Chapter 6 CourageBlindness
Darcy strolled leisurely down Bond Street whilst he waited for Georgiana to purchase the last items she needed before they returned to Pemberley, two days hence.
The Season had taken its toll on him, especially after escorting his sister to numerous balls, plays, concerts, dinners, and at homes.
Georgiana enjoyed attending events, and there was nothing he would not do for his sister.
He should not complain, not any longer. The relentless questions regarding his wife’s whereabouts had ceased after he had refused to answer any queries.
He had simply glared at anyone who dared approach him with such officious enquiries.
Darcy cared not what his stony silence made the inquisitive believe; the uninformed tattlers could hardly conjecture anything worse than the truth.
An unsolicited memory of Bingley at Netherfield sprung to mind.
The friend who thought him an ogre on an uneventful Sunday would have been appalled to witness his behaviour towards the probing quidnuncs.
Darcy’s glare could render the flames of hell into tundra…
The only advantage left to his matrimonial state was that it deterred matchmaking mamas from accosting him on his own behalf; though they did approach him about his sister.
It was fortunate he possessed such an intimidating scowl that few of the young bucks dared importune them.
My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.
Darcy shook his head, chasing the memory from his mind, but the image of her teasing dark eyes stubbornly rested at the edge of his awareness.
However, he soon discovered a valid reason to curse the inattentiveness Mrs Darcy had provoked: Mr and Mrs Bingley were walking towards him whilst chatting amicably between themselves.
The street was nearly deserted in the midday heat, so it was difficult to avoid the undesirable meeting. No chance of escaping the tedious questions that were certain to follow. Darcy sighed; he was less than ten steps away, and it was too late to retreat.
Mrs Bingley looked up and met his eye. The bright summer sun must have caught her face because her eyes narrowed significantly.
Then she did the unthinkable thing—she grabbed her husband’s arm and turned them abruptly away from him.
Bingley acquiesced without as much as a protest at her atrocious behaviour.
Mrs Bingley had given him the cut direct, on the open street, in the most fashionable part of London.
It was social suicide. No one would side with the wife of the son of a tradesman over the illustrious connection of the Darcy heritage.
It was to be hoped that none of his acquaintances had noticed.
He looked about to see whether anyone was nearby when he overheard Mrs Bingley excuse her behaviour to her husband.
“I am sorry I cut your friend, Charles, but you know I cannot lie. It was the only choice I could think of at such short notice.”
Mr Bingley patted the hand resting on his arm. “Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. That man is no friend of mine. By him, I was most grievously deceived.”
Darcy froze. Annoyed, stunned, horrified. An image flashed in front of his inner eye. He was able to quell it immediately these days and hardly ever dreamt about her.
Mrs Bingley had no reason to lie. Her opinion of him did not matter one iota.
Her deceitful sister’s opinion mattered even less.
The easily persuadable Mr Bingley was obviously under the thumb of his wife.
The woman may look like an angel, but underneath her cherubic exterior lurked the soul of Delilah.
She would be the destruction of his former friend; he was certain of it.
With a newfound determination, Darcy turned towards the seamstress his sister and aunt were visiting. It was time to return home. Construction and refurnishing awaited, with the promise of a good harvest come autumn. He had no cause to repine. Annoyed, stunned, horrified. He loathed doubt.
#
Easter, 1814
Darcy had been informed about Colonel Fitzwilliam’s return to British soil in January of 1814.
This news had been of no concern to him at the time, as he and Georgiana still had some finishing touches left to do at Pemberley.
Mainly adding books to the new library. The intricate system they had designed meant it was an exacting task, but the end result had made it worth the endeavour.
Darcy had been thus occupied until Easter and was therefore ignorant of the presence of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had also been invited to Rosings.
He could not simply turn away on his aunt’s threshold without becoming subjected to an unpleasant interrogation he was loath to answer truthfully.
The family knew Mrs Darcy had been sent away in disgrace but were under the misconception it had been her inferiority rather than her perfidy that had led to her downfall.
It served him well no one was any the wiser about what truly had transpired on that fateful night in his library.
To be a laughingstock—or worse, to be pitied—did not sit well with him.
He much preferred his current situation and wisely held his peace.
Encountering the colonel at dinner and the occasional tea was unavoidable.
He treated him as though he were not present, which was easily done in the company of the loquacious Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
To evade the colonel during the day, he buried himself in estate matters and refrained from engaging him in conversation when he could not escape his presence.
Darcy had breakfasted with his sister in the private sitting room adjoining his chamber on their first morning and rode out with her after the meal.
The spring weather had cooperated with their outdoor pursuits, and they had even visited Hunsford Parsonage voluntarily.
It was fortunate indeed Mrs Collins had not been at home, as she was a friend of the Bennets.
Mr Collins was a relation, but the obsequious toad had used his time with Darcy to make not-so-subtle suggestions about the honour of a more profitable living in Derbyshire.
Darcy had answered with indifferent grunts. The experience was not repeated.
While his aunt badgered him for an annulment of his marriage, the colonel had been unusually quiet on the matter on the occasions where he did not manage to avoid his company.
Not once had he addressed Darcy directly.
The colonel was rightly embarrassed, proving him not to be devoid of every feeling.
Darcy hardly bothered to answer Lady Catherine’s rants.
As reluctant as he was to drag his personal affairs through the London courts, he was also painfully aware he had no case.
At least none that would lead to an annulment.
He could have hauled his philandering cousin to court and sued him for engaging in a criminal conversation, but that would not benefit his sister on the marriage mart.
Not that he was in a hurry to get rid of her—quite the contrary—but when the day came, he wanted her to wed someone worthy of her.
Not a fortune-hunting rake but an outstanding member of society, preferably with a title to boot.
#
Miss Georgiana Darcy could see the deep regret with which the colonel regarded her brother.
Fitzwilliam did not notice, but she did.
Perhaps Elizabeth had really been one of the alluring ladies who turned gentlemen into libertines and made them lose their reason.
There were plenty of examples in the literary world.
There were even some amongst London’s superior society.
Mayhap she had turned both their heads on purpose to tear them apart.
Georgiana stifled a gasp that threatened to burst out.
She directed a compassionate gaze towards her cousin, and he answered her with the ghost of a smile, which Darcy noticed.
Her brother immediately ordered their belongings packed, and they left for town the next morning.
#
July 1814
Georgiana’s second Season was going exceptionally well—the end was nearing without a serious suitor in sight.
The gentlemen had been eager to engage her to dance at the balls, though not many dared to call the next day.
No one had so far formed any serious designs on her.
Soon, they would return to the sanctuary of Pemberley.
Darcy silently wondered what they would do next, now that all the renovations were complete.
Only one more engagement remained before they could retreat, and it was an obligation he particularly dreaded—a dinner at Matlock House. One never knew whether it would be an intimate family meal or an elaborate affair with a hundred or more guests, and he could not decide which he feared the most.
It turned out to be an intimate family dinner. Unfortunately, the colonel was also present.
The Earl of Matlock wasted no time attacking him once the ladies left the table at the end of the meal.
“Georgiana must marry!”
“I am well aware of that, Lord Matlock.”
“Are you? You are postponing the unavoidable by scowling and frowning at every eligible bachelor who dares to approach your sister. That is not how you obtain a respectable suitor. Georgiana needs to marry. What will become of Pemberley if you let it fall into the hands of your profligate Darcy cousin? How long will it take him to destroy the work of generations—centuries, even?”
Darcy knew he was right. His only surviving Darcy relative was a cousin three times removed with a reputation that exceeded Mr Wickham’s tenfold.
“I know. It is to be hoped she will have more success next Season.”