Twenty-Two
The carriage rattled toa halt outside Matlock House, its grand facade rising against the bleak London sky and its stately windows gleaming in the gray light. He stared out the window, his thoughts a tangled, oppressive web.
What had he done wrong?
Darcy stepped down before the footman could offer assistance, his boots striking the pavement with a resolute thud. The crisp air stung his cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the sharp ache in his chest.
Elizabeth’s voice played in his mind, each clipped word and guarded look a dagger twisting deeper. He adjusted his coat as he ascended the steps, the bitter taste of failure lashing at his mind. Where had everything gone so wrong? He had thought—foolishly, perhaps—that they had begun to understand one another. More than understood—that they just might be two halves of the same whole.
But her withdrawal, her coldness… it was as if a door had been slammed in his face, and he could not see how to open it again.
He hesitated at the door, his gloved hand hovering over the knocker. For a fleeting moment, he considered turning back, coming again another day. What could he possibly say to his uncle or his sister when his thoughts were so wholly consumed by her? But retreating now was unthinkable. He took a breath and knocked firmly.
The butler opened the door, bowing slightly. “Mr. Darcy. Welcome.”
Darcy nodded curtly, stepping inside. The warmth of the grand entry hall did little to thaw the cold knot in his chest. His uncle’s townhouse was immaculate, as always, but the opulence grated on him today. The world of polished marble and gilded mirrors felt shallow, false, after the authentic sense ofhomehe had found in Hertfordshire.
Or thought he had found.
As the butler took his hat and coat, Darcy cast a glance toward the staircase. He could already hear voices drifting from the drawing room. One of them—his aunt’s familiar tones—carried an unmistakable note of inquiry. He squared his shoulders and followed the butler toward the sound.
“Darcy,” Lady Matlock said as she rose from the settee, her tone clipped, her keen gaze sweeping over him. “You look thinner. Are you eating properly?”
Darcy inclined his head politely. “Aunt.”
Lady Matlock gestured for Darcy to take a seat, her sharp gaze fixed on him as though trying to uncover his purpose. “We were not expecting you. I trust this is not merely a social call.”
Darcy inclined his head, settling into the chair opposite her. “It is not. I came to speak with Georgiana—and with you, Aunt.”
Her brows lifted faintly, though her expression remained imperious. “Georgiana? What could be so pressing that it requires you to appear unannounced? We heard you were in Hertfordshire at… some house.” The curl of her lip was impossible to miss.
Darcy hesitated, briefly running a hand along the armrest as he considered his words. “I was, and I am returning as soon as I have finished some other business here in Town. I wish to invite her to join me in Hertfordshire for the rest of the festive season.”
Lady Matlock’s lips thinned, and she straightened in her seat. “Hertfordshire? Whatever for? I have heard whispers about this Netherfield—what on earth are you doing there?”
Darcy met her gaze. “I am hosting a Christmas gathering. It is an endeavor involving Sir Thomas and his household. I suppose youdoremember Sir Thomas.”
She released a sigh. “I remember what Richard told me of him.”
“He may have saved your son’s life, and mine. At the very least, he spared us months of imprisonment in a French gaol—a penalty he bore, himself, in our place.”
“You needn’t belabor the point, Darcy. We sent him a handsome gift, but that was eight years ago. What shall we do now? Laud every odd whim the man takes upon himself? This… this scandal—”
“—Is nothing more than the world turning its back. But Sir Thomas did not. I believe what he is doing to be worthwhile, and I would like Georgiana to be part of it.”
Her silence stretched for a moment before she leaned back slightly, one hand lifting to adjust a fold of her sleeve. “And you imagine it is appropriate for a girl of Georgiana’s standing, on the cusp of her presentation, to immerse herself in such… peculiar company?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “If this gathering is unfit for Georgiana, then it is unfit for anyone. I would not ask her to come if I believed it would harm her in any way. On the contrary, I think it will be good for her—to see such kindness and resilience firsthand, and to take part in something meaningful.”
Lady Matlock’s gaze narrowed. “And you have decided all of this without so much as a letter to inform me? You might at least have spared me the shock.”
“I thought it best to speak in person. I wanted to explain my reasoning and ensure Georgiana has a choice in the matter.”
Lady Matlock studied him. “A choice, is it? You think a girl of her age would refuse her brother when he appears so set on this whim of his? And what of her reputation, Fitzwilliam? Have you considered the scrutiny she might face?”
“I have,” Darcy replied firmly. “And I trust Georgiana’s strength of character to rise above it.”
“Rise above it? That scandal-ridden den of misfortune?” Her voice dropped as if the very word might summon some dreadful specter. “Your uncle is appalled, and I cannot say I disagree. You risk your reputation—andour reputation—with this folly.”
