Darcy gaped at her, panic settling into the pit of his stomach. The look in her eyes had been one of such desolation and grief…and resignation. Resignation to what? he wondered. Surely Elizabeth would not break our engagement because of my aunt? Surely she would never leave me? No. She could not possibly leave me. She is mine! I have already made her mine! He recalled the events of the previous day and Elizabeth’s distress over the hurtful gossip she had overheard in Bond Street. Darcy was no longer convinced she would not act in a manner that would be of greater benefit to him in the eyes of society. It took some effort, but he managed to swallow the searing lump that had formed in his throat. Tears stung his eyes; then he recalled his sister was still in the room. Without taking his gaze from Elizabeth, he said in a strained voice, “Georgiana, leave us.”
Georgiana gaped at him. How could her brother ask this of her? How could he expect her to comply with such a highly improper request—especially when Elizabeth was clearly in emotional distress and, therefore, most vulnerable? She hesitated and then heard Darcy’s voice, more commanding this time, as he said again, “Leave us, Georgiana. I must speak privately with Elizabeth.” When still she did not move, Darcy turned on her, his eyes flashing. “I said go!”
Georgiana flinched. She had not seen that particular look on her brother’s face since last summer, at Ramsgate. She began backing slowly toward the door to the sitting room and, when she reached it, cast one last, reluctant look at the man who was more like a father to her than a brother, before finally fleeing the room.
Georgiana ran until she reached the family wing and then entered her own sitting room, pacing the length of it for nearly three-quarters of an hour. She was concerned for Elizabeth, but also for her brother. She had not missed the look in Elizabeth’s eyes, nor misinterpreted it, any more than she had been blind to the panic and pain in Darcy’s. Wondering if enough time had passed for the two to have resolved their differences, she decided to adjourn to her brother’s sitting room to see if he had retired. When she reached his chambers, however, she was met by his valet, Mr. Stevens.
“I am sorry, Miss Darcy, but my master is not in his rooms.”
Georgiana’s brows furrowed. “Oh. Well, then I shall wait, Mr. Stevens. It is very late. I am sure he cannot be long.”
Having known Miss Darcy since she was a small girl, the valet smiled, wishing to shield her from what he surely knew would bring her little pleasure. “Forgive me, miss, but I do believe my master may be quite a while yet. I know he would not wish you to wait up for him. The last several nights Mr. Darcy has had much to attend to and has retired very late.”
Frowning, Georgiana uttered, “Of course. He must be in his study, then. I will just go to him there. I am certain he would not mind my bothering him.”
A fleeting look of alarm passed over Mr. Stevens’s face as he moved to detain her. “Miss Darcy,” he said, his voice firm, “I would not disturb my master in his study.”
“Why not, Mr. Stevens?” she asked.
Mr. Stevens sighed. “My dear girl, I beg your pardon, but I am not at liberty to speak without betraying my allegiance to Mr. Darcy; however, as I also know my master would not wish for you to come upon him unawares, I must entreat you to return to your room and to forget about speaking with him tonight. I regret to inform you that my master will not be available to anyone until the morning.”
Georgiana stared at him. “But I know my brother to have been with Miss Bennet not an hour ago.”
The valet averted his eyes and nodded. “Yes, miss.”
Comprehension suddenly dawned upon her, and swallowing hard, she asked, “My brother has not slept in his rooms for several nights, has he, Mr. Stevens?” Seeing the man’s obvious discomfort, Georgiana added, “Never mind. Good night, Mr. Stevens.” She turned to go then, her heart heavy as she returned to her room.
Darcy had just closed the door and turned when a sudden movement in the shadowy corridor caught his eye. Clad only in his shirtsleeves, breeches, and boots, he froze as he watched Mr. Bennet approach, clutching a well-worn volume of Shakespeare’s Othello, which Darcy recognized as one from his own collection. It was obvious by the elder gentleman’s incredulous expression and pale complexion that he had witnessed him leaving Elizabeth’s rooms. A multitude of possible explanations raced through Darcy’s mind, yet he felt unequal to uttering any of them, knowing full well Elizabeth’s father had already deduced the true purpose of his presence outside his daughter’s bedchamber.
Oddly enough, it was Mr. Bennet who was the first to regain his composure, his voice strained and tired. “Shall we retire to your study for some of your excellent brandy, Darcy? I believe I am suddenly in great need of it.” Darcy nodded almost imperceptibly and proceeded down the corridor to the staircase, Mr. Bennet following a few steps behind.
Elizabeth’s father took a long, slow mouthful of brandy from his glass in a remarkably calm fashion, while Darcy roughly threw back the contents of his own and quickly poured himself another. He took a healthy swallow and ran an unsteady hand across his lips before stationing himself at the window to look out over the square, which was just beginning to emerge from darkness. After his aunt’s visit, he had been hard-pressed to imagine his night getting any worse, yet here he was, caught red-handed by Elizabeth’s father. He could hardly believe his misfortune.
Mr. Bennet’s calm voice broke through the silence. “Am I mistaken in my assumption that the only formality that remains for your marriage to Elizabeth is the actual ceremony itself?”
Darcy was quiet for several moments. “No, sir,” he finally answered in a tightly controlled voice without turning around, “you are not mistaken in that regard.”
Mr. Bennet sat down in one of the leather chairs by the fire and ran his hands over his face, his voice unruffled. “When did this happen?”
Darcy ran his tongue over his lips, his mouth feeling like a desert. “Not quite a fortnight ago, when heavy snow kept her at Netherfield for two nights with Miss Bennet.”
“At Netherfield,” Mr. Bennet said tightly. He exhaled, clearly not pleased, but still trying to remain reasonable all the same. “And while we have been in London?”
Darcy did not respond.
“Darcy?”
He swallowed, cleared his throat, and managed to say, “She has been my wife.”
“You mean your mistress!”
Darcy faced him, his expression icy. “Elizabeth is my wife!”
Mr. Bennet remained silent, knowing if he spoke now, he would no longer be able to control his temper.
Darcy strode to his desk and withdrew several documents from a locked drawer. “My reason for quitting Hertfordshire was to obtain a special license so we might marry as soon as possible. My main reason for inviting you and your family here is so we might marry quickly in London before any news of a scandal touches us, as I am sure it eventually would. Hopefully, our marrying now will prevent it from ever happening, though there is still no guarantee. As it is, I had an unpleasant visit from my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, tonight. Apparently,” he said with undisguised contempt, “Mr. Collins has wasted no time informing her of my relationship with your daughter. To say she was less than pleased would be a gross understatement, but I shall not insult you by relating the particulars of my conversation.”
He crossed to the other side of the room and offered the documents to Elizabeth’s father, who took them. “I had my solicitor draw up the settlement for Elizabeth the other day. In the event of my death, she will be well provided for, even if she does not provide me with an heir. I arranged for ownership of the Pemberley estate to pass directly to her, as well as that of this house and all monetary assets. Though I trust you will inform me if you find anything insufficient, I believe I can say with complete confidence I know of no man who would ever be fool enough to make such a settlement upon a woman he considered only as his mistress.”