Richard laughed. “You will not sway him, Father, best not to even attempt it!”
Matlock gazed thoughtfully at his son for a moment, then spoke up with decision. “My boy, see about extending your leave. I think we ought to pay a visit to Hertfordshire tomorrow.”
“Well,MrDarcy,itseems at present I must withdraw my objections to your ‘understanding’ with my niece.” Gardiner stood, lifting a sceptical eyebrow. “Know this, however—I will expect your behaviour to be above reproach, and you will wait to make any formal announcement until we know more of Mr Bennet’s condition. If I have any cause for concern whatsoever, I will hold you responsible. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly, sir.” Darcy offered the man a respectful bow.
The uncle was far less indolent than the father. Darcy found himself wishing fleetingly that their positions had been reversed—that it had been Mr Gardiner in charge of the upbringing of the youngest Bennet girls and Mr Bennet to whom he now had to make explanation. Gardiner, for all his intimidating posturing, seemed a highly respectable and gentlemanly sort of fellow. A watchful guardian he would have made. Darcy had a suspicion that the changeful father, on the other hand, might have found the entire situation highly amusing and may have even poured him a drink after they had done.
Mr Gardiner dismissed him, and with great relief, Darcy took his escape. His thoughts had dwelt for the entire conversation on Elizabeth and Georgiana. What could have occasioned such an outburst? He felt reasonably assured that Elizabeth bore no grudge for the attack on her person, but what of Georgiana? She had never lashed out in such a way! His duty as her guardian and his affection as her brother warred within him.
He relaxed greatly when he found Elizabeth anxiously waiting for him just outside of the library. The worry in her eyes pained him but also relieved his own uncertainties. If she had turned against him, she surely would not be here now, looking for all the world like she wished to comfort him.
“Your uncle has granted his conditional blessing,” he sighed.
Elizabeth nodded. She’d had no doubt of that. Her uncle could bluster and storm, but she knew him to be truly generous and soft-hearted. “He only wished to know that I was well,” she assured him.
“Yes, so I understand. I cannot fault him for that.” It would have eased his heart to pull her close, but he dared not even touch her under the circumstances. Marriage could not come soon enough, he decided. What he would have given to draw her aside and speak openly of his fears and doubts!
Interpreting his feelings remarkably well for such a short acquaintance, Elizabeth took a small step nearer and gazed up into his face. “William,” she spoke softly. “We have a much bigger problem than my uncle.”
His expression dropped seriously. “Do you know what is happening with Georgiana?”
Elizabeth glanced hesitantly over her shoulder to the drawing-room beyond. “In part. It seems there were some rumours in town. My sisters overheard them, and I am ashamed to admit that they no doubt had a hand in their propagation.”
Darcy narrowed his eyes, clenching his fists. “What rumours?”
Elizabeth swallowed a lump in her throat. “Insinuations regarding a certain gentleman of your family’s acquaintance and Georgiana.” She dared to look at him. Darcy had gone thoroughly red, his jaw set. He glared at the room beyond as though he would have liked to permanently silence Lydia Bennet.
“I’ll kill him!” Darcy snarled. He locked his jaw, desperate to avoid losing his temper in front of Elizabeth—particularly with her uncle just through the closed door behind him. He shook with impotent rage, closing his eyes. “Excuse me, Elizabeth. I will call again when I can.” He reached to yank the front door open himself.
“William, there is more!” Elizabeth put a hand on his arm to stay him. She drew close, her voice low. “Lydia confessed that the rumour did indeed come from Mr Wickham, butheis not the man implicated.”
Darcy felt his stomach knot. “Who is?”
Elizabeth bit her lip, hating what she had to tell him. “Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“Goodevening,MissBingley.”
Caroline poised herself gracefully upon the steps of Darcy house, peering fashionably down her nose at the stuffy old butler, a relic from the days of Darcy’s father. Mentally she grasped for a name. What was it? “Good evening, Mr Dale,” she greeted him airily. “Will you tell Mrs Nielson, the housekeeper, that I have arrived?” She moved toward him, blithely assuming his compliance.
Drake rooted firmly to his spot. “I was not informed you were expected, Miss Bingley.”
“Not… well, I never! You did not receive word from your master this morning that I would be calling this evening? Such an inconvenience! Ah, well, it cannot be helped. Mr Darcy had a particular wish for me to speak with Mrs Nielson about the Christmas party he asked me to help arrange, and so I have come—all the way from Hertfordshire! Will you have her meet me in the rose drawing-room, please?”
She brushed past him in elegant nonchalance, ushering herself into the fine entryway of the home. She cast her eyes about the surroundings in pleasure. Ah, yes, this home would suit her very nicely! Some of the furnishings declared their dated selection by Darcy’s mother, but they could be replaced easily enough.
Drake trailed behind her in some bewilderment, but he could not in good form toss the lady out on her ear. Better, he had apparently decided, to allow her her head. “I shall speak with MrsNelsonat once,” he informed her stiffly. She bit her lip at her error but recovered quickly.
Caroline breezed into the drawing-room, wholly unaware that it was not unoccupied. She caught herself in a graceless stumble upon beholding the glowering presence before her. An elderly woman wreathed in layers upon layers of black silk and lace prowled before the fire. She turned sharply at the intrusion.
“Who are you?” the woman demanded. Caroline glanced over her shoulder in dismay at the vanishing butler. Was that a spark of mischief she had detected in his eye?
Caroline preened a little. She had no notion of cowering before this woman; neither would she allow her the upper hand. Who was this audacious person who assumed residence at the Darcy house when neither the master nor Miss Darcy were at home? “I am a verycloseassociate of Mr and Miss Darcy’s. Whom might I have the pleasure of addressing?” She tempered her speech with just the precise mixture of polished ease and unwelcoming coolness as to establish her credibility.
“How can you not know whoIam? Insolent chit!” Caroline’s eyes widened in shock at the insult. “Iam Lady Catherine de Bourgh, aunt of Mr Darcy and mother of Anne de Bourgh—Heiress of Rosings Park and Mr Darcy’s betrothed! Now, I demand you declare your business here or be off!”
An indignant huff escaped her. The nerve of the woman! To speak toherin such a way, as if she were some insignificant servant! Of course, she had heard for years of Lady Catherine and her ridiculous intentions for that sickly daughter of hers but had never been required to tolerate the woman in person.
