Chapter Eleven
At the last possible minute, Darcy’s conscience struck. I do not plan to marry this woman. I cannot kiss her! We are in a public location. And I do not have the excuse of mistletoe. Have I taken leave of my senses?
Abruptly, he turned his head and stepped back. She cleared her throat and moved to admire a different marble bust.
He attempted to gather what remained of his composure. “I thank you for the compliment.”
She straightened her shoulders and stared toward the end of the hall. “You will be a wonderful husband for whoever you marry, of course. Not me. Please do not believe I am trying to—”
“I think nothing of the sort,” Darcy said quickly.
Her shoulders lowered a few inches
Darcy pulled out his watch. “They will be closing the museum soon. Perhaps we should depart?”
“Certainly.” Elizabeth’s voice was a little too loud and bright. “I have seen everything I desired to see. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“It was my pleasure,” Darcy offered her his arm as they strolled out of the hall. It had indeed been his pleasure. One of his most pleasurable days in a long time.
Being with Elizabeth was an exhilarating experience. In her presence, he could almost forget about the ton, family obligations, and the management of Pemberley. The weight of those responsibilities descended again once he returned home after leaving Elizabeth at Sterling House.
He found himself dreaming about his next excursion with Elizabeth and stopped himself.
Everything about Elizabeth was imaginary, a fantasy—including any attachment he might feel for her.
He could not afford to indulge such fancies.
His preoccupation with her was becoming dangerous.
She distracts me from my responsibilities. I must not see her so frequently.
The next day, he remained at Darcy House, stubbornly not venturing out—no matter how many times he thought about her.
***
William had disappeared from Elizabeth’s life for six days. She received no notes, no presents, no visits from him. Mr. Bingley visited Jane faithfully every day, but his friend did not accompany him.
Of course, Jane’s happiness was the most essential.
Elizabeth wanted only amusement from London; Jane hoped for love.
She appeared to have completely forgotten her heartbreak in Hertfordshire and was a fair way to being in love with Mr. Bingley.
Elizabeth noticed nothing in Mr. Bingley’s manner to alarm her.
He appeared just as besotted with Jane as she was with him.
I have been plentifully entertained in London, far more than I had any right to expect. It is sufficient. I will not wed William. I need not sit by the window like a heroine in a novel, worrying that his ardor has cooled. There was no ardor to begin with.
In the museum, she thought he might kiss her, but she had been mistaken. She had no cause to repine at the lack of kisses. But did he have misgivings about their false engagement? Did he regret tying himself to her—even temporarily? Was he being shunned by his family?
If only I knew his mind!
Their lack of communication had not gone unnoticed. When Lady Sterling asked, Elizabeth gave her vague assurances. But servants gossiped. The ton might begin to wonder if he intended to wed her at all. Would Viscount Harwood hear and assume she was unprotected?
Elizabeth walked every day, but her nature cried out for a greater degree of activity.
Lady Sterling had a slight cold and could not accompany Elizabeth anywhere; Jane was greatly occupied with Mr. Bingley.
By the sixth day, Elizabeth was occasionally ill-tempered.
Persistent rain cast a dreary gray pall throughout London, worsening her mood.
Trapped in the sitting room with nothing better to do, Elizabeth jabbed the needle into her embroidery with more force than necessary.
In the front drawing room, Jane was preparing for a visit from Mr. Bingley.
He had confessed yesterday to having encountered Mr. Darcy at their club; apparently, the man was not ill.
Lady Sterling limped into the room and took the chair opposite Elizabeth’s. It was closest to the fireplace, and everyone in the household reserved it for her. Elizabeth nodded a greeting.
Her ladyship started the discourse with her customary frankness. “I do not believe that Mr. Darcy has visited in the previous six days.”
Wonderful. How many other people have noticed?
“Did you quarrel?”
“No. We parted on most amiable terms.” I thought we understood each other exceedingly well. He asked me to use his given name.
Lady Sterling’s brows drew together. “And you have received no notes or letters from him?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“I do not like it. He may be reconsidering the betrothal.”
Elizabeth flinched. “But he is honor-bound to marry me. If he breaks the betrothal, it would be quite a scandal.”
“Yes.” Lady Sterling tapped a finger to her lips. “But he could attempt to make you miserable enough that you choose to break it off. Then blame would not fall to him, and you would bear the brunt of the scandal.”
“He would not do so,” Elizabeth responded automatically. But… I have given my word that I would break it off. Does he have a reason to hasten that process? Had he succumbed to his aunt’s blandishments and decided he would marry Miss de Bourgh after all?
If he desired to amend the terms of the agreement, he could simply speak to her about it. They were not actually engaged after all.
Lady Sterling leaned forward and patted Elizabeth’s hand. “I did not intend to distress you. Mr. Darcy may have a perfectly good reason for his absence. Perhaps there is an emergency at Pemberley.”
Then why has he not written to me?
Perhaps her godmother believed she was right in warning Elizabeth away from William. She suspected that Lady Sterling persisted in believing William had compromised her.
“I appreciate your concern for me,” Elizabeth murmured.
She had relied upon the falseness of the engagement to avoid engaging her emotions.
But somehow it had happened anyway—only to the extent that she had come to depend on his frequent company.
With few friends in London, she felt his absence more keenly. If only I could be home in Longbourn!
Perhaps his absence was beneficial. She had been in danger of forgetting it was all a pretense.
She stared at the fire, distracting herself with the sight of the leaping flames. A false fiancé was not worth this amount of distress. A false fiancé was not worth any amount of distress.
After a long pause, Lady Sterling asked, “Did you ever wonder why I did not marry again after Lord Sterling died?”
“Occasionally. Were you not lonely?”
She smiled faintly. “Sometimes. But I had a family of Bennet daughters to keep me company and other people in Hertfordshire.”
Elizabeth said nothing. She had not known that her family was so important to the older woman.
“He has been gone now almost twenty years, but I vowed at his deathbed that I would not wed another.” She chuckled. “I suppose that suggests devotion to the love of my life. But it was the opposite.”
Elizabeth listened in fascination. Lady Sterling never talked about her late husband.
“He was not a terrible man. He never struck me or raised his voice.”
Such a meager epitaph.
“But he also gave little thought to me. Once it was evident I would not bear him an heir, he lost all interest in me. He traveled from one of his properties to another, visiting friends and joining hunting parties. I never knew where he was or when I would encounter him. I contacted him through his steward.”
She sounded straightforward, not bitter.
“His death was something of a blessing—not something I confess to many people. But now I do as I please without consulting him or requiring his permission. I can go where I want and spend money as I please. I also manage the estates far better than he did. If I remarried, my husband would desire to run things in his way. It would be most…inconvenient. A little loneliness is nothing compared to the sense of helplessness I would experience.”
How should she respond to such a confession? Elizabeth was aware that widows had more freedom than most women, but it had not occurred to her that they might have good cause not to remarry.
“Most women marry for one reason: They need a husband to support them.” Lady Sterling’s tone became slightly bitter. “It really is stupid that gently bred women cannot become shopkeepers or doctors or lawyers. But if we women did not need money for support, we might not marry at all.”
“Is that not an…er, overly critical view of the world?”
Lady Sterling grimaced. “I would have thought so too at your age. But men have arranged a nice system which ensures that women will need them. A woman’s only hope for felicity is not to wed or to find that rare man who is worth marrying.”
Elizabeth wanted to argue, but could she?
What would her mother be like if she had never married?
Or her Aunt Phillips? Many husbands, she knew, beat their wives or drank to excess or kept mistresses.
No doubt many of their wives would prefer to be free from them.
Certainly, Lady Sterling was not the only woman who was relieved to be widowed.
William seemed like an honorable man, someone who would respect and care for his wife. But what did Elizabeth really know of him? Their acquaintance was brief.
Not that it signifies. I will not marry him. There is no use worrying over a man who does not love me and never will.
Lady Sterling clapped her hands together. “I beg your pardon, I am rambling. I know that many men are quite fine husbands. But your temperament is such that you need quite a particular and rare type of man to be your true partner. I would not see you unhappy.”
Elizabeth longed to reassure her godmother that William’s conduct was of no import. But she could not betray his trust.
“You once held the opinion you might not wed,” Lady Sterling said.