“No, of course not,” Darcy said impatiently. “It is an essential component of the plan. But as my aunt’s parties are held in high esteem, I may be confident of being accepted even when issuing a tardy invitation.”
“If this concerns Elizabeth Bennet,” Fitzwilliam said, “you are being unnecessarily obstinate.”
“If it concerns Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy replied steadily, “I am being exacting.”
His cousin gave him a long look. “Well, well, Darcy,” he said at last. “Is this an admission, then? You are prepared to confess that you do care for the lady?”
“I — yes,” Darcy said abruptly at last, looking away. “Yes, I can no longer deny it. For what little good it may do.”
“She would be a fool not to accept you,” Fitzwilliam said lightly. “Ten thousand a year and Pemberley are persuasive arguments.”
Darcy’s expression hardened. “I will not be accepted on such grounds. It would be a cruelty to us both to allow it. As much as I hate the thought of being without the woman I love, it is infinitely preferable to marrying her if she does not love me.”
Fitzwilliam regarded him with fresh interest, his smile turned crooked. “That is a high standard.”
“It is the only one I will permit myself,” Darcy replied.
“You may suffer for it,” Fitzwilliam observed.
“I already do,” Darcy said quietly.
The conversation drifted after that, though Darcy remained only partially attentive. His thoughts returned againand again to Elizabeth. To her composure during their meeting at Mr Gardiner’s warehouse. To the readiness with which she had agreed to the plan. To the careful distance she maintained even when gratitude softened her manner.
No matter how much he wanted to imagine she shared his feelings, he would be a fool to confuse mere civility for affection.
As the days passed, Darcy knew he must invite some lady to the countess’s party, yet the prospect filled him with an unease he could neither explain nor dispel. Every attempt to imagine himself arriving with another woman ended in dissatisfaction. He found fault where none existed, dismissed possibilities without reason, and delayed decisions that should have been simple.
Perhaps inevitably, Georgiana noticed.
She did not speak of it at first, but her concern grew more evident as the days passed. Darcy knew himself to be restless in a way she would never have seen before, distracted even in familiar routines, prone to absent-mindedness, but even his best attempts at self-discipline could not seem to restore his mind to composure.
At last, she ventured a gentle inquiry.
“You seem troubled,” Georgiana said hesitantly one evening. “Is it something I have done?”
Darcy looked at her in surprise. “No. Never that.”
She studied him with careful attention. “Then it must be something that weighs upon you more heavily than you wish to admit.”
Darcy hesitated, then smiled faintly. “You are very perceptive.”
“I have learned from the best,” she replied.
He said nothing more, unwilling to burden her with what he could not resolve himself. Yet her concern lingered with him, a reminder that his distress was not as invisible as he had hoped.
It was on the morning of the seventh day that the note arrived.
It bore Mr Gardiner’s hand.
Darcy tore it open without delay, his pulse quickening as he read the brief request for a meeting at the warehouse. No explanation accompanied it, no hint of its purpose.
His first thought was of Elizabeth. Something must have gone wrong.
Darcy did not recall giving instructions for the carriage, only that it was ready almost at once. He scarcely noticed the streets as they passed, though he had travelled them before, and more than once to the same destination. His thoughts were fixed entirely upon the note folded in his coat pocket and the fear it had awakened.
Mr Gardiner had written briefly, almost brusquely, requesting a meeting at the warehouses at Darcy’s earliest convenience. There had been no hint of reproach, no explanation offered, and yet Darcy could not rid himself of the sense that something decisive awaited him there.
He prepared himself to meet the unknown crisis. If the rumours had worsened, he would answer for them. If Elizabeth’s reputation had suffered further consequences, he would acceptresponsibility without reserve. He had already determined that he would not allow her to bear the cost of his misjudgement, whatever sacrifice might be required of him.
