Page 112 of To Love And To Cherish
“Have a care, darling. He’s a known rake.”
She stifled a grin. His possessive streak pleased her more than she cared to admit.
At supper, they were joined, regrettably, by two of the “diamonds” Lady Helen had once paraded before Darcy: Lady Emma Stanton and Lady Diana Fletcher. The latter wasted no time.
“Mr. Darcy,” Lady Diana said, her voice sharp. “You never called after the Fitzwilliam dinner. I had assumed you showed an interest.”
Lady Emma frowned. “Diana.”
Darcy flushed to his cheekbones. Elizabeth pressed her lips together to contain her amusement.
He cleared his throat. “Lady Diana, the dinner was intended as much for my cousin Richard as for myself. Aunt Helen is determined to see him married.”
“But why invite me,” she pressed, “if you did not intend to pursue the acquaintance?”
Lady Emma interrupted sharply. “Diana, you are not married after three seasons because you behave like this. No gentleman desires a fishwife.”
Lady Diana stood, red-faced, and flounced away.
Darcy exhaled. “Thank you, Lady Emma, for saying what I could not.”
But Lady Emma was not finished. “Mr. Darcy, why were we selected for that dinner in the first place?”
Darcy replied candidly. “The guest list was arranged entirely by my aunt. Lady Helen determined it was high time I married, and I obeyed her summons, as did all the young ladies.”
Lady Emma’s eyes narrowed. “And then you left town entirely.”
“To follow Miss Bennet to Scotland,” he said simply. “And I remained until I had made her my wife.”
She studied Elizabeth a moment. Then, turning back to Darcy, said, “You and I would not have suited. Thank you for being so honest.” She stood and curtsied. “I wish you every happiness.”
When she was gone, Darcy turned to Elizabeth and took her hand. “Do you see what you rescued me from, Elizabeth?”
She chuckled. “It was my pleasure, my darling, though I suspect you now owe me something quite extravagant in gratitude.”
Chapter 59: Rosings
Darcy rode beside the carriage, Rowan’s gait smooth and steady, the pale winter sun casting a wan glow over the frost-covered hedgerows. The chill air carried the faint scent of coal smoke from the city they had left behind, and the fields lay in muted shades of brown and grey. He scarcely noticed the surroundings. His thoughts were fixed upon the letter folded in his breast pocket, written in Mrs. Jenkinson’s cramped, nervous hand, detailing Anne’s decline. Weight loss. Nightmares. Trembling limbs. Delusions. The letter had ended with a plea:I fear Miss Anne will die if something is not done.
When he’d shared the contents with Richard, his cousin had turned grave. “Let us go,” Richard had said. “Today.”
Kitty was to be returned to Kent to continue her pursuit of Mr. Grant, but Lydia had pleaded to accompany her, not having seen Mary or Charlotte in years. Elizabeth, too, had wished to go to lend her support, and he had not refused.
Darcy glanced at the three young women who slumped in their seats, fast asleep after a night of chatter in Lydia’s room. Elizabeth, meanwhile, was watching him. He felt her quiet gaze through the carriage window, and it warmed him. He turned his head and caught her eye. She smiled, and the sight of it eased some tightness in his chest.
It was a comfort he hadn’t known he’d needed.
He took rooms for the coachman and grooms at the local inn, uncertain whether Lady Catherine would permit guests at Rosings. Mary kept the young women at the parsonage, and the Bertrams welcomed him and Elizabeth. Richard, the only personfree to enter the estate uncontested, would plant himself at Rosings and dig into the truth behind Anne’s illness.
He only hoped they were not too late.
The following day brought a distraction: A visit from the Grants. They arrived at Charlotte’s home with their son, Daniel, expressly to meet Catherine’s sister and her husband.
After introductions, Darcy turned to the elder Mr. Grant. “Did you attend Cambridge, sir?”
“I did indeed,” Mr. Grant replied.
“My father and I both studied there. Might you have known George Darcy?”
