Pride and Proposals

Once again seated, Georgiana paused with her cup halfway to her lips. “Oh no! I forgot to tell you. He has gone to Pemberley.”

“Pemberley? So soon after the ball?”

“Yes, apparently, there is crop blight in some of the fields. They have had prodigious amounts of rain this year.”

While crop blight sounded serious, Elizabeth wondered how the master of Pemberley could help. “But to leave the day after your ball … Had he planned this trip?” Elizabeth selected a biscuit and took a bite.

“No. It is all rather puzzling. He only mentioned it this morning—when his trunks were packed and he was ready to depart.” Frowning, Georgiana took another sip of tea.

“How long will he be away?”

“At least a week.” Georgiana shook her head. “Aunt Rachel will be extremely vexed if I cannot receive any callers for a full seven days.”

Elizabeth drained the last of her tea and gazed into the empty cup. Gypsies were rumored to read tea leaves. If only someone could read her leaves and help explain Mr. Darcy’s behavior.

A voice in the back of her head whispered that his hasty departure was connected to the agitation he displayed on the balcony, but she pushed the idea away. It was the height of arrogance to believe that Mr. Darcy’s actions had anything to do with her.

In all likelihood, he had not spared her a thought since the previous night.

***

If only he could rid his thoughts of Elizabeth as easily as he had removed his person from her vicinity …

Darcy tried to focus his thoughts again on the estate records before him.

He had come within seconds of kissing Elizabeth! Not the best way to conceal his feelings, Darcy reflected wryly. He crumpled a blank sheet of paper into a ball and threw it to the floor, where it joined many others. Nearly two years of hiding his love, and he almost undid it all in an unguarded moment! Truly, he could not be trusted alone with her.

Fleeing London the day after Georgiana’s ball had been an act of pure cowardice, but he had feared another encounter with Elizabeth would provoke an uncontrollable need to confess his feelings. Even now, there were moments when he felt the impulse to order his horse saddled for a hasty trip to London to lay all he had to offer at her feet. But then he pictured the expression on Elizabeth’s face following such a declaration. What if she evinced horror or disgust? Or worse: pity.

No. Every time he mused about Elizabeth’s dark curls or the charming turn of her head when she laughed, he recalled that Elizabeth belonged to Richard. To think otherwise was sacrilege.

Yes, he may have been a coward, but better cowardice than risking the ruin of their friendship—and her good opinion—through unseemly revelations. It is probably too late anyway, he th

ought bleakly. His shameful behavior at the ball had undoubtedly killed any fond sentiments Elizabeth might have possessed.

He owed her an apology—an abject apology— but could not deliver it as of yet.

Elizabeth had spoken of returning to Longbourn not long after Georgiana’s ball; she had never intended to remain for the entire Season. Darcy planned to wait at Pemberley until Georgiana’s letters informed him that Elizabeth had departed. Undoubtedly, they would meet again in London or Netherfield. Indeed, despite his appalling breach of decorum, he could not imagine enduring the pain of a lengthy separation.

But with the benefit of distance, perhaps Darcy would learn to master his passion—or at least better conceal it. Such was his hope.

Yes, his plan was a solid one. With this thought, he bent his head once again over his records.

A few minutes later, his butler entered and placed the day’s post on one end of Darcy’s desk. Glancing briefly at the pile, Darcy noticed a small packet wrapped in brown paper. He picked it up and sliced it open with his letter opener. The package had been sent by Clive Darcy, the uncle he and Georgiana had visited in Philadelphia.

Inside, he found Clive’s letter explaining how the packet contained all of the letters for Georgiana and Darcy that had arrived after they had left Philadelphia. His uncle apologized many times for having neglected to send the letters sooner. Darcy was unsurprised; Clive was one of the most absent-minded people Darcy had ever met.

Inside the packet were some dozen letters, mostly addressed to Darcy on business matters, although there were a few to Georgiana from Elizabeth. He regarded Georgiana’s letters somberly, knowing they would contain a chronicle of his cousin’s illness and final days. Darcy set them aside; Georgiana could decide if she wished to read them.

He found three letters Elizabeth had written to him about Richard’s illness. How he wished he could have been there to help her during such a difficult time!

Darcy arrived at the last letter in the packet. His heart raced wildly when he recognized the handwriting. He had forgotten until now that Elizabeth had posted a letter that Richard had written on his deathbed. Darcy held it in shaking hands.

It was almost like receiving a message from beyond the grave. It was an unexpected gift, but at the same time, Darcy experienced trepidation about the letter’s contents. Then he snorted. What was he thinking? Richard had no deep, dark secrets. He was unlikely to reveal the location of some lost family treasure or the existence of an illegitimate child.

Smiling at his flights of fancy, Darcy opened the letter carefully. His cousin’s handwriting was usually a sloppy scrawl, but the shakiness of the lettering was a sobering reminder that Richard had written when he was very ill.

My Dear William,