These Three Remain (54 page)

“I am sorry for the pain I have caused you and Miss Bennet. Heartily sorry, Charles. The only amends I can offer are my assurances that I was very wrong about Miss Bennet and that she, indeed, loves you and would yet make you a very happy man.”

Bingley rounded on him. “Your assurances! You tell me that you deceived me, defrauded me of the love of the sweetest of women, encouraged me to doubt my own heart; and I am to accept your assurances?”

“You are right not to depend upon me, Charles. I have proved a poor friend. Leave me out of it. What is your
own
view of Miss Bennet?” Darcy asked quietly.

A variety of emotions played across Bingley’s face as he wrestled with what he had learned. Turning away and taking a seat, Darcy allowed him the dignity of silence. He sipped at the last of his port and waited, the hearth fire snapping against the irons.

“That my dear Jane suffered all those weeks in London, Darcy! What she must have thought of me! What
all
the Bennets must think of me! I cannot understand why they received me with such civility when I returned!”

“Charles, the fact that you were so warmly welcomed by them is further proof that Miss Bennet’s affections are very much in your favor.”

“Yes,” Bingley mused aloud, “that seems reasonable. I
was
welcomed! Although it is true that Miss Bennet and I are not on quite as easy terms as before, I
have
only just returned.”

“If I may be allowed an opinion, I believe a proposal on your part will be answered in a manner that will afford great happiness to you both.”

“Do you, Darcy?” Bingley flushed. Drawing back a little, he cleared his throat. “Truly?”

“I have no doubt; do you?”

“I don’t know!” Bingley resumed his pacing. “I
think
…Last night she…Oh, if I dared to ask! Darcy!” he pled, coming to stand before him.

“Wait if you wish, but it will end the same, Charles, and with that I am silent now on the subject!”

With a shout, Bingley grabbed his hand in a crushing grip. Thereafter such a flood of words poured from that gentleman as went far to assure Darcy that, though he had behaved abominably, he had not lost a friend and that that friend forgave him everything in light of his future happiness.

L
ondon was yet thin of company, most of its exalted inhabitants remaining at their hunting boxes as long as possible before Parliament and the Season called them back to the frantic activities of Town. The normal dizzying round would be greatly exacerbated, Colonel Fitzwilliam told his cousin over a glass at Boodle’s, when they heard the news that Bonaparte had been denied Moscow, albeit at a terrible price. Darcy shook his head. What could one say to desperation so great that it drove men to burn their own homes — an entire capital city! — to the ground rather than leave them to that rapacious monster.

“What are you tsking at now, Darcy! Good Lord, you look like two old men!”

Darcy twisted around at the voice but gave up trying to see its owner and bounded from his chair to pound him unmercifully on the back. “Dy! My God, when did you get back? Why did you not write?”

Lord Dyfed Brougham held up carefully manicured hands in protest at such a greeting and took a step away when Fitzwilliam rose as well. “Write? Too fatiguing by half, old friend! And you, Fitzwilliam, may shake my hand but no more. Yes, that will do.” He grinned at the two of them in fatuous triumph and then helped himself to a nearby chair and motioned for them to sit down. “Write? No, no…thought to surprise you, which I have, quite handily it seems.” Darcy resumed his seat, the absurdity of Dy’s words a signal of the persona he wished to play.

“And how was America, Brougham?” Fitzwilliam sat, stretching out his lanky frame. “You don’t look like it agreed with you.” Looking closely at his friend now, Darcy had to agree, and the closer he looked, the more alarming were his conclusions. Dy was dressed elegantly as always, but his clothes hung about him in an odd manner. His face, neither broad nor fleshy to begin with, was now grown very thin, his cheeks almost sunken. It could not have gone well with him over the sea.

“Do not, I beg you, mention that place in my presence!” Dy laid a dramatic hand over his brow. “How I ever allowed myself to be talked into going, I shall never know. The voyage was brutal, Fitzwilliam, absolutely brutal! The natives are completely without culture or the least morsel of sensibility. It was ghastly!”

Richard hooted at Dy’s description, then asked, “Which natives were these, Brougham? The Algonquian, the Iroquois?” He looked at Darcy for help, but Darcy could only shrug his shoulders.

“No, no, old man.” Dy looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. “The natives of Boston and New York!” He removed a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed at his temples. “Dreadful, simply dreadful.”

Richard rolled his eyes at Darcy and stood up. “Well, I shall leave you to my cousin, who will be of more help to you than I in your recovery, I am sure. Fitz.” He turned and addressed Darcy. “I must get back to post. Remember, His Lordship and Mater expect us for supper tonight, nine sharp!” He bowed to Brougham. “Rather face red Indians myself than delay His Lordship’s supper. Your servant, Brougham.” Dy nodded and graciously waved him away.

Both Brougham and Darcy remained silent as they watched Fitzwilliam make his way to the door through the knots of club members and servants.

Darcy turned back to his friend. “My God, Dy, you look terrible!”

“That bad, then?” His Lordship responded, straightening in his chair, motioning a servant over, and ordering something to drink. “I had not wished to show my face in Town until I had put more flesh back on my bones” — he sighed — “but I had been gone so long as it is that the Home Office was afraid I would lose my footing if I stayed away longer. So, here I am.” He raised his arms. “I look like a scarecrow!”

“What happened?” Darcy leaned across the table.

“I cannot tell you, my friend.” Dy smiled sadly. “Except to say that she eluded me.”

“And Beverly Trenholme, did you find him?”

“He never set foot on that ship you provided passage upon. He, in fact, never left England. Someone else believed she was more needful than Trenholme.”

“Sylvanie! But, no one has seen Bev — Good God, you do not mean…!” Dy nodded, and both men fell silent. The buzz of conversation and laughter of the crowd continued unabated as they sat. Somewhere a glass hit the floor, accompanied by sounds of an argument.

“Tell me,” Dy asked finally, breaking the shocked quiet that had settled between them, “how is Miss Darcy?”

“She is well.” Darcy spoke slowly. “Quite well, actually, although she does miss your company.” Another sort of foolish grin spread across Brougham’s face, this time a sincere one. Darcy sat back and arranged his face and frame in as disinterested an attitude as possible in order to deliver his news. “She has made a new friend since you have been gone.”

Dy’s grin dissolved instantly. “A ‘new friend,’ you say?” He traced the rim of his glass with a finger once, twice, then tapped it. “Might one inquire the name of this ‘new friend’?”

“One might, and I see what you are thinking. No, that is not what I meant.” His friend’s shoulders relaxed. The tight cast of his jaw softened. “Her new friend is Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Elizabeth Bennet!” Dy was all attention. “
Your
Elizabeth? How on earth did that come to pass?”

Maintaining his pose, Darcy told Dy of their meeting by chance at Pemberley in August. Brougham raised a brow at the word
chance
but did not interrupt his recital. “Unfortunately, a letter from home required that she return posthaste, so Georgiana was deprived of her company sooner than she wished.”

“Georgiana,” Dy echoed dubiously, “hmm.” He looked at Darcy compassionately. “It would seem that Miss Bennet is not so ill disposed toward you as you feared. What a shame that she was called away! Have you seen her since, or heard of her?”

Darcy nodded and shifted uneasily. “A little over a week ago I went down to see my friend Bingley — you remember Bingley, the Melbourne ball?” Dy nodded. “I visited him at Netherfield, the property he is thinking of purchasing in Hertfordshire. We called on the Bennets the day after my arrival. It did not go well.”

Dy shot him a questioning look. “How?”

“She scarcely looked at me, barely spoke, although we were in each other’s company several hours.”

“That seems odd!” Dy replied thoughtfully. “Do you mean to say that she refused to answer when you spoke to her, gave you the cut direct?”

“No, certainly not!” Darcy grew defensive. “She was…she was not herself and I…” He looked down at his hands. “I did not know what to think, what to say.”

“Ah, so neither of you could say much to the other,” Dy concluded. “Well, that does make it rather difficult to conduct a conversation or pursue an acquaintance of any sort. Yet you both had less difficulty when she was at Pemberley. Can you think of a reason?”

Darcy eyed his friend. “You
are
persistent, aren’t you?” Dy merely shrugged and smiled back at him. “Yes, there had been some family difficulties of which I was more aware than a passing acquaintance should be.”

“The letter from home!” Dy smacked the table. “Yes, it is coming together. She was embarrassed for what you knew of her family! Quite a predicament for her after she had criticized
your
behavior so severely.” He settled back into his chair and after a few moments had passed asked, “Did Miss Darcy truly like her?”

“Yes, she did, in what time they were together. Georgiana expressed a most sincere wish that they meet again.”

“So,” Dy probed gently, “do you desire some advice, my friend?” Darcy considered and then breathed out an assent. “Then, my advice is to have faith and wait. Your friend is admirably placed to give you reason to visit the neighborhood. Allow time to pass, and try again when the tides of discomfiture run farther from the surface. If she is worth the having, she is worth the time and effort it will take to win her. ‘For aught ever I could read,’ ” he quoted. “But I suppose you know
that
already!” He rose and looked down at his good friend. “I must be off! Recommend me to Miss Darcy with as much affection as you deem appropriate, and tell her I hope I shall see you both again soon.” He bowed then with a flourish and took himself to the other side of the club’s dining room and a group of younger gentlemen known for their flash and dash.

As an inquiry concerning a cockfight drifted back to him, Darcy shook his head and smiled ruefully at the life his friend had chosen or, perhaps, had had thrust upon him.
Wait
had been Dy’s advice,
wait
and
hope
. He could do that, painful as it might be.

For aught that ever I could read.
Darcy struggled to recall the Bard’s words as he rose to leave.
Could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth.
He had just received his hat and walking stick from one of Boodle’s ubiquitous servants when another addressed him, thrusting under his nose a note upon a silver servier .

Darcy mounted the steps of Erewile House with barely a look at his Aunt Catherine’s traveling coach pulled up at the curb. Singular enough that she had not written of her intention to visit, but it must have been urgent indeed if she had come straight to his door. What her reason could be he could not imagine save if it were in some way connected with Anne’s health. The door opened before he reached the top step, revealing a somber-faced Witcher, who reached for his hat and walking stick.

“Where is she?” Darcy asked, stripping off his gloves as he crossed the hall.

“In the drawing room, sir.” Witcher bowed as he received the gloves. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Darcy, but she insisted you be summoned.”

“She gave you little choice, I am sure,” Darcy assured his butler. “You did well. Has Her Ladyship been offered refreshment?”

“Yes, sir, but refused it. Perhaps now that you are here…?”

“Bring up some tea, Witcher. There’s a good man.” Darcy strode up the stairs and to the drawing room doors. Whatever it was that had occasioned this appearance of his aunt, he would soon know more than he wished, of that he had no doubt. Let it not be bad news of his cousin!

“Darcy! At last, you are here!” Lady Catherine stood in command of the room, her posture as straight and stiff as the silver-tipped walking stick she held before her. “Come!” She held out her hand to him urgently. He quickly took it and, giving her the support of his arm, led her to a seat.

“My dear aunt!” he exclaimed at her worn countenance as she sank onto the settee. “What can be the matter!”

“Never,
never
in my life have I been subject to the sort of ill usage and ingratitude I have encountered today. I cannot think to what the world is coming!” Her Ladyship pronounced these words forcefully. “I was never put to such pains and trouble only to be so insulted!”

“Aunt!” Darcy looked down at her with a mixture of relief and consternation. If it was not news of Anne, what could have set her off so and then sent her here?

She fixed her gaze upon him. “It was on your behalf, Nephew, that I exhausted myself. Yes,” she replied to his expression of surprise. “And on behalf of the entire family! Someone must see to these things before it is too late, and as I have always been attentive to the demands of propriety and decorum, the disagreeable task fell to me. If all of the family stands together, we may yet contrive to stop this vicious and scandalous falsehood from spreading further.”

A knock sounded at the door, interrupting for the moment his aunt’s astonishing charge. At Darcy’s call to enter, Witcher and a footman walked into the room with the tea. As it was being laid out, Darcy rose from his seat to escape his aunt’s sharp eye and afford himself an opportunity to think. A scandalous falsehood? His thoughts had immediately gone to Georgiana at the words, but then his aunt had laid it at his door. Could it be something to do with the business at Norwycke or Lady Monmouth? It seemed improbable, but what else was there?