Page 10 of The Difference of a Darcy
“My new rector,” she snapped. “I understand he was introduced to you when you were visiting that tradesman friend of yours in Hertfordshire.”
A faint image of a tall, heavyset, bumbling man rose in his vision. “I vaguely recall him, yes.”
“Well, he will be calling tomorrow with his new wife.”
“Wife?”
“Indeed. He returned to Hertfordshire just long enough to fulfill his duty. I had sent him there with every expectation he would choose one of his cousins. The estate is entailed entirely away from the female line, you know. Five daughters—utterly unprovided for. I had hoped he would secure one of them, and I believe he did.” She sniffed. “Though not the eldest, unfortunately. Perhaps the second. They were married last week.”
A chill swept through Darcy, far colder than any he had suffered during the long, snowbound ride. His racing pulse thundered in his ears.
“The second?”
“It might have been the third. I have no idea.”
“Do you know her name?” he asked carefully.
She glared at him over her cane. “Mrs. Collins.”
“I mean her given name.”
“Certainly not. I have never even laid eyes on the lady. One woman is as good as another, I imagine. I gave him strict instructions on what qualities he should look for when choosing amongst his cousins.”
Darcy stared into the fire, every muscle rigid. The flames blurred before his eyes.
Elizabeth.
He had thought her safe. He had thought her too clever, too discerning to ever accept a man like Collins. She had turned him down—had she not? At the Netherfield ball, she had danced with him only out of obligation. She had mocked him afterward with a glint in her eye.
And yet—if her family’s situation were truly desperate… if she had been made to feel it her duty…
His mind reeled.Hehad made Bingley question Jane’s affections.
Perhaps she had come to believe comfort was more valuable than compatibility. Perhaps she had given up waiting for anything better.
A dull ache bloomed in his chest.
Elizabeth… the wife of such a man.
He could not bear it.
“Excuse me,” he said abruptly. “The journey has left me fatigued.”
Lady Catherine waved him off without lifting her gaze. “Breakfast is at nine. Be punctual.”
He escaped to the corridor, passed the portrait of the late Sir Lewis without a glance, and climbed the stairs two at a time.
It was only once his valet, Bates, had left and the candles were extinguished that he sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded beneath his chin, and whispered the truth aloud to no one.
“I left her.”
∞∞∞
Elizabeth had never before felt so thoroughly a guest and so thoroughly out of place.
It had been two days since she arrived at the parsonage, and though she had taken pains to be cheerful and helpful, the awkwardness of the situation had already begun to settle into her bones. She had never in her life spent such intimate time in the company of a newly married couple—and she hoped never to do so again.
The wedding breakfast, at least, had taken place at Lucas Lodge, which spared her the exquisite discomfort of being beneath the same roof as Charlotte and Mr. Collins on their wedding night. But the next morning, her friend had fetched her with a blush and a forced smile, and Elizabeth had done her best to return both with equal civility—though the wordsmaidenhoodandMr. Collinshad no business occupying the same thought at once.
