Page 38 of Mr. Darcy's Complex Courtship

Words of protest came to mind, but I suppressed them—in his place, I should want to do the same. “That is your choice.”

“Who else knows the truth about me?”

“My sister, my two Fitzwilliam cousins, my uncle and aunt Lord and Lady Matlock, and my aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh. My intended, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, also knows the facts”—my lips edged up as I uttered her name—“as do her aunt and uncle with whom she stays in town.”

He grinned. “You are engaged! That is wonderful, congratulations!”

“Thank you, but not quite yet. Miss Bennet and I have an understanding, but her father is rather singular. He has insisted our betrothment remain a secret for now.”

“I see.” Mr. Wood unclenched his hands, resting his palms upon his thighs. “Well, I am in anticipation of meeting Miss Bennet, your sister, and the rest of your family and friends.”

“They will be pleased to make your acquaintance.” I fought to maintain the appearance of ease. The notion of introducing him to Elizabeth caused my respiration to falter. Did he have to be so very good-looking?

Friday, 29 May

Newbury

Darcy

For the first hour of our journey, Mr. Wood and I spoke of our respective childhoods. He referred to his adoptive parents in affectionate terms. He had cultivated a love of books from the late Mr. Wood, who had been an avid reader.

We fell into an easy silence until I caught sight of Mr. Wood blenching while he stared out at the passing scenery. “Is anything troubling you?”

He stirred towards me, crossing his legs. “I was contemplating how my circumstances may have changed had you found me two years ago.” The tension in his lower jaw relaxed for a moment.

“Why is that?”

“One of the first commissions arranged by my benefactress, Mrs. Dodge, came from Mr. Hawkins, a wealthy gentleman spending the winter in Brighton with his family. He engaged me to paint portraits of his two young sons and his daughter, Miss Amelia Hawkins.” His tone softened as he uttered the lady’s name. “She captivated me upon my first glimpse of her. Miss Hawkins embodied a peculiar sort of beauty, both unique and timeless, and her admirable inner qualities enhanced her charm.”

His complexion coloured, and he averted his gaze. “Miss Hawkins spent several hours each day sitting for me whilst her companion ensured we maintained propriety. We discussed a myriad of topics—our likes and dislikes, our opinions of political matters, our hopes for the future. Her every utterance affirmed my initial affinity for her. After the first week, I confessed my sentiment for her, and to my amazement, she assured me that she returned my feelings. After I completed her portrait and proceeded to paint her two brothers, she and I took walks out of doors in company with her companion. We both believed the situation to be hopeless. Nevertheless, she urged me to ask Mr. Hawkins for her hand, and she promised to plead with him to consent.”

My chest drew taut. What gentleman of fortune and good standing would allow his daughter to wed a tradesman—much less one who had not yet accumulated a fortune?

“I am certain you can guess what followed. Mr. Hawkins ordered me from the house, forbidding me to ever meet his daughter again. He removed his family to town the next day. Several weeks later, I met a lady friend of Mrs. Hawkins’ who stayed a few days in Bath. She told me that Miss Hawkins had accepted an offer of marriage from Mr. Lovell, a landowner from Somersetshire.” Mr. Wood blinked and rubbed his eyes.

“I am grieved to hear this. I wish I had learnt of your existence many years ago.”

“Thank you. At any rate, we are together now. I am grateful to have you as my brother—even though I shall publicly acknowledge you as a distant cousin.”

“The feeling is mutual. Although we met less than four and twenty hours ago, I feel as though I have known you for far longer.”

“Yes, I feel the same way. This has been nothing short of remarkable.”

“Would you be comfortable if we called each other by our given names? It is a common practice for cousins.”

A grin enlivened his expression. “Yes, I should be honoured to call you Fitzwilliam.”

“Very well…Miles.” His name sailed trippingly off my tongue without a scintilla of awkwardness.

Sunday, 31 May

Gracechurch Street

Elizabeth

I sped up to reach my sister. “Lydia, wait, please.” I linked my arm with hers. “I should like a quick word with you.” She released an exaggerated sigh but allowed me to direct her into the nearest empty room.

She toyed with the paste topaz stone on her necklace. “Well, what do you wish to say?”

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