Chapter 15
Darcy had been attempting, without success, to read the same paragraph for nearly ten minutes when a footman entered the library.
“A caller for you, sir.”
Darcy looked up. “For me?”
“Yes, sir. A Mr. Philips.”
The name struck him with such unexpected force that the book in his hand closed upon his finger. “Mr. Philips?”
“He gave his card, sir.”
Darcy set the book aside and rose at once. “Show him into the green parlor. I shall attend him directly.”
The footman bowed and withdrew. Darcy stood a moment longer, staring toward the door with more agitation than the occasion warranted.
Mr. Philips. Here, in Hertfordshire. The coincidence was almost absurd.
Two evenings earlier, he had seen a young lady whose eyes brought back the memory of Gracechurch Street with such force that he had behaved like a fool.
And now the uncle of that same long-remembered young woman had appeared at Netherfield.
What were the odds of such a thing?
He found Mr. Philips in the green parlor a few minutes later, standing near the window with his hat in hand.
The attorney turned as Darcy entered, and Darcy was struck at once by how little the man had altered in two years.
A little more gray at the temples perhaps, a few deeper lines about the eyes, but the same steady intelligence remained in his face.
“Mr. Philips,” Darcy said, coming forward with genuine warmth. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”
Mr. Philips smiled and shook his hand. “Colonel Darcy.”
“Only Mr. Darcy now,” Darcy replied. “My commission has been laid down. I completed my service with the militia this summer.”
“Then allow me to congratulate you, though I daresay Derbyshire has lost a diligent officer.”
“Derbyshire may find compensation in gaining a more attentive landlord.” Darcy gestured toward a chair. “Pray, sit. I hope you have been well.”
“As well as a country attorney may be, which is to say never idle enough to be ill for long.” Mr. Philips sat, his manner amiable but not quite easy. “I had business with Mr. Bingley concerning the lease and took the liberty of asking whether I might speak with you as well.”
“I am glad you did.” Darcy took the chair opposite him. “I have often wondered how matters proceeded after I returned north. The museum, the Crown, the children—my uncle assured me all had been settled, but he was maddeningly brief in his letters.”
Mr. Philips’s expression softened. “Then allow me to tell you what I should have said long ago: thank you. We are forever indebted to you for those introductions. Lord Matlock’s influence altered everything.
Without him, I suspect the matter would have become a tangle of officials, claims, delays, and gossip.
As it was, the treasure was treated with respect, the children’s interests were protected, and all proceeded with an order I should not have believed possible. ”
“I am very glad to hear it.”
Mr. Philips hesitated, then leaned slightly forward. “May I ask how much you know of the final arrangements?”
“Very little,” Darcy said honestly. “My uncle told me only that everything had been arranged to general satisfaction, and that those involved had requested confidentiality. He made it clear I was not to pry.”
The attorney’s shoulders eased almost imperceptibly.
“Good. Forgive me, but secrecy has been necessary. In a small town, even a little knowledge becomes a full history by the time it has passed through three parlors and one milliner’s shop.
If certain facts became known here, lives would be altered radically, and not for the better. ”
“I understand.” Darcy did, far better than Mr. Philips could know.
“Pemberley is only now becoming solvent again, and even the rumor of improvement made me a target during my last brief stay in London. Men who have never cared to know one’s burdens become remarkably attentive when they hear of one’s income.
I can imagine what gossip might do outside of the city. ”
Mr. Philips regarded him with approval. “Precisely.”
For a few minutes, the conversation settled into easier channels.
Darcy asked after the Gardiner children, and Mr. Philips spoke of them with open affection.
They had settled remarkably well at their uncle’s estate, he said, though the youngest still clung fiercely to those she trusted and the eldest had begun to ask questions that must soon require more careful answers than childhood had first allowed.
They were healthy, loved, and secure, which was more than Darcy had dared hope the day he first heard of their orphaned state.
“And your sister?” Mr. Philips asked. “Lord Matlock spoke of her with great fondness.”
Darcy smiled despite himself. “Georgiana is very well. She thrives under Lady Matlock’s care, though I hope soon to reopen enough of Pemberley to have her with me for a year or two before her come-out, should she wish it. She has grown steadier than I expected, and more courageous than she knows.”
“That is good to hear. And your cousin, the officer? Lord Matlock mentioned him also, when we were managing the London business.”
“Richard?” Darcy’s smile faded somewhat.
“He is on his way home from the Peninsula. He served under Lord Wellington and was wounded a few months ago. Not too gravely, thank Providence, but enough that the army insisted he return to recover. He will be insufferable about it, of course, and claim the whole concern excessive.”
“Soldiers are very inconvenient to those who love them.”
“So I am told.”
Mr. Philips smiled, then rose as though the formal purpose of his visit had been achieved. “I am glad to have found you here, Mr. Darcy. I wished again to thank you. My brother-in-law’s children have better prospects because of your assistance.”
Darcy stood with him. “Mr. Gardiner once helped me when he had no obligation to do so. I did very little in comparison.”
“You did enough.”
Mr. Philips turned toward the door, but Darcy heard himself speak before prudence could restrain him.
“Mr. Philips.”
The attorney paused.
Darcy felt suddenly foolish, but the question had haunted him too long. “Your niece—the young woman who found the treasure. I hope she has been well. Is she still in London, or has she—?”
Mr. Philips stared at him for several seconds; then, to Darcy’s complete bewilderment, the man began to laugh.
Darcy blinked, surprised. “Did… did I say something amusing?”
“You do not know?”
“I am afraid I do not know what I do not know.”
Mr. Philips shook his head, humor still playing about his mouth. “Yes, well. She was quite filthy that day, and the light was dim. No, Mr. Darcy, she is not in London. She is here in Hertfordshire. In fact, I believe you saw her at the assembly the other evening.”
The room seemed to contract around Darcy.
For one dreadful instant, every sound vanished save the hard beat of his own heart. Fine eyes. A plain gown. A glass of lemonade. Color rising into her cheeks as she looked down.
No.
No.
Mr. Philips’s smile faded. “I see,” he said quietly. “You do know of whom I am speaking, then.”
Darcy swallowed. “Yes, sir. I do.”
“And?”
Darcy forced himself to meet the older man’s gaze. “And I am ashamed of my behavior. I did not know until this moment that the young lady was your niece—”
“That is no excuse.”
“No, sir.” Darcy bowed his head slightly, accepting the rebuke because it was deserved. “It is not. I should not have spoken of any lady so. Before this conversation, I had already resolved that the next time I saw her, I would request an introduction and apologize properly.”
Mr. Philips did not sit again, but neither did he leave. His eyes, usually mild with humor, had become stern. “Why would you say such a thing? In public, no less, where anyone might hear you?”
Darcy looked away. There was no honorable way to explain it entirely.
He could hardly confess that seeing Miss Elizabeth’s eyes had unsettled him because they recalled the young woman from Gracechurch Street, and that his own foolish desire to banish both memory and attraction had sharpened his tongue.
That would make him sound not only ungentlemanly, but mad.
He exhaled slowly. “We had travelled that day, and I was more ill at ease than I anticipated. That is an explanation, not a defense. I had forgotten how much I dislike crowds when I know no one in them. In Lambton, even at assemblies, I know the families, their histories, their concerns. With the militia, I knew my place. In London, reserve is expected and even welcomed. But at Meryton, I felt observed, pressed, and entirely out of command of myself. Bingley urged me to dance when I wished only to be left alone, and I spoke the first foolish, defensive thing that came to my tongue.”
“And wounded my niece in doing so.”
“Yes.” Darcy’s voice was quiet. “I realized it the moment the words left my mouth. I attempted to find her, to request the introduction, but she had already left. I was not entirely certain how to go about speaking with her in order to make amends.”
Mr. Philips studied him for a long moment. “I can sympathize with discomfort in a crowd, Mr. Darcy. I cannot admire its result. But as I said, it is not to me the apology must be made.”
“I agree entirely. I would offer it at once, if I could.” Darcy hesitated. “Is she living with you?”
“With me?” Mr. Philips’s brows rose.
“I only mean—” Darcy stopped, aware he was about to worsen matters again. “Forgive me. What is her full situation? I knew she was connected to the Gardiners, and seeing her in Gracechurch Street, I did not understand—”
“No,” Mr. Philips said, and this time the laughter returned, though more gently. “I do not suppose you did. My niece—Miss Elizabeth Bennet—is a gentleman’s daughter. She lives at Longbourn, her father’s estate, where the Gardiner children are also settled.”
Darcy stared at him. “She is a gentleman’s daughter, then? Her father is not in trade?”