“Did you have a lady in mind?”
Without meaning to, Darcy’s tone had become dangerous. Bingley paled to an unnatural shade of bluish-lavender, and Miss Bingley buried her face in her brother’s shoulder. Their vocal response was immaterial; he already knew what it was, and his hands curled into fists.
“My sister,” he snarled in hate and accusation. “You, my supposed friend, had designs on my sister, who is only lately turned sixteen! She was but twelve when you and I met. Has there ever been a minute of truth between us? I would send her away, anywhere in the world, keep her secluded at Pemberley under guard, before I let one such as you marry her, before I even allowed you to befriend her.
“I am going to Hertfordshire, and I will do whatever I must to win Miss Elizabeth’s love. I shall beg her and her entire family’s forgiveness for giving credence to anything either of you ever said. Do not think I shall spare you if—when—I am asked why we are no longer friends—not in Hertfordshire, London, Derbyshire, wherever I find myself.”
Brother and sister spoke at once. “Darcy!”
“Mr Darcy, we shall be ruined!”
This time, it was Darcy who averted his gaze. He wanted to calm himself enough to speak rationally, despite wishing nothing more than to destroy every item in the room, especially the two people with him. He only spoke after a heavy pause during which the only sound in the room was from a ticking clock.
“I will notlie if I am asked why I no longer recognise you, but I need not provide details of the ways you have wronged me and the Bennets. However, if I hear any hint, even a faint whisper, of you, your sister, your dearest friends, any member of your family—anyoneat all—saying a bad word about me, my relations, the Bennets, or their family, any person connected to me by the merest thread, I willnotrestrain myself.”
He let the threat hang in the air with all the weight of an anvil. With that, he stalked out of the room and prayed he would never be in such close proximity to either of them again.
CHAPTERFORTY-FIVE
Darcy returned home, his temper still high despite all his attempts to calm himself. It took a considerable period, and much pacing about his rooms, for him to regain his composure.
To his valet, he said, “We leave in the morning. Early. I do not know how long we shall remain in Meryton, but it may be some time. We shall have to secure rooms at the inn, I suppose.”
Quinn, speaking as though there was nothing odd about his master’s mood or actions, said, “Shall I see to it while you go to Longbourn?”
Darcy stopped walking and studied the man, who had been with him since he had gone to Cambridge. He was reliable and trustworthy, and Darcy valued his diligence, especially when he was at his most agitated, such as today. Darcy often thought his manservant knew him better than anyone else, even the colonel. In the not-too-distant future, he trusted another would take his place. How happy he would be to share everything about himself with Elizabeth Bennet!
“Yes. Thank you, Quinn.”
The morning light was still dim when they departed, and the journey to Hertfordshire went as smoothly as travel in late January could be expected to go. Quinn disembarked in the market town, and Darcy drove on to Longbourn, sweat dripping down his back and his heart beating more rapidly with each yard closer they drew. He had tried to rehearse what he would say to the Bennets, Miss Elizabeth in particular, but at present, he could not remember any of it.
Exhaustion was mixed with anxiety, which did not help him order his thoughts. He had slept poorly, lying awake and reviewing the interview with the Bingleys, wondering what more he ought to have said and asked. It did not especially matter, he supposed; he knew enough, their dishonesty had been uncovered, and he was free of their interference in his affairs. Eventually, he would consider what he could learn from his disastrous association with them.
Darcy consoled himself with the expectation that, once he saw Miss Elizabeth, the words would come. It had always been easy for him to talk to her—unless, that was, he wanted to ask about her connexion to Mr Collins. Why had he delayed enquiring? He had been an indecisive idiot, and it had cost him weeks during which he might have been exquisitely happy, many sorrowful hours and sleepless nights, caused his family concern, and possibly injured the woman he adored, which was the most awful thought of all.
What a coward I was!he silently lambasted himself. If he had tried harder, he could have determined a way to ascertain the truth without being inappropriately inquisitive. But he had avoided the issue, afraid he would learn the lady he wanted for his own was promised to another man. It was easier to hope that she was free, to observe her and Mr Collins, seeking every morsel of evidence that confirmed what he wanted to believe.
Then, instead of returning to Hertfordshire to take his leave of the Bennets properly, he had avoided the place, not wanting to witness Miss Elizabeth preparing for her wedding. If he had acted as his conscience had told him, he would have made the detour to Meryton in December, and learnt of the Bingleys’ duplicity sooner. He should not have left with them in November until he had spoken to Mr Bennet, as he had planned to do the day after the ball, and made his farewells properly.
Once at his destination, the housekeeper, visibly shocked by his being there, escorted him to the drawing room where sat Mrs Bennet, Miss Bennet, and Miss Elizabeth. His eyes lingered on her, and the sense of peace he had been searching for flowed into his soul, warming him. Nevertheless, he remained more nervous than he ever remembered feeling before. Faintly, he heard Mrs and Miss Bennet welcome him; Miss Elizabeth, colour creeping into her cheeks, lowered her eyes and curtseyed before sitting. Darcy managed to bow and address a few polite words to Mrs Bennet. Once he was seated, his eyes again drifted to Miss Elizabeth.
No doubt, they were awaiting his explanation for calling so unexpectedly.Knowing he had to speak, he blurted, “I was lately in Kent and saw Mr and Mrs Collins.”
Thathad changed so much that it overwhelmed him for an instant, and no more words came.
“You have dreadful news of them? Is my dear girl—?” Mrs Bennet cried, evidently misconstruing his silence.
“No, no, I apologise,” he hastened to say. “They are both well. Very well. Mrs Collins gave every appearance of health and happiness. Mr Collins’s patroness is my aunt.”
There were gasps and remarks of surprise.
“I believe I recall hearing Kent mentioned as the location of the parish he was to take, but I did not know it was the one in my aunt’s giving. I knew she was looking for a new parson, but I thought she had settled the matter months ago,” he said.
“What an extraordinary coincidence,” Miss Bennet said.
Darcy only had time to agree before Mrs Bennet began a lengthy speech about the many flattering things Mr Collins had written about Lady Catherine. Likely they were all false or exaggerated, though he appreciated her attempts to hide the truth that the Collinses found his aunt interfering and wearisome, and his cousin simply unlikable. Most people did, and he did not suppose Mr and Mrs Collins would be any different.
When Mrs Bennet had said enough to satisfy herself, he grabbed onto the pause in conversation like a life preserver.
