There was a pause.
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s expression softened, his earlier amusement giving way to something more contemplative. “You have a high opinion of her.”
Darcy did not respond. He was suddenly very conscious of how much he had revealed already.
“I trust her character,” he said instead.
Colonel Fitzwilliam rose restlessly and crossed to the window, where he stood for a moment looking out at the pale winter light beyond the glass. The street below was quiet, the air sharp and clear, and a thin frost clung to the edges of the iron railings. When he turned back, his expression was no longer amused.
“You are determined, then,” he said.
Darcy inclined his head. “I am.”
His cousin studied him with a mixture of resignation and concern. “You always were. Very well. If you insist upon going through with this, I shall not attempt to dissuade you further. But do not deceive yourself as to the difficulty of what you propose. From all you have said of her, I do not believe Miss Bennet is a woman who may be managed.”
Darcy almost smiled. “No. Indeed, she is not.”
“You seem to approve of the characteristic,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said dryly. “I suppose I ought to have known you would value stubbornness.”
Darcy did not reply. He had risen as well, though he was scarcely aware of doing so. The decision had been made long before this conversation began. Whatever doubts remained were not of the sort that could be resolved by argument.
Colonel Fitzwilliam moved toward the door, then paused. “I shall remain here this morning. It has been too long since I heard Georgiana play the pianoforte. Will she indulge me, do you think?” His crooked smile made it obvious that Fitzwilliam knew as well as Darcy did that their ward would like nothing better.
Darcy laughed. “You know she will. And perhaps you might stay until I return?”
His cousin smiled faintly. “I will attempt to keep her occupied long enough that you may conduct your business without interruption. Do try not to scandalise half of London before dinner.”
Darcy accepted the rebuke with good grace. When the door closed behind Colonel Fitzwilliam, he remained where he was for a moment, alone once more in the quiet of his study.
The fire had burned lower. Darcy did not trouble to ring for more coal.
Instead, he stood very still, aware of an unfamiliar restlessness beneath his usual composure. He had undertaken unpleasant duties before. He had confronted creditors, dismissed servants, negotiated disputes among his tenants, and endured conversations that left him weary and dissatisfied. None of those tasks had unsettled him in quite this way.
He told himself firmly that there was nothing to anticipate. This visit was necessary, and nothing more.
Elizabeth Bennet had been drawn into a situation of his making. Courtesy, honour, and common decency required that he explain himself to her. He would apologise, as he ought to have done earlier, and propose a solution that would allow the matter to be put to rest. Once that was accomplished, there would be no further cause for anxiety.
And yet, even as he formed the argument in his mind, he was aware of a contradictory sensation that would not be silenced so easily.
He was looking forward to seeing her.
The admission was unwelcome, but it persisted. He attempted to reason with himself, to remind himself of the awkwardness that must attend the meeting, of the coolness with which she had often regarded him, of the sharpness of her wit when she was displeased. Then, too, it was only too obvious that Wickham had been spreading his lies again. He could not discount the possibility that Elizabeth might believe them truths.
None of it was enough to give him a distaste for the meeting.
The thought of her expression when she saw him again, of the quick intelligence in her eyes and the readiness of her smile, intruded despite his efforts. Not for the first time, Darcy wondered whether she would be astonished by his appearance at her uncle’s house, or whether she would receive him with the same composed politeness she had displayed at the ball.
He hoped, perhaps unreasonably, that she would not be indifferent.
Darcy turned away from the window and rang for his coat. Mrs Gibbon appeared almost immediately, his housekeeper’s manner as orderly and efficient as ever.
“I am going out,” he said. “I shall not be long.”
“Yes, sir.” She hesitated, then added, with a glance toward the closed door of the drawing room, “Miss Darcy is in good spirits this morning. She has been practising diligently, and she appeared most happy to play for the colonel.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
Mrs Gibbon inclined her head and withdrew. Darcy took up his gloves and hat, delaying only long enough to ensure that his appearance was beyond reproach. It would not do to arrive looking hurried or unsettled, whatever he might feel.
