More scars to mar my appearance,he thought bitterly as he pulled the covers over his head.’Tis no wonder Elizabeth does not want me.
“Are you ill?” Richard’s voice roused Darcy from a deep slumber. “Nothing short of illness would keep you abed for so long, nor prevent you from writing to your family. Tell me, Darcy, have you contracted the plague?”
Groaning, Darcy sat up. “Leave me in peace, Cousin,” he snapped. “Leave me to my wretched existence.” He rubbed the grit from his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, cringing as he realized it was matted and filthy.
“I am afraid I cannot do that, my friend. Georgiana is frantic with worry. ’Tis after Twelfth Night! Your paltry excuse of an emergency satisfied neither her nor me, and so I have come to learn why you refuse to leave Darcy House.” Richard folded his arms and raised a brow. “Speak, or I shall force it from you.”
“If you mean to torture me, you need not bother. Nothing you might do could surpass what I have already endured.” He was bitter—he knew it—but everyone could go hang for all he cared. “I shall tell you what you wish to know, and then you will leave me to my suffering.” Darcy swung his legs over the side of the bed and rose. He pulled on his banyan and crossed to the pair of armchairs before the fire.
“Take a seat.” He poured two glasses of brandy, then handed one to Richard before settling into his own chair.
His cousin accepted the glass but paused before raising it. His eyes fell on Darcy’s bandaged hand.
“You injured yourself?”
Darcy followed his gaze and let out a dismissive breath. “A moment’s foolishness.”
“I see the mess, Darce. What did the looking glass do to deserve such punishment?”
“It reflected the truth,” he replied with a bleak smile.
Richard said nothing for a moment, merely studying him over the rim of his glass. Then with trace of finality, he set the drink on the table between them, untouched. “This is very unlike you, Darcy,” he muttered. “Why, even Wickham never caused you to—”
“I care not about Wickham!” Darcy snapped. “He rots in debtor’s prison, as he ought!” He drained his glass in a single draught and set it down hard. Then, he leaned forward, clutching his scalp with both hands as if to hold his thoughts in place, his frame taut with strain. “He was right. No woman will want me—only my fortune and connections.”
“Balderdash! My mother loves my father.”
“Hisbirth markis not as pronounced.” Darcy touched his cheek where he knew the edges of the wine stain lay. “A small red mark above one eye can easily be hidden by hair.”
“And yet, my father has never attempted to disguise it. Even now, his hair grows thin, and the mark is plainly seen.” Richard did not appear impressed. “You will have to try harder than this, Darcy. Why, after all these years, do you entertain Wickham’s drivel? What happened in Hertfordshire?”
Darcy swallowed hard and looked away.
Richard let out a low whistle. “You fell in love! Who is she? Why have you not offered her your hand?”
“She will not have me. I heard—Bingley hosted a ball. I meant to ask her that night—for a courtship, if not a proposal. But I overheard her speaking with a friend… The lady’s friend once expressed an interest in my person, and to overhear Elizabeth say she would help her secure me… ’Tis a deception of theworst kind. She drew me in with her arts and allurements—no other lady has succeeded so thoroughly.” Darcy sighed heavily, Elizabeth’s mean-spirited words reverberating in his thoughts.
“Elizabeth, is it? Richard grinned at his cousin. “And you are certain she spoke of you? Never has a woman been able to hide her disgust from you. This Elizabeth would have had to do it for over a month—almost two. Are you certain it was you to whom she referred when she conversed with her friend?”
“There is no doubt!” Darcy slammed the palm of his uninjured hand on the arm of the chair.
“Tell me exactly what she said. You remember; I can see it in your eyes.” Richard leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands in front of him, eager to listen.
Slowly, Darcy recounted the conversation he had overheard. “She called me the worst sort of gentleman, claiming others are forced to endure me. I recall her saying, ‘How can one tolerate his manner, let alone his appearance?’ After that, she accused me of holding myself above company and lording my good fortune over ‘one and all.’” He drew in a breath, determined not to weep before his cousin. “Miss Lucas—that is the name of her friend—told Elizabeth to turn me in her direction. She is… She is not a handsome woman, and a spinster in the making.”
“Darcy! I am surprised. It is not like you to denigrate another’s looks.” Richard frowned, clearly displeased by the remark.
“No, that is not what I meant. I sought only to explain—Miss Lucas is not a romantic lady—by her own admission. Her plain features have hindered her prospects for marriage, just as mine have hindered my own. And then…Elizabeth said she would not stand in her way, that her entire family agrees. Why, even her mother does not wish me to be part of their family, and she is devoted to securing husbands for her daughters.”
Richard’s brow furrowed, and he sat up, leaning back in his chair. “Is that all they said?”
Darcy closed his eyes, reliving it once more. “Elizabeth said, ‘He will not be happy to have his offer refused. It is an eminently suitable match, and many will see it as foolhardy…’ Miss Lucas replied that Elizabeth had no need to fear for the future. She said…she said the Bennets would always have a place once she accepted my proposal.”
Richard narrowed his eyes. “Two clever women. Of course, you would not have fallen in love with a stupid woman.” He spoke slowly, deliberately, fingers laced together.
“What do you mean?” Darcy’s muddled thoughts struggled to comprehend. “What has their intelligence to do with anything?”
Richard laughed. “Darcy, tell me—what intelligent woman would ever believe that a scorned lover would willingly welcome her and her family into his home? By your own account, Miss Lucas is clever. Do you truly suppose she would expect you to live under the same roof with a woman you once loved? No woman would invite such rivalry into her household—certainly not knowingly. You say Miss Lucas assured your Miss Bennet that she would never be without a home once she married you, and she was well aware of your attachment. Can you not see how utterly illogical that would be?”
