning.
“How delightful.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam as well,” added Mrs. Hurst, peering out the window.
“What a surprise.”
Bingley hurried out to greet the party, followed—at a more sedate pace—by his sisters and Mr. Hurst. Polite welcomes and exclamations were exchanged on the steps, and soon Georgiana, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mrs. Annesley were being ushered into the drawing room.
Darcy, however, was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is my brother?” Georgiana asked, after the initial pleasantries were concluded.
Her voice was composed, expectant; her eyes scanned the room.
“Oh, he is here somewhere,” Bingley said cheerfully.
“He disappeared just after breakfast. Most likely in the library. He has made it his stronghold these past few days.”
Caroline offered a gentle, self-satisfied laugh.
“Indeed, we hardly see him before dinner. I believe he finds company... taxing.”
Georgiana did not wait for further comment.
With a polite excuse, she left the drawing room, Mrs. Annesley following discreetly.
The library door was ajar.
She pushed it open.
“Fitzwilliam!”
Darcy looked up sharply from where he sat, a book open but clearly forgotten in his lap.
His expression shifted rapidly, from surprise, to hesitation, and then to something like dread.
Before he could stand, Georgiana had crossed the room and flung her arms around him in a rare, exuberant embrace.
“Oh, I am so glad to see you,” she laughed, pulling back only to search his face with shining eyes.
“And to think, soon I will have a sister! I have been imagining it the entire journey.”
Darcy tried to speak, but no words came.
His mouth opened slightly, then closed.
Georgiana mistook his silence for emotion.
“I was so surprised by your letter,” she said, her voice dropping to a delighted whisper.
“You usually write in such a careful tone, but this one… oh, Fitzwilliam, it was so warm, so open. If I had not seen it myself, sealed and left for me, I would never have believed it came from your hand. I thought, at last, he is letting me in.”
She smiled up at him, radiant.
“And what you wrote about Miss Elizabeth... it was the most wonderful thing I have ever read. Of course, you had mentioned her before, but I had no idea you admired her so much.”
He stared at her.
Mrs. Annesley entered more sedately, offering her curtsey and a fond smile for Georgiana’s enthusiasm.
Behind her came Colonel Fitzwilliam, hat in hand, his expression amused as he watched the reunion unfold.
“I must say,” said the colonel dryly, “I do not recall ever seeing you so animated, Georgie. I daresay Darcy’s engagement agrees with you.”
“It does,” she beamed.
“The way you described Miss Elizabeth, so clever, so caring, and able to make even Miss Bingley look foolish without seeming unkind, I just know I will love her.”
“She sounds like everything I ever dreamed a sister might be. Someone who will laugh with me and help me feel brave in company. Oh, Fitzwilliam, I can already picture us at Pemberley, the three of us, like a real family.”
At this, Darcy made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.
“I—perhaps we should have some tea,” he managed at last, trying to regain composure.
“You must be fatigued from the journey.”
Georgiana shook her head.
“I feel more relaxed here than I have in some time.”
Every comment from Georgiana made him wince.
Every side-glance from Colonel Fitzwilliam pressed more weight upon his conscience.
As the party lingered a moment longer before dispersing, Darcy leaned toward his sister and cousin, his voice low and taut.
“Please,” he said, “do not speak of this, of Miss Elizabeth, in front of the Bingleys. It is not… public.”
Georgiana blinked.
“Oh! Of course, I did not realize it was still a secret.”
Richard raised a brow.
“Not even Bingley knows?”
“No one does,” Darcy said curtly.
“And I would prefer to keep it that way. For now.”
Georgiana nodded quickly, a little flushed from the rebuke.
“Of course, Fitzwilliam. I promise.”
“Your secret is safe with us,” Richard added, though the glint in his eye suggested he already suspected there was far more to the story.
After the polite exchange of travel details and pleasantries, the party dispersed to refresh themselves before luncheon.
Once the guests had retired to their rooms, Darcy stepped into the corridor, hoping for a moment’s solitude.
He did not get it.
“Darcy,” came Richard’s low voice from behind him.
“A word, if you please.”
Darcy paused, then gave a curt nod.
Without further discussion, they turned down the back stair and stepped out into the garden.
The air was brisk, the sky pale and brittle with early winter.
Leaves stirred at their feet.
For a while, the only sound was the steady rhythm of boots on gravel.
They had walked in silence for some time before Richard spoke.
“Well?” he said at last, glancing sideways at his cousin.
“Care to tell me what on earth is going on?”
Darcy kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Oh, come now,” Richard said, with a huff of breath that might have been a laugh if it had not been so suspicious.
“You have been twitchy as a cat since we arrived, Georgiana is practically glowing, and she keeps referring to Miss Elizabeth as your fiancée. That does not happen by accident.”
Darcy was quiet.
“And before you say anything clever,” Richard continued, “let me assure you that Georgiana believes the matter is settled. She spoke of it all the way from London. You should have seen her. She planned the seating for the wedding breakfast before we even crossed into Hertfordshire.”
Darcy pressed his lips together, the truth coiled behind his teeth.
“So,” Richard said, drawing the word out as he slowed his pace, “is it true?”
Darcy exhaled, his breath forming a pale cloud in the cold.
“No.”
Richard stopped.
“No?”
“There is no engagement.” His voice was flat, almost empty.
“I have not even spoken to Miss Elizabeth about—about any of this.”
“Any of what?”
Darcy raked a hand through his hair and turned away slightly, as though even the hedgerows might judge him.
“There was a letter,” he said.
“I wrote it here, at Netherfield. It was never meant to be read. Certainly not by Georgiana. It was... a private indulgence. I sometimes write drafts I do not send.”
“You wrote her about Miss Elizabeth?”
“Not her,” Darcy said quickly.
“Well, I wrote Georgiana. Or at least, I pretended I was writing to her. To clarify my thoughts.”
“And then sealed it and posted it anyway?”
Darcy winced.
“No. I sealed it, yes, but only to keep it from being seen by the wrong eyes. I must have placed it with the outgoing letters by mistake.”
Richard stared at him.
“And in it… you confessed your feelings?”
Darcy gave a sharp, humorless breath.
“Apparently in great detail.”
There was a silence.
Richard pressed the bridge of his nose.
“You did not even speak to the girl?”
“No.”
“No hint, no declaration, no proposal?”
“No.”
“You have trapped yourself in the most English scandal imaginable,” Richard said.
“Entirely internal. No scandal, no impropriety, just a man haunted by his own unspoken feelings and a letter never meant to be read.”
“I am aware,” Darcy said grimly.
Richard studied him in silence, then spoke with uncharacteristic seriousness.
“Do you care for her?”
Darcy hesitated.
When he spoke, it was as if the word had been waiting, lodged behind his teeth for days.
“Yes.”
Richard blinked.
“So your sister believes you are engaged to a woman you have not even declared yourself to?”
Darcy grimaced.
“Yes.”
Richard gave a slow nod, his tone thoughtful.
“And Georgiana? She is practically floating. I have not seen her so lighthearted in—well, not since before Ramsgate.”
“I know,” Darcy murmured.
“And I cannot bear to disappoint her.”
The breeze stirred the fallen leaves along the path.
“I should have destroyed the letter,” Darcy muttered, more to himself than to his cousin.
“But you did not.” Richard’s gaze sharpened.
“You sealed it. You left it where it could be found. And in it, you wrote of her wit, her poise, her goodness. You imagined her at Pemberley. That does not sound like idle daydreaming, Fitz.”
Darcy’s expression hardened.
“It was never meant to mean anything. Miss Elizabeth is—”
He paused, then said it anyway.
“—unsuitable. Her connections are beneath ours. Her uncle is in trade. Her family is—”
“Not marrying you,” Richard cut in, his voice crisp.
“She is. Or she is not. But if she ever does, it will be because you asked her, not because her uncle is in trade.”
Darcy fell silent, chastened.
Richard let the moment settle before continuing more gently.
“You are not one to speak lightly of any woman, Fitz—let alone write of her with admiration. Especially not to Georgiana. And now, thanks to that very admiration, your sister sees a future she has clung to all the way from London.”
Darcy closed his eyes.
“She has suffered so much. I do not want to take that joy from her.”
“You do not have to,” Richard said.
“You only have to be honest. With her. And with yourself.”
Darcy kept his silence.
“Tell her the truth,” Richard urged.
“She is young, not foolish. She will forgive your mistake, especially if it is just that.”
Darcy stared out across the wintry grounds.
The garden wall rose in the distance, half-shadowed by bare branches, and beyond it, he could just glimpse the edge of the path Elizabeth had once taken, her hem muddied, her cheeks flushed with cold, her stride determined as she came to care for her sister.
He remembered the shock of seeing her that morning, so unlike the women he had known, so resolute and utterly indifferent to appearances.
She had walked through the fields alone, with no thought for propriety, only affection and duty.
Even now, that image lingered in his mind more vividly than any other.
“I do not know if it is a mistake,” he said quietly .
Richard did not smile, not quite, but his voice held a note of finality.
“Then that, Cousin, is your only real problem—not whether she is suitable for you, but whether you are brave enough to deserve her.”
Darcy said nothing.
He merely turned back toward the house, the echo of Richard’s words still pressing against the corners of his mind.
? ? ?
Later that afternoon, the gentlemen set out on horseback for Longbourn.
Bingley, ever the attentive suitor, wished to inquire after Miss Bennet’s health in person, while Colonel Fitzwilliam claimed an interest in seeing more of the Hertfordshire countryside.
Darcy had hoped to ride alone—or at least in silence.
But company, it seemed, was unavoidable.
They had not gone far when they reached the bustling high street of Meryton, and there, in the midst of the morning crowd, they caught sight of the Bennet sisters.
Miss Elizabeth was easily spotted, laughing, her bonnet slightly askew.
Bingley’s favourite stood peacefully beside her sister, still pale but smiling.
But it was not the sisters alone who held Darcy’s attention.
Wickham stood at Elizabeth’s side, posture easy, smile practiced, charming the group with a tale that had Miss Lydia giggling behind her hand.
At his appearance, Darcy reined in sharply.
His pulse quickened, and his expression darkened without effort.
Beside him, Richard had gone still.
“Is that—?” the colonel began, then narrowed his gaze.
“Waltzing around town like a gentleman. The man has no shame.”
Wickham’s smile faltered the instant he saw them.
He did not fear Darcy, at least not visibly.
But at the sight of Colonel Fitzwilliam, the blood drained from his face.
He straightened with the rigidity of someone caught mid-lie, his confident stance giving way to calculation.
Darcy’s instinct was to ride on.
He had no desire to force Miss Elizabeth into an uncomfortable scene—or himself into one—but Bingley, bless his oblivious heart, was already dismounting.
“Miss Bennet!” he called warmly, making his way toward Jane with all the eager confidence of a man who had missed someone terribly and refused to conceal it.
Darcy bit back a curse and followed.
Colonel Fitzwilliam remained mounted, his gaze locked on Wickham like a hawk spotting a rabbit in open grass.
“Miss Bennet,” Bingley said with unmistakable warmth, bowing to her as he dismounted.
“I am so very glad to see you again, we were just on our way to inquire after your health.”
The soft-spoken beauty smiled, her pale features warmed by genuine pleasure.
“Thank you, Mr. Bingley. I am feeling much improved.”
Only then did he turn to the object of Darcy’s admiration.
“Miss Elizabeth.”
She returned his greeting with a polite nod.
“Mr. Bingley.”
Her voice was cordial, but Darcy noticed the shift in her tone as she looked past Bingley, to him.
Darcy struggled to meet her gaze.
She stood with perfect poise, her expression unreadable, though her jaw had tightened ever so slightly at the sight of him.
He could not tell if it was surprise, annoyance, or indifference—and that uncertainty troubled him more than he cared to admit.
He had bid her farewell, of course, when she and her sister left Netherfield.
Cordially, properly.
But now, confronted with her again—so suddenly, so publicly—he was reminded just how little he knew of what she truly thought of him.
“Mr. Darcy. Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Wickham said, offering a strained smile.
“This is... unexpected.”
“Not as unexpected as your presence,” Richard replied, his tone mild, but his eyes sharp.
Wickham’s mouth twitched, the smile threatening to collapse entirely.
“Well. Lieutenant Denny and I were just on our way to meet some friends.”
He turned quickly to the young woman at the centre of Darcy’s unease.
“Miss Elizabeth, ladies, if you will excuse us.”
Without waiting for a reply, Wickham turned on his heel and walked away.
Lieutenant Denny cast one uncertain glance back before following.