Page 42 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

Once more, Mr. Voles reviewed the notes, inspecting every page before he tucked the papers inside the folder he carried under his arm. “The items inside the house seem to be in order. However, we shall have to continue with the livestock and the stores. Perhaps Mr. Bennet would see fit to accompany us.” Mr. Bennet did not look at all inclined to accompany them. In fact, his pallor moved Darcy to reach for the decanter to refill his glass.

“Do you wish to see the accounts?” Elizabeth asked, moving toward her window desk to retrieve the ledger, buying her father time.

“No need,” replied Mr. Voles. “The monies have already been seized and deducted from the debt.”

Elizabeth froze, and Darcy thought he saw the color draining from her face. “It is not enough.”

Mr. Voles was pleased to inform her otherwise. “To the contrary, the sum went a long way in reducing the debt, though I regret to say it was not sufficient to satisfy the full amount.”

Mr. Bennet’s hand shook as he reached for his glass and raised it to his lips. He did not look at Elizabeth, who stared at him with her jaw open, her breath quick and shaking.

Darcy’s place was with Mr. Bennet, but one look at Elizabeth altered his plans. Supporting Mr. Bennet’s arm, he assisted him out of his chair, offering the gentleman no alternative but to lead the way to the stables and take their distressing callers with him. As soon as he had herded them through the door, he turned to Elizabeth. Skin ashen, she sank into her father’s abandoned chair and buried her face in her hands. Tears spilled through her fingers.

Without a word, Darcy poured her a glass of brandy. Kneeling at her side, he held it in front of her lips. “Drink slowly,” he said softly, pulling his handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbing her cheeks dry.

She grabbed the handkerchief and swiped angrily at her skin, nearly upsetting the glass as she did. “He promised he would move our income. He promised, he spent a day in town, and still he could not trouble himself to act on our behalf.” She swallowed hard. “What you must think of us…” She left her sentence unfinished, reaching instead for the brandy.

Darcy let her take it from him, understanding her need to act on her own. “I have nothing but the utmost respect for you.”

She took a sip, coughed, and then took another. A fire in her eyes gleamed, adding color to her complexion. He took the glass, fearing she might smash it, so impassioned did she appear. “For me. Not for my father.”

“It does not matter what I think of him. It serves no purpose,” Darcy said cautiously.

The sound of laughter spilled from the drawing room, and Elizabeth glanced at the door with a fierce scowl. He rose to his feet and closed the door as far as he dared.

No sooner had he turned to face her than she shot to her feet and began pacing behind her father’s desk. “I am so…” She balled her hands into fists, her nostrils flared, and she looked for all the world like she wished to scream. Standing opposite her, Darcy waited for her to continue. “If I did not manage Longbourn, we would truly have nothing. Me and my sisters, my mother…” She took a deep breath, her tone bitter with disappointment. “He would do nothing to improve our prospects or prepare for our futures once he is gone. All these years, I thought he indulged me, allowed me greater freedom.” Her voice cracked. “I really thought he would keep this promise. I trusted him.” Her chin quivered and she buried her face in Darcy’s handkerchief.

Feeling inept and helpless, Darcy stood on the other side of the desk. He considered pouring her more brandy or sending for tea, then instantly dismissed those ideas. Not knowing what else to do but moved to do something, he rounded the desk and wrapped his arms around her trembling body. He felt her tense, then relax, and then the sobs intensified. The floodgates had been let loose. Fearing he had made the wrong choice, he shifted his weight away until he felt the pull of her grip against the lapels of his coat, holding him in place. Shifting forward, he pressed his cheek against the top of her head and held her, wishing he could make all of her worries disappear, longing to comfort her when seeing her at her worst. Still, she was the most marvelous woman he had ever known.

He loved her. The realization gave him purpose even as it multiplied his guilt. He had the gift of insight into her true character, tested under duress, and what did she have of him? She did not even know his real name. Could she return his affection, knowing what he had done?

She stilled, and Darcy instinctively loosened his embrace. When she stepped away, his chest was damp and cold. She looked embarrassed, and it pained him that his presence brought her discomfort. “Mr. Robinson, I…my apologies…”

He extended his hand to her, his eyes urging her to accept his gesture. Hesitantly, she placed her hand in his. Stepping closer, he placed their joined hands against his heart. “I will not abuse your confidence. Nothing you have said to me or done in my presence will be used against you by me, on my honor.” She raised her head slightly. “Furthermore, I wish for you to understand that the difficulties I see you traversing have not lessened you in my estimation. To the contrary, I think very highly of you.”

Her eyes locked on his. They might have been standing on the London wharf surrounded by shouting crowds, and Darcy would have felt they were the only two people in existence. Her lips parted, and he became overwhelmingly aware of their plumpness. Her breath went shallow.

A tap rapped against the door, and the barrier swung open. “Lizzy? What are you doing in here with Mr. Robinson?” Miss Bennet looked accusingly between the two of them, leaving Darcy to wonder just how much she had seen or heard. They were standing close. Too close. Tears stained Elizabeth’s cheeks, and her hair was disheveled where his cheek had pressed against it.

“Mr. Robinson was leaving to join Papa at the stables,” Elizabeth said, dismissing him and facing her disapproving sister.

Darcy did as he was bid, the consequences of his behavior sitting like salt in an open wound that intensified when he heard Wickham’s laughter floating down the hall on his way out of the house.

CHAPTER 23

Although Elizabeth kept her eyes on Jane, she watched Robinson in her periphery until he disappeared, and she listened for his step until it, too, faded. His steadiness comforted her more than anything else she could imagine. She may have effectively dismissed him from the room, but she already anticipated his return and the peace his presence brought to her heart.

Jane understood none of this. She fixed Elizabeth with a stony glare, expressing her disapproval without a word. Elizabeth resisted the urge to tuck his handkerchief behind her back. She had done nothing wrong.

Once the front door squeaked closed behind him, Jane spoke. “You will stay away from Mr. Robinson.” It was a command, firmly delivered.

Elizabeth balked at the ignorance of her sister’s demand. “Mr. Robinson requires my assistance on an urgent matter that is affecting our household as we speak. For your sake, I cannot avoid his company until the trouble has been resolved.”

Jane stretched up. “Trouble? Papa has told me of no trouble.” True, Elizabeth had done her best to conceal the evidence of the predicament they were in, but she found it difficult to believe that Jane did not have some suspicion that something was awry. How else could she explain Papa’s sudden need for a secretary? How else could she explain the hours of time Elizabeth had spent bent over ledgers and sorting through rooms at Longbourn over the past two weeks?

Father had done them a grave disservice, keeping them in obscurity. The news might have been broken to them gently a week ago. But now? With Mr. Voles and the bailiff on the property?

Jane’s gaze hardened. “If we were truly in some difficulty, Papa would have told me, his firstborn. As his eldest and most sensible daughter, he would have confided in me so that I might tell Mama in the gentlest way possible.”