They sat together in silence, hands clasped while morning light shifted across the drawing room floor. Outside, the sounds of London continued their familiar rhythm, carriages and pedestrians and street vendors going about their ordinary business while inside, two sisters navigated the complicated territory of changed hearts and uncertain futures.
Rain struck the study windows with steady persistence, each drop tracing paths down glass already blurred with moisture. Darcy stood watching the patterns they made, his handsclasped behind his back while his mind worked through complications that had nothing to do with estate management or business correspondence. The afternoon had been difficult, watching Bingley’s hopeful arrival and subsequent disappointed departure. Elizabeth had told him about it afterwards, her expression troubled as she described Jane’s polite distance and Bingley’s oblivious enthusiasm.
He had invited Bingley believing he was giving his friend a second chance at happiness with the woman Bingley claimed to love. But watching his friend leave with shoulders slumped and enthusiasm dampened had made Darcy question whether his interference had truly ended or simply taken a different form.
The study door opened behind him, admitting his cousin with a quiet click of the latch. Darcy turned from the window to find Fitzwilliam standing just inside the threshold, his expression showing conflict that immediately put Darcy on alert. His cousin typically wore his feelings more openly than Darcy managed, but this level of visible uncertainty suggested something significant weighed on his mind.
“Come in,” Darcy said, gesturing toward the chairs positioned before his desk. “You look as though you need brandy and conversation, possibly in that order.”
Fitzwilliam settled into one of the offered chairs with heaviness that spoke of more than physical fatigue. “Brandy would not be unwelcome,” he admitted, accepting the glass Darcy poured from the decanter kept on the sideboard for just such occasions.
They drank in silence for a moment, rain continuing its percussion against the windows while Darcy waited for his cousin to find whatever words he had come to speak. Fitzwilliam had been a frequent visitor this past week, ostensibly calling to discuss Anne’s removal to Bath and ensure Mrs. Jenkinson was put on the ship to India. But Darcy had noticed howFitzwilliam’s gaze followed Jane Bennet’s movements with attention that went beyond polite interest.
“I need to speak with you about a delicate matter,” Fitzwilliam said finally, setting down his glass with care that suggested he needed something to focus on beyond Darcy’s face. “Something that concerns your wife’s sister, Miss Bennet.”
Darcy nodded, unsurprised. So his observations had been correct, his cousin’s increased visits not merely about family obligation but about Jane herself. He leaned back in his chair, adopting a posture of receptive attention rather than speaking immediately. Whatever Fitzwilliam needed to confess would come more easily without interruption.
Fitzwilliam’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair, his jaw working as though testing words before allowing them to emerge. “I have developed feelings for her,” he said at last, the admission emerging with quiet intensity. “For Miss Bennet. Jane. I have tried to suppress them, particularly knowing you had written to Bingley. I had thought, if he and Miss Bennet rekindled their attachment, that I would step aside. That his prior claim took precedence over my more recent regard.”
He stood abruptly, moving to the window where Darcy had been standing moments before. Rain obscured whatever view he sought, but Fitzwilliam seemed to need the distance, the excuse to turn away from Darcy’s scrutiny.
“She has a depth of character I have rarely encountered,” Fitzwilliam continued, his voice low and earnest. “Genuine kindness without pretence, intelligence without displaying it for effect. She listens when others speak, truly listens rather than simply waiting for her turn to talk. And her composure under extraordinary circumstances.” He paused, clearly thinking of Jane’s role in reversing the body swap, in helping Elizabeth when everything seemed impossible. “She remained steadywhen most would have collapsed into hysteria. That suggests strength I find deeply admirable.”
Darcy set down his own glass, rising to join his cousin at the window. They stood side by side, both watching rain blur the London street beyond the glass while Darcy considered his response. Fitzwilliam’s feelings were genuine, that much was clear. And Darcy had observed enough of Jane’s manner around his cousin to suspect those feelings might be returned, or at least had potential to develop into something mutual.
“Bingley’s visit did not go as he hoped,” Darcy said quietly, choosing words with care. “Elizabeth tells me that Jane was polite but distant, that her feelings for him have cooled significantly during their separation. I do not think you need worry about prior claims or stepping aside for his sake.”
Fitzwilliam turned to look at him, hope and uncertainty warring in his expression. “You are certain? I would not wish to pursue Miss Bennet if she harbours feelings for Bingley, regardless of whether those feelings are currently reciprocated.”
“I am certain,” Darcy replied firmly. “Jane Bennet is not the sort of woman to encourage one man’s attentions while pining for another. If she has shown you warmth, if she has responded positively to your company, then her feelings for Bingley have indeed faded, and from what Elizabeth told me, Jane was clear, if kind, in demonstrating that to Bingley this afternoon.”
He clapped his cousin on the shoulder, feeling genuine pleasure at the prospect of this match. “She would make you a wonderful wife, Richard. And you would make her an excellent husband. Better than Bingley would have done, I think. He is amiable and good-hearted, but you have depth he lacks. Maturity born of military service and genuine trials. Jane deserves someone who can appreciate her strength rather than simply admiring her beauty.”
Fitzwilliam’s expression showed gratitude mixed with remaining uncertainty. “But what of Bingley? He is your friend, and I do not wish to cause him pain.”
Darcy considered this question with the seriousness it deserved. Bingley was indeed his friend, had been for several years now, and Darcy still harboured guilt over his role in separating Jane and Bingley in the first place. But friendship did not require sacrificing his cousin’s happiness to preserve Bingley’s hopes, and Darcy’s guilt had no bearing on the choices of Jane Bennet’s heart.
“Bingley is young,” Darcy said finally. “He will recover from his disappointment. His feelings, while genuine, did not have time to deepen into the sort of lasting attachment that would make loss truly devastating. He was separated from Jane for months without any apparent decline in his spirits or health. That suggests his feelings, however real, are not so profound that their frustration will cause lasting harm.”
He moved back to his desk, gesturing for Fitzwilliam to retake his seat. When both were settled again, Darcy leaned forward with his elbows on the desk, his expression showing the earnestness he reserved for matters of true importance.
“We must talk practicalities, though,” Darcy continued. “You are a second son, and while I know your father will not see you left entirely without, I know the Matlock estates are mostly entailed and they hoped you would marry well. Where do you propose to live, if you marry Jane Bennet?”
Fitzwilliam reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a letter whose paper showed wear that suggested it had been read multiple times. “That is something I meant to tell you. Part of why I felt emboldened to consider courting Miss Bennet despite my position as a second son.” He smoothed the letter on his knee, his expression showing satisfaction mixed with continuing disbelief. “My maternal grandparents have made me their heir.The estate is in Nottinghamshire, not grand by your standards but respectable. Four thousand a year once my grandfather passes, and in the meantime, they have settled a thousand pounds per annum on me immediately.”
Darcy felt his eyebrows rise with genuine surprise. “Richard, that is excellent news. Why did you not mention this sooner?”
“I only received the letter three days ago,” Fitzwilliam replied, tucking the paper back into his pocket. “My grandfather’s health has been declining, and he wanted to settle his affairs while he retained full capacity. They had no wish to see the property broken up or sold after their deaths. They had only daughters, no sons, and of their several grandsons, I am the only one without significant fortune of my own. Making me their heir both secures my future and ensures the estate remains in the family.”
He looked up at Darcy with expression that showed both pride and remaining vulnerability. “So you see, I can offer Miss Bennet a comfortable life. Not luxury, perhaps, but security and respectability. A good home, connections that would not shame her, and genuine affection from a husband who values her for more than simply her beauty or amiability.”
“Then you should court her,” Darcy said firmly. “With my blessing and, I suspect, with Elizabeth’s enthusiastic support once she learns of your intentions. Jane deserves happiness with someone who truly appreciates her character, and you deserve happiness with a woman who can meet you as an equal rather than simply an advantageous match.”
Fitzwilliam’s face showed relief so profound that it transformed his features, years seeming to drop away as tension released. “Thank you, Darcy. Your support means more than I can adequately express.”
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation, a servant entering to announce that dinner was ready to be served. They rose together, Darcy feeling satisfaction settle over himas they moved toward the door. His cousin had found genuine affection with a woman worthy of that affection. Jane would gain a husband who appreciated her strength and character. And perhaps, in some small way, this match would help atone for the harm Darcy’s interference had caused months ago in separating Jane and Bingley.
Elizabeth sat in Darcy House’s elegant parlour with Georgiana, their needlework spread across their laps while they spoke in quiet tones that seemed appropriate to the peaceful atmosphere. This had become their habit over the past few days, spending an hour or two together each afternoon while Darcy attended to business matters in his study, and Jane went for a walk or drive with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth found she genuinely enjoyed her new sister’s company, appreciated the gentle sweetness that lay beneath Georgiana’s painful shyness.
