“Do you think we ought to go discover where the ladies are calling and escort them home?” Darcy asked.
The earl blew out a slow breath as though seriously considering the action. He scrubbed his hand down his face before he responded. “No, I do not believe it is wise to call so much attention to her. The men we brought from London are there for their protection, and gossip does not spread quite so quickly that it would have reached anyone yet, particularly those in the militia.”
Darcy inclined his head in agreement and briefly considered whether this might be the moment to raise another matter—that of his wish to court Miss Elizabeth Bennet—but the thought was forestalled by a discreet knock at the door and the quiet entrance of a servant.
“Mr Darcy,” the butler intoned, “you have received a letter sent via express.”
All three men turned to look at the butler, a little startled by the news and wondering who might have sent a message in this way. Darcy stood and took the proffered letter, promptly tearing it open.
“It is from your mother,” he said, turning to Fitzwilliam. Upon hearing this, the colonel also stood and moved towards him.
Darcy read the letter hastily through, then handed the letter to Fitzwilliam, who let out a shocked whistle upon finishing.
The earl looked between the two gentlemen, his brow furrowed, and then asked, “Well—what does it say?”
“It seems that Miss Bingley is in London with her brother,” Darcy said. “Last night, she approached my aunt at the theatre and attempted to imply a closeness to me beyond that which exists. Amongst other things, she sought to learn from my aunt where I am staying, having lately discovered that I am not in London.”
He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose in evident frustration as he considered the matter. “As I doubt my servants would have said anything to her directly, she must either have set someone to watch the house, or be hunting for information by whatever means she may. Much as she did at Netherfield, she attempted to use my Christian name with my aunt, correcting herself only after the fact. My aunt rebuked her rather firmly; nevertheless, she wrote to me so that I might know what is being said.”
Fitzwilliam’s brows shot up. “Damnation,” he said under his breath. “She has abandoned all sense. Her brother as well since it seems he did not rebuke her immediately.”
“You overlooked Bingley’s response, Fitzwilliam,” Darcy said, moving back to his seat. He stood back up just as quickly and began to pace. “He did pull her away and apologise, but based on what he said that last day at Netherfield and what Hurst reported to you earlier, I thought he meant to break with her or set her up in her own establishment. Her actions of late have been reprehensible; he ought not reward her with a trip to the theatre.”
“He needs to find her a husband, or a keeper,” the earl offered. “I met the man only for a moment as I departed, but he struck me as a boy playing at being a gentleman. His sister will be a millstone about his neck unless he learns to distance himself from her.”
“Yes,” Darcy agreed, settling once more into his chair. “I wrote to your mother already, Richard, just after Miss Bingley importuned me on my last day at Netherfield. She did not say as much, but I dare say she had little good to say of the—” He broke off, his mouth tightening. “I can scarcely call her a lady, can I? She is a?—”
“Termagant,” Elizabeth finished for him as she entered the room.
All three gentlemen leapt to their feet to greet the ladies, but Darcy found himself momentarily incapable of anything but gazing at Elizabeth, a softness in his expression that surprised even him.
“How much did you overhear?” he asked.
Elizabeth blushed lightly—not merely, he thought, from having interrupted them, but from his unguarded attention upon her—and though she lowered her eyes, the smile that curved her lipslingered. For a moment, she sat smoothing her glove between her fingers.
“Only the last sentence or so,” she replied, her tone much softer than it had been when she had first spoken. “I heard enough to know of whom you spoke and thought to suggest a word that was—shall we say—appropriate for us ladies to overhear? Knowing that two of the gentlemen present are more accustomed to the company of soldiers aboard ship, I thought we ought to warn you before you said anything for which you might later feel obliged to apologise.”
Her glance flicked back to his, quick but unmistakable, before she looked away again, the colour in her cheeks deepening rather than fading. She was plainly amused by her own wit; yet Darcy found himself lingering over that brief look and wondering whether it had been meant for him alone.
“I should have called her a harridan,” Georgiana said quietly, her eyes moving between her brother and her friend with a hint of amusement. Mrs Annesley scolded her at once, but with very little severity. Darcy held back his laugh; he knew Mrs Annesley had met the woman before and obviously disapproved of her.
Still, he was pleased to see her growing bolder and more assured. His attention returned at once to Elizabeth, whose colour had not entirely faded. Only a few weeks in her company, he reflected, and Georgiana was not merely herself again, but something more—confident—and he wondered whether Elizabeth had been equally unaware of the effect she herself produced.
He resolved to speak with Georgiana soon; but first, he must consider what to do about his cousin. Richard had certainly begun on a wrong foot with Elizabeth, yet he had not failed tonotice the growing ease between them. Ought he to allow that friendship time to discover its own course—or was it already more than he could calmly observe? He did not know, but neither did he wish to wait indefinitely.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Darcy found his cousin alone in their shared sitting room later that afternoon. Fitzwilliam stood at the mantel with one elbow braced upon it and straightened at once when Darcy entered.
Darcy closed the door carefully behind him. “Tell me, Richard—what do you think of Miss Bennet?”
Fitzwilliam only stared at him for a moment, his brows drawing together as though he suspected a trap in the question. “Our hostess is lovely, but I still do not think she likes me very much. I hope that I have improved her opinion of me somewhat, and I believe she looks on me with rather more friendliness than she did upon my arrival…” He trailed off as Darcy shook his head.
“Not our hostess, but her cousin, Miss Jane Bennet?” Darcy asked, moving farther into the room. “I noticed that you spoke to her for some time when the Bennet ladies called the other day and that you immediately went to sit beside her today. If I am not mistaken, her younger sisters prevented you from speaking to her as much as you liked today, but you still shared at least some conversation.”
“I do enjoy speaking to her,” Fitzwilliam admitted, slower now, is gaze slipping away to the carpet as though it had suddenly become fascinating.
He paused for a moment, drawing in a breath. “She is… I suppose gentle is the best way to describe her. For a man who has so often been amongst rough soldiers, she is so very different from what I am accustomed to.”
