Page 3 of Pemberley's Imposter
“Is it not better you discovered her duplicity late rather than never, Cousin? We Fitzwilliams look out for each other. Would you truly rather not have known?” The colonel walked over to Mr Darcy and swatted him jovially on the shoulder.
Elizabeth would have liked to smack the colonel with something hard, preferably over the head. Instead, she clenched her fists until her knuckles ached. Mr Darcy would surely see through his cousin’s flagrant despicable lies. He had to!
“Good riddance, I would say.” The colonel smirked at Elizabeth, who felt like a combination of a skittish foal and an enraged dog.
“I would have preferred to have known before I married the treacherous woman, Cousin,” Mr Darcy sneered, not taking his eyes off her.
Elizabeth and Mr Darcy glared at each other, head-to-head in a battle of wills. Elizabeth afforded her husband ten seconds to come to his senses, never shrinking from the scowl he bestowed upon her, but he remained in silent concord with his cousin.
“You must be drunk, both of you!” Elizabeth scoffed. “How many tumblers of brandy have you had?” She could not believe her eyes or her ears. Nothing made sense except for Mr Darcy’s anger. She could well imagine how the scene must have appeared to him, but surely, once his temper had calmed, he would see reason.
“Not enough, obviously,” her husband replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“You should know enough of my frankness to realise I would not lie to you,” Elizabeth said in an attempt to remind him of their previous dealings. Unfortunately, that did not have the desired effect.
“Yes, I know your frank opinions of me well enough, madam, and can only regret being taken for a fool. I. Want. You. Gone. Both of you!”
“Gone?” Elizabeth whispered. Dread filled her chest to the detriment of her ability to draw breath. “Why?” she asked, bewildered. Her precarious position had yet to penetrate her addled mind.
“Because I cannot stand the sight of either of you. Should I never lay eyes upon you again, it will be too soon. Get out of my house!” Mr Darcy roared at the top of his lungs.
His anger was by no means abating, yet he could not truly mean to throw her out of the house. She must apply to his rationality and so modulated her voice to the appearance of calm.
“It is the dead of night in the middle of winter, Mr Darcy. Are you throwing me out into the cold wearing nothing but a nightgown and robe?”
Mr Darcy raked his eyes over her informal attire.
“You should have thought about that before engaging in a liaison with my cousin inmylibrary.”
She had tried to no avail to defend herself. Neither her explanation nor her reasoning had made any difference; charity was her last resort.
“You want me to freeze to death?” she asked weakly.
Mr Darcy frowned. At last she had penetrated his anger and resentment.
“Scurry up to your room and change into something warm, then you may leave. I shall give you fifteen minutes. If you are not out of the door in the allotted time, I shall throw you out in whatever you are wearing. So, I would make haste if I were you.”
The colonel had been suspiciously quiet during this last conversation. He looked shocked, but Elizabeth assumed he could not be as stunned as she was. What could have possessed him? It was as if he wanted to be caught, relying on his long-standing relationship with her husband to secure him forgiveness for his transgressions.
“You too, Colonel Fitzwilliam. You need not darken my door again either.”
Mr Darcy broadened his stance and rested his hands behind his back, reminding Elizabeth of a general ready for a battle hewas confident he would win. She had lost. Images from their six-week-long marriage flitted before her inner eye. The joyous occasion of their double wedding with Jane and Mr Bingley. Mr Darcy had been unable to conceal his delight, and a smile had graced his face throughout the breakfast following it—even when he had been accosted by the loquacious Sir William for half an hour of repetitive stories about his one visit to St James’s. They had stayed at Netherfield for the enlightening wedding night and left for Pemberley the following day. Once they were ensconced in their own home, the relationship had blossomed, and they had spent every possible second, day and night, in each other’s company. How the considerate, gentle, and passionate man she loved so deeply could turn into the ogre standing before her was unfathomable.How can he not trust the love we share?
“We are family, Darcy. Do not let a wench come between us!”
Ogres obviously run in their family,Elizabeth grumbled to herself. The colonel had displayed his cunning nature and would never fool her again.
“Wife, Colonel Fitzwilliam, she is my wife! I am chained to her for the rest of my life, and you had ample opportunity to say something sooner. How am I supposed to beget an heir now? She is eight years my junior and likely to outlive me.”
The gentlemen debated as though she was not present. Of course, they were mostly concerned about the continuation of the estate—to the detriment of the people living on it.
“Georgiana’s offspring may inherit,” the colonel suggested in affected indifference.
“That is an awful burden to put on her young shoulders,” Mr Darcy argued.
At least he has compassion left for his sister. Poor Miss Darcy would be hunted on the marriage mart if it became known that Pemberley was part of her dowry.
“I shall help both you and Georgiana,” the colonel promised.
