Escape to Pemberley
Bound by duty; saved by love.
When tragedy leaves Mr. Darcy clinging to life, Elizabeth sacrifices her dreams to repay the debt owed to her family's damaged savior. But can her compassion penetrate his bitter heart and spark hope again?
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Chapter Three
As Lydia flounced through the door, Elizabeth felt the first hopeful stirring that perhaps all was not irrevocably ruined. Her wayward sister appeared healthy at least, if shamelessly buoyant. Surely, if matters had gone… too far… Lydia would not seem so cheerful.
"My dear sisters! La, I have missed you all dreadfully." Lydia breezed right by Elizabeth and Jane's tentative embrace to air-kiss each before turning expectantly.
"Come, Kitty, you must hear absolutely everything about gay Brighton and the splendid officers—”
"A moment, Lydia!" Jane interrupted, casting an uneasy look at the stern countenance of the colonel who entered behind her. “Surely, you have had a fright. Are you well?”
Lydia laughed. “Do I not look it? Oh, and do not you look at me like that, Lizzy. Is that pity or disgust in your eye? I am perfectly well, as you see.”
“Lydia, Jane is right,” Elizabeth said. “This is no light matter. Are you not hurt? Where were you these few weeks?”
Lydia sighed. “Oh, Lizzy, you ought to go to Brighton. I know all the officers would find you agreeable. Mama always says the men fancy Jane because she is so beautiful, but it’s the lively dancers the officers like, and you— Well! Why did Mary just stomp away? I am sure I said nothing to upset her. Oh! Mama!”
Cheeks aflame, Elizabeth was starting to shield her face from their visitors—even the maid who had accompanied Lydia in the carriage could not keep the shock from her expression. Elizabeth had begun silently formulating further excuses for Lydia when Mrs. Bennet burst from her room and down the stairs.
"My darling girl! Oh, you live to flutter Mama's poor nerves once again!" Mrs. Bennet nearly dragged Lydia bodily toward the stairs through helpless, mortified Elizabeth's fingers. "My sweet girl is restored to me! Come along, Kitty, let us take dear Lydia upstairs to rest herself."
But Lydia laughed that off airly. "La, Mama, I simply must tell you all about my adventures first! There were balls every night with such refined company—why, with a bit of effort we will all have officer husbands with splendid uniforms before the summer—"
Each foolish boast twinged painfully in Elizabeth's breast as she watched stoic Colonel Fitzwilliam bristle. Lydia's childish antics were an added trial after his evident ordeal—and by all appearances, their father's worried prayers and London's finest investigators had done far less to recover her than this weary soldier.
Must they now also bear the mortification of Lydia casting aside any pretense of remorse for the havoc unleashed? With sinking dismay, Elizabeth read worlds of censure in the Colonel's tightened jaw as her sister obliviously prattled on.
The awkwardness intensified as even the flighty lady of Longbourn now abandoned propriety for elation at Lydia's miraculous return. Elizabeth's eyes beseeched the Colonel not to judge them all too harshly by silly Lydia's obliviousness and her mother's caprice in indulging it—she dearly hoped his understanding would be their saving grace.
Jane hastily interrupted. "We have missed you dearly, Lydia. Thank heaven the good colonel and his cousin went through such efforts to return you safely home. You must be famished."
At his politely reserved expression behind Lydia, Elizabeth added, "Perhaps we could remove to the drawing room for refreshments and… privacy."
“Drawing room, nonsense!” Mrs. Bennet scoffed. “My dearest girl, you will come and rest yourself upstairs, and tell me everything! Kitty, you come, too. Lizzy? Jane?”
Jane and Elizabeth shared a glance, then shook their heads slightly and stepped backward.
“Oh, well, then! Come, my dears! Hill just brought me a fresh pot of tea before you arrived!” Mrs. Bennet turned in a flutter of lace and beckoned her two younger daughters to follow her back up the stairs. Seconds later, they were all gone amid a cloud of giggles and squeals.
Elizabeth winced, glancing first at the colonel, then at the maid. They had not even been introduced to the gentleman who had brought Lydia home, and for him to be treated to such a display! Would he now judge the entire Bennet line by silly Lydia's irresponsible escapades? Mortified heat rose in Elizabeth's cheeks. She sent her father a pained look. Would he say nothing?
Mr. Bennet at last stirred himself from his stupefied silence, exerting enough willpower to compose himself somewhat, though his voice was raspy and faint. “I do not believe we have been introduced, sir. Thomas Bennet, at your service.”
The Colonel bowed slightly. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, lately of His Majesty's First Regiment of Foot, at yours.”
Mr. Bennet blinked, then offered a bow in return. “I suppose I should thank you, Colonel, for restoring my daughter… undeserved as that mercy may be.” He sighed, suddenly looking all of his fifty-odd years. "Please join me in my study while I await the true tale."
Elizabeth exchanged a weighted glance with her father as he held the door for the colonel. Surely, their strained hopes rested on whatever revelations Colonel Fitzwilliam had brought… and by his flinty gaze, they would not be glad tidings.
***
Elizabeth paced the Longbourn drawing room, too unsettled to sit, though Jane perched anxiously on the settee. The only sound was Mary mournfully plonking away at the pianoforte, though her wounded mien betrayed she had little true absorption in the music.
At an off-key note that set Elizabeth's teeth jangling, she finally turned to her glowering sister by the instrument. "Please Mary, you play beautifully, but perhaps something less… funereal… would better suit the occasion?" At Mary's baleful glare she amended gently, "We all share your vexation, but take comfort. Lydia is returned to us, however undeserved fortune smiling upon vice may be.”
Mary's fists crashed discordantly onto the keys. “Indeed, it is perverse fortune when my tedious devotion to proper conduct has earned me naught but this public disgrace! I am universally shunned, yet silly Lydia is rewarded—no doubt she will have an officer husband before Michaelmas!"
"We must not rejoice in our sister's folly,” Jane put in, “but still, we have much to be thankful for."
“Thankful! You will hate me, Jane, but I would be more thankful if she had never come home. Better to have the neighborhood’s pity than their censure.”
“Mary!” Elizabeth cried.
“Don’t you scold me, Lizzy. You know it as well as I do. We were on tenuous enough footing already, and now none of us shall ever get a husband. Mama is right. We shall be starving in the hedgerows as soon as Papa dies.”
Elizabeth shared an exasperated glance with Jane. “You speak to her. Perhaps some of your goodness will rub off.” She started for the hallway, then stopped and looked at Mary once more, then back to Jane. “And perhaps some of Mary’s practicality would do you a bit of good, too.”
“Well, where are you going?” Jane protested.
“I am going to find out why poor Colonel Fitzwilliam has sat unattended for so long. Where is Hill?”
Jane grimaced and pointed up the stairs. “With Mama still.”
“Then I will fetch her.” Elizabeth dusted off her skirts and started for the stairs. But as soon as she was out of sight of the drawing room, she paused. Braving that den of females was more than she could countenance. And robbing her mother of her housekeeper just now, when Hill’s presence likely kept Mama at least somewhat more sedate, was not politic.
But regardless of Mama's hysterics, someone must offer basic hospitality. “Well, Lizzy, you have two legs,” she muttered to herself. “And you need something to do, anyway.”
As soon as she pushed open the kitchen door, she found a plain-faced girl perched at the work table sharing the scullery maid’s nuncheon. Elizabeth paused a moment to study her. This was the maid who had ridden with Lydia. ‘Plain’ was not quite the right description for her. Her features were attractive enough, but there was something about her face that reminded her of Charlotte. Perhaps ‘plain-speaking’ was a better way to explain the girl’s clear, direct gaze before she dropped her eyes at Elizabeth’s inspection.
Elizabeth drew closer. “I hope you have been able to refresh yourself, Miss…”
The girl scrambled to her feet. “Beg pardon, Miss. Beth Reynolds at your service. I accompanied Miss Lydia home.”
“Yes, I know. I hope my sister was not too trying of a companion for you.”
The girl’s eyes shifted up to Elizabeth’s, then back to the floor. “That would not be my place to say, Miss.”
Elizabeth thinned her lips. “Well, I for one am grateful that my sister had a respectable escort, and I thank you, Beth. We share a name! I am Elizabeth Bennet.”
Beth’s throat bobbed and she risked a longer look at Elizabeth. A faint smile even touched her lips. “It’s a right fine name, Miss.”
“I suppose it must be. Please, seat yourself and finish your tea down before it over-steeps. Sarah?” Elizabeth glanced at the scullery maid. “Papa and his guest have not yet been… oh, dear.”
Sarah turned around from the kettle at the stove—her apron splattered in blood and feathers poking out of her hair. “I’m sorry, Miss Elizabeth! Hill said if I did not get this chicken ready for dinner, she’d have my head.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Well, I suppose I can put the tray together on my own. You oughtn’t to be making tea with your hands covered in poultry innards.”
The scullery maid nodded her thanks, and Elizabeth poured a pot of hot water and assembled some pastries on a tray. Gathering her courage, she set off down the hall before she could lose her nerve… or drop her mother’s fine porcelain.
The pungent aroma of steeping tea leaves filled the hallway as Elizabeth gingerly made her way towards the half-open study door. She knocked, and heard the voices within cease. “Come,” her father called. Elizabeth steadied her rattled nerves before nudging the door open with her shoulder.
"Excuse me, Papa, but I thought the colonel would like something to refresh himself."
The colonel stood and cleared the path to her father’s desk for her to set the tray down. “Your father has already lubricated my throat with something a bit stronger, but I will take the tea as well, and gladly.”
Elizabeth offered him a taut smile and set to work. Under the weight of the two men's searching gazes, she carefully doled out cups and saucers before at last curtsying to take her leave.
But her father's weary voice gave her pause. "You may as well stay, Lizzy. No doubt you shall pester the particulars out of me regardless." He took a long draught of tea before continuing wryly. "Please, Colonel Fitzwilliam, permit my daughter any further questions your forbearance will allow."
“Oh, but I do not think—”
“Come, Lizzy, my head has withstood all it can of the particulars. Surely, you will think of something that I have not done yet.” To the colonel, Mr. Bennet merely gestured. “Lizzy helps me with a great deal that she probably ought not. You may speak freely before her, Colonel.”
Mortification flooding her cheeks, Elizabeth sank onto the very edge of the seat across from the colonel. He gaped openly back at her, glancing occasionally at her father as if to ascertain that the gentleman had truly asked one daughter to sit party to the description of another’s disgrace.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had a pleasant face. His were features formed by hardship and duty, but there was a kindness in his eyes that she liked. He allowed her to study him, his lips twitching faintly into a smile as she did so. Mustering her courage, she inquired softly, "Where did you find Lydia, if I may ask?"
The Colonel set aside his barely-touched tea. "I did not find her. My cousin, Darcy, did."
"Then please convey my—our family's deepest gratitude for his efforts when next you see him."
At this Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to withdraw into himself, staring at the floor with sudden haunted regret.
Alarmed, Elizabeth ventured gently, "Forgive me, have I misspoken? You seem very distressed, Colonel."
He drew a breath and shook his head. “I must beg your indulgence. Darcy… endured a very great deal… in his endeavors.” He reached for his cup and appeared to have to force a swallow of his tea down his throat.
“And you wonder if my sister deserved such an effort,” Elizabeth guessed.
The Colonel's weathered features creased into lines of empathy. "Your sister hardly acts as one narrowly escaping ruination."
"I beg you not mistake her callousness for our family's true sentiments. Mama has always indulged Lydia's wild humours too readily. The rest of us are sensible of our debt." She cleared her throat delicately. “Ah… I noticed that you did not disclose where he discovered her.”
The colonel glanced at Mr. Bennet, who gave a tired nod. Fitzwilliam took another sip of his tea and looked down. “At a brothel.”
It was a very good thing that Elizabeth was not holding a teacup herself, or it surely would have been shattered when her fingers went suddenly nerveless. “No! Oh, please… No! Is she… Can she be…”
“I cannot vouch for her virtue,” he supplied. “But she was with him for well over a fortnight, and knowing Wickham as I do… I understand you are not acquainted with him yourself? I cannot say you have missed anything by the oversight.”
“No.” Elizabeth stared at her father, the blood running from her cheeks into her shoes. “Lydia wrote of him, of course. She said he joined the regiment shortly after they arrived in Brighton. All the ladies were charmed by him, Lydia most particularly, and… oh, Colonel, a brothel?”
“I am afraid so. Darcy learned through… various sources… that Wickham is friends with the Madame, and has on previous occasions taken girls to that… establishment… and then left them there when he had done with them.”
Elizabeth gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “You mean that she was almost… almost…”
“Take heart, Miss Elizabeth,” he interrupted kindly. “Your sister is safe now.”
“But from what! Oh, what she must have done… how can she be so damned cheerful about it?” She swallowed and bit her tongue, her cheeks heating all over again. “Forgive my language, sir. I do not normally…”
“I would say in this situation it is warranted. You will hear no censure from me on the matter.” He smiled kindly and continued. “The one comfort I can offer you is the intelligence that… well, I hardly think I ought to be discussing such things, especially in the presence of a lady, but Mr. Bennet, I had not finished—”
Mr. Bennet pinched the bridge of his nose, then waved a hand. “Please.”
The colonel chewed his lip and braced his hands on his thighs. “I took her to Darcy’s house immediately to secure her safety. That was full three days ago. I would have brought her to you sooner, but matters there… well, there were several points of crisis, not the least of them being the disposition of Mr. Wickham himself. But I questioned the housemaids attending Miss Lydia closely, and it would appear that… there is evidence that…”
“She has had her courses,” Elizabeth supplied bluntly.
He looked up at her and flicked a hand her way. “Thank you for sparing me the admission. Yes. I believe your family has cause to hope for a complete restoration of her prospects.”
Elizabeth hesitated before confessing in a small voice, "I am afraid it is too late for that, Colonel. The whole town learned of that express from Colonel Forster when Lydia vanished… I know not how. I suspect Kitty told Maria Lucas, but whatever the source of the gossip, the end result is that we are now universally shunned. My own aunt and uncle Philips shut their doors to us.”
“I am sorry, Miss Elizabeth,” he sighed heavily. “I fear they may not be the last, if this is known.”
She withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her nose, for it seemed suddenly inclined to betray her. “Even Papa’s silly cousin Mr. Collins wrote us a letter of… condolences. But he was far more concerned with congratulating himself that such disgrace had not befallen him. It seems that he had given some thought to presenting himself here this autumn and inspecting each of us for a potential bride because he is to inherit Longbourn. Happy circumstance for him that he had not yet come!” She tried to laugh, but her voice shook. "As if any of us would have the odious little sycophant in any case!"
Colonel Fitzwilliam's eyes darkened with compassion. "Vicious tongues indeed, to turn on innocents. You have endured much, and now stand to lose your family legacy when your father passes. I am deeply moved by your trials, Miss Elizabeth."
She composed herself and put the handkerchief away. “Thank you for being so frank with us, Colonel. I suppose you have already informed my father, but… exactly where is this Mr. Wickham now? Is Lydia quite safe from him?”
“Newgate. Awaiting the Assizes.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Newgate! For absconding with a foolish girl who ought to have known better?”
The colonel stirred uncomfortably. “That was not his only crime. If you are a praying woman, Miss Bennet, you may pray that when he is brought to trial, justice is done.” He glanced at her father. “If you will both forgive me, I am wanted back in London at once. I regret to say that I have told you all I know. If there is anything more I can do…”
“No, thank you.” Mr. Bennet waved a hand, then heaved himself from his chair to offer the colonel his hand. “I daresay you have already done more than enough.”
Four
Sunlight crept to the far edges of Darcy's bedchamber, playing over elegant furnishings now feeling more like prison bars with every interminable minute. Still unable to move his own useless legs, he'd slept little, wracked by tormenting dreams soon banished by harsh waking.
Now he could only stare bitterly at the plaster whorls patterning the ceiling, denied even pacing off frustrated energy on the Turkish rug. As the light outside crept higher, Darcy's brooding thoughts spiraled deeper into a well of enraged helplessness.
Giles eased open the door. “I see you are awake, sir. Is there anything I can do for your comfort?”
The tentative hope in his eyes was soon crushed by Darcy's waspish demand. "Leave me be; I've no need of anything."
Undaunted, Giles gently persisted. "Cook has sent up a hearty breakfast tray..." He gestured hopefully to some unseen maid behind him, but Darcy sliced a hand through the air.
"I've no appetite. Take it away."
His stomach growled betrayal at this bald-faced lie, but Darcy ignored it. Like everything now, hunger and such base needs were no longer his own to manage. Soon enough they would have to humiliate him further with their wretched ministrations… bile burned in his throat at this humiliating dependency.
Alone again, all Darcy could do was brood hatefully over Wickham's smirking face as dreams and hopes crashed down those filthy boardinghouse stairs. Even dearest Georgiana still bore scars from her own foolish trust in that demon's silver lies...
Memory unwillingly swept him back to a shabby rooming house garishly lit, where a trembling Georgiana with red-rimmed eyes and tangled golden curls spilled out her naive dreams and bitter shattering...
No! Darcy's fists clenched helplessly in the bedclothes as molten tears of rage and grief spilled over. The guttural howl of an enraged beast echoed through his sumptuous prison.
The door crashed open without warning, admitting Colonel Fitzwilliam's imposing frame, carrying a tray like a scullery maid. Ignoring Darcy's baleful glare, he set the tray down and crossed both arms with a stern air.
"I could hear your bellowing clear down the hall, Cousin. If you've breath to spare on such theatrics, surely food is not entirely beyond your strength."
His meaningful glance took in the untouched breakfast tray. Before Darcy could snarl a retort, Richard leaned over the bed in entreaty.
"Come, man, you must keep up your health. Not only for your own recovery, think of your sister. Georgiana needs you..."
At this Darcy jerked his head away, unable to shield the sheen of anguish in his eyes. "She is better off without an invalid brother who could not protect her." His hoarse whisper betrayed blistering self-reproach.
Richard sighed and poured a cup of tea, then carried it on a saucer to the table beside Darcy’s bed. He drew up a chair and sat down. “How is your head?”
“It might as well be canon-shot,” Darcy growled. “Where were you yesterday?”
“Surely Giles told you. I escorted Wickham’s latest conquest back to the bosom of her family.”
“She has family?” Darcy snorted. “I assumed she was another of his street tarts.”
“Unfortunately not. She is a gentleman’s daughter—a child of fifteen, permitted to go to Brighton as a guest of the colonel’s wife.”
“Preposterous,” Darcy hissed. “Her father must be the veriest fool.”
“No more so than we,” Richard mused quietly.
Darcy shot him a glare. “The two situations are nothing alike!”
“Of course not.” Richard shifted in his chair. “I… I have not yet told you why I came back to London when I did. Why I came immediately to your townhouse looking for you, and how I found you after I discovered you had already gone.”
Darcy stared at the ceiling. “Prescience. Good luck. Whatever it was, I care not.”
“Darcy, you must listen… here.” He grabbed another pillow and lifted Darcy’s cheek to cram the pillow behind him, letting him rest his neck with his head pointed at the chair beside the bed.
Darcy growled in pain and glared at his cousin. “What? Make it quick and leave me be.”
Richard sat back and looked at his hands, clearly choosing his next words with care. "Darcy… there are tidings you must know."
“Wickham is in gaol. You told me. Why did you not shoot the bloody bastard?”
“It is not that. I could not tell you until you were more lucid, but there is something else.”
As Darcy glowered at the wall, Richard tried again more firmly.
"Darcy. Darcy, look at me, damn it all!”
Grudgingly Darcy complied, arrested by his cousin’s grave expression. Richard took a bracing breath, gripped Darcy’s hand with sudden force.
"Georgiana is with child.”
Disbelieving horror dawned slowly, but when understanding crashed over him, he wrenched savagely at the bedclothes until they tore free from the mattress seams.
"No! God, not her, too… he has taken everything from me!”
"Enough!" Richard's sharp command cut Darcy's anguished tirade short. "Spare your self-pity and attend to your sister’s welfare first. There will be time enough later to curse Wickham’s name.”
But Darcy only turned his devastated face to the wall once more.
"What possible good can a useless wretch like me do her?" he whispered harshly. "Georgiana's ruin falls squarely on my head… I failed her, as I did you, Richard.”
“There is no point in thrashing ourselves over what is past. There is only one thing to be done now.”
Darcy shook his head. “No. I will not see her forced to marry some man we have paid to take her. She is but sixteen!”
Richard raked a hand through his hair. “That is not what I was going to suggest. Indeed, there must be a marriage, but not her.”
Cold horror crept over Darcy as comprehension sank its claws in. Richard was fixing him with a steady gaze, just waiting for Darcy to blurt out the words.
“You cannot mean you think I should claim her child as my own? To hide Wickham’s bastard?” Revulsion twisted his features. “I would rather see Pemberley burn!”
Richard held up placating hands as Darcy spat curses, his battered body trembling violently.
“Peace, Darcy! Surely claiming her child is the only way to salvage your sister’s future!”
Darcy bared his teeth, incensed past reason. “You expect Georgiana to endure Wickham’s child under her own roof? No!” He slashed the air weakly. “I will send the babe off to some tenant family, far from her sight!” His chest heaved from exertion and swirling emotion.
“Think, man, think!” He searched Darcy’s face intently. “What of Pemberley’s legacy?”
At this, Darcy attempted levering himself higher, lip curled scornfully though the effort clearly pained him. “Do not mock me. After everything else! It is too much. Georgiana faces ruin enough without the insult of me claiming that bastard child!”
“Darcy, you must listen, for just—”
“No. I refuse.” He turned his face into the pillow, blinking hard against throbbing agony and rising emotion.
Richard passed a weary hand over his eyes, marshaling his arguments. When Darcy finally opened one eye toward him, Richard gently grasped his hand.
"Cousin, forgive my indelicacy… but in your current state, you may be unable..." He gestured vaguely to the inert legs beneath the blankets, unable to give voice to the harsh truth.
Horrified disbelief flashed across Darcy's face. With a strangled sound he tried wrenching away. "Damn you, I've no wish to hear—"
"Darcy!" Richard captured his forearm, stilling his agitated motions. Quietly but relentlessly, he continued. "You may not father an heir of your own now, and Pemberley is entailed. Georgiana's child, born under the Darcy name, could secure Pemberley's legacy." He held his cousin's tortured gaze. "And consider—it would spare your sister from facing the consequences alone. Please… reflect on it."
Bitter laughter erupted from Darcy, grating his raw throat. “Kindly answer me two questions then, oh wise Solon. First, what woman alive would consent to pledge herself to a crippled wreck?” He flung a shaky hand out. “Secondly, who could believe I sired an heir in this worthless body?”
Richard studied his own clasped hands. “The second is simpler. We shall keep knowledge of your… infirmity contained for now. At least until matters are secure. We move you to the country—perhaps to Mother’s lands in Scotland, as soon as you are well enough.”
“Poppycock. You cannot keep such a thing quiet. Do you think that endless parade of doctors you marched through here are not bandying gossip all over London even now?”
“The physicians will greedily guard that secret for the right purse, and I have offered it. Well… you have, I suppose. With my family's influence, a special license could be quietly procured. Father is friends with the Bishop. No questions from that quarter.”
At Darcy’s continued caustic laughter, Richard raised his voice. “It would secure Pemberley for Georgiana's son—legitimate him!”
“If it is even a boy! And who is the child’s mother supposed to be? Hmm? Which of the empty-headed single females of your acquaintance would you have me yoke myself to… no, better yet. Which one would have me now? Vultures, every last one of them. I would not trust them with my home before, and now, when I have so little ability to contain such a woman, you would let her run my house? Insupportable.”
Richard sighed heavily as if the weight of the world lay across his shoulders. “It is the only way, Darcy. Are you even listening, if I try to explain?”
At Darcy’s sullen glare, Richard braced his hands on his knees and took a deep breath. “There is… one young lady I could suggest as a prospective wife. She would understand the necessities.” He hesitated delicately. “And I believe she would accept you, to save her family’s honour.”
“Really,” Darcy retorted drily. “So, she is ruined herself. What a jewel you have procured.”
“Not she… not the lady herself, but her family. Her father’s estate is entailed and she has four sisters, one of whom has brought a stain upon the others.”
“And this is the woman you would make the mistress of Pemberley! I suppose she even has relatives in trade.”
“As a matter of fact, she does. I met her uncle already—a merchant in Cheapside.”
“Leave me, Richard. I’ll hear no more of this. Bad enough you want me to raise Wickham’s bastard as my own, right in front of poor Georgiana. Now you want me to take a woman no other man would have in order to do it!”
“The last thing you need is a woman of fashion and fortune. You need—Georgiana needs someone you can trust. Someone who can manage.”
“And you think this stranger is she?”
“I do.”
Darcy strained his chest muscles and twisted his arm to yank the additional pillow out from under his head. It was a tedious task, made all the more so because he could not fully lift himself off the offending thing in order to pull it away, so he had to tug it free by measures until he had worked it loose enough to throw it across the room. Then, he lay back, staring at the ceiling.
He heard Richard sigh, and his cousin got up. Finally, he was going! Darcy closed his eyes and gripped the torn sheets, waiting for the door to click. So he could pretend for a moment he had not heard…
“She is a kind woman, Darcy.”
His eyes popped open again. Damn them. “What?”
He heard Richard’s steps turn back to the bed. “And an intelligent one. Compassionate, but tempered with a strong sense of justice. Clever enough to think two steps ahead of her circumstances, practical enough to do what must be done, even when others fail. And she was gentle enough to stop and speak with a mere maid—a stranger in her home—and offer her comfort.”
“What care I for any of that?”
“But best of all…” Richard wandered over until he was leaning over him, staring directly into Darcy’s face. “She can find a way to laugh when she really wants to weep.”
Darcy stared back, swallowing hard. “And why is this a virtue?”
“Because, Cousin… that may be the quality you need more than any other in a wife.”
“I do not need a wife at all. Least of all one who is desperate.”
“I am afraid, Darcy, that you no longer have the luxury of choice. And as Georgiana is now more than six weeks gone, you have no time, either.” Darcy heard Richard sigh. “I will speak to Father on the matter this very evening.”
