Richard reined in his horse. “You know my purpose. I need an occupation, something that I can enjoy enough to keep me settled in one place for more than a few months. Army life forces a man into a routine where permanence is foreign. This change would be more pleasant and easier with someone alongside me. I am not opposed to marriage, especially to someone intelligent and kind.”
Darcy felt his cousin’s eyes examining every reaction. He dared not flinch or flex. Changing the subject to protect displaying his feelings before he was ready, he asked, “You are determined to sell your commission then?” Darcy heard the hope in his voice. Richard was closer than a brother to him. Each time he departed British soil to battle the French, Darcy lived in fear that something dreadful would befall him.
“I am. I have given my last orders until I need to set up my house. For now, I am not in a hurry. Unlike you, I am not pursuing a lady to be my wife.” At that, he kicked his horse into a gallop.
Darcy hesitated more than a moment before he followed.Pursuing a lady? Him?He had no claim on Elizabeth Bennet, nor did he necessarily want to claim her. The expectations of his family and peers were that he would make a great match with a woman of excellent connections and fortune. For his sister’s sake, he would not seek a mate below these expectations.
Besides, Elizabeth Bennet’s open personality begged him to drop his reserve, something he could not do. Should anyone, including her, discover what his father’s journal contained, his peaceful reign over Pemberley would be imperiled.
During the months since Ramsgate, Darcy repeatedly contemplated the possible consequences of revealing the secret to Richard. Wickham, knowing he was Georgiana’s half-brother,protected her from any further attempts to take advantage of her, which was his reason for allowing George to read that portion of the journal. In the end, he decided that his father’s command was rational. He would tell no one, especially a new acquaintance with fine eyes.
A fire burned in his chest, radiating up his throat, almost choking him. Why did he feel miserable at the thought of turning his back on this particular female?
For a certainty, he was a man of determination and discipline. Surely, with minimal effort, he could evict Elizabeth Bennet from his thoughts. But could he evict her from the far corner of his heart? Certainly. He was a Darcy.
Elizabeth chose notto say anything about Colonel Fitzwilliam being in residence at Netherfield Park. Although she knew her mother would appreciate the opportunity to throw any of her five daughters at the feet of a wealthy man, the fact that he was the son of Lord Matlock, even the second son, put him too high above them. Francine Bennet’s efforts would be futile since the Bennets had little incentive to offer a prospective groom. Their dowries were pitifully small. Their estate was entailed to a distant male heir. None except Jane could boast of true beauty.
Sitting in the window seat of her chambers, her fingers trailed the raindrops down the glass.
Had Mr. Bingley welcomed Colonel Fitzwilliam without reserve? Surely, he would. Any friend of Mr. Darcy’s would always find doors opened and hospitality offered, especially the son of an earl. What about horrible Mr. Darcy? That he treated Colonel Fitzwilliam as a true friend could not be denied. He was at ease in his company, which spoke well of the man.
She grumbled. It would not do to think better of Mr. Darcy since she vowed to hate him forever.There!She would think no more of either man since the likelihood of them remaining much longer in Hertfordshire was slim.
Well, that was easier said than done.
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s brilliant smile appeared to be engraved on her mind. He had a kind face. He was an exceedingly pleasant man despite his choice of companions. She scoffed. She knew more than most that no one could choose their relatives. Colonel Fitzwilliam had to like Mr. Darcy. They were cousins.
This raised many questions in Elizabeth’s mind. Were the colonel’s parents the sort who shunned any child other than their firstborn son? Many families of Elizabeth’s acquaintance treated their heir as if he was a personal gift from God and the sole blessing for a family. Often, it created in the child a prideful arrogance like…well, like Mr. Darcy, who, from the fact that he was the heir to Pemberley and only spoke of having a sister, must have been the only son.
Although Elizabeth could not know if Colonel Fitzwilliam had been an overlooked child, she knew without question that her mother favored Jane for her beauty and Lydia for her liveliness. Despite Sir William Lucas, their jovial neighbor, calling Elizabeth one of the jewels of the county, her reality was that there was nothing she could do to wedge a larger slice of her mother’s heart. Neither could Mary or Kitty.
It was one of the reasons she favored Mrs. Hammond’s company. Mrs. Hammond never withheld praise or refrained from correcting Elizabeth when needed. Like with Mr. Wickham. And Mr. Darcy.
She traced another drop down the glass. Was Mrs. Hammond correct about the true character of the men? Where Elizabeth admired one and loathed the other, the elderly widowfelt exactly the opposite, although she tempered her feelings instead of using words like hate or loathe.
For as long as Elizabeth knew her, Mrs. Olivia Hammond was exemplary, someone she wanted to imitate. As the third daughter of a baronet, Mrs. Hammond believed that ladylike accomplishments such as painting and needlework paled against cultivating qualities like empathy, kindness, loyalty, and generosity. Her motto was to live life with no regrets. Elizabeth yearned to reach a ripe old age having done the same.
In the meantime, she decided that she could tolerate Mr. Darcy in hopes of making a true friend of Colonel Fitzwilliam if there were an opportunity to associate together. He acted like he would welcome lively companionship. She longed to know him better.
CHAPTER 5
Later that afternoon, once the rain stopped, Richard left for St. Albans to meet with the forty-year-old inventor of the steam locomotive, Richard Trevithick. Darcy had wanted to go along since he invested heavily in the future of England’s transportation. Unfortunately, Miss Caroline Bingley had pressed him into service to guide her brother to the twenty-four houses worthy of invitation to Bingley’s ball. For years, Darcy and anyone else who knew Bingley was aware of his appalling sense of direction. More than once, Bingley had to stop and ask the way from his brother-in-law’s townhouse in London to Darcy’s residence on Park Lane even though he traveled the length often.
The task took several hours even though servants had been sent to all but four houses carrying the good news. From the reactions at Lucas Lodge, the Gouldings, and the Longs, Darcy suspected that grand social events were few and far between in the shire. Fortunately, the rain and wind increased to the point that it was no longer comfortable to ride as they made their final stop, Longbourn. Darcy had insisted that Bingley use a carriage. Bingley insisted that he would make a better impression onMiss Jane Bennet should he be mounted on a horse. Darcy’s rationality was no match for Bingley’s vanity.
Rain dripped from another hat, since the windstorm had whipped off the one he wore that morning when they encountered Miss Elizabeth.
His boots were spattered, and his gloves were soaked. When Bingley’s horse shook the water from him like a wet dog, almost unseating his host, Darcy chose to intervene.
“Let us return another day in the carriage. That way, you will not appear to be at a disadvantage with the Bennets.”
Bingley nodded, pouring water from the brim onto his lap. “Very well. I will leave the invitation with a servant.”
On their approach, the door opened, and Longbourn’s butler said, “Gentleman, how might I be of service?”
Bingley’s eyes focused on the windows, possibly hoping for a glance at the eldest Bennet girl as he dug below the layers of his outer clothing to retrieve the parchment. Darcy could not refrain from glancing higher up. His breath stopped.
Seated in the window was Miss Elizabeth, her fingers pressed against the pane, her gaze distant. Her rich tresses were down around her shoulders, possibly to dry from her earlier exposure to the weather. Darcy yearned to trace the same pattern of the raindrops.What was he thinking?That he was an idiot, that is what.
