“Sir, you have a treasure trove here. Have you ever catalogued these items?” Darcy lounged in Mr. Bennet’s desk chair, looking over a very rare handwritten Bible, whose pages were beginning to crumble from exposure.
“There is never enough time, William, never the right occasion. And I confess that I am not very well organized. Lizzy helped me often, but I’ve let it all go bad again.”
“Well, I would be glad to send someone over to help you. Let me see about procuring a librarian for you, initially, every day for as long as it takes, and eventually, perhaps once or twice a month for upkeep. These are much too rare and valuable not to be protected.”
Mr. Bennet was overcome with gratitude. Lizzy’s husband was indeed a very excellent fellow.
Chapter 20
It was late when Darcy reentered his coach and was off again for Rosings. He was exhausted and aggravated with himself for delaying his departure for so long. It will be well after midnight by the time we return now. He parted the carriage curtains to look out. I pray she won’t be too worried. He urged his driver to go as quickly as the wet roads would allow and then settled back for the long ride home.
Lately, his concern for Lizzy had become obsessive, all encompassing. She loved him deeply, and her emotions were so erratic that he feared causing her stress of any kind. Hopefully, she will have reasoned that I stayed a while due to the rain and to comfort her father. He watched anxiously as the terrain flew by the window. “Please try to go a little faster, Henry. Thank you,” he called up to the driver.
They finally pulled into the great stone-encased portico of Rosings at just after midnight. Darcy thanked his driver, tipping him extravagantly for the speed and care he had taken, and then entered into one of the side halls. It was eerily quiet. Few lamps were lit in the foyer, and it seemed that only the night butler was awake in the great house. Walking quickly through the downstairs, he handed over his greatcoat then stood at the foot of the grand staircase.
He was always taken aback at the oppressive quiet that could chill a manor house this size. It was positively tomblike with the endless marble floors and soaring ceilings. Huge statues cast ominous shadows in the diffused light. The smallest sounds were magnified tenfold, and his footfalls had been echoing loudly in the halls as he walked. He cursed himself for a fool, he should not have stayed so very long at Mr. Bennet’s. Hopefully, Lizzy was asleep upstairs and not in a frenzy of worry.
He heard a faint sound in the distance, up in the higher reaches of the house, somewhere in the dark. He waited.
It was Lizzy’s voice far off in the stillness, coming from upstairs, possibly from the small sitting room in their bedroom suite. He could discern nothing of what she said, but he began quickly to climb the staircase, making it his heart’s destination. After a moment, he recognized the deeper timbre of his cousin Fitzwilliam’s voice.
Their voices grew in strength and distinction. He had just approached his sitting-room doorway when Lizzy burst into giggles at something Fitzwilliam had said, and then they both began laughing. It was in that attitude which he found them, vastly amused with each other, laughing so heartily, in fact, that they never heard the door open or Darcy walk slowly in behind them.
The room was stiflingly warm, the candles softly illuminating the two merrymakers as they sat side by side, their backs to the door. Both of their chairs were pulled up companionably before the fireplace, both sets of feet up on footstools, shoes off, coffee cups and biscuit remains on the small table between them. What struck Darcy was how tightly they held each other’s hands across this brief expanse, their fingers interlaced. Fitzwilliam brought her hand up to his lips to kiss as they laughed once again.
It was really quite a cozy, heartwarming domestic scene—that is, if it hadn’t been his wife and his cousin.
He stood there a moment before he was captured in Lizzy’s side vision. “William!” she cried as she jumped up from the chair and ran around to him.
“It’s about time you returned, brat. We feared highwaymen had snatched you.” Fitzwilliam smiled broadly and began to stand. “We didn’t even hear you enter.”
“Evidently,” Darcy said, his tone as ice cold as his eyes. Lizzy was just reaching her arms up to him when he stepped back and walked over to the decanter of port on the desk behind him.
“I was very concerned that you would be grievously worried about me, Elizabeth; however, plainly I had no reason for distress. It’s good to see you in such agreeable company, alone here with my cousin. Such good company, in fact, that he was able to relieve your darkest qualms.” He poured a glass for himself, downing it in one gulp, then he slammed the decanter down on the desk.
Fitzwilliam gave a grunt. “Aw, now…don’t start to pout, Darcy. It doesn’t become you. You’ll get wrinkles on that elegant brow of yours.” Chuckling, he sat back down in his chair to finish off his coffee, tossing back the few remaining biscuits. He was annoyingly amused, making Darcy all the angrier.
Lizzy stood motionless, confused, staring up at her husband. “Well, of course I was concerned. Richard has stayed with me for company and was a most welcome support. I would think you would be glad of that.” She was both surprised and hurt at his reaction, her voice barely audible.
“Oh, I know he always has your best interests at heart, don’t you, Fitz? In fact, ever since he first set eyes on you, Elizabeth, your best interests have been uppermost in his thoughts, amongst your other many lovely attributes.” Lizzy gave a little gasp.
Fitzwilliam put down his cup and burped, excusing himself. He used his napkin to brush the crumbs that littered his pants and jacket, then began to wipe his hands. “A word of caution, if I may, Cousin.” He turned to stare steadily into Darcy’s eyes. His voice was very quiet. “Do not say anything now that you will later regret.”
Darcy leaned back on the desk with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes flaming daggers. The two cousins stared, unspeaking, for several tense moments.
The colonel sighed and shook his head. “Very well, I will leave you both. Good night, Elizabeth.” He bent down to kiss the top of her head. “Don’t fret, dearest—Darcy and I have had bigger rows than this, much bigger, and have survived.” He tossed his napkin to Darcy as he passed. “Good night, brat.” With that, Fitzwilliam left the room.
Lizzy turned and stared at her husband in disbelief. “William! How could you?!”
Darcy struggled to loosen his collar, a dark and hateful look on his face. “You know, that’s another thing, my name is Fitzwilliam—Fitzwilliam Darcy. Not Fitz, not William, but Fitzwilliam. I am awfully sorry if it gets you muddled, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”
He sat down heavily into the desk chair and immediately turned his back on his wife. God, I am so tired, so very tired of waiting for this child. Closing his eyes, he rubbed them with his fingertips, feeling guilty and petty and stupid. He knew perfectly well that there were no illicit feelings between his cousin and Elizabeth, knew he had made a muck of things this night when he should have been trying to keep stress from her, knew he should have told her of his disastrous encounter weeks prior with Caroline.
Lizzy struggled to pick up her shoes, waddling out of the room with tears beginning to sting her eyes. I am supposed to trust him without question, and he does this. She was fighting emotions from anger, to hurt, back to anger again. How humiliating! How will I ever face Richard again? Ugh! My feet are killing me. She wanted to go pound on Fitzwilliam’s door so she could complain about her husband, but she realized that was not the best nor most logical plan at the moment.