Chapter Sixteen A Broken Viscount #2
“Aunt Madeline,” Elizabeth called brightly. “The morning is so fine, and the spring air is so mild. Since we have such a large party today, perhaps we might all take a walk to the park at the end of the square? I am sure Henry would love to show the colonel how fast he can run.”
“An excellent suggestion, Lizzy,” Mrs Gardiner agreed, sensing the need to release the pressure in the crowded room.
Bonnets were fetched, gloves were secured, hats and walking sticks retrieved, and the governess was summoned to help marshal the children.
Within ten minutes, the party had spilled out onto the sunlit pavement of Cheapside, forming a sprawling, noisy procession.
Colonel Fitzwilliam took the lead, chasing Henry down the pavement. Miss de Bourgh and Miss Darcy followed, walking arm-in-arm, deep in an animated discussion with Alice about the educational merits of picture books. Mr and Mrs Gardiner walked behind them, enjoying the spectacle.
Mr Darcy, moving with precision, outmanoeuvred a stray pedestrian and a fruit cart to fall into step between Elizabeth and Jane.
Viscount Keathley trailed approximately three paces behind them, walking with slow, deliberate steps.
“The air is much improved today,” Mr Darcy began, his voice tight.
“It is, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth replied, casting a sideways glance at him. “Though you appear as if you are marching to a court-martial rather than a park.”
He let out a sigh. “I feel as though I am, Miss Elizabeth. And I am my own prosecutor.”
Jane glanced at him, her eyes curious and gentle. “Is something amiss, Mr Darcy?”
Mr Darcy stopped walking and turned to face the two sisters on the pavement. The bustling street seemed to fade away, leaving only the earnestness of his expression.
“Miss Bennet.” Mr Darcy addressed Jane directly. “Miss Elizabeth. Yesterday afternoon, my cousins and I attended White’s. While there, we came across... a mutual acquaintance.”
Jane stiffened, the gentle curiosity vanishing from her face, replaced by a guarded stillness.
Elizabeth stepped slightly in front of Jane, her chin lifting in a defensive posture. “If you are referring to Mr Bingley, sir, you need not report on his movements, for we are disconnected from that sphere.”
“Please, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Darcy urged softly, pleading with her to let him finish. “I beg you to let me speak. Yesterday, I discovered the farcical absurdity of my own interference.”
Jane blinked, her guarded posture softening into confusion. “What do you mean?”
Darcy took a deep breath. “Bingley has let the lease on Netherfield lapse. He has purchased an estate in Yorkshire.”
Elizabeth gasped. “Yorkshire?”
“Yes. A breeding estate,” he continued, his voice dripping with bewildered disbelief. “He was ecstatic. He spoke for twenty minutes without drawing breath. He invited us all to Astley’s Amphitheatre to watch the trick riding.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “He... he bought horses?”
“He bought a foundation herd,” Mr Darcy explained. “Specifically, he was in raptures about a dappled grey mare. He informed us, with poetic sincerity, that looking into her eyes was like looking into the soul of an angel.”
For a moment, the pavement was silent.
Elizabeth stared at him, her mouth agape. This cannot be real, she thought.
Jane was the first to break.
She pressed a gloved hand to her mouth and her shoulders began to shake. A sound escaped her—not a sob, but a crystal-clear peal of laughter.
Elizabeth turned to her sister, her own lips twitching uncontrollably as the hysterical comedy of the situation struck her.
“A dappled grey?” Jane gasped, laughing so hard she had to lean against Elizabeth for support. “An angel?”
“He was very specific about the symmetry of her fetlocks,” Mr Darcy offered, a wave of relief washing over his face as he watched the sisters laugh.
“Oh, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth managed to say, wiping a tear of mirth from her eye. “You must admit, it is fitting. A weather-vane has been distracted by a shiny new barn.”
Darcy’s smile faded. He turned towards Jane, the last remnants of his pride stripped away.
“Miss Bennet. I interfered where I had no right. I caused you pain, and I caused your sister to despise me, all to protect a man who forgot his own heart before the winter was out. I was wrong. I hope... I hope I did not cause you any more pain today by telling you this.”
Jane stopped laughing and straightened up. She looked at the man who had humbled himself before her, and offered him a smile of pure grace.
“You never caused me pain, Mr Darcy. You merely showed me the truth of his character sooner than I might have discovered it myself. I am grateful to you.”
Mr Darcy stared at her, deeply moved by her forgiveness. “You are too kind, Miss Bennet.”
“Not at all.” Jane’s eyes twinkled. “In fact, I bear him no ill will whatsoever. I should very much like to meet the mare that replaced me and wish her well.”
Mr Darcy laughed aloud, shaking his head at the goodness of Jane Bennet.
“I can arrange that.”
The voice came from directly behind them.
Elizabeth turned. Viscount Keathley was standing three paces away, not looking at Darcy nor Elizabeth.
His eyes were fixed with unwavering intensity on Jane.
“That... that will not be necessary, Lord Keathley,” Jane managed.
“Everything is necessary,” he countered, taking a half-step closer. “Everything that might bring you peace of mind or enjoyment.”
“Then I should be obliged, my lord.”
The viscount bowed stiffly and took a step back without another word.
Elizabeth watched this exchange with fascination. She glanced at Mr Darcy, who was staring at his cousin with trepidation.
They reached the park. Elizabeth saw that Miss Darcy and Miss de Bourgh had abandoned all decorum, running across the grass to help Henry retrieve a stray hoop.
Miss de Bourgh’s cheeks were flushed with healthy colour, her laughter ringing out clear and strong, and Miss Darcy seemed carefree and light.
Eventually, the hour demanded their return, and the party assembled on the pavement outside the Gardiner home to make their farewells.
Mr Darcy stood before Elizabeth, his smile wide.
“May I call again tomorrow, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked. “Or will Mr Gardiner demand I gut a fish first?”
Elizabeth huffed. “Did that come from your cousins? Never mind, I do not want to know. You may call, Mr Darcy. The fish can wait.”
He reached out and took her hand. He bowed his head, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles.
“Until tomorrow,” he promised.
As Mr Darcy stepped back, Elizabeth’s gaze drifted to the side.
Viscount Keathley was standing before Jane. The man had scarcely spoken three consecutive sentences all day. He took Jane’s hand and he bowed, pressing a kiss to her knuckles with a reverence that bordered on the holy. He did not say a word.
How odd, Elizabeth thought. We have broken the viscount.