“Not that I would encourage morally bankrupt behaviour, but at least you intend to marry the lady. It would not be the worst of all things. You have larger matters at present, without rushing to the altar.”
“Larger matters!” Darcy scoffed. “Can there be anything greater? Even fear of death pales by comparison. I would be no better than Wickham! She is too precious to me to ever leave such a matter to chance, for I could not bear to lose her esteem. Even if she forgave me—and I believe she would—I could never forgive myself for failing to pay her the respect she deserves. Perhaps it is difficult to explain, for you have never loved a woman as I love her.”
Richard jerked suddenly to his feet to pour another glass. He lifted it speculatively, then swallowed the whole with one gulp. “No,” he rasped as he poured a third glass. “I never have.”
Darcy leaned forward in his seat. Something in Richard’s manner seemed clearly perturbed. “Have I caused offence?”
Richard snapped an incredulous look to him. “Offence! No, Darcy, you are the only man who was ever rendered helpless by a woman. I am sorry for you, Cousin, truly I am.”
“There is no need for sarcasm. I had no notion that you ever had feelings for any lady.”
“It does not matter.” Richard was, by now, contemplating a fourth glass, but he set the decanter aside. “She found someone else.”
Darcy dropped his gaze. What would he have done if he had lost Elizabeth? A horrible suspicion came upon him. “Richard,” he whispered, “it was not Elizabeth who—”
“No, it was not. Of that you may be assured.” Richard gazed levelly back at his cousin, firmly enough to convince Darcy that he spoke the truth. Then he shook his head and stepped away from the sideboard. “Look, Darcy, I recognise your urgency to wed Miss Bennet, but you must be circumspect just now. Keep a chaperon with you—it is not that difficult. If Georgiana is occupied elsewhere, there is always Mrs Wickham.”
Darcy shuddered. “I can think of no better safeguard against amorous moments.”
“There, you have the perfect solution.” Richard stretched, yawned, and then heaved a sigh. “Well, I’ve done without enough sleep of late, and if I’m to London again, I believe I will enjoy at least this night in one of Pemberley’s beds. Do you intend to sleep in your own tonight, or is it the balcony for you again?”
“It is none of your concern,” Darcy answered crisply.
“It bloody well is. The servants will start talking, and then before I know it, half of London will brand you as mad. I will be required to prosecute for full guardianship of Georgiana and marry her off quietly somewhere—America, perhaps—where family madness will not be counted against her.”
“A tad melodramatic, are you not?
“Darcy,” Richard dropped into a chair opposite and leaned forward seriously. “I know something of your struggles. Heaven knows, I have seen enough men return from battle. It is hell for some, far worse even than you can imagine. Some of them never do recover their sanity.”
Darcy’s fingers clenched over his glass and he stared at it. “I was not in battle, Richard. It is not as though I encountered the fire of cannon or had to carry my dying comrades off the field.”
“It is the men who are captured who often fare worse than those in battle. There is something about being helpless and abandoned that drives a man beyond his senses. You were chained and blindfolded, were you not?”
“I do not intend to discuss it.”
Richard straightened, his mouth tight. “I doubt your intended bride will appreciate sleeping out of doors with you. She may be an adventurous sort of lady, but there is some merit in a soft mattress.” He followed that comment with a suggestive wink.
“If we were married, matters would be different. I would not be alone in a dark room.” Darcy fingered his glass again and bit his lips together. “I thank you for your concern, Richard, but I shall manage.”
Richard pushed against his knees and sighed. “Oh, hang it all, Darcy. What say we bivouac right here in the study? At least it is indoors, and though a sofa is a poor substitute for a bed, it is an improvement over that little chair of yours.”
“No,” Darcy rose abruptly, “you need not concern yourself. Good night, Richard.”
Chapter fifty-four
Richardhadtakenhimselfto his room, but after allowing the greater part of an hour, he slipped out again. It took him some while to locate his wandering cousin, but at last he discovered Darcy on one of the lower balconies, the one nearest the privacy of the library. It was mercifully warm this evening, with no rain threatening as far as he could see, but Darcy was not out there to enjoy the weather. His head was hanging, his shoulders as rounded as his tailored coat would allow, and he seemed to be staring at the ground.
Richard withdrew, leaning against one of the walls in the library. His fingers tapped the wood paneling. There wasoneway to offer his cousin some comfort to ease one of his first nights at home, and this would be the last night that he himself would be available to see it done properly. He slipped from the library and back out to the corridor, in search of one of the maids.
“Mary!” he called softly, when one known to him walked by. He motioned her near. “Will you step upstairs, please, and ask if Miss Bennet has retired? She is wanted in the library if she is available.” The maid seemed somewhat intimidated—she was not one of the upstairs maids—but she agreed. Less than ten minutes later, she returned with Elizabeth Bennet.
“Thank you, Mary, that will be all. Miss Bennet,” he continued in a clearly audible voice, “Mr Darcy and I had been looking over the shelves, and we were having trouble locating a certain book. I was hoping you could be of help.”
Elizabeth was regarding him cynically. “I had no idea that you were such an avid reader at half past eleven, Colonel.”
He motioned for her to follow him, and bless the woman, she did so without making further objection. “Miss Bennet, forgive my pretence. I am in need of your assistance, but it is not with a book.” He gestured with his head toward the row of windows, and her eyes quickly followed. An expression of heartfelt pity crossed her face, then she looked back to him with a wordless nod. He sighed in relief. “Thank you.”
The lady stepped away from him, and a moment later she slipped out the door to the balcony. Richard followed, then walked the length of the windows to find a seat where he could best see the couple. That seat, however, proved to be situated in a draught, and he left it to find another. The most comfortable seat in the corner had its view somewhat impeded by a shelf, but it was within a tolerable distance of the window. He could hear the hum of voices, and catch an occasional glimpse of Miss Bennet’s shawl and Darcy’s arm, and so that would suffice. Darcy could not claim that he was not acting as a chaperon.
