Chapter 23
FUTILITY everyone else had either gone to bed or was still playing cards in the drawing room.
Linseagh was, as always, taking the game far too seriously, and proceeded to score a run of cannons and hazards while Darcy stood by and watched.
Fitzwilliam was sitting out, having lost the previous game to his brother. “I shall tell you another funny thing. Bingley told me at dinner that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was here last week,” he said from his seat in the corner.
“Did he,” Darcy replied flatly.
“He did. And I was wondering, as I am wont to do, for I am a philosophical sort of fellow, why you did not mention it yourself.”
Linseagh struck his cue ball noisily, potting all three balls and scoring the maximum of ten points.
He made a small noise of triumph before laying his cue down and turning around to lean against the table with his arms folded.
“Somebody is going to have to enlighten me as to who Miss Bennet is, and what is the significance of her being at Pemberley.”
The fire crackled and popped as though quieting the room for a speech.
The dimness outside of the glare of oil lamps above the table made it hard to see his cousins’ expressions, though Darcy could feel both sets of eyes on him.
He gripped his cue tightly. There was a time when he had been unwilling to speak of his affection for Elizabeth because he was ashamed of loving her.
The only shame he knew these days was for the conceit that had made him think in such preposterous terms. He cared not if the whole world knew what she meant to him now, yet that made it no easier to speak about.
Fitzwilliam began for him, his voice considerably gentler than it had been moments before.
“She is a young lady Darcy met last autumn, while he was staying with Bingley in Hertfordshire. She has four sisters, no connexions of which to speak, and no money, but her father is a gentleman—he owns an estate in Hertfordshire. Her cousin is Mr Collins—Lady Catherine’s parson.
” He hesitated between each new fact, as though waiting for an instruction to stop, but Darcy said nothing.
“She was visiting Mr Collins and his wife when Darcy and I were at Rosings at Easter. We both spent quite some time with her. She is an exceedingly lovely young lady, but Darcy holds her in particularly high regard.”
There was a longer pause, then he said abruptly, “Darcy, I am going to finish this tale if you do not say something.”
“Finish it. I have no stomach to tell it myself.” Darcy tossed his cue down next to Linseagh’s and stalked to lean against the mantelpiece with his back to the room.
“Very well,” Fitzwilliam acceded, somewhat warily. “Our cousin made Miss Bennet an offer, but it transpired she did not return his regard. In short, she said no.”
“Ouch,” Linseagh said quietly, neatly summing up the entire débacle .
“Indeed,” his brother replied. “I understand there were recriminations on both sides. In fact, they parted ways in a manner which, at the time, seemed as though it would preclude all future contact.”
“Then how came she to be at Pemberley?”
More silence.
“I cannot tell this part, Darcy!” Fitzwilliam said with exasperation. “In case it escaped your notice, I only arrived today. I do not know what happened last week.”
“Neither do I!” he snapped, turning around to glare at his cousin. “She was here, she was perfect, and then she was gone. Would that somebody could explain it to me, for I sure as the Devil do not know what went wrong.”
He knew that would not satisfy them, thus he stationed himself in the nearest chair and yielded grudgingly to a stream of questions as they wheedled out of him all his dealings with Elizabeth the previous week.
He disliked the discomfort of so personal a disclosure but held on to the hope that his cousins might perceive some motive or justification he had overlooked himself.
Regrettably, they were both singularly unforthcoming in that regard.
“Most odd,” Linseagh said.
Fitzwilliam agreed. “It is, considering that Miss Bennet is not exactly backwards in coming forwards. If something had upset her, she would have told you, I think, would she not Darcy?”
Darcy could not help but chuckle slightly at that. “Probably.”
“But not to leave word—even for Georgiana? That seems unkind.”
“If she was offended by something I did, I would not expect her to give greater consideration to my sister’s sensibilities than her own.” Except Darcy could not help but think that she would.
“And you are absolutely set on her?” Linseagh asked, immediately holding up a hand to convey his sincerity. “I ask with no ulterior meaning. Only to confirm that you do want to find out what has happened. Because you could walk away from this now without a spot on you.”
“I have walked away twice already. I keep coming back to it, one way or another.” He twisted impatiently in his seat. “Linseagh, my wishes are not in question.”
“Quite right. Though I hardly know how you ought to proceed when you do not know what hers are.”
Darcy closed his eyes and wished he had gone to bed when the others did.
“You could write to Mr Gardiner,” Fitzwilliam suggested.
“Do not be ridiculous,” Linseagh interjected. “You would have the grandson of an earl write to a tradesman, begging to know whether his niece holds a candle for him?”
Darcy could not deny the prospect was unappealing, though he might have done it anyway had he no other reservations preventing him. “Mr Gardiner has not written to me, either, which I can only presume is because he—or his niece—would prefer to drop the acquaintance.”
“ Would he write?” Linseagh queried. “He sounds clever enough. I doubt he would presume to take the liberty.”
“Or, more likely, he is ignorant of his niece’s interest in the matter,” Fitzwilliam opined. “Could not you ask Georgiana to write to Miss Bennet?”
“That would be unfair, if it turns out Miss Bennet did leave to get away from him,” Linseagh argued. “What a disappointment it would be for our poor cousin to write to a lady she thought might become her sister, only to have her olive branch spurned.”
“Or for the lady who left to get away from me to be hounded by all my relations,” Darcy added quietly.
“Well then,” said Fitzwilliam, decisively. “You must go to Hertfordshire and speak to Miss Bennet in person.”
Darcy discarded his glass on the nearest table and rubbed his face with his hands.
“I cannot go to Hertfordshire. Not yet, in any case. Miss Bennet continued north when she left Lambton. I have no way of knowing when she will return to Longbourn, and with things as they are at Pemberley, I cannot spare the time to sit about in Meryton awaiting her return.”
“But she cannot travel forever—and you said yourself Gardiner has warehouses that require him to be present. So, go in a few weeks.”
Linseagh gave a murmur of ambivalence. “I do not know. What if Miss Bennet really does not want anything to do with him?”
“Then I ought not to mortify her by chasing after her,” Darcy replied.
“Well, what do you propose to do, then?” Fitzwilliam cried.
Darcy gave a bitter bark of laughter, retrieved his glass, drained it, and put it back down. “I have no idea, and you two have been no help whatsoever.”
* * *
Jacobs arrived at the end of the week as planned and delivered the verdict that by now was a surprise to no one: Pemberley’s east wing was subsiding and must be underpinned in its entirety to prevent a catastrophic collapse.
Furthermore, the architect recommended that the exploratory trench be extended to determine whether whatever was causing the problem posed a threat to the rest of the building.
For Darcy, the worst thing about this news was not the cost, nor the way Fitzwilliam looked at him, as though concerned that he, too, might begin to crack under the strain of such devastating news.
It was that this event, more than any other, made him feel Elizabeth’s absence most keenly.
He fancied he could weather any difficulty, bear any bad tidings, if she were by his side.
He craved her companionship more than anyone else’s he had ever met—more so after those few, sublime days when she had seemed equally pleased with his society.
Being without her was unbearable. Yet he knew not how, or whether, he would ever win her back.