“Colonel,” she said.
His smile faltered, his expression one of wounded confusion. “Am I demoted back to ‘Colonel’ with you again, Mrs Darcy? I confess I am quite at a loss as to why. I can assure you that I despise Wickham more than you do, and my affection for Georgiana is considerably more deeply rooted, and certainly more enduring.”
“It must have been a great difficulty to you,” she said, “to have felt an affection so enduring, and yet to have been unable to act when she was most in need.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam froze. The easy charm vanished from his face, replaced by a look of profound discomfort. He opened his mouth, a protest forming on his lips. “But Darcy — ” he began, then cut himself off abruptly, his brow furrowing as if the name itself were a misstep.
He turned away from her, staring off into the distance, his posture snapping into a military bearing as he clasped his hands behind his back. For a long moment, he was silent, so lost in thought that Elizabeth began to wonder if he would answer at all. When he finally turned back to face her, his expression had transformed into one of abject, self-reproachful guilt.
“You are entirely right. Perhaps I should have done more,” he said, his voice low and heavy, not meeting her eyes. “If you are assigning fault between Darcy and myself, then the greater share must fall to me. He was immediately consumed by his duties to the Office upon his return. Any failure to act further was my grievous error.”
A feeling of unease prickled at her. His words were a complete acceptance of blame and a clear attempt to redirect her anger. He offered no excuses, no justifications. And yet…something about his manner felt wrong. His guilt felt real enough, but its source, she suspected, was not the one he was claiming.
Before she could form a question, the colonel looked at her, his own expression now one of plaintive appeal. “I have been a poor guardian, and I can only beg your pardon for my past inaction.”
Elizabeth drew in a breath, her mind racing. An apology should not be tendered to her, she thought, nor did she possess the right to demand one on Georgiana’s behalf.
“The past cannot be undone,” she conceded, her tone softening, “But what of the present? Is there anything that can be done for Georgiana now to ease her situation?”
The question seemed to catch him entirely off guard. A look of discomfort flashed across his face, and he shifted his weight.
“Yes, of course. I should certainly look into the matter. There may be avenues to explore. One must be delicate in these situations.”
Elizabeth watched him, her suspicions solidifying. He was hiding something. His evasiveness now was even more telling than his theatrical guilt had been before. A dozen more questions burnt on her tongue.
Yet, as she looked at his face, another, more immediate truth asserted itself. The colonel, whatever his past failings or present secrets, was her first and only friend at Pemberley. His cheer had been a welcome antidote to Darcy’s gloom, his kindness a balm to her loneliness. To press him now, to corner him with accusations she could not yet prove, would be to sacrifice a friendship she was not yet ready to lose.
She chose, for the time being, to forbear from any more questions.
“Very well,” she said, managing a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “You are right to counsel delicacy. We shall speak of it no more.”
The warmth instantly returned to his expression. “Thank you, Elizabeth.” He fell into step beside her as they continuedalong the path. Then, he said, his voice carefully casual, “If I may, Darcy was always the most loyal and considerate of friends.”
Her generous mood, having made its brief appearance, was now entirely spent. Praise for Mr Darcy was an additional toll it could not bear. “Then I admire how private of a virtue his consideration is,” she said, “for he gives very little public evidence of it.”
The colonel sighed. “You are determined against him, I see. I wish you could see past his faults to his virtues. He has a good heart. And he is, above all, a man of unimpeachable honour. Sometimes that integrity can lead him to make difficult choices. Choices that may seem harsh, even cruel, to those who do not understand the full weight of his responsibilities.”
The colonel’s words, his sudden, almost fervent defence of his cousin, felt pointed. As if he were leading up to something. As if he had a specific, pre-determined message to deliver.
“It seems you are quite invested in my good opinion of your cousin today, Richard.”
“He is the best man I know,” he replied, his gaze meeting hers directly, earnestly. “And he is one of the truest friends a man could ask for. I have seen him bear burdens and make sacrifices that would crush a lesser man. The Arcane Office places heavy responsibility upon him. And he needs support.”
“Goodness,” she said, smiling, “you make his case far more eloquently than he does himself. Could it be he has asked you to intercede on his behalf?”
A faint, almost guilty, colour crept up the colonel’s neck. “Darcy rarely asks anyone for anything.” He paused, then, with a heavy sigh, added, “But yes. We spoke. Last night, after you had retired. He is concerned about your unhappiness.”
Elizabeth felt a short laugh catch in her throat. “Do not trouble yourself further, Richard. I am well aware of mydeficiencies. I assure you, Mr Darcy makes them abundantly clear to me with regularity, without the need for an intermediary.”
The colonel looked genuinely distressed. “No, Elizabeth, you misunderstand completely. Our conversation was not like that. He is truly concerned for you, for the Concordance, for England. He would sacrifice anything for what he believes to be right. I have seen it. Time and time again.”
He paused, then, as if a new, more persuasive argument had suddenly occurred to him, he continued, his voice earnest, “Just recently, for instance, a very dear friend of his — a good man, but perhaps a little impulsive — was on the verge of making a most unsuitable marriage. A marriage not based on true affection, but rather one encouraged by an ambitious and manipulative family. Darcy saw the danger. He spoke to his friend, laying out the the realities of the situation and the potential pitfalls. And he persuaded him to reconsider. He saved his friend, Elizabeth, from a lifetime of misery. That is the sort of man he is. Discerning. Unselfish. Principled.”
Elizabeth listened, nausea churning in the pit of her stomach. The colonel’s words, intended, no doubt, as a testament to Darcy’s noble, selfless character, struck her instead like a dagger.
Mr Bingley. Charles Bingley was Darcy’s dearest friend. And Mr Bingley had withdrawn. Suddenly. Inexplicably. Leaving her gentle, loving sister heartbroken and bewildered.
The pieces of the puzzle suddenly, chillingly, clicked into place.
