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What had Elizabeth said to Georgiana? His sister was growing bolder by the day.
Richard shook his head. “Now, be fair. It has been longer than a week; he has been agitated since returning from Hertfordshire.” In a fruitless attempt at intimidation, Darcy glared, and his cousin replied with an impish grin.
Georgiana shrugged. “I do not know what the trouble could be. I had a perfectly pleasant time in Hertfordshire, although we departed rather abruptly. I would have liked to see Elizabeth again.”
Darcy resisted the temptation to throw his mallet to the ground and stalk back to the house; he was not a child to throw a fit of temper. “If I am such a bear, it is a wonder you would want to play with me at all,” he growled.
“I was hoping you might tell us the source of your frustration,” Georgiana said in a rather wistful tone.
“Croquet does not have magical powers,” Richard said with a smile.
But her response bothered Darcy. Had his sister been tolerating his black moods and hoping he would confide in her? He believed he had managed to conceal the worst of his ill humor from two of the dearest people in his life, but obviously he had failed miserably.
“My frustration is not your responsibility,” he muttered.
She propped her hands on her hips, a gesture so indignant that Darcy was again reminded that she was no longer a child. “Then whose responsibility is it, pray tell? Who will you confide in? Will you share your troubles with Mrs. Reynolds? Or Mr. Prescott, the gardener?”
He said nothing.
“Come, Will, unburden yourself,” Richard cajoled. “Perhaps we might be of assistance.”
He sighed, sensing his will begin to crumble. “’Tis complicated, and much of it is confidential.”
Richard gestured to Georgiana. “We promise to keep any secrets you tell us.” His sister nodded in enthusiastic agreement.
Darcy did not want to share any of his secrets: his admiration of Elizabeth, his worries about her illicit activities, or the niggling suspicion that perhaps he had made a mistake. He always kept his own counsel, never sharing anything personal. Propriety and his own instincts forbade it.
And yet…absolute silence meant that his insides were being consumed by anxiety. He told himself to forget Elizabeth and her schemes, but thoughts of her haunted him every day.
Perhaps he could describe some of his dilemma without being too specific about his own sentiments. “Very well. I will speak of what weighs on my heart. But not over a game of croquet.”
Mrs. Reynolds had set a pitcher of lemonade and some glasses on a wrought iron table near the croquet lawn. Dropping his mallet where he stood, Darcy stalked to the table. He retained enough manners to pull out a seat for Georgiana and then seated himself as she poured three glasses of lemonade. He drank half his glass in one gulp, wishing it could be something stronger: brandy, perhaps, or whisky.
When he set down his glass, the others were regarding him expectantly. He shifted on the wooden bench, attempting to ignore the hot sunlight beating down on his head and shoulders. He had promised; there was no help for it but to start.
He briefly reviewed the Bennet family’s circumstances, revealing for the first time Wickham’s role in their disgrace and his own sense of responsibility. Then he described the little signs of Elizabeth’s defiance of Collins.
Georgiana was far more sympathetic than appalled. “I imagine that living with such a man would be very trying.”
“I am not unsympathetic,” Darcy said. “However, their cousin could have abandoned them and did not.”
“He is to be commended,” Georgiana agreed. “But su
rely there is a limit to what the Bennet sisters owe him. It cannot be easy to watch your home be possessed by another—particularly someone who has no appreciation for it.”
Darcy had not considered that perspective. He imagined another man entering Pemberley and making himself at home in the study where Darcy’s father had worked or the garden his mother had loved. He shuddered at the picture, but he was a man and it was his property. Did women feel the same—even about homes they were destined to leave when they wed?
Darcy continued his story. Georgiana and Richard listened attentively—without further interruptions—as he described learning about Elizabeth’s subterfuge regarding Mrs. Wiley and Darcy’s conclusions about the lambs and the seed drill. “Collins told me very proudly that his farm was ‘old-fashioned’ and did not experiment with modern methods, and yet I know I saw a seed drill. There was also evidence of the Norfolk four-crop rotation system, a ‘new’ method Aunt Catherine has always opposed.”
Neither Richard nor Georgiana appeared to experience Darcy’s horror when he had made this discovery. They were silent for a long moment at the end of the story. Finally, Georgiana frowned. “So, Miss Elizabeth’s actions benefit the Longbourn estate?”
Darcy rubbed his forehead. This was not the point. “Well, yes. Almost certainly they will have better crop yields and a greater variety of crops to take to market—as well as a larger flock of sheep.”
“Why are you so displeased?” Georgiana asked. Is it not beneficial to everyone?”
“But Collins does not know!” Darcy exploded off the bench, knocking it over. “It is his property, and he remains unaware of what is happening. Nor would he approve!”
Georgiana shared a look of alarm with Richard but continued to speak. “Granted, her actions are…unorthodox, but are they so wrong when they will benefit everyone, including the tenants and Mr. Collins himself?”
