Darcy knew his assurances would not please Georgiana and possibly would be contrary to Elizabeth’s wishes as well, but he did not believe he had a choice. How would he explain it to Bingley? Neither, he admitted to himself, did he wish to end Elizabeth’s time at Pemberley before it was necessary. As far as he could tell, the situation was not particularly burdensome to his sister. She hardly spent time with them apart from at meals and for an hour or so in the evening. While she was not treating Elizabeth with the friendliness she had when they firstmet, she was not displaying any of her worrying behaviours either; thus he felt justified in his confidence that her health was improving.
Elizabeth was pleased for Jane and Bingley. Currently, all there was for her to do was hope that Larch Lane proved to be just as attractive upon second viewing and study of the estate details—tasks Bingley would undertake with Mr Darcy’s assistance. Larch Lane was by far the most suitable property they had encountered, offered everything Jane particularly wanted regarding size and number of rooms, and, having been well-maintained, would require little renovation. As for Elizabeth, she would be happy to live there, should that be her future. Its proximity to Pemberley meant nothing to her. She knew Bingley would maintain his friendship with Mr Darcy, but that did not mean she would have to join him and Jane when they visited or do more than exchange polite nothings with him should he visit Larch Lane. If she had learnt anything from the walk she had taken the day before with Mr Darcy, it was that shehadto be more resolute, to put a firmer barrier between them.
In the drawing room that evening, weary and annoyed by feeling awkward, she decided to play the pianoforte. She asked if anyone objected, and no one did. Much of the music by the instrument was unfamiliar to her, some of it far beyond her skill level, but she found a few pieces she was familiar with and began with a sonata by Corelli. She was some way through it when Mr Darcy appeared by her side.
“Shall I turn the pages for you?”
His voice was low and warm. It was improbable anyone would overhear their conversation, given the pianoforte was at the opposite side of the long room from where their families sat, but still, despite how much she was enticed by his presence, she did not want him there. It frustrated her that he had come, but she refrained from ordering him to leave her be.
“That is very kind of you but not necessary.”
“Yet, I would like to.”
Elizabeth did not respond and continued playing. The instrument was far superior to any in Meryton, and she recalled how delighted she had been to use it the previous year and the occasions she had turned the pages for Miss Darcy while she performed. The evenings the Gardiners and she had spent at Pemberley had meant so much to her. She had begun to imagine how happy they would be living there together, she and Mr Darcy in love and creating a prosperous future for their family, and Miss Darcy as her younger sister, whom she would guide and support as she emerged from the blanket of reserve and anxiety under which she had sought refuge. Little had Elizabeth understood at the time what was behind Miss Darcy’s demeanour!
Glancing in her direction, Elizabeth saw that the young woman’s eyes were fixed on her, her brow furrowed and lips pinched tightly. “You should go to your sister. She is uneasy.”
He looked over his shoulder at Miss Darcy before turning again to the music he was supposedly following to assist her, though she had needed to remind him when to turn the last page. He sighed.
“If you worry it distresses me, you need not,” Elizabeth said.
“This entire situation distressesme.”
“It is not your sister’s fault,” she insisted, despite doubting he blamed her.
“I never thought otherwise. She is entitled to her feelings, and I know she cannot simply alter them. My difficulty is in wanting to have a reasoned discussion of the situation and finding it impossible. Not only with Georgiana but also with Fitzwilliam.”
“He is attempting to protect her and make her well. That is surely his purpose, as I know it is yours.” Elizabeth found herself wanting to assure him she understood his actions and that he was doing the best he could, given the circumstances.
He gave a dark laugh. “I have done little else the past two years but strive to do just that. She requires it, I do not deny that, nor do I resent it. I would doanythingto ensure her well-being. I have consulted every doctor, every person who believes they can help her, and I shall continue to do so. You know better than anyone what I have given up to protect her delicate health. We are all protecting Bingley from discovering what happened, and I am beginning to fear where that will end. Do you never think we are so busy protecting others that we have forgotten what is best forusand that there must be a compromise between the two? I willneverabandon Georgiana, neither do I expect her to miraculously be strong after a good night’s sleep, but I do not believe the current situation and how my cousin and aunt and uncle insist on acting is in her best interest.”
Elizabeth unintentionally played the wrong notes, and she busied herself looking through the music as though searching for a different piece to play, despite not having finished the last one. “You are angry.”
“Of course I am!” he said. “I am angry that I failed my sister and left her exposed to Wickham, and I am angry that Ican do so little to help her, and I am angry that because of how he acted, I have lost my chance of happiness. I long to beg you to promise yourself to me, even though I do not know when we would be able to marry. I do not do so because it would be wrong of me to expect you to give up your life for a dream that I can only hope will one day become possible—not that you would agree to such an arrangement. And because I shall not ask, and you would not agree, I have lost you. Or do you deny it?”
The conversation was clearly increasingly agitating him, and it was little different for Elizabeth. She gathered the sheets of music into a neat pile and stood. Before leaving him, she said, “Do you not realise your sister knows you are unhappy and that is making her even more wretched? She loves you dearly. I could see that last summer, and it must be tearing her apart to feel she is the cause of your present ill temper. I assume she believes it isheryou are angry with, andshewho has most disappointed you.”
This realisation was born of the conversation Miss Darcy and Elizabeth had shared two days earlier. Elizabeth had thought Miss Darcy wanted Elizabeth to blame her, and it struck her that the poor girl truly expected that everyone did, or at least that they should, because she did herself. This was not the time or place for her to discuss the matter further with Mr Darcy, and possibly there never would be one. What she did know was that it was wrong for them to continue their present discussion where Miss Darcy and Bingley would see that they had grown serious and wonder why.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Darcy took a long, solitary ride early the next morning. He needed the time alone to clear his thoughts and prepare for another day of seeing Elizabeth. Her being at Pemberley was more difficult than he had imagined it would be. It seemed that each hour he was growing more vexed by the situation, but he had nowhere to safely direct his destructive sentiments, which meant he kept them inside himself, an ugly malevolent mass growing steadily larger.
Bingley and he would go to Larch Lane the next day, and Darcy had decided to hint that his friend should not extend his stay at Pemberley much longer. It would pain him to say goodbye to Elizabeth again, but it would be for the best—for her, for him, and certainly for Georgiana, who was growing increasingly uncomfortable. He had tried to avoid admitting it, but it was irresponsible not to; his first duty must be to her.
The ride helped, and he was much better prepared to be with his guests and sister when they met at breakfast. Heasked Mrs Bingley whether she had settled on any plans for the day.
“Bingley has promised to take me on a tour of the neighbourhood and to Lambton. Did he not tell you? He was supposed to ask whether you and Miss Darcy would like to join us.” She gave her husband a look of fond reproof, and Darcy envied their easy relationship.
Bingley chuckled and finished chewing and swallowing the large piece of toast he had just eaten. “It appears I forgot. My apologies. What better way to occupy ourselves on such a fine day, eh? Lizzy will come with us. What say you? Does it not sound amusing?”
Darcy did not need to ask Georgiana’s opinion. “I thank you for inviting us, but I believe we should remain behind. My steward has left me some letters and such to review.” Making an excuse for Georgiana was on the tip of his tongue, but it would be false and doubtless evidently so. He did not wish to insult their companions.
“Oh, that is a shame. We understand, of course. We would not wish to disrupt your work or Miss Darcy’s studies more than necessary,” Mrs Bingley said. To Georgiana, she continued, “I promise we shall not trespass on your hospitality much longer, shall we, Bingley?”
The look she gave her husband suggested it was a conversation they had already had. Darcy could have kissed her; he might not be required to have an awkward conversation with his friend after all. He wondered how often he had underrated Mrs Bingley. He could never view her as favourably as he did Elizabeth, but beneath her beauty and smiles, the lady was intelligent and sensible. While she coaxed Georgiana into telling her a little of her favourite places around Pemberley, Darcy surreptitiously observed Elizabeth, who met his eyeseveral times. She looked tired and sad, and he hated to see it. It confirmed to him that she must leave as soon as possible, as distressing as their separation would be.
The Bingleys and Elizabeth were still out when an unexpected guest arrived: Fitzwilliam. The butler, Hudson, brought Darcy the news. Darcy stared at the servant for a moment, wondering whether he had heard him correctly. Sufficiently regaining his composure, he set aside his pen.
