CHAPTER ONE
March 23, 1812
Darcy sensed Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyes on him from across the carriage and slid further into his seat, curling his shoulders as though that would hide him from his cousin’s view.
“You should not look so glum,” Fitzwilliam said. “A week or ten days is all we shall have to endure. Imagine how my father would reprimand us if he were here! He no more likes her than we do, yet we must never speak of it or show how we feel.”
He laughed, evidently hoping Darcy would share in the joke. Instead, he briefly looked at his cousin and managed a small smile, then turned to watch the passing countryside. The two of them were presently travelling to Kent to visit their aunt and cousin for the Easter holiday. No one found Lady Catherine de Bourgh or her daughter easy company. Yet, if the Fitzwilliams and Darcys believed anything, it was the importance of maintaining strong family connexions.
After a brief pause, Fitzwilliam sighed heavily. “What is it? Your foul mood cannot entirely be due to the prospect of spending a few days at Rosings.”
Darcy fixed the colonel with a hard look. “Youare not the one she expects to marry her daughter.”
“No, but your ill-temper has been apparent to me since I returned to town last month. Bramwell says you were the same at Christmas, and even my mother remarked on it. Please reassure me it is not because of what happened in Ramsgate.”
“It is not.” Darcy wished his elder cousin and aunt had kept their observations to themselves.
“Then what is it?”
Once again, Darcy looked out of the window. The sky was blue, and there were a few signs of the new season. An image of Miss Elizabeth Bennet appeared in his mind; he expected she revelled in the spring and the increased opportunities to be in the open air.
When he had first arrived at Netherfield Park last autumn, it was already with the weight of the blue devils on him. It was as if there were little beings sitting on his shoulders, poking and laughing at him, throwing dust in his eyes and obscuring the brightness and joy he ought to feel.
He had long conceived of his dark moods in such a manner. His mother had once used the expression ‘blue devils’ when she was despondent. Then a child, he had envisioned tiny creatures pestering her, and he still imagined them haunting him during his thankfully rare periods of melancholia.
At present, he berated himself for feeling so. After all, what had he to be unhappy about? Last autumn, the situation was different; then he could name his sister’s near elopement and the fact that Wickham, once one of his dearest friends, had betrayed him yet again.
While in Hertfordshire, his mood had improved. He had told himself it was simply because more time was passing; he was recovering from the initial sting of what had happened. It hadnothingto do with meeting Elizabeth Bennet, who was whollyunsuitable as an object of his romantic interest. By the end of November, she was gone from his life, he was back amongst his family and friends in theton…and the blue devils had returned to plague him.
“I fail to understand why you did not come at Christmas,” Lady Catherine said to Darcy at breakfast the next morning, as she had several times the previous day. “Anne and I expected to see you, and who has a greater demand on your time than we do?”
Sitting across from him, Fitzwilliam gave him a look that either indicated sympathy, humour, or indigestion. Given the conversation, all were equally possible.
“I was required at my estate,” Darcy said, not for the first time.
His aunt huffed. “If your steward is not capable of seeing to your affairs, you need a new one. You have responsibilities to my daughter, and since Rosings will be yours upon your marriage?—”
Darcy stood. “You must excuse me. I will not argue this point with you again.” His aunt’s expectations left him nauseous. He used to imagine the sensation was caused by blue devils jumping in his stomach, and headaches were them wielding hammers at his temples.
Against Lady Catherine’s protests, he left the room. About an hour later, Fitzwilliam found him in his chamber. “I reminded her that my father insists you decide for yourself whom you will marry, and she has vowed not to raise the matter again,” his cousin said.
Darcy scoffed. He was slowly walking about the room, and, glancing at Fitzwilliam, said, “Stop acting as though I am on the verge of…weeping or falling into a fit of some sort.”
“You are not well, Darcy. Will you not confide in me?”
Going to the window, his back to Fitzwilliam, Darcy said, “It is nothing that should concern you. One or two irritating business matters I shall not bore you with, a lack of sleep, and having to listen to Lady Catherine are enough of a reason, do you not think?”
Fitzwilliam sighed. “I shall not press you, but I am willing to listen—even if it is about contracts and legal disputes and what have you. Our aunt’s parson is expected shortly, and she wishes to introduce him to us. After that, what say we ride? The fresh air and exercise will do us both good.”
Darcy turned to face him. “It would. As for the parson, I regret that I have already had the pleasure.” He rolled his eyes, and, as they made their way to the drawing room, he explained about meeting Mr Collins the previous autumn.
When they joined the ladies, Lady Catherine regarded Fitzwilliam coldly and ordered him to sit in a particular armchair, but otherwise ignored him. Darcy did not fare as well. She had arranged the furniture—apparently having some of it removed and other pieces pushed to the sides of the room—leaving Darcy the choice of taking a place beside her or her daughter. Neither was an attractive option, and still feeling ill, he went to the settee and sat as far from Anne as possible. Little was said for the next few minutes, and Darcy kept his eyes lowered to avoid the expectant manner in which Anne was regarding him.
Lady Catherine has been filling her mind with nonsense about our ‘engagement’ since she was an infant.There were times Darcy wondered whether he would have the strength toresist his family’s pressure—subtle and not—for long enough to find a suitable lady he wished to marry.
Oddly, Elizabeth Bennet’s visage flashed through his thoughts. Since she was entirelyunsuitable, he had never considered her a potential bride.
You lie,a harsh voice whispered to him. It seemed so real, he lifted his head enough to see if anyone else had heard it. But it was only one of the nasty devils.
