Page 40 of Master of Himself

Dear Lord. His assumption that he and Charles had avoided being the topic of conversation in the community had been entirely mistaken. At least Charles had made Darcy appear more likeable. “Darcy is sometimes ill at ease with strangers. He feels more comfortable now that he is better acquainted with the neighbours,” he said, then added, “I would imagine.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I hope we’ll see you all at the assembly next week.”

He was struck by this earnest appeal. Yes, he could definitely get lost in those dark, expressive eyes. Perhaps dancing with this enchantress wouldn’t be the cheerless duty he had always supposed. In any case, Bingley wouldn’t permit him to sit out. “Everyone seemed to be in attendance last time.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “True, but gentlemen are always in short supply. Your friend’s refusal to dance or even accept introductions didn’t go unnoticed.”

He suppressed a groan. This was yet another reminder that he had acted like a top-lofty snob that night. “Are there no eligible young men in the neighbourhood?”

She sadly shook her head. “John Lucas resides in town, William Goulding is away at university, and Herbert Robinson was lost in the war.”

He recalled the man who walked with the aid of a walking stick. “I didn’t know Mr Robinson had lost a son.”

“Yes, he’s a widower and had only one child.”

Darcy couldn’t imagine suffering such a terrible loss. As the master of Pemberley, it was his duty to marry and sire an heir. But what if he never returned to his true self? Georgiana would inherit, and upon her marriage, her husband would assume control of the estate. Would Pemberley fall to ruin?

“You seem out of sorts, Mr Bingley.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair. “That’s because I’m not Bingley, I’m Darcy,” he said, now entirely out of patience with the current state of affairs.

She blinked in confusion. “Are you unwell, Mr Bingley? Should I send a footman to summon Mr Darcy?”

Her worried brow brought him back to his senses. Dear God—what had he been thinking?

“No, no,” he said, attempting to cover for his unintended slip. “I was merely being morose, and beg you to disregard it.”

She released a soft sigh. “I suppose we’re all bound to be out of sorts from time to time. After all, one can’t be continuously cheerful.”

“No, indeed.”

“Are your sisters well?”

Although relieved by her adept change of subject, he despaired at her reference to Charles’s abominable sisters. “They are both in excellent health,” he said, then added, “I hope you took no offence to them. They can sometimes be a bit…much.”

She offered a knowing smile. “Sometimes I wish my younger sisters had better control of themselves. You undoubtedly noticed their abysmal behaviour when they visited Netherfield with my mother. They often have trouble controlling their outbursts.”

“Yes, well, we love our sisters despite their foibles, do we not?” he said, recalling the unfortunate Ramsgate incident.

“We do, without question.”

How he would enjoy introducing her to Georgiana. His dear, sweet sister would appreciate Elizabeth’s bright, intelligent humour.

Wait—he’d never once thought to introduce Georgiana to any of the scores of women he had met in the past. How had Elizabeth suddenly inspired this notion? For that matter, neither had he dreamt of any other lady. How had she imposed on his innermost thoughts without the smallest effort?

These diverting questions were interrupted by thunder rumbling in the distance.

Turning his gaze upwards, no trace of an approaching storm appeared in the clear blue sky. Was this yet another mysterious signal from the hooded man? Had Darcy offended him or erred in some way?

Gazing at Elizabeth, he doubted she believed in the occult. No, she was far too sensible for such folly. “Have you ever had a problem that seemed insurmountable, Miss Elizabeth?”

She nodded her ready agreement. “It vexes you for days until the solution finally presents itself, and you wonder why you hadn’t thought of it sooner.”

Marvelling at her relaxed demeanour and knowing smile, Darcy wondered how he could have ever doubted her beauty. He now considered her a treasure he might never have discovered, if not for his friend’s generous invitation.

Her smile vanished, and she stood abruptly, prompting him to rise. “I must go or I’ll miss breakfast.” She thanked him for his visit, then took her leave and rushed away.

As he watched her traipse through the tall grass, he wondered if this had been a storm of his own making. He hated being the topic of conversation, but he had been entirely to blame for inspiring the neighbours’ comments yesterday at church. He ought to have known that an improved Darcy wouldn’t be as noteworthy as a reserved, cheerless Bingley. To prevent further speculation, he had to take more care the next time he went out in public, especially at the next assembly.