Chapter Nine #5
George Darcy
Tears fell onto the paper as Elizabeth read it three times before tucking it under the folds of her dress to protect it. After a few deep breaths, she lifted her head and was surprised to find Darcy watching her from where he stood several feet away. She rose quickly.
“I apologise.”
“There is no need.” His tone was kind, but still oddly formal. “But I hope you will accept mine.”
“You do not owe me an apology,” she insisted.
“This should have been yours years ago. If I had followed up with the jeweller or understood the note . . .”
“I certainly see why you did not,” she answered with a small laugh, glancing down at the object in question, which she held carefully by its edge to avoid any potential smudging of the ink.
She shook her head and bit her lip, trying to stave off another round of tears.
“Your father, he was so kind and encouraging. I miss him and I miss the way he saw me. It sometimes felt like I could almost be who he thought I was when he was extolling virtues I never thought were mine.”
“I understand and have often thought the same with regard to myself,” Darcy said with a rueful shake of his head. He moved closer to where she stood and lifted a hand as if he might touch her shoulder. But he didn’t.
Elizabeth was overwhelmed. It seemed a hundred different and conflicting feelings were vying for her attention, or perhaps they were cooperating in stealing her breath, causing her heart to gallop franticly and making her head ache.
She sank back into the seat and tried to get herself under good regulation.
“Are you well?” he asked in that tone she coveted—gentle, but firm. It was his concerned voice. But now it was just another thing that excited her already frayed nerves. “Shall I fetch you some wine or call Nancy to bring you to your room?”
Elizabeth took a calming breath before responding, pleased her voice sounded reasonably steady.
“No, I thank you. I am well enough, but I will beg you to excuse me. I do think I need to retire to your sister’s chambers, where I imagine she and Jane await me.
” She picked up the box and closed the lid.
“Yes, of course,” Darcy responded, standing as she did. “I do think it would be wise to have someone escort you. If you do not wish for me to call Georgiana’s maid, might I have the honour?”
It was not what she needed, but he could not know that.
Could not know that walking, her hand on his arm, their bodies only a breath apart for the five minutes it would take them to get to the family wing, would devastate anything that remained of her equilibrium.
She knew. Yet she could not deny him, could not deny herself the pleasure of his company.
It had been too long since she was able to bask in it.
So she did what she should not have and accepted his offer, linking her arm in his when he held it out for her.
They did not speak as they walked, and Elizabeth was thankful for this.
It allowed her to concentrate on her breathing and to take in the strange combination of peace and chaos his presence always created inside her.
Somehow, the familiar peculiarity comforted her, and by the time they reached the door to Georgiana’s chamber, she was far more composed than she would have thought possible.
There was no time to bid him good night, as almost as soon as they reached the door, it was flung open and Georgiana appeared, saying a hurried hello to her brother and pulling Elizabeth into the room.
“Goodnight, William,” she said. “We will see you in the morning.” With that, Georgiana shut the door.
The following morning, Elizabeth, as usual, woke before the others.
She carefully crawled out from the centre of the bed where she had ended up, squeezed between Jane, who slept curled into a ball and Georgiana, who was as spread out as she could be given her place near the edge.
Once she had extricated herself, Elizabeth moved into the dressing room, retrieved her clothes and began to dress.
Fortunately, the morning gown she had brought fastened up the side, and she was able to do it herself.
She sat in front of the mirror to attempt to convince her hair to do as she bade.
Before she began that onerous process, Elizabeth took the necklace, which she had placed there last night, and put it on.
Last night, Elizabeth learned that Georgiana had not known about the gift, nor had she seen the note.
Like Elizabeth, she needed a moment to collect herself once Elizabeth showed them to her and told her about her conversation with Darcy.
Afterwards, the three of them had a long talk about Mr. Darcy—sharing memories and holding one another through tears and laughter.
They nearly fell asleep mid-conversation.
It had been quite late. But Elizabeth was unable to sleep beyond early morning, regardless of how late she went to bed.
After brushing out her hair, tying it in a simple knot at the base of her neck and teasing a few curls to frame her face, Elizabeth was satisfied enough with her appearance to make her way downstairs.
Her intention to get to the library undetected was thwarted as soon as she reached the landing.
A gentleman stood there, examining his pocket watch, his back to her.
When she reached the third step from the bottom, which creaked loudly, he looked up.
He was tall, as tall as Darcy, and had straight dark blond hair and striking blue eyes.
“Good morning,” he said, with a strong and steady voice. “As you are coming from the family wing, I know you must be one of Georgiana’s guests. Might I venture a guess as to your identity?”
“I could be persuaded to allow that if I might first guess yours.”
“You could try, but I doubt—”
“You are quite obviously Colonel Stephen Fitzwilliam,” she said, tipping her head to the side and raising her brows in challenge.
She was certain she was right. “That watch was given to you by your favourite cousin last Christmas, and you are up before most everyone in the house because ever since you joined the army, you cannot seem to sleep past dawn.”
All of the Darcys adored this particular cousin and consequently spoke and wrote about him often. Elizabeth had a wealth of knowledge about the man before her.
“And my guess was to be Miss Jane Bennet, but now I see you are a witch and I beg you would excuse me. I must be off to the library to find any books my uncle kept on how to banish your kind.”
She liked him instantly as she had known she would.
“In that case, might I join you?”
“You are not worried about my errand? I intend to vanquish you,” he challenged, even as he offered her his arm. She took it, and they proceeded down the rest of the stairs. As they turned the corner, Elizabeth answered him.
“I am not worried. You have correctly guessed neither my name nor my profession.”
“Indeed,” he said.
The library door was open and he raised an arm for her to precede him, nodding to a nearby maid as he did so. She followed them in, standing near the door.
“You are not Miss Jane Bennet?”
“I am not.”
“Miss Elizabeth then?”
“Just so.”
“Interesting,” he said, but before she could ask what was interesting about her not being her sister, he went on, “and you are not a witch?”
“I am afraid not. It would be more interesting if I were. As it is, I am merely a sister, both an elder and a younger, a cousin, twice over so far, a daughter and a friend.”
“And you excel at all of it if my cousins are to be trusted. And from those same sources I believe we must add to your record—you are an accomplished rider, a voracious reader, a delightful conversationalist, a—”
Elizabeth cut him off, blushing furiously. “Please, enough.”
“And modest to boot. Intriguing.”
When she was brave enough to make eye contact, she saw that the colonel was regarding her with obvious curiosity. Was intriguing the same as interesting? Or was it something more? She longed to ask, but though this man was kind and welcoming, she did not know him well enough to enquire.
“I will not force you to entertain me. I suspect you snuck away from your sister and my cousin to have a moment to yourself.”
“Perhaps.”
“Then let us both lose ourselves among the shelves until we must rejoin the world for breakfast.”
She readily agreed, and they went in opposite directions, finding books and then choosing chairs near but not too near one another. Elizabeth was surprised when the clock struck nine. They had been there nearly an hour.
“Are you ready to brave the breakfast room?” the colonel asked. When he rose, Elizabeth did the same. She tucked her book under her arm, and they left the room side by side.
“I should have asked earlier, but have you met Mr. Bingley or any of his family?” he asked.
“I have not. Miss Darcy indicated they would be among the guests and told me a little about them.”
“Then I shall not spoil her no doubt kind and inaccurate assessment,” he teased.
Elizabeth laughed and was about to demand he do exactly that and tell her about the other guests when a voice greeted them from inside the breakfast room. They had arrived.
“Stephen!” Georgiana beamed at him from where she sat at the breakfast table.
Beside her, Darcy had risen from his seat at the head of the table.
The gentleman to his right rose as well.
He fit Georgiana’s description of Mr. Bingley.
Though there were at least four other guests in the house including Jane, no one else was there yet.
“Hello, Stephen,” Darcy said. “Good morning, Miss Elizabeth. May I present my friend Mr. Charles Bingley. Charles, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire.”