Twenty-Eight
Darcy
Irosebeforedawn,restless energy denying further sleep. George might appear to be settling once more, but that left the problem of Elizabeth to stir in my head. Saddling Caesar, I rode vigorously toward the folly, demons driving relentlessly on. Elizabeth’s absence echoed through Pemberley’s empty halls now with haunting finality. What insidious secrets compelled Gardiner’s abrupt removal of her against all appeals?
Frustration goaded me on through abandoned copses and meadows, just kissing sunrise gold. No explanation had come, only implacable duty presented as justification for demanding my word not to interfere again. But Elizabeth’s stricken eyes tortured my dreams. How was I to abandon her to a desolation not of her own making?
My throat clenched as trailing fingers brushed familiar worn stone where only days ago joy seemed reborn. But time erases naught while yearning hollows only deepen. Futile railing against unquestionable authority changed nothing. Unless...
Sharply, I acknowledged these snarling emotions owed naught to boyhood camaraderie. No familial affection kindled such unreasoning jealousy of callous George, nor inspired my tortured longing through the long watches of the night. No brotherly concern now hammered relentlessly through my breast, feeling empty days bleed inexorably ahead without Elizabeth’s smiling presence brightening all.
I was in love with her.
I probably had been for years—at least, the memory of her spark and joy—but before, I had been able to pass it off as something less. No longer.
But what claim supported my raging protests against her loss? Only the staggering recognition, dawning like a relentless tide that somehow, despite denial, this woman had become the vital air I craved beyond discretion or damnable proud restraint! Before heaven, I confessed it now—no casual fondness lived and died within these wounded walls, but ardent timeless love blazed forth at last from smothering chains. My wounded heart stood naked and exposed, trembling vulnerably in her gentle hold, whether given consciously or not.
Hoofbeats pounded suddenly loud on the morning air. Frowning, I peered through dappling leaves—it was George, galloping as if the very devil were on his heels, curls in wild disarray, his loose shirt flung open to the breeze. My belly tightened grimly. What now?
“Has there been an earthquake?” I asked when he drew rein. To my surprise, he simply offered a silent greeting before awkwardly dismounting. No lively quip, no panicked declaration of catastrophe somewhere. I shifted, inviting him to sit. Wordlessly, George moved to accept, solemn and uncharacteristically withdrawn.
“What, nothing to say?”
He released a ragged sigh, roughly raking both hands through his disordered curls. “I’m poor company for jesting, Fitz. I have been doing some thinking.” He shook his head sharply at my pointed look. “And before you mock me—”
“I was not going to mock you.”
“And do not interrupt, either. I’ve made a wretched botch of everything.” His hand sliced angrily through the air. “What madness makes me spurn Fortune’s gifts the moment they land at my feet?”
I considered cautious responses as silence spun out. Before I formulated a reply, his attention drifted near Farthingdale’s distant grey rooftops.
Finally, he spoke contemplatively. “It seems I lacked some crucial balance to maintain a steady course.” His regretful gaze held only self-reproach. “Remember Father coming here whenever he wished a quiet moment to think?”
“Indeed. I thought today I might do the same.”
“Hmm.” He surveyed enduring granite walls with fond nostalgia. “I remember how, after an hour of just sitting here, looking at the mountains, he would quietly step back on his horse and ride home in a better humor. More peaceable.”
I nodded, the memories returning vividly. George chuckled then, momentarily brightening. “And when we were old enough to ride with him, he would permit us to play in the creek down there while he watched. Hah! Do you recall Cook’s indignation when we slipped frogs into her best soup pot? Poor things—we meant them no real harm, only fun. But discovery during that fine dinner brought stern lecture and a sound beating once Father forced a confession!”
I could not restrain answering laughter, the kitchen uproar caused by his youthful prank crystal clear still. “Do not try to share the blame for that with me. That was all you.”
George shook his head self-consciously. “My antics often threw whole households into turmoil with scarce thought for others’ distress. Yet Father stayed ever patient, soothing ruffled feelings once penitent culprits were cornered.”
I acknowledged this truth ruefully. “His discipline relied more on weighty sighs and dreadful silence than bluster, as I recall.”
George nodded. “Ten minutes pinned under that thunderous gaze had me tearfully vowing full reform!” Then, his brief cheer faded. “But no matter what trouble I stirred, somehow, I found forgiveness here. Father always pointed me on the pathway to rectitude when I thought surely, I was lost.”
I nodded with a gentle hum as my eyes wandered to Farthingdale’s rooftops once more. Yes, Father was like that.
George turned abruptly toward me, features etched with uncharacteristic gravity. “I must confess an ugly truth from yesterday. I was ready to abandon every vow made to Lucilla in a wild, heated impulse.” He dropped his gaze, color rising. “Your timely scolding set me straight before irreversible damage resulted. But you should know how close my folly was to bringing it all crashing down.”
I stared, pulse quickening as I pieced together likely events. Choosing my words with care, I asked, “What changed?”
George kept his eyes downcast, shamefaced. “When I confronted the family, prepared to cast Lucilla off regardless of the disgrace, something in me crumbled under the crushing weight of her reliance.” One hand raked his hair until it stuck up wildly. “No one has ever had to depend on wayward, faulty George before! But the way she looked at me, Fitz! As if I were the only one in the world she trusted! And I cannot dream of letting her down. But with a formidable mother ever circling and a caustic brother commanding every move—though he is my friend, he is Lucilla’s brother first— I felt myself unequal, undeserving.” At last, he lifted pleading eyes to mine. “The full reality that her entire prospects in life now solely depended on my mercurial constancy nearly unmanned me completely!”
My breath halted, sudden insight piercing me. So, this had been the hidden goad driving George’s increasing desperation before catastrophe loomed? Wordlessly, I grasped his shoulder, hope warring with compassion in my chest. Might iron truly temper undisciplined clay if fires now burned hot enough? Quietly, I asked, “What restored your courage?”
Incredulous laughter burst forth. “You’ll scarce credit the miracle, Darcy! Just when craven retreat beckoned most tempting, who should stride forward but Belmont himself!”
