I sought distraction and was mortified to hear my voice cracking like a fifteen-year-old when I spoke. “If you please. What think you of the Greek philosophers? As excessively dry and prosy as my old Cambridge texts?”
“On the contrary! Why, of all Western thought, the Athenians prove most insightful regarding human sentiment balanced with reason.”
“Indeed?” I guided my horse around a rut, intrigued by her unconventional assertion. “Pray, enlighten this dull scholar on examples of sentiment’s superiority to logic.”
“Very well, prepare for a sound thrashing!” Laughing softly, Elizabeth launched into a spirited defense of emotions and moral intuition guiding conscience. And I found it…
Instructive.
Twenty-One
Darcy
IstrodethroughPemberley’sechoing corridors, sunk in restless reflections that had plagued me since yesterday’s encounter with Elizabeth at the folly. How blindly I had underestimated the depth of feeling renewing my acquaintance with Elizabeth might stir! Alternating fury at her uncle’s mysterious interference and piercing remorse over enforcing another exile warred ceaselessly in my breast. I wanted to bring her back under Pemberley’s roof, where she belonged, and never again let her go.
Foolish dreaming! With position and prospects worlds apart, harsh reality must govern us both. Neither character nor obligation permitted encouraging anything more than presently existed. I had sworn guardianship of George’s future when I inherited my father’s name, and thanks to him, I owed Elizabeth’s future the same consideration.
And yet... Unbidden rose sensations of a lithe figure tucked trustingly against me, tangled hair tickling my chin with laughter on the summer wind... Unnerving flares of protectiveness and startling awareness awakened at each newly unveiled facet of the woman she had become... The odd kick in my pulse, watching her eyes light as we debated poets and philosophy... What powerful force was at work shifting my view of Elizabeth from childhood friend to compelling temptation no defenses could resist?
I halted to grip the sill, scowling fiercely out at the land–my heritage, the reason I had to act rationally. My feelings mattered not! With secrets still shadowing her birth and George’s prospects at a delicate point, sober duty must steer every action. There lay safety as well as rightness. I had no time for tender folly, however tempting dreams whispered.
Sharp bootheels echoed down the corridor, sparing me from further eviscerating myself over things I could not control. I turned with relief, expecting the steward with the post. But my heart sank, realizing the approaching stride spelled nothing but trouble—the toes were dragging, and the heels still managing to stomp in a way I knew too well.
“George!” I moved to intercept him, my pulse quickening at the feverish look in his eyes. “I am glad to see you returned. How was—”
My brother burst past without stopping. “Yes, yes, you may all cease clucking over the prodigal’s return! I am sure Belmont holds me vastly negligent, but it matters little now.” He stormed on toward his chamber, coattails whipping violently round corners.
“George, enough!” Striding after him, I grasped his shoulder only to meet a threatening scowl. “For pity’s sake, what is amiss? Did the party not find Dovedale’s delights sufficient?”
He barked caustic laughter without slowing. “Oh, indeed! Rocks and dales proved fair enough when one could view them unobstructed.”
I blinked in confusion, matching his rapid pace down the upper hall. “Your anger seems less directed at landscapes than companions. Did Belmont offer some criticism—”
“Belmont’s was not the discourse proving most offensive, no!” George rounded abruptly, gold hair in wild disarray. “Must Lucilla drag half the countryside to act as her attendant when we made particular plans to talk privately? Every turn, I found some cursed officious elder ready to play audience!”
My throat tightened at this unprecedented outburst against his beloved. “Come, the size of the party was no mystery when you set out together...” Something in his look turned my stomach. He wasnotsuch a fool as to call it off now. Or was he? “What can have occurred to provoke this dramatic shift? Can you not... reconcile your differences discreetly?”
But George only snorted. “Reconcile, indeed! As though meek tolerance repairs wounds dealt so sweetly by a skilled hand!” His wild laugh turned mocking. “Oh, she anoints every cut with healing balm in case I faint from the shock.” He made short work of neck cloth and cuffs, bitterness twisting each savage motion. “Thank heaven such exquisite courtesy arms us for married life. Hah! I can see myself already, kowtowing my obeisance to Lord Belmont’s august bidding whenever he should choose!”
I pulled the decanter firmly from his reach as he lunged past toward it. “You are testing my patience, George. I urge you to think before acting or speaking in anger—”
“Think!” He rounded furiously, fists clenching at his sides. “A fine counselor you prove, delivering that prescription so liberally lately! Tell me, oh Wise One—if all thought of self lay chained below decks, would your heart sail smoothly on its virtuous course with no contrary wind ever tempting it to revolt?”
I fell back, stricken. How had George, the most careless of all men, managed to level this unexpected insight with such blistering accuracy? Before my voice returned, George had vanished down the hall, leaving accusing echoes in his wake.
I stared blanky after him for several minutes. A drink. I needed a drink.
I eventually found myself in my dim study—the room where my father had spent most of his days—seeking direction from his darkened portrait. What the devil was I to do? But his stern eyes offered no guidance.
A horrible suspicion jarred me upright. Father had sent Elizabeth away not in cruelty but clear-eyed calculation! Hehadseen it—the youthful affection that once ignited between his ward and second son, and he chose to stop it before it could grow into flames that threatened Pemberley’s future stability. Choosing to defend family dignity over young hopes was precisely the pragmatic decision that would haunt him for the rest of his days. He never was right again after Mother died, and he was even worse when Elizabeth left. Because he blamed himself for the unhappiness he must have known she bore.
And here I was, prepared to do the same all over again.
I dropped my head into both hands. God forgive my ruthless designs, much as I had judged them needful! Were it not for George’s commitment to Lady Lucilla—a fanciful attachment I still struggled to credit—I would have to let them have their way. But as it was…
Elizabeth
Themorninglightofferedlittle warmth—or promise—filtering through my bedchamber windows. Like the landscape, I felt suspended between the seasons, my heart pitching between budding hopes with old friends and my uncle’s ominous warnings.
