The Secrets of Darcy and Elizabeth

Chapter 1

London, 1803

Darcy was drunk.

He was inebriated. He was soused. He was foxed.

He had imbibed too much and he knew it. Carefully he set his empty glass on the table only to realize he had actually set it on the air next to the table, causing it to tumble to the floor and shatter. Darcy exhaled some oaths. He thought about summoning a servant to clean up the mess, but it seemed like too much effort – and all the servants were asleep. Better to simply avoid that part of the floor until morning.

He gazed around his sumptuously appointed study: at the mahogany bookshelves crowded with his favorite books, the handsome stone fireplace, two quite comfortable wingback chairs flanking the fireplace. The ancient wooden desk had been in his family for years, but it was now piled high with papers he was trying to ignore. It was a handsome room and he loved it, but it did nothing to soften his mood.

Perhaps the room’s best feature was the crystal decanter of port resting on the shelf behind his desk. Swaying a little, he poured himself another glass and then shakily made his way back to a wingback chair. There was no fire in the grate in early June, but he found the chair more comfortable than sitting behind the desk regarding the work he should be doing.

He had started with wine at dinner and moved on to port after Georgiana retired for the night because she should not see him like this. Of course, she would witness the aftermath in the morning, but he could pass it off as a headache. Or with luck he could sleep so late that she would be out when he arose. He drank deeply from the glass. This had become the only way he could achieve a whole night of sleep recently. One or two more glasses and he should be able to achieve oblivion.

But he was not there yet. He could still see Elizabeth’s fine eyes shining and imagine the exquisite texture of her dark curls…the way her mouth quirked up when she laughed. But then these images dissipated as he recalled the sound of her voice: You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it. Shaking his head he tried to rid himself of the memory, its pain almost as fresh as the day of the disastrous proposal.

The vision of her face, white with rage, haunted him. Why with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against you will, against your reason, and even against your character? What had possessed him? But he knew the answer. I believed I was being frank and honest with her about my misgivings, he mused bitterly. I was so proud of myself. But I never gave a thought for her sentiments. Instead he had hurt her by relating sensibilities he had better left unspoken. She was correct in refusing me, he thought desolately. I do not deserve her. This realization warranted another glass of port. This time he poured with more care and all of the tawny liquid made it into the fine crystal glass. As he took a sip he smiled grimly.

Suddenly the door burst open, causing Darcy to spill port on his shirt in surprise and curse vividly, glaring at the intruder. Colonel Fitzwilliam strode nonchalantly through the door and paused to survey the scene before him. “Port? What an excellent idea!” After pouring himself a snifter, he peered dubiously at the broken glass littering the floor, cautiously walked around it, and settled comfortably in the other wingback chair next to the fireplace.

“Richard,” Darcy greeted him irritably. He had dismissed the servants specifically so no one would witness his dissipation. “I do not recall inviting you into my house or my study.”

“I have a standing invitation and a key to your house,” Richard reminded him, holding the port up to the light. “This really is excellent port. You should consume it more slowly and respectfully.”

Darcy was certain that Richard had a purpose in being there at that time of night, but was equally certain he did not want to know what it was. His brain was moving sluggishly and he knew he was no match for his cousin tonight. Carefully keeping his glass level, he took an unsteady step to the door, hoping – rather than believing – that his cousin would simply let him depart. “It is past time to retire. If you will excuse me…”

Richard stood in one fluid motion and blocked Darcy’s path, gently pushing and toppling him back into his chair. “What do you want, Richard?” Darcy’s voice was edged with irritation.

“This is not a simple social call, cousin,” Richard revealed, gazing steadily at Darcy.

“Imagine my surprise,” Darcy emptied his glass in one swallow. If Richard is determined to be difficult, I am not nearly foxed enough.

“A few days ago Georgiana asked me to talk with you. I requested that she notify me the next time you did this.” As he gestured to encompass the room, Richard’s tone was brisk and matter of fact.

“Georgiana?” Now Darcy was surprised. “How--?”

“You truly believe it eluded her that you get foxed several times a month?” Richard’s tone was light, but there was steel in his eyes. “She is anxious about you. Now that I see you, I am as well.”

Darcy put down his glass on a small table with a little more force than necessary. “There is nothing to be anxious about. I am perfectly fine. Leave me alone.”

Richard was undeterred, regarding his cousin skeptically. “It is nothing? Since we returned from Rosings you have been closeting yourself in your study and stalking around the house like someone died. Georgiana tells me you refuse most invitations, never going out and barely speaking to anyone. Have you looked in the mirror, man? You seem to have aged ten years!”

Darcy felt anger rise, but struggled not to lash out. His cousin deserved better. “Very well. There is something bothering me, but you can do nothing to help,” Darcy thought his voice sounded calm and controlled under the circumstances. “I would rather not discuss it.”

“I am here to listen. Sharing your troubles may lessen them.” Richard’s tone was no longer mocking.

“No.” Darcy stood again to leave.

“So I should leave Georgiana alone to cope with this?” The thought of his sister stopped Darcy cold. “I know your inebriation is not accidental.”

“No,” Darcy readily conceded. “But it is only an occasional indulgence.” Richard snorted in disbelief. Darcy’s tolerance was ebbing. “Go home. Leave me alone.” He turned to eye his cousin. “I shall be better in the future.”

“If it were simply your well-being at stake I would not hesitate to let you stew. But, unfortunately for you I am Georgiana’s guardian as well; what affects her concerns me.” Richard poured himself another snifter of port as Darcy stumbled back to his seat, fearing he would fall over if he did not. He held out his glass for

a refill, but Richard pushed it away.

“I hardly think my moods are within the purview of a guardian,” Darcy said acidly.

“On the contrary,” there was more anger in Richard’s tone than Darcy expected. “She is despondent over your behavior, but apparently you have not noticed. If you will not talk to me for your sake, do it for hers. Otherwise she will persist in believing she has caused your despair.”

Now Darcy was shocked. “What? This has nothing to do with Georgiana!”

“If you confide in me, I can reassure her of that.” Richard watched his cousin closely, but Darcy fell silent. Georgiana was the one thing in his life that still mattered, his one point of vulnerability. He had believed he could keep his despondency from affecting her, but was ashamed to discover how wrong he had been.

Slumping into his chair, Darcy regarded Richard through half-closed eyes, unwilling for his cousin to realize how shaken he was by the news about Georgiana. “I can see you will not grant me any peace until I have revealed all.”

“Now you are talking some sense.”

Darcy grabbed the bottle of port from the table next to Richard and quickly poured himself another glass, quelling Richard’s incipient protest with a glare. He would not tell the humiliating story without fortification. But after sipping his port, he fell silent, reluctant to relive the farce.

“Well?” Richard prompted.