Page 53 of Pemberley's Imposter
“She is as wanton as you described her, Darcy. Ready and willing at all times.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eerie leer was chilling to witness, and Darcy froze in bewilderment.
“Do not look at me like that. I am three inches shorter than you, and my hands are half the size of yours. Even if I had not made myself known when she entered, she must have noticed the difference. You know how she flirted with me at Rosings. Sought me out at every opportunity and hung on every word I said. I thought I should give her a test, which she obviously failed miserably. Is it not better you discovered her duplicity late thannever, Cousin? We Fitzwilliams look out for each other. Would you truly rather not have known?”
The words were identical to those in his dream…
Elizabeth’s clenched knuckles turned white, her lips set in grim determination, and hatred glinted in her dark eyes. Darcy was taken back to his dream and the terrible hardships she suffered in that hovel of a cottage—forsaken and alone—not to forget Ellie. Darcy did a quick calculation in his head. We have been married for six weeks, and Elizabeth has not had her monthly indisposition. Oh God! She is pregnant!
“Good riddance, I would say.” The colonel smirked at Elizabeth, whose gaze flitted incredulously between the two cousins.
The colonel walked over to Darcy and swatted him jovially on his shoulder. The rage was instant and unrivalled. Elizabeth turned a cavernous gaze at Darcy, and he could not bear to watch her trembling lips or her clouding eyes for a second longer. Richard and his confession be damned.
Grabbing his lying and delirious cousin by his lapels, he backed the shocked colonel into the bookshelf and shook him vigorously. Rage consumed him to the detriment of his good regulation, and he would not mind throwing in a couple of punches.
“You bloody son of a bitch!” Darcy roared. “I have never described my wife as wanton to you or any other person. She is the epitome of virtue, grace, and ladylike comportment. And even if you believed it to be so, your warning is ridiculously late. We are married.” Darcy sneered at his cousin.
“You must be drunk, both of you! How many tumblers of brandy have you had?” Elizabeth scoffed.
“Not enough, obviously,” the colonel replied, sarcasm dripping from his strangled voice.
“You know my frankness well enough to realise I would not lie,” Elizabeth reminded him.
“Yes, I know you are speaking in earnest, my love.” Darcy directed his anger where it belonged and hoisted Richard up against the bookshelf.
“Put. Me. Down,” his cousin warned.
Darcy paid him no mind. He knew exactly how this conversation would proceed. He had already lived through the consequences and knew the outcome. It was not a fate he wished upon his worst enemy.
“I want you gone, Richard. I demand that you never darken my door again, ever! You are not to set foot within a mile of either Georgiana or my wife. I shall write to your father on the morrow and have the guardianship of my sister transferred from you to the viscount.”
“Bloody hell! I shall not allow it,” Richard hissed.
Darcy tightened his grip.
“I shall send for my physician. I have read that soldiers can experience…difficulties after returning from the war.”
“We are family, Darcy. Do not let a wench come between us…” The colonel had not yet given up hope that Darcy could be persuaded.
“Wife, Colonel Fitzwilliam. My wife is my closest family, whom I vowed before God to love for better or for worse for the rest of my life. You know me well enough to comprehend that I take my oaths seriously. Besides, you had ample opportunity to say something sooner, before I married Elizabeth and promisedto love her for all eternity. If honour and love do not convince you, I am certain you understand that I need an heir.”
“Georgiana’s offspring may inherit,” Richard suggested petulantly.
“That is an awful burden to put on her young shoulders,” Darcy replied evenly. “She is but sixteen and will not be coming out for another two years. I might even be dead by then,” he muttered, remembering his frightful stay in a tomb.
“I shall help both you and Georgiana,” the colonel pleaded.
“No, you will not. I want you as far away from Elizabeth and Georgiana as possible. Neither will ever be your wife no matter how much you desire the ownership of Pemberley. I intend to sire my heir with the lady I chose for my wife.”
The colonel seemed to realise he was losing the battle and tried to step sideways, but Darcy was immoveable in his state of calm strength.
“Very well, have it your way, Darcy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam snarled. “You will regret it though. Remember, Cousin, how Elizabeth flirted with me at Rosings?”
“That was not flirting, Richard. She was being her vivacious self, and nothing untoward occurred between the two of you. I know how Elizabeth flirts, and that was definitely not it. Had she been even remotely interested in you, she would have become tongue-tied and embarrassed. She behaved towards you as she does with everyone else she is acquainted with, and you reward her freely given friendship by accosting her person like a lowly thief.”
Darcy was glad he had grabbed the colonel, to protect Elizabeth, as his cousin’s face reddened further—the man was obviously at his wit’s end.
As if possessed by the devil, Richard wrenched out of his grip, grabbed a tome, and hurled it at his head. Darcy dipped and turned to Elizabeth.
