“Cease hiding behind the Titan and admit it. You agreed with him.”
“I did?”
“God’s teeth man, he hardly dragged you away kicking and screaming. Besides, I do believe your spirits are more recovered than you allow. Remember, I witnessed your dance with Miss Aston Tuesday last.” He waggled his eyebrows salaciously.
Bingley leant forward. “I am in love, and I shall not be convinced otherwise by you, my sisters, Darcy, Miss Aston, or anybody else!” He poked a forefinger into Hurst’s chest with each point.
“Far be it from me to disabuse you of it. God knows you are forever in love with somebody. Only it does seem this particular fascination is beginning to lose its power.”
Bingley was forcibly returned to his seat when the carriage came to an abrupt halt outside his front door. There he remained, slumped dejectedly, shaking his head. “I swear I am as in love with Miss Bennet as ever I was.”
Hurst chuckled quietly. “That I do not doubt, my friend.”
Wednesday 22 April 1812, London
Darcy put his name to the last of the documents his attorney had brought and flicked the ink well shut. “Any other matters?” Already, he felt the tug of other thoughts and struggled prodigiously to ignore them whilst he concluded his business.
“Only that the sale of land from Mr Wrenshaw’s estate has completed.” Irving reached across the desk for his papers. “I wonder that he did not wait to sell to Crambourne directly.”
“I understand he was not at liberty to wait for funds.”
Irving looked unsurprised and vaguely disgusted. “He is popular in some circles, I understand, but I have heard several things that have given me reason to think ill of him.”
Only several? Darcy thought bitterly. That gave Wrenshaw the advantage, for Elizabeth had every reason in the world to think ill of him.
“I do not suppose Crambourne was in any haste, either,” Irving went on as he tucked the documents into his pocketbook. “Railways are a patient man’s investment. Though Wrenshaw is the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Um, I said Wrenshaw is the last man in the world whom I would expect to comprehend that…sir.”
Darcy clenched his teeth against an imprecation, immeasurably weary of hearing Elizabeth’s voice and recalling her enmity in every conversation. “Quite.”
“Still,” Irving said with a cautiousness Darcy despised, for it bespoke his own insufferable distraction, “Wrenshaw approached you with the offer, not the reverse. One must suppose he knew what he was about.”
That was just as well, Darcy supposed, for his own recent foray into proposals had met with decidedly less success. His brief pause must have stretched into a long one, for Irving cleared his throat loudly before announcing his readiness to depart. Cursing silently, Darcy thanked him for his diligence and personally escorted him out. Would that have made Elizabeth think him any more gentlemanlike or merely prouder and more unlikeable for having been inattentive in the first place?
“I shall have coffee in my study now, Godfrey,” he instructed the butler, as though coffee were all that was needed to silence the unending echo of her reproofs.
He had barely seated himself back at his desk when there came a knock at the door. He barked an instruction to enter but regretted his tone when his sister stepped into the room. He stood immediately to greet her.
“Pray, excuse the interruption,” she begged. “Godfrey said you were busy, but I simply had to see for myself that you were better.”
Darcy flinched. As a rule, he abhorred disguise of any sort, but he had arrived home from Kent with no inclination to discuss his time there and had feigned illness to avoid her questions. “I am, thank you.”
“I am pleased to hear it. I have been very worried. And now we shall still be able to go to the theatre this evening.”
It took a heartbeat, but the allusion eventually found a mark amongst the tumult of his thoughts. Damn!Romeo andbloodyJuliet!
“You do look tired, though,” she said, coming forward to peer at him. “I trust nothing is amiss?”
“Not at all.” Indeed, had he not repeatedly assured himself an alliance with Elizabeth would have been a terrible mistake? “Everything is as it ought to be.” The ache that abruptly assailed himindicated otherwise. He inhaled sharply at the unpleasantness of it—a cold, inflexible, altogether appalling loneliness.
“Very well then,” his sister said. “I shall trouble you no longer. I stopped by only to see if there was aught you needed.”
Yes! Elizabeth! The ache deepened, closing his throat alarmingly, so it was all he could do to give a curt nod in farewell.
Godfrey entered as Georgiana departed. Darcy watched him unload his tray onto the table, furious with himself for even noticing the solitary cup in its solitary saucer. He was further vexed by the almighty thud his heart gave when Godfrey presented him with a letter clearly postmarked from Kent. He resolutely ignored the chasm of disappointment that opened in his gut upon recognising the hand as his cousin Anne’s.
