Page 89 of Near Pemberley

For the first time since the conversation began, some colour returned to her face. “Oh.”

Darcy watched her for a moment. “I thought it better that way.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “So do I.”

A silence followed.

Then Lydia’s expression altered. “You think I ought never to tell anyone.” It was not a question.

Darcy considered before answering. “I think very few people would hear such a story with fairness.”

Lydia laughed once, without amusement. “No.”

“Those who care for you would be distressed. Those who do not would merely gossip.”

She lowered her eyes. “They would think the worst.”

“Yes.” The answer was quiet. “Yes, they would.”

Lydia stared at the carpet. For a while, the ticking of the clock was the only sound in the room.

Then she asked abruptly: “Why were you there?”

Darcy blinked.

She looked up. “If it is such a dreadful place…”

He understood at once.

A faint flush rose to Lydia’s cheeks. “I do not mean…”

“I know what you mean. This is not something usually discussed among ladies and gentlemen.” The corner of his mouth moved slightly. Instead of appearing offended, he merely leant back in his chair. Darcy’s gaze drifted briefly towards the window. “But it would be foolish of me to avoid the topic since we were both there.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“Because I was lonely.”

The confession was so unexpected that Lydia forgot to breathe. “Lonely?”

A faint smile touched his face. “I assure you, Miss Lydia, it is not an affliction reserved exclusively for young ladies.” He shrugged. “My cousin thought an evening in company would do me good.”

Lydia looked unconvinced.

“I let myself be talked into it. No, that is cowardly. I went willingly. I had indulged in such amusements before.”

Silence fell between them.

Then, unexpectedly, Darcy found himself recalling the evening with unusual clarity. The candlelight. The noise. The painted faces. And one girl sitting apart from the others. He frowned slightly.

“What is it?” Lydia asked.

“Nothing.”

Yet it was not nothing. At the time, he had thought only that she seemed different from the others. Quieter. Less practised. Now, looking back, he wondered whether that had truly been the reason. Or whether she had reminded him, however faintly, of someone else.

Not in appearance. The resemblance had not been so obvious. But there had been something in her expression. Something in the uncertainty with which she regarded the room. For a moment, Elizabeth’s face rose unexpectedly in his memory.

The thought was so absurd that he almost smiled.