While he guided his horse along the narrow path towards the bay, his gaze drifted over the road’s winding turns, the sheer drop below. His thoughts, as they often did, returned tothatnight.
Had he made the right choice when he turned the ship around? Things would have been different. That much was certain.
Darcy would likely be dead. He would have become Georgiana’s sole guardian. And if he had played his cards well, perhaps even the master of Pemberley.
He had allowed himself to imagine it—standing there, watching his cousin cling to life on that crumbling balcony. But at the final moment, his scruples had returned. Lady Catherine’s death had secured his future at Rosings; there had seemed no need to stain his hands with his cousin’s blood.
That night, at least, he had chosen restraint.
As he reached the house, he dismounted, tossing the reins to a waiting groom. The butler met him at the entrance with a slight bow.
“Mr. Darcy is waiting for you in the sitting room, sir.”
Fitzwilliam exhaled slowly. He wiped a gloved hand over his sleeve—a thoughtless gesture, as if brushing away a stain that was not there.
Then he stepped inside.
Chapter 23 – Reckoning
An uneasy silence surrounded Darcy as he sat in the parlour at the beach house near Rosings. He had been there for nearly an hour, and conversation had long since dwindled after the obligatory courtesies had been exchanged. Anne, unaccustomed to entertaining, shifted restlessly in her seat, teeth catching at her lower lip, her gaze flitting again and again towards the door. The hope in her eyes was unmistakable. She was waiting for Fitzwilliam.
So was Darcy, though with a notably different purpose.
“We are thinking of repairing the house,” Anne said abruptly. “A good part of it is still usable. We hope to move back in a year or so.”
“That is good news.”
“Or perhaps we shall build a new one. It is not certain.” She fidgeted. “An architect is to advise us. Richard has already sent for one.”
Darcy was unsurprised by her erratic turns of thought. “Whatever best suits your needs.”
“Mr. Taylor is no longer our steward,” she said after a pause. “Richard dismissed him. He was displeased with his work. He says Rosings can be managed better and has assumed the task himself.”
That was a development worth noting.
“Was anything salvaged from the fire?” he asked. “Many books and documentswere in the library.”
“I know not. Richard says I should not concern myself with such matters.”
Of course he would. Darcy half smiled, something close to pity stirring in his chest. Fitzwilliam’s ascendancy had already begun.
“Then we must trust he manages it well. An estate is no small task.”
Anne nodded, heel rapping the floor.
“How is Miss Bennet?” she enquired a moment later.
“Very well, thank you. She is in London with her sister and Mrs. Collins.” After a brief pause, he added, “Where did you marry? Here, or in Ceredigion?”
“In Ceredigion, a sennight ago. I still do not see why we had to wait—or repeat the ceremony. We had already received the parson’s blessing.”
“You know there are legal formalities regarding marriage that we must all respect.”
Anne huffed, and flung up her hand. “Yes, yes, the blasted banns, that tiresome will. I am fed up with it all. Fed up with obeying rules I never agreed to. And now the earl has written, demanding explanations about Mama, claiming to be my warden.” She drew a sharp breath. “Oh, how I wish everyone would stop meddling in our lives!”
Her features twisted with frustration, rage, and beneath it something far more fragile seemed to stir. Darcy regarded her warily, choosing his next words with care.
“Lady Catherine was his sister, Anne. And heisyour guardian too. Your uncle wishes only for your well-being. We all do.”
