Elizabeth smiled, feeling something like a vise easing its grip on her heart. “Thank you, Papa.”
He nodded, reaching for his book again. “Now, off with you before your sisters come battering down the door. You have a great deal of prying to endure upstairs, I am sure.”
Elizabeth rose, a small laugh escaping her. “Indeed, I do.”
“Blast it, Darcy, isthis table made of lead?” Fitzwilliam grunted as they maneuvered the unwieldy trestle toward its designated spot.
Darcy adjusted his grip. “Perhaps you have spent too much time in drawing rooms and not enough in the field, Cousin.”
Fitzwilliam let out a sharp breath, dropping his end onto the floor with a dull thud. “And here I thought being a soldier was strenuous. Remind me not to assist with your next party.”
Darcy straightened, his gaze sweeping the bustling room. Soldiers shuffled chairs into rows, Bingley was directing the butcher’s delivery boy near the door, and Sir Thomas calmly orchestrated the chaos with an encouraging word here and a steadying hand there.
“Nor is it my usual occupation, I assure you.”
Fitzwilliam leaned against the table, surveying the scene. “I imagine at Pemberley, the servants do all this before you even blink. Admit it, Darcy—you are enjoying this.”
Darcy glanced around the room, the makeshift crew hauling decorations and aligning chairs. There was an honesty to the effort, a shared sense of purpose he had not experienced in years. “There is something refreshing about this,” he admitted. “A man takes pride in a task when he must do it himself.”
Fitzwilliam’s grin widened. “Refreshing? I shall remind you of that when we are moving the next table.”
Before Darcy could reply, Bingley’s voice rang out from the doorway. “The Bennets are here!” And then he was bounding out the door to greet them. Naturally.
Darcy’s pulse quickened, his first thought unbidden:Elizabeth. He turned slightly toward the door but caught himself.
What was the point? He already knew she would not be with them. She had gone to London, far removed from this moment, from this place—and from him.
Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow. “Not going to greet them, Darcy? That is rather unsociable, even for you.”
Darcy turned back to the trestle, gripping its edge as if it required his undivided attention. “I am occupied,” he replied brusquely. “Besides, Bingley is more than capable of seeing the ladies and all their trunks and so on upstairs.”
Fitzwilliam gave a knowing hum, but he said nothing further. Darcy bent to his work, the murmurs of greetings and laughter filtering in from the entry hall as the Bennets were welcomed. Each sound grated against his composure, a stark reminder of what—ofwho—was missing.
“Richard, are you going to help or just stand there like a bleeding stump?” he growled.
Richard gave him a sidelong glance, then cleared his throat as he set back to work. “Yes, yes, let us get on with it. I say, ah… How did you find my father when you were in London, Darcy?”
Darcy tightened his jaw and reached for another table, unwilling to meet his cousin’s gaze. “I did not see him.”
“You didn’t see him? Why ever not? You went all the way to London, turned up in Mother’s drawing room to collect Georgiana, and you never greeted my father? I thought you would have a dozen things to discuss with him.”
“I did not feel equal to the conversation.”
Fitzwilliam chuckled, hoisting his end of the table as Darcy moved the other side into place. “I can only imagine. What would the Earl of Matlock think of allthis? A Darcy of Pemberley, carrying tables and playing host to ex-soldiers and tradesmen alike? I hope you did not tell him I was here.”
Darcy’s hands tightened on the edge of the table. “He would think precisely what I told him to think.”
Richard squinted at him. “Eh? You just said you did not see him. How…?”
“I said all that was needed in the letter I wrote to him last week. He and I took opposing views of the purpose of this party. Where I saw a chance to help someone, he saw… other opportunities. Considering the realization that our opinions differed so wildly, I have withdrawn my intentions to run for office.”
Fitzwilliam froze mid-motion, the corner of the table nearly slipping from his grip. “What?” He set it down abruptly, staring at Darcy in open disbelief. “You’re serious?”
“I am. I have given the matter due consideration. The compromises required for a career in politics would have rendered the position meaningless to me.”
“But you—you’ve been preparing for this for years! It was the logical next move.”
Darcy straightened. “It was never what I wanted. I only thought it would be expected. Useful. But I have no interest in living a life dictated by the expectations of others.”
