“Nevertheless, you will accompany us to the Lakes,” Mrs Gardiner insisted.
“I shall. A journey can serve as a healing balm,” Elizabeth said with a tight smile that could not erase the pain etched upon her face. “But we will not stop in Derbyshire.”
“This situation cannot be accepted if Lady Olivia attempts to force him to marry her,” Lady Oakham said. “I am sure that Lady Matlock and, ultimately, even Lord Matlock will be involved in saving him from a grave mistake. But you go back home, then we shall see.”
As on most evenings since leaving Kent, Elizabeth wrote to Charlotte, certain that a reply would follow. Only this time, she had asked her to write directly to Longbourn, where she expected to arrive in a few days. She regretted having allowed herself to be drawn into that plan, which—how many times had she told herself so?—resembled the schemes of her mother and Aunt Phillips. Perhaps that was why she had written to Charlotte, who, far from everything that now surrounded her, maintained an untroubled view of events. Each time Elizabethreceived a letter from her, she welcomed its measured tone and gentle advice, which often amounted to telling her that no path leading to pain was worth following. And indeed, Charlotte had been right. Had she remained at Longbourn, she would likely have been tending the roses in the garden now, wrapped at last in a peaceful stillness.
She would not allow hope to rise again, as Jane had done for months after Mr Bingley’s departure. Yet she wished with all her heart that Lord and Lady Matlock might prevent Darcy from making a terrible mistake—if, in truth, that woman was as unscrupulous as she feared, and if she meant to trap him into marriage. Elizabeth imagined how she might go about it. Although she blushed, she did not hesitate to admit that she had heard of women who had used dreadful means to secure a husband. She smiled faintly and sadly, for her mother’s meddling seemed almost childish in the face of such ruthless schemes. Unfortunately, it was also because of her mother that she had refused him.
Chapter 37
“I can scarcely believe I have only just found you after riding for nearly an entire day,” said the colonel, stepping into Darcy’s room at the inn in the dead of night. “Forty miles in a single day? Where are you rushing off to?”
Although it was nearly midnight, Darcy had not yet gone to bed. He was not even preparing to do so, still dressed in the clothes in which he had travelled. Only his coat lay across a chair, and he had unfastened a few buttons of his shirt. He looked at the colonel, confused, almost disbelieving that he was truly there, but stepped aside to allow him into the room.
On a small table sat an untouched supper, and the colonel, having eaten nothing all day, threw himself at it without hesitation.
“What are you doing here?” asked Darcy, though it was quite clear what had brought his cousin hither. Contrary to his expectations, he was glad to see him. Only after ten miles of wild riding had he stopped to breathe and comprehend his actions. He had left with such overwhelming fury that it had paralysedall reason, and the mad gallop had been the only cure for his despair.
“What do you suppose I do?” the colonel replied at last, yet only after his hunger was somewhat appeased. “I am riding to London to catch a madman.”
Darcy gave a short laugh, though there was no amusement in it.
“I am sorry I left without a word.”
“Would you care to tell me what is going on?”
Darcy was silent for some time, uncertain what to say. But he would have to speak to someone eventually, and the colonel was the best confidant he could hope for in so dire a situation.
“Lady Olivia,” he said at last.
“I gathered as much—”
“From whom?” Darcy asked at once, alarmed, for he could not bear the thought that everyone—least of all Georgiana—might come to know of such a tangled affair, one that could well end in a marriage his sister would be forced to accept.
“I saw who was sending you letters,” the colonel said without hesitation, unashamed of his curiosity or concern.
“Discretion is not a strength in our family,” said Darcy, not reproachfully but merely stating a fact.
“If you had wanted discretion, you ought to have behaved accordingly.”
Darcy shook his head, disheartened, and the colonel at once regretted his rebuke.
“Let us calm ourselves,” he said, for Darcy’s current state could lead to no sound decision. “Lady Olivia, then…”
Darcy nodded. “An unintentional mistake. No—unconscious would be more accurate.” He fell silent again, but the colonel was now familiar with the rhythm of his confessions. He knew Darcy would speak, given time, and he would wait for it.
“Darcy, in order to help you, I must know what occurred.”
“No one can help me,” Darcy replied, distraught.
“Do not speak such nonsense. Anything can be arranged…” His speech faltered; he was afraid of saying too much. Emotion often betrayed him, but now he needed to be the strong one.
“I remember you telling me about that strange evening at Lady Olivia’s.”
“Yes, it concerns that night. I drank too much, it seems—”
“You do not drink too much,” the colonel interjected, surprised, for he had never seen his cousin lose control, not even in their rather unruly youth before the death of Mr Darcy senior.
