His friend frowned. “I cannot think what you mean, but let me ask you this: what if it does not? What if you are exactly what she needs?” After a moment, he added, “What if she is exactly whatyouneed?”
Darcy could not answer. The conflict within him burned too fiercely. They reached the stables and dismounted. Fitzwilliam’s familiar voice reached them before his figure emerged from the shadows. “Am I interrupting something?”
Darcy straightened, masking his turmoil. “Not at all.”
Fitzwilliam stepped forward, his expression uncharacteristically serious. He held a letter in his hand. “Darcy, I require a word.”
Bingley glanced between the two men, his curiosity evident. “I will leave you to it, then. I shall see you both at dinner.”
Darcy inclined his head as Bingley departed, then turned to Fitzwilliam. “What is it?”
His cousin fell into step beside him as they walked back toward the house. “You look as though you have been wrestling with a few demons, cousin.”
Darcy sighed. “It is nothing I cannot manage.”
“Of course,” Fitzwilliam replied dryly. “Because you are ever so adept at managing matters of the heart. You know you cannot act.”
He knew all too well. “Do you have actual news, or were you merely seeking a private moment to hound me?”
“A response came to one of our general inquiries about Warwickshire. It appears the man Mr. Bennet’s father allowed to take over the living he had been promised is still there.” Fitzwilliam handed him the letter.
Darcy’s heartbeat quickened as he unfolded the paper. The message was brief but clear: an elderly pastor who lived near Warton, in northern Warwickshire, claimed to have been James Bennet’s curate and was willing to share what he knew. But he wished to meet those who were seeking the information.
“This could provide the answers we need,” Darcy said, his voice low. “But it will require travel.”
Fitzwilliam nodded. “I thought as much. We should leave tomorrow.” He paused. “Georgiana will request to accompany us.”
“We cannot ask Mrs. Annesley to make such a journey, and we cannot leave her here alone. Georgiana will stay. We will need to inform Bingley,” Darcy said.
“Why? We can simply leave after he does. The wedding—”
“Is the twenty-ninth. If we leave tomorrow, we shall have more than a week to make the journey.”
Fitzwilliam paused. “It is a great deal of ground to cover in a week.”
“Two days up, one day there, two days back. Plenty of time.” Darcy glanced away, avoiding his cousin’s gaze.
“It is winter. The trip may take longer.”
He grunted. “If I do not know, one way or the other, I cannot remain here.”
His cousin’s expression cleared. “You need an excuse to remove yourself from Miss Elizabeth’s company.”
Darcy remained silent this time. It was obvious enough. His confirmation was not required.
“I did not realise you were so far gone.” His cousin rubbed the back of his neck. “We will tell Bingley you have business to attend but that you will be back before the wedding. That much is true.”
“He will suspect more,” Darcy said, but he did not press the matter further.
Bingley trusted him, and he was preparing to deceive his friend, even if the deception was born of necessity. It did not sit well with him. “We will return in time for the wedding,” he repeated, more to himself than to Fitzwilliam.
Fitzwilliam nodded. “We could ignore the information. Get on with our lives.”
His cousin offered him this escape at every turn, but he would also abide by Darcy’s answer. Darcy folded the letter carefully and slipped it into his coat. “I will speak to Georgiana. We shall leave at first light.”
Chapter Twenty
Elizabeth sat in the parlour, the low hum of activity swirling around her as her mother and Jane pored over plans for the wedding breakfast, which was growing more elaborate with every day. It was fortunate the wedding was now less than a week away.
