Darcy Comes to Rosings, page 4
“She is. They adore her, and are very kind to her. But then, it would be difficult not to adore Jane.”
“I agree.”
“Do you?”
He could not mistake the sharpness in her voice. Clearly she suspected him of overthrowing her family’s plans. But Jane would make a brilliant match, he had no doubt of it. Beautiful, sweet-tempered, and intelligent, she would easily capture the heart of a man who could inspire more passion in her than Bingley had.
Poor Bingley. He had indeed been miserable since leaving Netherfield. Darcy grieved to see it. But Bingley had overcome a broken heart before, and he would do it again. Better to suffer the loss now than to live with a woman indifferent to him for the rest of his life.
He said to Elizabeth, “Your sister is a woman who easily captures the affections of others. Whether they can capture her affection is a different question.”
“Are you suggesting she is cold?” Elizabeth’s face flushed and her eyes darkened.
“I believe she is cautious.”
“I assure you, Mr. Darcy, you could not be more deceived. Jane is the most kind-hearted person I know, predisposed to like everyone. I am constantly reminding her to be more circumspect.”
“I beg your pardon.” He bowed. “I am mistaken, then. I observed her to be aloof.”
“Jane aloof? And what have you been, Mr. Darcy? Never initiating a conversation, barely speaking when spoken to? Aloof does not begin to describe it.”
Her tone was steady but her words barbed. He should have known better than to speak so of her sister. Nothing could raise his ire faster that a word spoken against Georgiana, and he knew Elizabeth to be equally devoted to Jane.
“Indeed, madam, I should not have said so. I meant no unkindness, but clearly I have offended you. I beg your forgiveness. Now you see why I am reticent in company.”
Elizabeth let out a quick laugh. “I do, sir. Perhaps it would be better if you were silent altogether.” With a sly glance, she turned. Head high, she walked toward the sofa where Maria sat, leaving a rustle of silk in her wake.
Darcy watched her, unable to steal his eyes away from the gentle sway of her hips, or the dark curls that trailed down the curve of her neck. Her scent of sweet violets lingered behind.
Desire ached inside him. She had bewitched him, and there was no hope for him at all. How could he do anything other than make her his?
He was sick of this vacillation. The thought of life without her was unendurable. If he was going to try for her, he ought to work harder—become a more pleasing conversationalist, like his cousin.
The truth was, she was in no position to refuse him. She had hinted as much to him during their walk the previous day. She wished to marry for love, though, and he wanted her to be in love with him. He wanted it very much.
She did seem piqued with him about Jane’s disappointment. But surely, all would be forgiven if Darcy made Elizabeth an offer. All of Mrs. Bennet’s ambitions would be satisfied. The loss of a prospective son-in-law of four or five thousand a year would be nothing after gaining one of ten thousand. And of course Darcy would ensure that his new sisters were provides for.
Elizabeth sat with Maria, and the two spoke in low tones. He tried not to stare, but his eyes kept wandering back to her. She met his gaze once or twice, and he ought to have been embarrassed. But where else should he look, when she was in the room? Why should he not pay her the compliment of admiring her? Surely it could not be unwelcome.
He ought to be more circumspect for Lady Catherine’s sake. If he did propose, he could not do it whilst under his aunt’s roof. She would make things uncomfortable for himself and Elizabeth both. It would be better to wait until the end of his stay.
Or perhaps he was waiting in hopes of a reprieve. He had never been so irresolute in his life. Decisions usually came easily to him. He looked at the facts, evaluated them, and came to the logical conclusion.
But where his heart was concerned, all logic was thrown asunder. Every fact in the matter told him that proposing to Elizabeth Bennet would be throwing himself away. Except for one small detail: he was convinced that she was essential to his happiness. How could he argue against that?
He had intended to walk her into the dining room, but she took Richard’s arm before he got to her. Instead, Darcy accompanied Maria Lucas. No matter. They were a small party and would make an intimate group around the table.
Dinner was a grand affair, as it always was at Rosings. The first course started with leek soup and crimped cod. Next came the leg of lamb, haricots verts, potato mash, and chicken fricasseed with mushrooms. It was all delicious, but not as much as the sight of Elizabeth.
She was seated across the table, next to Richard. Lady Catherine had demanded that her nephews sit on either side of her, and Elizabeth had chosen her own chair. Darcy hated himself for being such a dull conversationalist that she sought the company of his cousin.
Did she truly prefer Richard, or was this designed to coax him into trying harder? He struggled for something witty to say, but his aunt’s voice interrupted his efforts.
“Mrs. Collins,” Lady Catherine said to Charlotte, “what do you think of our fine spring weather here in Kent? Surely Hertfordshire can offer nothing finer.”
“Your ladyship is kind to ask. It has been especially lovely the past few days, warm and clear. In fact, if it continues without rain, I have been thinking it would be a fine thing to go on a picnic.”
“What a splendid idea!” Richard said. “What think you, Darcy?”
Darcy considered how his cousin would respond if asked the same question, and said, “It would be a great pleasure to join the fair ladies from Hunsford Cottage on an excursion.”
“Shall we do it, then?” Charlotte asked. “How would Saturday be?”
“But my love!” Mr. Collins cried, “I shall be preparing my sermon on Saturday. Surely tomorrow would be better.”
“Oh, but my dear, we shall need tomorrow to prepare. And if we wait longer, this lovely weather might not hold. Lady Catherine, would you and Miss de Bourgh deign to join our humble party?”
“You are very kind, but I am afraid that with my rheumatism, I could find little comfort in such an excursion. And of course my poor Anne cannot tolerate a day in the sunshine.”
“I am very sorry to hear it,” Mrs. Collins said, though Darcy was certain she was not sorry at all. In fact, he suspected she had planned it that way.
She looked in his direction and met his eye, arching her brows ever so slightly before turning away. That expression, though brief, told him everything he needed to know. Mrs. Collins knew what he was about, and he had an ally in her.
Heaven knew he needed the help. This picnic would be his chance to win Elizabeth’s heart.
Chapter 3
Once back at the parsonage, Charlotte joined Elizabeth in her bedroom to discuss the evening’s events. The room was small but not cramped, with all the comforts Lizzy needed. The one exception was the closet, which had been inexplicably furnished with shelves at Lady Catherine’s suggestion.
But Lizzy was making do. The mattress was firm, the blankets soft and warm. They were topped by a beautiful crown-and-star quilt, which Lady Lucas had made.
The homespun beauty of the place could not calm Lizzy’s temper, however. She took the flowers from her hair and set them atop the oak vanity. “Mr. Darcy, calling Jane aloof! Can you imagine, Charlotte?”
“I see the irony, of course. But I cannot say I am surprised. Her serenity could be mistaken for indifference by a stranger.”
“Why—because she does not have my sister Lydia’s high spirits?” Lizzy asked.
“No one has Lydia’s high spirits. I have never met anyone with more energy than she.” Charlotte smiled gently, then touched Lizzy’s arm. “Do not allow yourself to be blinded by anger with Mr. Darcy. The man is partial to you. I believe you could win him if you tried.”
“Win him? I would rather win a prize pig at the county fair. He destroyed Jane’s happiness because he considers his friend Bingley to be above her.”
Charlotte sat on the bed, a composed expression on her face. She rarely showed emotion. Lizzy found it soothing at times, exasperating at others.
In a calm voice, Charlotte said, “Mr. Darcy did not destroy Jane’s happiness. Mr. Bingley did. If Jane had been in the position of choosing, and you had suggested to her that Bingley was beneath her, would she have given him up? Of course not. If indeed Mr. Darcy did persuade him, the fault lies with Mr. Bingley for being persuaded.”
Lizzy threw her hands up. “Why would you take Mr. Darcy’s part in this?”
Charlotte rose and touched Lizzy’s arm. “I apologize for being indelicate, my dear—you know I shall do all in my power to ensure that your family can stay at Longbourn for as long as necessary, should the worst happen. But we must prepare for that eventuality. Mr. Collins is happy here at Hunsford. His current situation is suited to his temperament. But I long to see you well-settled, so we need not fear the future.”
It was the first time words had passed between them about Charlotte replacing Mrs. Bennet as mistress of Longbourn one day. The estate was entailed on a male heir, and would go to Mr. Collins on Mr. Bennet’s death. It was painful to think of, but the fact that it was Charlotte and not a stranger made it easier.
“I know I must marry,” Lizzy said, “and indeed I wish it. But I cannot marry a man I do not love, no matter how wealthy he may be.”
“I would not wish you to make yourself unhappy. But if I can be content here at Hunsford Cottage, how content might you be at Pemberley? If you cannot like Mr. Darcy, then of course you should not marry him. But my dear, you have not even tried.”
Ire rose in Lizzy’s chest and heated her cheeks. Yet she could not deny the truth of her friend’s words. Lizzy’s animosity toward Darcy had been fixed from practically the moment she first saw him—he had insulted her before they had even been introduced. So no, she had made no attempt to like him. And everything she had learned about the man since that night had confirmed her initial assessment.
Lizzy unpinned her hair and brushed it through. Charlotte continued in a measured voice, “The night you met Mr. Darcy, he slighted you at a ball. Will you let that little bruise to your vanity get in the way of your happiness if he pays you the compliment of proposing marriage?”
Lizzy startled, then put down her brush and turned to her friend. The very idea sounded ludicrous. Mr. Darcy propose?
Charlotte clasped Lizzy’s hands in her own. “You know I am not romantic. I do not incessantly imagine everyone is falling in love. I see the way he looks at you, the way his eyes follow you. Think of what you might throw away if you do not even try to like him. Ten thousand a year, possessed by a handsome, cultured, intelligent man. There are worse fates to be sure, Eliza.”
Lizzy could not help wondering if Charlotte was thinking of her own circumstances. Considering Charlotte’s suggestion about Mr. Darcy’s feelings for her, Lizzy said, “I have never had any hint that he is smitten with me.”
“Perhaps you misconstrue every compliment he pays you for an insult, because you doubt his motives.”
“If he believes Bingley to be too good for Jane,” Lizzy said heatedly, “how much more must he believe himself to be too good for me?”
“You must teach him to think with his heart.”
Lizzy drew a breath, a whisper of hope rising in her breast. She forced it back down. “Charlotte, truly, this is madness.”
“If you insist.” Charlotte flashed her a knowing smile before departing.
∞∞∞
Once the ladies of Rosings had gone to bed, Darcy and the colonel retreated to a small salon near the staircase. Richard poured them each a brandy. Sitting cattycorner to Darcy, he said, “Elizabeth Bennet is the most delightful creature I ever met.”
Darcy startled. He knew Richard enjoyed her company, but surely there was no more to it than that? Cautiously, Darcy set his jaw and replied in an even tone, “Indeed?”
“If she had thirty thousand pounds, I would be half tempted to make an offer.” He grinned widely. “But as she does not, and I am a younger son in need of a wealthy wife… Ah, well. I shall think no more of it. My circumstances forbid it.”
Darcy picked up his glass from the end table. “Mine do not.”
Richard arched his brows and blinked. His mouth fell open. “The devil you say! Hell, Darcy, that explains why you are so stupid around her. You are in love!”
The shock of those words rumbled through Darcy, stealing his breath. He sipped his brandy to regain his composure. “I would not go that far.”
“I would. You are besotted. I do not know how I missed it before. If you want her, you had better propose before someone else does.”
Hot fury washed over him. “Someone like you?”
“I like her well enough, but not so much as I’d like an heiress.”
Richard’s tone was light, showing he had no serious intentions toward Elizabeth. Darcy had no need to worry, then. The tension drained from his muscles. All would be well between him and his cousin if Darcy offered for her.
His eyes wandered over the dark wood of the coffee table, over the silk damask fabric of the sofa that reflected the glow of the candlelight. “It is an important decision. I shall not be rushed.”
“What is there to decide? You love her. She is intelligent, lively, well-bred—she would make you an excellent wife.”
“You have not met her family. Her father is gentlemanly enough, but her mother is the worst sort of country mama. An unabashed fortune hunter.”
“And you do not wish to give her the satisfaction.”
The words punched the air from Darcy’s chest. Then, he gritted his teeth. “The woman has never made any overtures toward me. But she treated Bingley like a walking bank account. To align myself with such a woman!”
“Perhaps Miss Elizabeth Bennet is thinking the same of Lady Catherine. ‘That Darcy,’ ” Richard said in a mocking tone, “ ‘he would not make a bad husband, even if he is dull and silent in company. But that aunt of his! To marry into such a family!’ ”
Darcy grinned. “And what is wrong with my family?”
“Nothing, except Miss Bennet has seen the worst of it.”
“Lady Catherine is not as bad as Miss Bennet’s cousin Mr. Collins.”
Richard scowled at him. “Is this a contest to see who has the most ridiculous relatives? Or are you trying to decide whether to marry the woman you love?”
Darcy stared into the fire. There was no denying it. The ladies of London had only made him think wistfully of her charms. Unlike them, she was genuine, not artful or studied. Her modest but impertinent demeanour seemed designed for him—as if she was the one he had been waiting for all his life, but he never knew it until he met her. She was nothing like what he thought he wanted, yet she was perfect for him.
And what was he to do about that?
Marry her.
The voice in his mind came unbidden. He would never rest easy until she was his. The thought of another woman sickened him, and the thought of her with another man filled him with an unendurable rage. She was his, as if their souls were joined together. He must make her so in fact.
Yet something held him back, something indefinable. Whenever he was close to her, he felt it, the knot in his stomach that kept him from approaching too close, from speaking too freely. He had seen her warmth toward her sister Jane at Netherfield—there was nothing of that in her demeanour toward him.
Of course she was cautious—a lady must be, under the circumstances. She could not show too much. And she could not but feel gratified by his attentions. Given the difference in their situations, she certainly recognized the tangible good he could do for her and her family.
It seemed petty to think in those terms. She was his equal in every way that mattered. She was a gentlewoman, lively and cultured, and he wanted—needed—her to be his.
The colonel’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You are a thousand miles away, Darcy.”
He grinned. “No, only a mile or two.” He rose and looked into his cousin’s eyes. “I know little of love. I have been tempted by women, to be sure. But what I feel for Miss Bennet is of an entirely different order. I did not bid it, nor can I will it away. Heaven knows I have tried.”
Richard smiled broadly. “Have you determined to propose, then?”
“My aunt will not be pleased.”
“What has she to say about it?”
“Nothing, of course, but she surely will not stay silent.” Darcy raised his brows. “She expects me to marry a woman of fortune, to add to the estate. Which of course I should. The truth is…”
Darcy looked out the window into the light of the full moon. “I do not wish to break up Pemberley. I wish to pass it to my eldest son whole, as my father did to me. If I marry Miss Bennet, we will have to put aside a significant portion of our income to secure the future of our other children.”
“Then you will have to give up your visits to the brothels and gaming hells during your frequent visits to London,” Richard joked. “Darcy, you lead the most respectable life of any man I know. You live below your means and invest prudently. I would be surprised if you could not manage to save a sum each year equivalent to my entire income.”
“A wife will be an added expense.”
“Oh, yes, a vain woman like Miss Bennet could easily drive you to bankruptcy.”
Darcy glared at Richard for his teasing. In truth, Darcy had noticed that Elizabeth seemed to favour a less ostentatious style of dress than her sisters (with the exception of Mary, who seemed to take pride in making herself as unattractive as possible, as a means of demonstrating her piety). Elizabeth would not, he was certain, desire the latest fashions from the Continent each season.
She was accustomed to a simple country life and seemed content in it. She might add no more than three hundred pounds a year to his expenses, if that. A fashionable woman like Miss Bingley would cost him at least a thousand. Elizabeth’s lack of a sizeable dowry did not seem as significant when viewed in that light.
“I agree.”
“Do you?”
He could not mistake the sharpness in her voice. Clearly she suspected him of overthrowing her family’s plans. But Jane would make a brilliant match, he had no doubt of it. Beautiful, sweet-tempered, and intelligent, she would easily capture the heart of a man who could inspire more passion in her than Bingley had.
Poor Bingley. He had indeed been miserable since leaving Netherfield. Darcy grieved to see it. But Bingley had overcome a broken heart before, and he would do it again. Better to suffer the loss now than to live with a woman indifferent to him for the rest of his life.
He said to Elizabeth, “Your sister is a woman who easily captures the affections of others. Whether they can capture her affection is a different question.”
“Are you suggesting she is cold?” Elizabeth’s face flushed and her eyes darkened.
“I believe she is cautious.”
“I assure you, Mr. Darcy, you could not be more deceived. Jane is the most kind-hearted person I know, predisposed to like everyone. I am constantly reminding her to be more circumspect.”
“I beg your pardon.” He bowed. “I am mistaken, then. I observed her to be aloof.”
“Jane aloof? And what have you been, Mr. Darcy? Never initiating a conversation, barely speaking when spoken to? Aloof does not begin to describe it.”
Her tone was steady but her words barbed. He should have known better than to speak so of her sister. Nothing could raise his ire faster that a word spoken against Georgiana, and he knew Elizabeth to be equally devoted to Jane.
“Indeed, madam, I should not have said so. I meant no unkindness, but clearly I have offended you. I beg your forgiveness. Now you see why I am reticent in company.”
Elizabeth let out a quick laugh. “I do, sir. Perhaps it would be better if you were silent altogether.” With a sly glance, she turned. Head high, she walked toward the sofa where Maria sat, leaving a rustle of silk in her wake.
Darcy watched her, unable to steal his eyes away from the gentle sway of her hips, or the dark curls that trailed down the curve of her neck. Her scent of sweet violets lingered behind.
Desire ached inside him. She had bewitched him, and there was no hope for him at all. How could he do anything other than make her his?
He was sick of this vacillation. The thought of life without her was unendurable. If he was going to try for her, he ought to work harder—become a more pleasing conversationalist, like his cousin.
The truth was, she was in no position to refuse him. She had hinted as much to him during their walk the previous day. She wished to marry for love, though, and he wanted her to be in love with him. He wanted it very much.
She did seem piqued with him about Jane’s disappointment. But surely, all would be forgiven if Darcy made Elizabeth an offer. All of Mrs. Bennet’s ambitions would be satisfied. The loss of a prospective son-in-law of four or five thousand a year would be nothing after gaining one of ten thousand. And of course Darcy would ensure that his new sisters were provides for.
Elizabeth sat with Maria, and the two spoke in low tones. He tried not to stare, but his eyes kept wandering back to her. She met his gaze once or twice, and he ought to have been embarrassed. But where else should he look, when she was in the room? Why should he not pay her the compliment of admiring her? Surely it could not be unwelcome.
He ought to be more circumspect for Lady Catherine’s sake. If he did propose, he could not do it whilst under his aunt’s roof. She would make things uncomfortable for himself and Elizabeth both. It would be better to wait until the end of his stay.
Or perhaps he was waiting in hopes of a reprieve. He had never been so irresolute in his life. Decisions usually came easily to him. He looked at the facts, evaluated them, and came to the logical conclusion.
But where his heart was concerned, all logic was thrown asunder. Every fact in the matter told him that proposing to Elizabeth Bennet would be throwing himself away. Except for one small detail: he was convinced that she was essential to his happiness. How could he argue against that?
He had intended to walk her into the dining room, but she took Richard’s arm before he got to her. Instead, Darcy accompanied Maria Lucas. No matter. They were a small party and would make an intimate group around the table.
Dinner was a grand affair, as it always was at Rosings. The first course started with leek soup and crimped cod. Next came the leg of lamb, haricots verts, potato mash, and chicken fricasseed with mushrooms. It was all delicious, but not as much as the sight of Elizabeth.
She was seated across the table, next to Richard. Lady Catherine had demanded that her nephews sit on either side of her, and Elizabeth had chosen her own chair. Darcy hated himself for being such a dull conversationalist that she sought the company of his cousin.
Did she truly prefer Richard, or was this designed to coax him into trying harder? He struggled for something witty to say, but his aunt’s voice interrupted his efforts.
“Mrs. Collins,” Lady Catherine said to Charlotte, “what do you think of our fine spring weather here in Kent? Surely Hertfordshire can offer nothing finer.”
“Your ladyship is kind to ask. It has been especially lovely the past few days, warm and clear. In fact, if it continues without rain, I have been thinking it would be a fine thing to go on a picnic.”
“What a splendid idea!” Richard said. “What think you, Darcy?”
Darcy considered how his cousin would respond if asked the same question, and said, “It would be a great pleasure to join the fair ladies from Hunsford Cottage on an excursion.”
“Shall we do it, then?” Charlotte asked. “How would Saturday be?”
“But my love!” Mr. Collins cried, “I shall be preparing my sermon on Saturday. Surely tomorrow would be better.”
“Oh, but my dear, we shall need tomorrow to prepare. And if we wait longer, this lovely weather might not hold. Lady Catherine, would you and Miss de Bourgh deign to join our humble party?”
“You are very kind, but I am afraid that with my rheumatism, I could find little comfort in such an excursion. And of course my poor Anne cannot tolerate a day in the sunshine.”
“I am very sorry to hear it,” Mrs. Collins said, though Darcy was certain she was not sorry at all. In fact, he suspected she had planned it that way.
She looked in his direction and met his eye, arching her brows ever so slightly before turning away. That expression, though brief, told him everything he needed to know. Mrs. Collins knew what he was about, and he had an ally in her.
Heaven knew he needed the help. This picnic would be his chance to win Elizabeth’s heart.
Chapter 3
Once back at the parsonage, Charlotte joined Elizabeth in her bedroom to discuss the evening’s events. The room was small but not cramped, with all the comforts Lizzy needed. The one exception was the closet, which had been inexplicably furnished with shelves at Lady Catherine’s suggestion.
But Lizzy was making do. The mattress was firm, the blankets soft and warm. They were topped by a beautiful crown-and-star quilt, which Lady Lucas had made.
The homespun beauty of the place could not calm Lizzy’s temper, however. She took the flowers from her hair and set them atop the oak vanity. “Mr. Darcy, calling Jane aloof! Can you imagine, Charlotte?”
“I see the irony, of course. But I cannot say I am surprised. Her serenity could be mistaken for indifference by a stranger.”
“Why—because she does not have my sister Lydia’s high spirits?” Lizzy asked.
“No one has Lydia’s high spirits. I have never met anyone with more energy than she.” Charlotte smiled gently, then touched Lizzy’s arm. “Do not allow yourself to be blinded by anger with Mr. Darcy. The man is partial to you. I believe you could win him if you tried.”
“Win him? I would rather win a prize pig at the county fair. He destroyed Jane’s happiness because he considers his friend Bingley to be above her.”
Charlotte sat on the bed, a composed expression on her face. She rarely showed emotion. Lizzy found it soothing at times, exasperating at others.
In a calm voice, Charlotte said, “Mr. Darcy did not destroy Jane’s happiness. Mr. Bingley did. If Jane had been in the position of choosing, and you had suggested to her that Bingley was beneath her, would she have given him up? Of course not. If indeed Mr. Darcy did persuade him, the fault lies with Mr. Bingley for being persuaded.”
Lizzy threw her hands up. “Why would you take Mr. Darcy’s part in this?”
Charlotte rose and touched Lizzy’s arm. “I apologize for being indelicate, my dear—you know I shall do all in my power to ensure that your family can stay at Longbourn for as long as necessary, should the worst happen. But we must prepare for that eventuality. Mr. Collins is happy here at Hunsford. His current situation is suited to his temperament. But I long to see you well-settled, so we need not fear the future.”
It was the first time words had passed between them about Charlotte replacing Mrs. Bennet as mistress of Longbourn one day. The estate was entailed on a male heir, and would go to Mr. Collins on Mr. Bennet’s death. It was painful to think of, but the fact that it was Charlotte and not a stranger made it easier.
“I know I must marry,” Lizzy said, “and indeed I wish it. But I cannot marry a man I do not love, no matter how wealthy he may be.”
“I would not wish you to make yourself unhappy. But if I can be content here at Hunsford Cottage, how content might you be at Pemberley? If you cannot like Mr. Darcy, then of course you should not marry him. But my dear, you have not even tried.”
Ire rose in Lizzy’s chest and heated her cheeks. Yet she could not deny the truth of her friend’s words. Lizzy’s animosity toward Darcy had been fixed from practically the moment she first saw him—he had insulted her before they had even been introduced. So no, she had made no attempt to like him. And everything she had learned about the man since that night had confirmed her initial assessment.
Lizzy unpinned her hair and brushed it through. Charlotte continued in a measured voice, “The night you met Mr. Darcy, he slighted you at a ball. Will you let that little bruise to your vanity get in the way of your happiness if he pays you the compliment of proposing marriage?”
Lizzy startled, then put down her brush and turned to her friend. The very idea sounded ludicrous. Mr. Darcy propose?
Charlotte clasped Lizzy’s hands in her own. “You know I am not romantic. I do not incessantly imagine everyone is falling in love. I see the way he looks at you, the way his eyes follow you. Think of what you might throw away if you do not even try to like him. Ten thousand a year, possessed by a handsome, cultured, intelligent man. There are worse fates to be sure, Eliza.”
Lizzy could not help wondering if Charlotte was thinking of her own circumstances. Considering Charlotte’s suggestion about Mr. Darcy’s feelings for her, Lizzy said, “I have never had any hint that he is smitten with me.”
“Perhaps you misconstrue every compliment he pays you for an insult, because you doubt his motives.”
“If he believes Bingley to be too good for Jane,” Lizzy said heatedly, “how much more must he believe himself to be too good for me?”
“You must teach him to think with his heart.”
Lizzy drew a breath, a whisper of hope rising in her breast. She forced it back down. “Charlotte, truly, this is madness.”
“If you insist.” Charlotte flashed her a knowing smile before departing.
∞∞∞
Once the ladies of Rosings had gone to bed, Darcy and the colonel retreated to a small salon near the staircase. Richard poured them each a brandy. Sitting cattycorner to Darcy, he said, “Elizabeth Bennet is the most delightful creature I ever met.”
Darcy startled. He knew Richard enjoyed her company, but surely there was no more to it than that? Cautiously, Darcy set his jaw and replied in an even tone, “Indeed?”
“If she had thirty thousand pounds, I would be half tempted to make an offer.” He grinned widely. “But as she does not, and I am a younger son in need of a wealthy wife… Ah, well. I shall think no more of it. My circumstances forbid it.”
Darcy picked up his glass from the end table. “Mine do not.”
Richard arched his brows and blinked. His mouth fell open. “The devil you say! Hell, Darcy, that explains why you are so stupid around her. You are in love!”
The shock of those words rumbled through Darcy, stealing his breath. He sipped his brandy to regain his composure. “I would not go that far.”
“I would. You are besotted. I do not know how I missed it before. If you want her, you had better propose before someone else does.”
Hot fury washed over him. “Someone like you?”
“I like her well enough, but not so much as I’d like an heiress.”
Richard’s tone was light, showing he had no serious intentions toward Elizabeth. Darcy had no need to worry, then. The tension drained from his muscles. All would be well between him and his cousin if Darcy offered for her.
His eyes wandered over the dark wood of the coffee table, over the silk damask fabric of the sofa that reflected the glow of the candlelight. “It is an important decision. I shall not be rushed.”
“What is there to decide? You love her. She is intelligent, lively, well-bred—she would make you an excellent wife.”
“You have not met her family. Her father is gentlemanly enough, but her mother is the worst sort of country mama. An unabashed fortune hunter.”
“And you do not wish to give her the satisfaction.”
The words punched the air from Darcy’s chest. Then, he gritted his teeth. “The woman has never made any overtures toward me. But she treated Bingley like a walking bank account. To align myself with such a woman!”
“Perhaps Miss Elizabeth Bennet is thinking the same of Lady Catherine. ‘That Darcy,’ ” Richard said in a mocking tone, “ ‘he would not make a bad husband, even if he is dull and silent in company. But that aunt of his! To marry into such a family!’ ”
Darcy grinned. “And what is wrong with my family?”
“Nothing, except Miss Bennet has seen the worst of it.”
“Lady Catherine is not as bad as Miss Bennet’s cousin Mr. Collins.”
Richard scowled at him. “Is this a contest to see who has the most ridiculous relatives? Or are you trying to decide whether to marry the woman you love?”
Darcy stared into the fire. There was no denying it. The ladies of London had only made him think wistfully of her charms. Unlike them, she was genuine, not artful or studied. Her modest but impertinent demeanour seemed designed for him—as if she was the one he had been waiting for all his life, but he never knew it until he met her. She was nothing like what he thought he wanted, yet she was perfect for him.
And what was he to do about that?
Marry her.
The voice in his mind came unbidden. He would never rest easy until she was his. The thought of another woman sickened him, and the thought of her with another man filled him with an unendurable rage. She was his, as if their souls were joined together. He must make her so in fact.
Yet something held him back, something indefinable. Whenever he was close to her, he felt it, the knot in his stomach that kept him from approaching too close, from speaking too freely. He had seen her warmth toward her sister Jane at Netherfield—there was nothing of that in her demeanour toward him.
Of course she was cautious—a lady must be, under the circumstances. She could not show too much. And she could not but feel gratified by his attentions. Given the difference in their situations, she certainly recognized the tangible good he could do for her and her family.
It seemed petty to think in those terms. She was his equal in every way that mattered. She was a gentlewoman, lively and cultured, and he wanted—needed—her to be his.
The colonel’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You are a thousand miles away, Darcy.”
He grinned. “No, only a mile or two.” He rose and looked into his cousin’s eyes. “I know little of love. I have been tempted by women, to be sure. But what I feel for Miss Bennet is of an entirely different order. I did not bid it, nor can I will it away. Heaven knows I have tried.”
Richard smiled broadly. “Have you determined to propose, then?”
“My aunt will not be pleased.”
“What has she to say about it?”
“Nothing, of course, but she surely will not stay silent.” Darcy raised his brows. “She expects me to marry a woman of fortune, to add to the estate. Which of course I should. The truth is…”
Darcy looked out the window into the light of the full moon. “I do not wish to break up Pemberley. I wish to pass it to my eldest son whole, as my father did to me. If I marry Miss Bennet, we will have to put aside a significant portion of our income to secure the future of our other children.”
“Then you will have to give up your visits to the brothels and gaming hells during your frequent visits to London,” Richard joked. “Darcy, you lead the most respectable life of any man I know. You live below your means and invest prudently. I would be surprised if you could not manage to save a sum each year equivalent to my entire income.”
“A wife will be an added expense.”
“Oh, yes, a vain woman like Miss Bennet could easily drive you to bankruptcy.”
Darcy glared at Richard for his teasing. In truth, Darcy had noticed that Elizabeth seemed to favour a less ostentatious style of dress than her sisters (with the exception of Mary, who seemed to take pride in making herself as unattractive as possible, as a means of demonstrating her piety). Elizabeth would not, he was certain, desire the latest fashions from the Continent each season.
She was accustomed to a simple country life and seemed content in it. She might add no more than three hundred pounds a year to his expenses, if that. A fashionable woman like Miss Bingley would cost him at least a thousand. Elizabeth’s lack of a sizeable dowry did not seem as significant when viewed in that light.
