Chapter Sixteen
Darcy departed Netherfield Park on the same day as Lady Catherine, aware that even the affable Bingleys were happy to see them go.
It hadn’t pleased him to overstay his welcome, or to foist Lady Catherine on the newlyweds, but he’d seen no alternative.
He’d done so for Elizabeth, something Mrs. Bingley, especially, must appreciate.
As his carriage brought him back to London, Darcy pondered the address to which Lady Catherine informed him she must take Elizabeth and Miss Mary.
The Gardiners, on Gracechurch Street. Not an auspicious address.
Not a terrible one, but certainly one that spoke to the Bennets’ ties to people in trade.
Darcy hoped Elizabeth wouldn’t feel out of place there.
He reached Darcy House, his London residence, changed for dinner, and went to find his sister, who resided there with her companion, Mrs. Annesley.
As was often the case, he found Georgiana seated at a table in the townhome’s candlelit library, diligently applying herself to her studies.
She looked up from translating what, from across the room, he guessed to be a novel, saw him, and immediately put up her pen to come greet him.
Seated on the other side of the table, Mrs. Annesley offered a pleasant nod.
“Fitz, you’re home,” Georgiana exclaimed as she reached him. Not overly demonstrative, she caught his hands and squeezed them in greeting, a pressure he returned. “I’ve missed you.”
“And I you.” He nodded to the table. “How go your studies?”
Releasing his hands, Georgiana half turned, looking back to her work. She scrunched her face into a grimace. “Perfectly well, although no one can provide me with a reasonable answer as to why knowing Italian will help gain me a husband.”
“Because a gentleman will know you are intelligent and diligent.”
“Yes,” Georgiana said blandly. “With all of my acquaintances I’ve seen wed, the deciding factor was the quality of the woman’s mind.”
For Darcy it was.
Elizabeth had a fine, quick mind.
He cleared his throat. “Have you been picking up bluestocking pamphlets again?” he asked in mock severity.
“I may have accepted one or two when walking in the park.”
“Who would believe the park such a corrupting place?” In truth, it delighted Darcy when Georgiana spoke freely.
If he could bid Mrs. Annesley and her tutors teach her anything, it would be how not to be shy.
The Georgiana that Darcy, Richard and Mrs. Annesley were privileged to know could snare any gentleman, but since she turned red and wouldn’t speak to them, how were gentlemen to realize her worth?
If she didn’t learn how to be bolder, she truly would have to settle for a fortune hunter.
Like Wickham.
“What is that look?” Georgiana asked.
Darcy feigned confusion. “What look?”
Georgiana held up a hand, ticking off fingers. “You were happy to see me, then you went all dreamy, and I should very much like to know why, then you paid attention again, and just now something murderous flashed in your eyes.”
“Murderous? Surely, that’s an exaggeration.” After his sister’s near elopement with Wickham in Ramsgate, Darcy had concluded it best never to bring up their childhood acquaintance again. “Good thoughts and bad thoughts. Sometimes they come together. But it was very astute of you to notice.”
“Well, so long as the bad thoughts aren’t aimed at me. And thank you for calling me astute. I’ve been practicing.”
“Practicing?”
“Looking at people and trying to guess what they are thinking,” Georgiana said. “I can’t really tell, of course, but Mrs. Annesley said I should look people in the face when I talk to them. When I asked why, she said that faces sometimes tell you what words don’t.”
“That’s true,” Darcy said, casting Mrs. Annesley a pleased look. Even if Georgiana remained shy, she would appear less shy if she looked people in the face. “How is it working?”
Georgiana gave a mischievous smile and said, “This is the first time I got it right, but I know you.” She then turned to check the clock on the mantel.
“It is nearly time for dinner. Mrs. Annesley and I will go change and we can dine, and you can tell me all about Hertfordshire and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” Darcy repeated sharply. Why would his sister bring up Elizabeth?
Georgiana tipped her head to the side. “Yes. The woman you wrote about. You mentioned her in almost every single letter you sent from Hertfordshire. You didn’t mention Mr. Bingley nearly as often, even though he is your closest friend, other than Cousin Richard, and you were residing with him.”
Darcy hadn’t realized he’d written so much about Elizabeth.
His conversation with Lady Catherine sped through his mind.
Several oblique references she’d made still stumped him but would make sense if she believed him attracted to Elizabeth.
“Did you tell anyone else that I’m writing undue amounts about anyone? ”
“Not about anyone. About Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Darcy frowned at his sister, who stood quite tall for a woman, taller than Bingley, and was therefore well placed to receive his annoyance.
Georgiana rolled her eyes. “Really, Fitz, you’re impossible to tease.” She turned to the table. “Mrs. Annesley, shall we ready for dinner while my brother composes himself?”
“Certainly.” Mrs. Annesley, inscrutable, closed the book she had open before her. Together, she and Georgiana left the library.
Deeming Georgiana correct in her assumption that he must seek composure, Darcy crossed to his favorite armchair, set before the fireplace to make the most of the light there. He dropped into the deeply cushioned seat, a hand resting on each arm.
Simply from letters he’d written, Georgiana felt he cared for Elizabeth. Lady Catherine, he suspected, did as well. That’s why she’d pressed him on his purpose in remaining in Hertfordshire after the Bingleys’ wedding. And he should have left, he knew. Remaining had been rude.
And Miss Bingley…now he could understand the cause of her behavior with clarity.
She, like Darcy’s aunt, sister, and who knew how many others, thought he cared for Elizabeth.
Miss Bingley hadn’t been seeking to discredit the Bennet family and render Mrs. Bingley unsuitable for her brother to wed, which they all knew wouldn’t have actually stopped him.
She’d thought she was cutting down a rival.
She’d been wrong, of course. Miss Bingley would never have caught him in wedlock. It wasn’t a question of Darcy caring for someone else. He simply did not like Caroline Bingley. He’d marry Anne before wedding Bingley’s sister.
But she was also right. They were all right.
He’d stayed in Hertfordshire to be near Elizabeth.
The moment she’d left, he’d headed to London, where she was.
The very idea of being more than half a city away from her did horrendous things to his innards, twisting them with a pain similar to what he imagined would be caused by a knife.
And, heaven above, he’d follow her on to Rosings when she left London. He knew he would.
He was madly, irrevocably, irrationally in love with Elizabeth Bennet, and he had no idea if she’d even once looked at him in a similar way.
And why should she? He’d made no secret of looking down on her family, which she must assume included her.
On the first evening of their acquaintance, he’d publicly insulted her.
When she’d briefly resided in Netherfield Park, while nursing her sister Jane back to health at the start of November, he’d hardly spoken to her and when he had, they’d disagreed.
If a new connection had treated him the way he’d treated Elizabeth, he might very well hate them.
At least she’d seen through Wickham’s lies. That must count for something. And Darcy had helped her, with his aunt and Mr. Collins’ will. He’d brought in his carpenters, as well. And he hadn’t protested the union between Bingley and Elizabeth’s sister.
Then there was that day in the kitchen. He settled back in his chair, smiling.
He’d held her wrist, however briefly. He wished it had been her hand, but he’d worried touching her fingers would cause pain.
He’d helped her prepare breakfast. Darcy had never so much as boiled water before in his life, but he’d been eager to do so with Elizabeth.
His smile turned into a rueful grin. No wonder so many people thought he cared for Elizabeth. How he’d managed not to recognize his feelings for so long baffled him. The truth was constantly before his eyes. Why had he fought it for so long?
His grin vanished.
Because she had horrendous relations. No connections worth speaking of, and some worth not speaking of.
Worse, her youngest sister had become engaged to George Wickham.
Darcy doubted Wickham would honor the engagement, but if he did, and Darcy somehow won over Elizabeth, he and Wickham would be brothers.
The thought was enough to put him off dinner.
The mantel clock above the crackling fire began chiming out the hour.
It didn’t help that Elizabeth had some sort of fortune now, regardless of exactly how much.
Her newfound wealth would make Darcy appear unworthy if he expressed his affection now.
It would seem as if her elevation made her worth his affection and give the impression he wouldn’t have taken her without the money, when nothing could be further from true.
Her inheritance would also attract suitors.
Lady Catherine would see Elizabeth elegantly dressed.
Her mien, wit and manners were already impeccable.
Not a man in London, certainly none in Kent, where Lady Catherine resided, would be able to resist her.
Every single gentleman for miles would soon vie for Elizabeth.