His most recent letter cut deepest of all, demanding I quit this place, however it wounded me. How could he justify wresting away the restored ties I had but tasted? Yet his words allowed no doubt. If I stayed, harm would surely follow. And so, I must go, marching off like an obedient soldier to shield those nameless “others” now deemed at risk.
I moved slowly through the fragrant lavender rows, secateurs limply dangling. I had beaten my pillow most of the night, but by dawn, I had reached some level of acceptance for what Uncle asked of me… along with some rather confused sentiments regarding the Darcy brothers. George would forever own youth’s glowing memories and the first sweet awakenings of love. Yet something in Fitzwilliam’s eyes yesterday… the strong arms that had held me against his chest in the saddle, the way he had debated with me… laughed with me… listened to me… The depths I could see in his character left my poor dear George looking terribly pitiful, indeed.
My wayward thoughts strayed too often to that strong, steady presence. Was I disloyal? Or was it just the natural appreciation any woman would have for a man such as Fitzwilliam Darcy had become? Oh, but surely, it was foolish. Why, Fitzwilliam was the heir! The Darcy, the one who carried the responsibility of continuing the family line by marrying an heiress worthy of his station. My sights must naturally rest… somewhere lower.
Sudden hoofbeats and a beloved voice shattered sweet reverie. My foolish heart lurched wildly even as pleasure surged seeing George leap the hedge on that shining chestnut of his. I drank in lively eyes and wind-tousled hair, golden as nostalgia itself.
“Lizzy!” In three eager strides, he had captured my nerveless hands, sending the gardening shears tumbling unheeded amidst blossoms. “Thank heaven I caught you unattended.” He searched my bemused face intently. “Might we speak privately? There is much to say and scarce liberty to unburden myself fully.”
This was not the George I knew. All pleasure at his arrival evaporated like the dawn mist as I searched his countenance with growing worry. My pulse skittered anxiously. “Of course. Shall we take refreshments near the beehives? Dare I hope this surprise call brings… glad tidings?”
His swift grimace suggested the opposite. “Would that my news proved so felicitous.” He turned abruptly as if to master inconvenient feelings away from my notice. “In fact, I am quite overset by new arrangements chafing against my long-established habits.” He flung a bitter glance skyward. “It seems Providence and the peerage conspire to prod me onto irrevocable paths before I am quite prepared...”
“Well...” I cleared my throat. “At times, Destiny does steer the carriage over unknown terrain.” I moved to stand by his side, my toes nearly touching one mud-flecked Hessian boot. “Surely, dashing George Darcy never met an obstacle that failed to vanish at his whim eventually?”
He barked a sound halfway between laugh and scoff, finally pivoting to scan my gently smiling face. “You grant me far too much credit for charming my way through trials, Elizabeth.” Humor faded as quickly as it surfaced. “If only innate diplomacy won me a reprieve from the world’s endless impositions! Alas, the last weeks have crushed any fanciful pretensions utterly, until...”
“George… I have no idea to what you refer, but…” I winced. For all my affection for him, I was not blind. George did require a little… maturity. I swallowed. “Perhaps less emotiveness and more prudent thought might be a way of knowing how to respond to… whatever is troubling you.”
George made an impatient noise. “You sound like Fitzwilliam and his mechanical notions of arranged outcomes. As if human hearts beat obedient to some great Accountant’s tally sheet!” He turned a sudden penetrating look on me. “Would you have me committing all my living days to one who loves wealth and position more than the man himself?”
I faltered, caught off balance by such uncommon gravity. “What are you talking about?”
He stared hard at me for a moment, his chest heaving. Then he just shook his head. “Nothing.”
He checked abruptly whatever lay poised to spill over, raking one hand roughly through golden curls. My conscience smote me unexpectedly. How selfishly I had wrestled romantic notions when last we met, with scarce consideration for whatever paths might already be before George’s feet! I seized his hand. “George, I can see you are wrestling private burdens—do not feel obliged to air more than you ought.” At his mute chin dip, I rushed onwards, cheeks warming. “Rather, allow me to cheer you with a harmless bit of Nonsense. We were always able to cheer each other, were we not? Even if your problems still await, I might—”
Sudden pressure cut off my air as he crushed me in his arms. What was I to do? I yielded to his anguished embrace, senses swimming dizzily. George Darcy was kissing me! I tried to suck in a breath, but his hold on me was too tight.
“Lizzy…” He broke off, his breath coming as ragged as mine as he stared into my eyes. “I know we always fancied ourselves the dearest of friends, but… oh, blast and damnation, I cannot even ask what I want, not with everyone breathing down my neck!”
I shook my head, still trying to catch my breath. “Are you asking for what I think?”
He dropped his hands from my shoulders and straightened. “Not yet. I’m sorry, Lizzy, I…” He started to back away.
I thinned my lips. “I think you should go home, George. Talk to Fitzwilliam. Surely, he can help—”
George laughed bitterly. “Yes. Yes, that is just what I will do. Goodbye, Lizzy.”
Twenty-Two
Darcy
Ihadnotsleptall night. By seven the next morning, I was back in my study, but I was not working. No, I was pawing through every scrap, every hidden drawer and secret compartment of the furniture and the walls, searching for anything I might have missed before. Anything that would give me the answer I needed. Two hours, I searched, with no better results than before.
The door crashed abruptly open, loosing a blast of sulfurous language that almost stopped my heart mid-beat. I scarcely recognized the hellion barging into my study, golden hair disheveled and jaw stubbled like a dock worker after a fortnight’s debauchery. Breathless disbelief held me mute as I took in the splattered mud on his boots and George’s bare chest, exposed by missing buttons at his throat.
“Good heavens, are you mad?” One glance confirmed that his appearance was no less wild than his thoughts. Grasping both shoulders, I gave him a firm shake. “Have you been out drinking all night?”
He barked raw, mirthless laughter, breaking my hold on his sleeves. “Who needs a drink when he has a woman to drive him mad?”
“So, it is Lady Lucilla, is it? Have you been to Matlock already this morning?”
He snorted. “Heavens, no. No, I cannot imagine she would welcome me this morning.”
I sighed. “Tell me you have not done something irrevocable. Did you offend her father, or has he decided to cast you off?”
“Cast me off! Yes, you would think it could be that easy, wouldn’t you? Anguished eyes searched my face. “Do you want to know what goads me? I look upon you now—so grave, so resigned to nobly guard the gates as if Atlas’ full load rests on your shoulders alone—and I cannot do the same! Am I now to turn into you?” He shook his head, sniffing as his features broke.
