CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Darcy paced the rug of his bedchamber as if intending to wear it into the ground.
His valet, a good man in his employ for over ten years, having never seen Mr. Darcy in such a state, seemed torn between letting the man alone or staying in the event his services should be required and could, by chance, alleviate some of the distress his master was clearly experiencing.
But the intensity with which Mr. Darcy strode from one end of the room to the other had a silencing effect on the valet, who continued in his indecision by saying and doing nothing at all.
Too engrossed in his own thoughts, Darcy barely noticed the presence of another.
Having left Trenwith House the other day with new hope that his interest for Miss Elizabeth had the prospect of diminishing, he had been dealt a set-back upon learning from Mr. Collins that she was staying at the Parsonage.
Of course, within such proximity, he could not avoid paying her a visit and had all too keenly agreed to return with Mr. Collins that very morning, attributing part of his eagerness to curiosity whether the sight of her would enflame his feelings or whether they would remain the same.
The latter he considered a minor victory, but he was prepared for either.
He was wholly unprepared for the shock of hearing her voice.
It couldn’t be her.
Stranger coincidences than two women suffering from a similar cold could occur easily enough, he reasoned to himself.
And yet, with every word she spoke, he was thrown back into the Red Chamber.
The huskiness of both voices, that of Miss Elizabeth and of the young woman at Trenwith House, would not allow for a perfect match, but there were other qualities of speech to regard: the cadence, the inflection, and the mannerisms. What and how she spoke.
Had he not thought the woman in the Red Chamber familiar?
Preferring to leave the ease of conversation to his cousin, Darcy would not have talked much even had he not been in a state of disbelief and took the opportunity to make a comparison of Miss Elizabeth.
The Red Chamber had been dark, certainly, but the posture, the breadth of the shoulders, the length of the neck, and general shape of the torso were all too similar.
At one point, he had tried to picture Miss Elizabeth sans clothing to assist in his evaluation, but he had quickly ceased, silently berating himself for the impropriety of such an effort.
He did not dwell on the irony. His mind had been thrown into a tumult at the notion that, if the two, Miss Elizabeth and the woman of the Red Chamber, were one and the same, then he had…
Good god.
The length of his legs up through his groin ached. He could recall only one other time in his life when he had felt such distress—when he had thought his sister to be eloping with Wickham. His agitation could wait no longer.
“My hat and gloves,” he called out without knowing whether his valet had stayed or left.
He could hardly wait for his horse to be saddled and rode to Trenwith House at as fast a gallop as could be had with the roads still wet.
Once arrived, he perceived the relaxed pace of Mr. Singh’s speech and movements to be agonizingly slow and was tempted to announce himself, were he not in possession of better manners.
Abby was sitting at a writing table in her husband’s study, a room she had little altered since his passing as he had spent a great deal of time in it.
“My dear Fitzwilliam, you look positively pale!” she remarked as she looked over a pair of spectacles at him. “Are you unwell?”
“I am fine,” he answered of his health. “I came—but forgive my intrusion—if you’ve no wish to be disturbed, I hope you will send me away. I can call at a more opportune time.”
She appraised him more closely. “But why should I send you away now that you are here? Clearly something of an urgent nature brought you here.”
At her acceptance of his company, he sat down upon a sofa before the writing table, but, restless, he rose to his feet again. “The young woman—the Red Chamber—”
The air felt thin, and he had to take several breaths before continuing, “Who was she?”
Abby frowned. “Fitzwilliam, you know better than anyone I never reveal an identity.”
He took once more to pacing as he weighed the rules of engagement against his own desire for confirmation.
Dabbing her quill in ink, she continued penning the letter before her, asking, “Why such an interest in this young woman?”
He paced a bit more before sitting down. “Because I have reason to believe I know her.”
She paused but did not look up. “Perhaps you do. Perhaps you don’t. Really, it is inconsequential.”
She resumed her writing.
“I fear it is not,” he protested, a little surprised at her detachment. “I need to know—I need to know if she is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
The quill stopped, but as her face was lowered toward her letter, he could not discern her expression. When she did look at him, her countenance was impassive. “And why such a desire to know?”
He met her gaze for but a moment before looking away, but she saw it all despite his not having said a word.
“You fancy her!”
Damnation. How was it she possessed such perception? He recalled a time, albeit of short duration, when he fancied he had been a little in love with Abigail because of her cleverness.
Putting down her pen, she scrutinized him with the purpose of appraising the depths of his affection. “Indeed. I have never seen you this shaken. Are you in love with this Elizabeth Bennet?”
“Do you deny you know her?” he asked, almost hopeful.
“I know of her. She is one of two guests staying with Mr. Collins. But as to the name of your pupil, I will, of course, deny everything.”
He tempered his aggravation. He abhorred deceit, but he understood she acted out of discretion and respect for the lives and reputations of her students and teachers.
“But I have every wish to ease your distress,” she continued, rising to her feet and approaching him. “If this young woman reminds you of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and you are not up to task, I can appoint another to continue her lessons.”
“No! I meant…”
Darcy knew not which was worse—the knowledge that he had possibly debauched Miss Elizabeth or the thought of another man touching her.
“You are looking worse, Fitzwilliam.” She went to the sideboard and poured him a glass of Madeira. “The pupil you met with the other night wishes to pursue another lesson, and I need to know if you are prepared to give it.”
He put a hand to his brow.
“But perhaps it is wisest to relieve you of your position regardless,” she contemplated aloud as she handed him the drink.
He surprised her by downing it in one gulp. He took a deep but harried breath. “I am up to the task.”
The thought of another man taking his place would drive him mad if the young woman was indeed Miss Elizabeth.
Abby appeared unconvinced. “You must put it out of your head that your pupil reminds you of Miss Elizabeth. I am putting a great deal of faith and trust in you if I allow you to continue.”
He nodded. “I have no wish to disappoint you.”
She sat down beside him. For several minutes they sat in silence, each in their own thoughts.
“It has been many years since a woman has caught your eye,” she commented. “Miss Elizabeth must be an exceptional young lady.”
“Love looks not kindly upon me. Twice I have been afflicted and twice with women wholly unsuitable for me.”
“The blush of first love is often reckless. You were young when you took a fancy to Delana. I no longer call her a friend after her treatment of you.”
“I harbor no resentment toward her. What woman of sophistication and breeding would entertain with seriousness the affections of a callow suitor?”
“I prefer to talk of this Miss Elizabeth.”
“And I would not,” he replied as he stood.
“You will not satisfy my curiosity?”
He was tempted, for he had confided his feelings for Miss Elizabeth to no one. “Perhaps another time. I am reminded of my duty and will endeavour my best.”
“I am confident in your abilities, but I warn all my students—and instructors bear reminding as well—to guard against affection.”
The concern in her eyes was evident, and he admitted his own confidence to waver, but prolonging his stay would not produce the results he sought.
Preparing to take his leave, he bowed. Though his agitation had not dissipated, he found some calm in the clarity of his newfound goal: to determine for himself if the young woman of the Red Chamber was Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
*****
These clandestine visits will not do, Lizzy admonished herself.
And yet, when Mr. Collins and Charlotte had left to attend dinner at the home of a friend in town, and Maria, complaining of having a headache, took to her room early, Lizzy could not resist having a horse saddled and making her way to Trenwith House.
Lizzy apologized profusely for the disturbance when she was admitted to see the lady of the house.
“You should never have offered up your hospitality, for I fear I may trespass upon it often,” Lizzy told Abby as they sat down in the drawing-room.
“I pray it will be so!” Abby declared with sufficient enthusiasm that Lizzy would not have doubted the sincerity of her words, were she not always inclined to vivacity.
“I only wish I could promise you that I will always be here to receive you, though you are to make Trenwith House your home in my absence. Are you here for your second lesson?”
Lizzy coloured. “I would not expect a lesson, as I had provided no prior notice.”
“Let us see what can be done, shall we?”