Page 115 of Colour My World
Fitzwilliam rose. “Because you fight as if society—men—follow rules. You challenged yourself to chase a belief you could be a better man than your father.”
Darcy felt as if he had been punched in the chest. “You accused me it was folly.”
“I did.”
Darcy turned away. An iron hand gripped his forearm.
“It was folly because…you were always the better man.”
Darcy closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them, the room was empty.
The door was ajar.
Had he imagined the entire exchange?
“Barty.”
“Sir?”
“A drink, if you please. Not port. Something harder.”
Barty returned with a glass and set it down. “And the colonel’s letter?”
“Burn it.”
Chapter 41
Netherfield Park, November 30, 1811
The storm descended upon Netherfield Park just past noon. From the drawing room window, Darcy gazed out over the sodden, grey landscape. The last of the dead leaves skittered over the gravel drive.
Elizabeth.
He pictured her as she walked with Bingley. What had he seen in her face?Jealousy?Impossible. Yet she had been watching him. Watching him and her sister.Perhaps?
And then, the first carriage appeared. Darcy straightened. A glossy black barouche, its crest unmistakable, thundered up the lane like a war chariot. The de Bourgh coat of arms glared from the door, the gold and black shining even in the rain.
Behind it, a second carriage rolled into view. Darcy swore under his breath.
* * *
He and Bingley reached the hall as the front doors burst open. Lady Catherine de Bourgh swept inside, her cloak billowing like a general surveying a battlefield. Mr Collins scurried after. Bingley blinked in obvious confusion.
Lady Catherine looked at them and scoffed. “Do not stand there like parsnips.”
Darcy scowled.
“Where is the mistress?” she demanded.
Bingley shook his head. Darcy set his jaw and said, “Netherfield has no mistress.”
She sliced the air with a sharp motion of her hand. “Ridiculous. A household of bachelors? At this time of year?Unheard of. Grown men left to manage themselves? No mistress. It will not do.”
She turned sharply. Her cloak whipped at her heels. “You may consider me mistress of the house.”
The butler and housekeeper exchanged glances, then bowed their heads. Bingley gaped. Darcy ground his teeth.
She snapped her fingers. “Let us not linger here like beggars.”
