Page 38 of Colour My World
She claimed the pawn to his king’s front. “Checkmate.”
He studied the board for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled.
PART THREE
The Past
Darcy
1807 – 1809
Chapter 12
Pemberley, March 1807
The study’s oak door swung open without a sound. Brandy. Tobacco. Aged parchment. The scents of power and permanence.
Darcy stepped inside. His father sat behind Pemberley’s great mahogany desk. His too-thin face revealed nothing.
He gestured for Darcy to sit. “You have become an advocate of Iron Gavel?”
Sir Alistair D’Arcy’s portrait no longer loomed from the corridor. Now it presided above the hearth, severe and still, painted eyes narrowed in disdain. He looked down his nose; a magistrate passing sentence. He had watched long enough. Now, he judged.
“You must marry.”
Darcy released a pent-up breath.So, it begins.He lowered himself into the chair and crossed his legs. His fingers curled over the armrest. “And I suppose you have already chosen my bride?”
His father’s brows lifted. “I am not Lady Catherine. If I were, Anne would already be mistress of Pemberley.”
A warning shot, not a demand. Not yet.
Darcy counted to five. “Then why the urgency?”
“Pemberley requires an heir. And a spare, mind you.” His father set down his glass. “I am not long for this world. You must secure the line.”
Silence stretched. Darcy’s gaze flickered to the chessboard on the side table–a game they had yet to finish. A relic of another life where his father had been merely stern, not frail. When duty had not yet become a prison.
“You know my feelings. Marriage is not a hasty business. I have Georgiana to think of.”
“Pemberley requires more of you than she does!” His father slapped the desktop. He gasped, stood, and doubled over.
What manner of father are you?Darcy waited.
His father straightened, dabbed at his lips with a linen cloth, and paused, frowning at the faint smear. Darcy saw it too: what he thought might be blood.
“Then choose an acceptable mate from the first circle. If you do not, I shall see you married to your cousin.”
“You have never considered Lady Catherine’s scheme.”
“That was when you were a child.” He lifted his glass and drank deeply. “You are no longer in leading strings.”
Darcy let out a humourless laugh. “Thank you for the confirmation.” He bared his teeth in a shape far from a smile.
His father sighed. “Your mother would have expected you to marry well.”
A well-aimed strike.Darcy’s throat tightened. More than any threat, the mention of his mother unsettled him. His father knew this.
“A gentleman’s first duty is to those he loves.”
