“I must say, I have never considered Elizabeth to be a fragile sort of woman. Why the sudden excessive concern?”
His cousin stared into his glass for a moment or two, his expression softening into a small but exultant smile. “She is with child.”
“Bugger me, already?”
Darcy’s slight shrug seemed to ask what else he had expected. Fitzwilliam shook his head at yet another example of the man’s nauseating proficiency in all things and offered his hearty congratulations. “Do not blame yourself for having brought her here. I daresay, now the worst is over, Lady Catherine will back down.” He wandered over to seat himself at the pianoforte and poked at a few of the keys before adding, “You certainly made your point, old boy.”
Darcy’s brow contracted. He took an angry gulp of his drink and stalked to scowl out of the window into the night. “It is unfortunate that we came here directly from Hertfordshire. Events there left me in no humour to hear another word spoken against Elizabeth.”
Fitzwilliam closed the instrument and leant on the lid. “I think it high time you told me what the devil happened at Netherfield.”
Darcy’s frown deepened, accurately presaging the grim account he proceeded to give. When he was done, Fitzwilliam stared at him, appalled. “And this was her eldersister,you say? Not any of the ghastly younger ones?”
“It was Jane. Bingley’s angel.”
“Good God! How did you act?”
“I informed Bingley that I would no longer recognise his wife or receive her into any of my houses.”
Fitzwilliam raised his eyebrows and blew out his cheeks. “How did he like that?”
“Very ill, though he did not cavil.”
Snatching up his glass, Fitzwilliam left the pianoforte and joined Darcy in staring out onto the moonlit lawn. “That must have been very difficult. You have been friends a long time.”
Darcy breathed in deeply through his nose and nodded. “We have. But Elizabeth is my priority now. I shall tolerate no further injury to her honour or her person.” He quaffed the rest of his drink and snarled. “Neither shall I tolerate Greyson’s loose tongue.”
“Iverymuch doubt Greyson has said a word after the little chat we had with him. Lady Catherine much more likely had that tale from Collins.”
“What about the rest of the claptrap she claims is circulating about London?”
“I daresay that is all invention—borne of jealousy, most likely. You broke a lot of hearts about Town when you married Elizabeth, you know.”
Darcy levelled a stare at him.
“’Tis true! There was universal despair amongst the ladies of the ton the day your announcement was printed in the Times. Miss Periwinkle pricked her finger with a needle in a desperate attempt to take her own life. Miss Wilson declared she had nothing left for which to live and threw herself off a pavement into a puddle. Lady Frances cried herself to death.”
That earned him an eye roll.
“Lord Tewkesbury’s heart just about stopped altogether. He had five hundred pounds on your marrying Miss Bingley.”
“Stop.”
“That one is not even a joke.”
It turned out his grandmother was correct. A stiff drink, a spot of discourse, and Darcy was almost smiling again.
Tuesday 6 October 1812, Kent
The sun shone bright and warm the next morning, oblivious to the pall of gloom enshrouding everybody at Rosings. Eager to escape the house, Elizabeth left early to call upon her friend Charlotte Collins but found her not at home. On learning from the servant that she had gone into Hunsford village, Elizabeth walked there in the hope of seeing her, but to no avail. Eventually, exercised but divested of none of the confidences she had hoped to divulge to her friend, she walked back in the direction of the house.
There, leaning against the stile separating the parsonage from Rosings Park, she found her husband awaiting her. He cut a dashing figure in his snugly fitted trousers, precisely placed hat, impeccably defined side-whiskers and knee-buckling little smile.
“I was considering sending out a search party.”
She refrained from suggesting he ought to consider employing a permanent staff for the purpose. “My apologies. I thought you were busy with Mr Montgomery.”
“We are done.” He pushed away from the stile and came towards her. “Are you too tired to walk a little farther?”
