Page 112 of Mr. Darcy’s Diamonds

He was honored she had shared her deepest secret with him. And she had called him her best friend. He had suspected she might welcome his proposals, but he had been unsure. Even now she called him friend, yet she allowed herself to be so vulnerable.

Elizabeth did not know her real name. He had wanted to tell her then that she could have his.

Darcy had held her while she cried, and it was all he could to do to refrain from offering her everything he had. He did not wish to dishonor her confidences, though, by turning her confession to his own desires.

He hoped his presence had given her comfort. Replaying their conversation, he felt he had reassured her that he thought no less of her no matter who her father was, and he had promised discretion. He would continue to support her and would show her in his looks and actions at the British Museum on the morrow.

Darcy regretted he had not spoken to her more before her servants had arrived, but he had been caught up in his own realizations. She had become his best friend, as well. He should have understood that when he had told Richard he would choose her over him, but he had not thought in those terms. Now he knew for sure he loved her. He had thought so in December, but now he could have no doubt. If she was his most cherished friend, this could not be an infatuation, as Richard had suggested.

He was ready to make her his. She had distrusted and disliked him as recently as January. Had she had time to alter her feelings enough? Or did her current feelings begin and end in friendship? Since he had met the defiant, spirited fifteen-year-old Elizabeth, he had been impressed with her open demeanor and honest expressions. Would she not have been more transparent if she felt more for him?

Turning to pat his patient horse, he mounted Neptune again and set off for home, more calm and resolute now. He would observe Elizabeth, but he felt the next step was to court her in earnest. He had been careful to show little more than friendship so far himself, not wishing to increase gossip or frighten her away. To know her heart, though, he must be willing to show her something of his. If he saw even a hint that she cared for him beyond friendship, he would declare himself. Perhaps he was being too cautious, but after holding her small, shaking form in his arms not half an hour hence, he had no wish to harm her. If all she could bear from him was to be friendship, he could not take that from her. How he would bear it he would not contemplate at present, but he would take only what she was willing to give.

For the rest of his ride home, he remembered the feel of her in his arms, the softness of her hair against his jaw, the intoxicating scent of her skin still in his nostrils, the warmth in his chest as she pressed against him. He would not give up on Elizabeth, no matter how long it took to win her love.

As soon as he entered his study after washing away the road dust, he began to sort the correspondence his butler had placed on his desk while he had been at the Foundling Hospital that morning. He wondered if his donation to the hospital was sufficient. Perhaps he could increase it in the coming year.

A letter from his steward and one from his housekeeper were likely nothing out of the common way. They both wrote weekly updates from Pemberley. Invitations continued to arrive, although they had decreased since late April. Perhaps something in this small stack would suit Elizabeth. His eye caught on a letter from Rosings. It was not from Lady Catherine, however, but from Anne. His cousin almost never wrote to him. They had wished to give no reason for her mother to think they would ever wed, so while they were friendly, they had never been close.

He cracked the wax seal and slid open the missive, curious about what could bring Anne to write to him. The thickness of the letter also surprised him.

Darcy,

As you know, my mother has required me to write to your sister two or three times each week. I do not mind the occupation, as she rarely permits me to strain myself so far. I quite like to read Georgiana’s replies, in fact. She writes to me often. My reason for writing to you, Cousin, is that something in her recent letters has given me pause. Is not Georgiana only fifteen? Forgive me for not having paid it much attention, but I seem to recollect she is quite young. I will not mention this to my mother, as she would not handle the situation well.

Georgiana’s first letters mentioned her happening upon an old friend who has been much in company with her and Mrs. Younge. Did your sister write to you of this friend? I mention it to you now only because I think this friend may not be a young lady. About a fortnight ago, she wrote, “He is extremely attentive.”

She had never mentioned her friend’s name, but I always assumed until that letter that she referred to an old school friend or childhood girlfriend from near your estate. I thought at first she had miswritten “he” for “she”, but as I have thought on it, I wondered at her phrasing, and I reviewed all her letters. Why would a young lady be “extremely attentive” to another young lady? I understand your sister would be “eager to see my friend each morning” and “excited to welcome my friend to dine with us again” even had it been a young lady.

But what of this, Cousin? “My friend has expressed a desire of spending as much time as possible in my company while we both remain by the seaside, and I am no less enamored of the idea. At first, I wondered at the propriety of being always together, but Mrs. Younge has reassured me on that score.”

Then in your sister’s latest letter, which I received only three days ago, she wrote something that alarmed me somewhat, and finally I decided to write of my concerns and send that page of her letter to you. My mind is now made up to suggest that you perhaps write to Mrs. Younge to ensure your sister is not forming an early attachment that could lead her to pain in the future.

Yours, etc.

Anne

Darcy’s heart was in his throat as he tossed Anne’s letter aside and greedily searched the second page, in his sister’s hand. Forget Anne’s concerns about “pain in the future.” He fell into his chair as he read Georgiana’s words and comprehended the danger she was in at this moment.

Mrs. Younge has been telling me of her first love. She cared for him deeply, and they were betrothed when she was fourteen. They were tragically separated, however. They were to be reunited when she was seventeen, but he was killed, along with her aunt and uncle, before she could reach him.

Is not that sad, Anne? I wish Mrs. Younge could have married her darling Amice before they had been parted. It is terrible for those who truly love each other to be torn apart by those who do not understand, do you not think? Mrs. Younge did marry later, of course, and she says she loved Mr. Younge, but the way she says his name so hesitantly, I wonder whether she could have loved him with anything like the strength of affection she felt for her dear Amice. Have you ever been in love, Anne? How did you know it was love and that he loved you in return?

Darcy turned the page, but there was no more. His sister had never been one to save paper…Wasted paper! Who could care about wasted paper at this moment? He glanced at the clock on his wall. Half past twelve o’clock.

“Hobbs!” Darcy was already shouting as he strode toward the staircase.

“Sir?”

“Have my fastest horse save Neptune saddled. I leave for Kent within the hour.”

“Yes, sir. Shall I have your saddlebags packed with food for your journey?”

“Yes, yes. But be quick about it.”

He would speak to his valet about following in the carriage, but if he departed without delay, he should have nine or ten hours of daylight remaining with the lengthening June evenings. He should be able to reach his sister late tonight or at least by six or seven in the morning if he was forced to stop for any reason. No, he would not stop, and he would not wait an hour to leave this house.

Prompted by Anne’s perusal of his sister’s letters, he packed all Georgiana had written to him since they had parted almost six weeks earlier.