Page 8

I keep my eyes upon the inkstand. "So I understand."

"A headache, Mrs. Collins said. I was sorry for it. I like Miss Bennet. She is the only creature in Kent who laughs at our aunt and contrives not to be caught." He pauses. "We had a long walk this morning, she and I. In the grove."

"Did you."

"I told her about you, as it happens. All to your credit."

I look up.

Fitzwilliam smiles, very pleased with himself. "How you saved Bingley from a most imprudent marriage last autumn. Strong objections against the lady, I said. Dashed good of you. She seemed very struck by it."

The room goes quiet. Even the candle seems to hold its breath.

"You told her that," I say.

"Was it a secret? I thought it did you credit." He sees my face, and the smile fades. "Darcy. What is it?"

Do you think any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?

She had known it since this morning. She had heard it from my own cousin's lips, in the very grove where I have walked every morning hoping to meet her. And this evening I walked into Mrs. Collins's parlor and told her I loved her in spite of her family.

Her family. Her sister's family.

"Nothing," I say. "It is nothing."

"You have gone the color of that paper."

"I am tired."

"Then go to bed."

"When I have finished."

Fitzwilliam looks at me for a long moment. He has known me since we were boys stealing apples at Pemberley, and he has always known when I am lying. He has also always known when to let me.

"Whatever this is," he says at last, "you need not carry it alone."

"I know it."

"But you will."

"It will not do to discuss it, Fitzwilliam."

"No. It never does, with you." He sighs and takes up his candle. At the door he turns back. "I hear you have ordered the black for first light."

"I have."

"Our aunt already thinks you have turned highwayman. She said so in the hall, to the Collinses, before your footman was halfway down the stairs. Mr. Collins agreed with her twice."

"Our aunt may think what she pleases."

"She generally does." He opens the door. "Good night, Darcy. Try not to set the house afire."

The door closes. I turn the sheet over and write until the candle is a stub, and then I light another. I rise, and pace, and sit again. Twice I go to the window and back. The floor of my aunt's guest chamber is very old, and it remarks upon every step.

***

At some unholy hour there is a scratch at the door, and Lowe comes in with a tray.