Mr Darcy’s distraction. The looks. The whispers. His insistence that he must speak to her privately. Whatever it all meant, she suspected it would not be easily ignored.
And despite herself, Elizabeth found she was curious to learn the truth of it.
Chapter 3
A chill winter day saw the residents of Darcy House well-protected against the cold outside, and equally well-occupied. Georgiana was in the drawing room, playing the pianoforte under the fond and encouraging eye of Mrs Annesley, while Darcy entertained their unexpected guest in his study. The door to the study was firmly closed, and Darcy sat in his favourite chair, feeling an unaccustomed mix of apprehension and embarrassment.
Ordinarily, he found the room comforting. The shelves were lined with familiar volumes, the fire burned steadily, and the tall windows admitted a pale winter light that softened the edges of the furniture. It was a space designed for reflection and order. Today, it did little to calm him.
Colonel Fitzwilliam occupied the chair opposite, his posture relaxed, one boot stretched toward the hearth. His favourite cousin and companion since boyhood was normally one to talk rather than listen, but he had sat in attentive silence as Darcy related the events of the past weeks, from the ill-considered remark at the concert to the present state of the rumours. He did not spare himself in the telling.
Having described the spread of gossip through London with a frankness that surprised even him, Darcy took a deep breath. Sharing his troubles with his cousin was something of a relief, but it was not enough to speak of the difficulty. Something must be done about it, and there was only one thing left to do.
No matter how little he cared for the idea.
“I believe I must now call upon Miss Elizabeth,” he finished. “I will explain what has occurred and make my apologies to her directly.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his eyebrows. “A significant risk, do not you think?”
Darcy frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“You wish to snuff out this gossip,” his cousin continued. “There is no small risk that calling on her could give the story fresh life. If anyone learns you have been to her house, it will be taken as confirmation of everything the gossips are already saying.”
Darcy folded his hands together, aware that he was bracing himself. “I do not see how I can avoid it. The situation began through my carelessness. It is only right that I should address it with her.”
“Right, perhaps,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said dryly. “Wise, no. If you wish to put an end to this nonsense, the simplest course is to attach yourself elsewhere. Appear publicly with another lady, and the world will conclude that you never cared for Miss Elizabeth at all.”
The suggestion struck Darcy with unexpected force.
He felt a sharp flare of irritation, quick and unwelcome, and was forced to look away lest it show too plainly. The notion of deliberately courting another woman, even in pretence, filled him with a distaste he found difficult to disguise.
“That would be unfair,” he said at last, his voice carefully controlled. “To Miss Elizabeth, in particular. The gossips would merely say that I had grown tired of her.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam regarded him with interest. “And why should that concern you?”
Darcy hesitated only briefly. “Because it would reflect poorly on her. I will not resolve this by damaging a lady’s reputation further.”
“Then what do you propose?” his cousin asked.
Darcy considered his words carefully. “If Miss Elizabeth agrees, we might arrange to appear together in public several times. Casually, as though by accident. If we conduct ourselves with perfect indifference, it should soon become evident that there is nothing between us.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam made a thoughtful sound. “That is a delicate game you suggest playing.”
“It is preferable to the alternatives.”
“Is it?” Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned forward slightly. “You must know how this will look. A man of your position appearing repeatedly in the company of the same young woman invites interpretation, however indifferent he may appear.”
Darcy stiffened. “You exaggerate the danger.”
“And you dismiss it out of hand.” His cousin’s tone was mild, but his gaze was sharp. “Why does it matter so much to youwhat people think? If they believe you infatuated, let them. You are not obliged to satisfy their curiosity.”
Darcy felt the question settle heavily between them.
“I do not care what they think of me,” he said. “I care what they think of her.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. “You are proposing a course that could place a great deal of power in Miss Bennet’s hands. If she chose to press the matter, she might attempt to force you into an engagement.”
Darcy met his gaze steadily. “She would never do such a thing.”
