“Do you speak French, Miss Elizabeth?”
“A little,” Elizabeth replied, her cheeks colouring faintly as she recollected a particular volume discovered in her father’s library. It had been written in French, and her father had remarked that it was not fit for young ladies. That alone had kindled in her a strong desire to read it. Her French had improved with uncommon speed, and when her father travelled to London the following year, she had ventured to removeLes Liaisons Dangereusesby Pierre de Laclos from his shelves. It had been the boldest act of her life. Everything about it exhilarated her—the interdiction attached to the novel, as well as the unveiling of a world she had never conceived. She had not understood every subtlety, but in following the wicked designs of the Vicomte de Valmont, she met with matters of such intimacy and secrecy that she knew she should only fully comprehend them through the experience of marriage. Though she had striven to forget the book, it was difficult to erase from her memory the strange sensations its pages had awakened, as though her body responded to the force of its scenes in a delicious, unknown way. At her late encounter with Mr Darcy in the parlour at Pemberley, those memories had returned unbidden, and with them, that same unaccountable flutter that troubled her frame when reading that novel.
“So, you are hiding here,” a voice said, bringing them both abruptly back to the present.
They turned to behold Mr Darcy, who had evidently entered unnoticed and now surveyed the scene before him. Under his gaze, Elizabeth felt again that inexplicable tremor. In that moment, she perceived with painful clearness that love was not merely an affection of the heart; it was a longing—deep andungovernable—to yield oneself entirely. She regretted her past curiosity. Perhaps, had she never read that book, she might have remained ignorant of what now disturbed her so much.
“Miss Elizabeth has favoured me with so many interesting observations about our library,” Georgiana said.
Darcy glanced at the books lying on the desk.
He had, at first, determined that Georgiana should not be introduced to such literature. Yet, in the space of a few minutes, his resolve had altered. His sister had been almost secluded since the unhappy affair with Wickham the previous summer. She lacked the counsel of a mother or elder sister to instruct her in the art of discretion and self-protection. And Miss Elizabeth was unlike any other lady in their circle. Once, he had longed to make her his wife exactly for her independence, her liveliness, and her refusal to be subdued. But though he admired these qualities in Elizabeth, he still wished Georgiana to know a quieter happiness, free from disturbance.
“Come now, ladies, set aside your philosophical conversations and return to earth, the company awaits you in the drawing-room,” he said pleasantly, holding the door for them. He wished to appear easy and good-humoured, yet as Elizabeth passed, all composure forsook him. He was seized with the impulse to detain her by some tender gesture, and to remain alone with her. But he commanded himself and followed them, admiring Elizabeth’s graceful carriage and smiling at the enquiring glance she cast back at him. The time for discourse between them had not yet come.
Nevertheless, deep within his soul, he reflected that he ought to learn from Elizabeth to live less constrained, to forget, at times, the weight of duty and station; to meet life as it came; to yield, on occasion, to unrestrained sentiments, rather than ever disguising the way he felt beneath the polished manners of a gentleman. But the hour for such a change had not come either.
Chapter 4
They found the other guests in the parlour, assembled before dinner to welcome the newcomers, Viscount Beaumont, Lord Matlock’s eldest son, and his lady.
“And where did you discover these rebellious ladies?” Lord Matlock asked Darcy in a manner so animated that his family and long-standing friends could scarcely recognise him.
Darcy smiled and returned the pleasantry. “They were concealed in the library, discoursing upon books.”
The company laughed, and Darcy took advantage of the moment to present Miss Elizabeth to the Viscount and his lady.
Elizabeth observed Colonel Fitzwilliam’s brother with discreet curiosity, for she considered the colonel as a friend—one of the few gentlemen of her acquaintance who merited that appellation. From their first meeting at Rosings, there had been a natural ease and pleasure in their conversation, and their friendship had advanced steadily. The colonel was a man of unaffected frankness, unspoilt by birth or rank; he thought of himself more as a soldier than as a man of fashion, and this lent him a sincerity rarely found amongst his connections. TheViscount Beaumont and his lady were of an entirely different stamp. To them, their noble descent was of the first importance. He scarcely bestowed a glance upon Elizabeth, and Lady Rowena soon withdrew to join her mother-in-law.
In that instant, Darcy perceived the sort of reception which Elizabeth Darcy might expect to encounter in London society. A spark of indignation rose within him against his cousin, yet once more, he questioned whether he was prepared to endure such sentiments from his own family and friends. To marry Elizabeth entirely must be to engage in an unceasing contest for her place beside him. Even if he were willing to undertake such a struggle, it was by no means certain that Elizabeth would desire a future passed in continual contention with a disapproving assembly. There were, indeed, men such as the colonel, open to acquaintance without prejudice, yet they were few; the greater part of London society resembled the Viscount Beaumont and his lady.
He had long admired Elizabeth for her understanding and her courage to be unlike others; yet, in truth, he did not know her wholly. Nor was he certain that her sentiments towards him had undergone any alteration. She appeared different, but it might be nothing more than the graceful civility of a well-bred woman, and not love or interest.
“Where is the colonel, and why does he not make one of this party?” Sir Rupert enquired.
Lady Matlock’s smile conveyed to Elizabeth a small secret: the colonel was her favourite child. She loved the Viscount as any mother would, but her younger son was dearer to her heart. Perhaps it was in part because the colonel was disadvantaged by those laws of inheritance which vested title and fortune in the elder son; but it was more than this. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was a man of warm affections, a dutiful son, and in her eyes, the better man.
“He has been engaged these several months in the service of Lord Bathurst, the Secretary of State for War and the Colonies,” she explained to the assembly, while Lord Matlock nodded in agreement. “He is ever ready to depart for the front, to France, to fight; yet Lord Bathurst judges his service to be of far greater worth here in the country…which, I confess, renders me exceedingly happy.
“He is greatly saddened to be prevented from fighting,” Lord Matlock said with evident pride.
“Indeed, he was,” continued Lady Matclock, “but of late he appears to enjoy working in London. We must attribute to this change his new attentions to Miss Henry, who, we all trust, will shortly become his betrothed.”
The room was at once animated with expressions of goodwill, for the colonel was generally beloved, and such news was regarded with pleasure. Lady Matlock, pressed with questions, allowed the earl to respond.
“It is not yet settled,” he said, with some annoyance at his lady’s disclosure, “and the young lady has requested that we be discreet.”
Even Darcy was surprised; he had but lately left London and the colonel, and no word of this had been spoken.Perhaps he is as uncertain in his intentions as I am,Darcy thought. Yet such a request seemed insufficient reason to withhold the matter from one who was to him as a brother. He recalled their journey from Rosings to London, when he had confided to Richard all that had occurred at the Parsonage. Such openness had existed between them from boyhood. Falling in love was one thing; contracting a marriage was quite another. Darcy was astonished, and not a little displeased, at his cousin’s reserve.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, was merely curious. She was eager to learn all that could be known concerning the lady. For once, she was keen to find more even about herfinancialsituation, for the colonel had often lamented—half in jest—that, being a second son, he must seek an heiress no less than a woman worthy of his affection. Was Miss Henry wealthy, or had the colonel acted from inclination alone, with his new post under Lord Bathurst serving as a means to provide for his household?
The answer came from Mr Bingley, who at last succeeded in placing himself beside Elizabeth. He was still intent upon learning more regarding a particular lady of Longbourn, and Elizabeth was his sole hope of obtaining it. Observing her surprise at the news of the colonel, he judged that he might satisfy her curiosity, and in return, gain some intelligence respecting Miss Bennet.
“You are acquainted with Miss Henry,” he told her. “She was at Netherfield last year, though only for a few days.”
And, as Elizabeth appeared not to recall her, he added, “That handsome young lady with the auburn hair.”
Indeed, such was the common recollection of Miss Henry: hair of striking beauty, gathered with care into an elegant chignon. She was of a somewhat unusual air, and the remembrance of her enabled Elizabeth to comprehend the colonel’s choice. But was she possessed of a fortune, or was it indeed a match of pure attachment?
