Chapter 24
“What is it?” Saye demanded, gesturing to the deconstructed skeleton on the table.
The rabbit bones had, as had been planned, tumbled unannounced out of his chimney breast in a cloud of soot.
And, as could not have been planned, they had done so at a most felicitous juncture, while Saye was directly in front of the fire, staring at the green lick of the flames.
His resulting fright had almost been enough to cheer Darcy out of his black humour.
Almost.
“A human foot?” Fitzwilliam suggested.
Georgiana gasped with such verisimilitude as vaguely alarmed Darcy. He had not thought her such a convincing actress.
Saye grimaced and peered closer at the bones before shaking his head. “That is not human.”
“A Pomeranian?” Darcy said.
Saye glared at him. “I am glad you find this so amusing, Darcy. Perhaps it will put a smile on your face before your scowl depresses the whole house. A house which, in case any of you cares, is presently host to some disturbingly ghostly goings-on.”
“I thought you wanted the house to be haunted?” Fitzwilliam observed.
“I wanted a bit of excitement, not an exorcism,” Saye retorted.
“I know not what you are distressed about,” Darcy said with studied disinterest. “Something obviously just crawled up there and died.”
“That does not explain why my fire is still burning green.”
“Are you sure about that?” Fitzwilliam asked. “Is it not more likely that you drank too much absinthe and imagined it, just as you imagined hearing the violin?”
“He is not imagining it,” Georgiana said with wide eyes and a soft voice. “My fire has been burning green, too.”
Darcy looked askance at her. Truly, when had this aptitude for playacting arisen? He had always thought of her as a poor liar.
Saye’s eyes widened to match Georgiana’s. “Show me,” he said, pointing to the door and bustling her in that direction.
“He is right, you know,” Fitzwilliam said before Darcy could follow them. “You are scowling. Need I ask why?”
He sighed. “Probably not.”
Fitzwilliam nodded his understanding. “Have you spoken to her?”
“I tried. She was out. With Hartham.”
“Ah.” When Darcy did not answer, he added, “You could try again. She must be home by now.”
“To what end? She has made her choice.”
“If you were to tell her how you feel—”
“She knows how I feel.” How could she not?
He had proposed to her once already, not to mention that he had kissed her yesterday as though she were already his wife.
“And she still accepted him. Him!” He rubbed the back of his neck in agitation.
“I cannot stand to think of how lonely such a marriage will make her.”
“Then talk to her. Make sure she understands what she is doing. Make it clear that she has an alternative.” Fitzwilliam placed a hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “What have you to lose?”
Her friendship? Her respect? It seemed likely he had lost both already by behaving in a way that had made Hartham seem a preferable choice.
He would surely only compound his offences by appearing on her doorstep to condemn the decision he had forced her to make.
Still, the desire to see her was a gnawing ache in the very marrow of his bones.
Which was why, a few minutes later, he found himself closing the front door behind him and placing his hat on his head as he hastened down the front steps.
It was late in the day for a call, but having talked himself into speaking to her, he had not the patience to wait until the next morning.
Resentment flooded his stomach when Lady Preston’s door opened a few yards ahead of him, and Hartham sauntered down the front steps with an intolerable smirk on his lips.
“Good evening, Mr Darcy. I almost did not recognise you in dry clothes.” His eyes slid over Darcy’s person. “I have grown quite accustomed to the sight of you in a clinging shirt.”
Darcy halted on the spot, fury licking at his insides.
He hoped he was not a vain man, but neither did he harbour any false modesty; he knew the face his parents had given him was considered handsome.
And he had seen enough appraising looks to recognise one when he saw it.
Nothing Hartham could have said or done at that moment could have incensed him more.
“That is what you would say to me?” he spat, his voice harsh. “When you are on the cusp of marrying the sweetest, loveliest, most compassionate woman on this earth, you would joke about such things?”
Colour crept up Hartham’s neck, but he maintained his jovial air. “I do not know what you are insinuating—”
“The very same thing you were insinuating. Do not pretend ignorance with me, Hartham. Not in this matter.”
“It is no pretence, I assure you, but either way, I hope you will excuse me. I am on my way to see my betrothed.”
Twice in one day? The news twisted the knife in Darcy’s guts, and as Hartham passed him, he said darkly, “Have you told her why you are marrying her?”
Hartham turned back to face him, his amiable, punchable smile still fixed in place. “That I think she is the most delightful creature I ever met? Yes, of course.”
“That you are using her to get your inheritance. That your aunt has refused to release it unless you are wed.” And that you are about as interested in being married to a woman as I am to Florizel.
Hartham’s eyes widened so that, for a moment, Darcy feared he had spoken this last aloud.
“While I do not deny that my marrying will bring about financial reward, I have not made an arbitrary choice. I would have you know that I am extremely fond of Miss Bennet!”
“Is that so?” Darcy said with a snarl. “Tell me, then, what is her favourite book? Or flower, or colour, or aria? Which side of her face is the small scar that she tries to always hide with her hair? What vegetable does she always pick out of a ragout? Does she prefer a sea view or a bucolic one? What scent does she wear? What city would she most like to visit? What way does she choose to face in a carriage? What animal is she scared of? What does she like to do? What makes her happy?”
Hartham swallowed, clearly trying very hard to still appear complacent but failing. “And you know the answers to all these, I suppose.”
“What do you think?”
Hartham tapped his swagger stick agitatedly against his leg. “Look, Mr Darcy, you seem like a decent fellow, and I have no quarrel with you. But you had your chance with Miss Bennet, and she turned you down. I see that you are not recovered from the injury of her rejection, but—”
“No, I am not recovered. I doubt I ever will be. But this is not about me, this is about her!”
“Yes,” Hartham replied impatiently. “And while I may not yet know every small whim and fancy she possesses, I am assuming that a lifetime will be sufficient to find them out. In the meantime, she will be perfectly well provided for. More than comfortable, in fact.”
“That means nothing to Miss Bennet. She has turned down not one but two proposals of marriage which would have provided her material comfort. She wanted nothing of those, only a man she could admire and respect, perhaps come to love. I cannot bear to think of the unhappiness she would know, consigning herself to such a fate! Would you even provide her with the family she wishes for?”
Hartham raised one eyebrow. “I am sure I am man enough to provide her with a child or two. Give me some credit.”
Darcy clenched his fists in an effort to prevent himself from hurting Elizabeth’s future husband, but he could not keep the savagery from his voice.
“If you mean to say that you will suffer her company but once or twice for the sake of an heir, then I give you credit for nothing but cruelty. Miss Bennet deserves to be worshipped.”
“And I suppose you think you would do better by her?”
“Had I the opportunity, I would adore her all the days of her life. Forsaking all others, or so the vows go—vows I would happily and honestly make to her.” He tilted his head accusingly.
“Can you say the same? Will you join her in this life of abstinence? Or do you intend to continue pursuing the habits to which you are accustomed?”
Hartham’s guilty expression was all the answer Darcy needed, and he leant forwards to say, with barely restrained ferocity, “You are condemning her to a lifetime of gossip and loneliness. For some reason, she respects and cares for you, and I have to trust that there is a good reason for that, because she is an excellent judge of character. So I am asking you, for her sake, not to do this to her. Find someone else. Someone who wants this manner of arrangement. At least tell her the truth and let her choose. She deserves that much from you.”
All Hartham’s cockiness was gone. He looked pale and unsure of himself. “I think we have said all we need to, sir. Good evening.” He strode away without another word.
Darcy watched him go, the fight ebbing out of him and leaving him exhausted, reminding him that he had scarcely slept for thirty-six hours.
He could not go to Elizabeth now, not with Hartham on his way there.
He had not the energy for a walk, and could not face the society of a club.
He turned and let himself back into the house, quietly, so that no one would hear him, and went directly to his room.