Chapter Thirty-Three
Caroline approached Fitzwilliam’s study with the same amount of trepidation she would feel regarding the doorway to hell itself. As if sensing her presence, Mr Darcy appeared just beyond the entrance; his glower had not faded any but seemed to have concentrated in the very little time it had taken her to gather her wits and pat her hair down.
“Remind me,” said Caroline, turning sideways to present as small a target as possible as she inched closer, “just how many guns do you keep in that room?”
“Four,” he said, with no hesitation.
“And how many are within arm’s reach?” she asked, stepping over the threshold.
“All of them,” Darcy snapped. “And do not think I shall stop there. I can obtain more guns if need be. Close the damned door.”
“You shall not require any,” Caroline retorted, as the door clicked shut behind her.
“Shan’t I?” He regarded her coolly. “I will be the judge of that.”
She waited while his eyes raked her face, the clock in the corner ticking an endless beat without a melody. “You do notneed to put on such a performance, sir,” said she. “I am no common country swain, come to whisk your sister away to a life of poverty and ruin.”
“Poverty, no. Ruin? That is yet to be seen.” His fingers tapped the arm of his chair while Caroline seated herself opposite, even though he had not invited her to do so. “The last time I saw you, I told you that if you did not mend the error of your ways, then you would never find love as I have done.”
“Indeed, you did.”
“And now...” His fingers ceased drumming, then started again. “You think you have found love with my sister?”
Ah.Sohe already knows.“As difficult as that may be to believe, yes.”
“It is not difficult at all,” he said immediately, a loyal hound to his last breath. “My sister is an absolute delight.”
The implication hung in the air:and you are not. Caroline refused to rise to the bait. Instead, she crossed her legs at the ankle and folded her hands in her lap.
“I have no desire to prolong this pain on either side. So let me ask you plainly.” Darcy’s fingers tightened on the arms of his chair. “You may already know that I once offered George Wickham a great deal of money to leave her alone and he took it. I shall offer you the same now. As many thousand pounds as you require to leave and never look upon my sister again.”
She could not possibly have heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”
“Name a number, and it shall be yours.”
She wondered whether she could refrain from slapping him. The urge had been building for some minutes and was now almost impossible to repress. It was bad enough that he had once thought Caroline shallow enough not to be capable of falling in love, but to also have him ask how much money it wouldtake to buy her off, as if it was a foregone conclusion and all that was required to agree on was the precise amount, was too much for her to bear.
“Do not dare insult me so, sir.” She very nearly spat her next words. “I do not want your money. I do not need your money.”
“Perhaps not,” he said, stroking his chin. The motion producing a slight rasping noise. Evidently he had not yet been shaved that day. “Everyone wants something different, do they not? For Wickham, it was money and freedom. For you—”
“Only your sister.” Caroline’s tone was ice. Slapping was too good for such a man. Stabbing might do.
A long, slow stabbing.
He studied her, those familiar dark eyes roving over her face, searching for any weakness. This was not the Fitzwilliam Darcy she knew—neither the haughty, self-contained version, nor the softened husband. “Not status? Not a marriage match worthy of royalty? For I could manage such a thing easily, you know. I could charm my aunt into taking you on one of her tours. Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s reach is... extensive.”
She said nothing. The clock ticked on. Darcy got up from his chair and began to pace the room. “You would have status,” he continued. “You would have power. Are those not the things you once prized more highly than anything else?”
“I did, once.” Caroline swallowed. He knew her well enough to probe her weakness, and to exploit her new vulnerability to his advantage. The dreams she’d once held of her own importance, sparkling on the arm of someone wealthy and handsome, the envy of every ballroom, faded when she thought of worn couches, tender kisses, dark eyes fierce with unspoken longing. “That was before I knew anything else existed.”
“And where will you go, if my sister decides she no longer wants you?” His dark eyes watched her every move. “For I know that you have no desire to return to Hadley Hall to live with that cold-hearted wretch you call a mother. The only option you have left is to accept this viscount who has made you an offer of what must surely be a loveless marriage. And trust me, when Georgiana comes to her senses, she won’t want you, nor whatever domestic felicity you claim two ladies can have together. It would be but a half-life, Caroline. You must see that.”
Liar, she thought, and hadn’t realised she’d said it out loud until she saw Darcy’s eyebrows rise. Despite her rebuttal, she swallowed down a wave of panic. She was certain of Georgiana’s feelings, but she could not quite shake how it had felt when her lover had refused to commit. Suppose Miss Darcy renounced her promise, if only to placate her brother, whose happiness and peace she had so often prized above her own?
I must be Orfeo, she reminded herself. Walking away into the darkness, not looking back to see whether love followed. Devotion was a test of faith indeed, but not a test for the object of one’s affections.
A test of myself.
