Page 1 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
Chapter One
FitzwilliamDarcyreleasedalong breath, one he felt he had been holding since quitting London. The journey to Kent was nearing its end, and while it was barely a half-day’s travel from town, his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, had slept most of the way, leaving Darcy too much time to reflect.
He glanced out the carriage window. Spring had declared itself victorious over winter at last. While it was still cool for this time of year, the hedgerows were thick and green, and beneath them clusters of primroses nodded in the gentle breeze. The late March sunshine streamed through the window, catching dust motes in its golden rays and warming the leather seats, making a mockery of Darcy’s darkening mood. Surely at Rosings he could find some peace from the relentless thoughts that had plagued him all winter—Bingley’s hollow-eyed misery over Miss Bennet, and his own . . . Well. Best not to dwell on fine eyes and impertinent smiles.
Fitz had awakened at some point, for when Darcy returned his gaze to the carriage, his cousin was wearing a knowing smirk. “Come now, Darcy,” he drawled, tapping his boot against the carriage floor in an infuriating rhythm. “You always turn surly when we come to Kent. Surely after five years, you must admit defeat in your great crusade against Aunt Catherine’s folly?”
Darcy’s jaw clenched. He had not been reflecting on his aunt’s recklessness, but it was a suitable distraction. “Seven years, for the planning began before my father died. I was still at university.”
His cousin sighed. “I am sorry to have mentioned it. Seven years, then.”
“Nature cannot be bent to Lady Catherine’s will, however much she might believe she holds authority over all things. That monstrosity weighs upwards of thirty tons, and the hill’s composition—”
“Is entirely unsuitable for such a burden, yes, yes.” Fitz waved his hand dismissively. “We have all heard your dissertations on soil composition and chalk mines. Yet there it stands, stubborn as its critic, defying your predictions of doom with every passing season.”
No one in his family ever listened to him, except for his younger sister. Everywhere else—among friends from university, Pemberley, in town—his word was taken seriously. It was a constant source of aggravation.
“Every passing season makes it more likely that it will fail,” he grumbled.
“Darcy,” his cousin said, exasperated. “Let us focus on other things.”
“Such as?”
Here his cousin smiled mischievously. “Such as why you were in such a hurry to remove from London this year.”
Fitz’s words struck close to Darcy’s heart, and he batted them away. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“No?” Fitz’s tone was innocent, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. “I could have sworn you said something about protecting Bingley from a fearsome lady. Has her father come after you?”
“Do not be ridiculous,” Darcy cut in, perhaps too sharply. Fitz raised an eyebrow at his vehemence, and Darcy moderated his tone. “The lady was not fearsome at all; she was pleasant and quiet. But she did not care for him in the way he did for her. I simply persuaded Bingley to end an unfortunate situation before it progressed too far.”
“Ah yes, so you said. Tell me, did you consult the lady in question about her feelings, or merely make the decision for everyone involved?”
Darcy frowned. “Clearly, I could not ask her such a thing. I observed her carefully, and she showed no particular preference for him.”
“Youobservedher?” Fitz inquired disbelievingly, straightening in his seat. “Darcy, you know nothing about a woman’s heart.”
“And you do, I suppose?”
“No, I will grant you that. Complete mystery. But I do not pretend otherwise, as you do.”
He attempted not to take affront but was unsuccessful. “I beg your pardon?”
“Darcy,” Fitz replied, “you and Lady Catherine have one thing in common. You both believe you can order the world around you to your liking, and you are both wrong. Allow Bingley to make up his own mind. He is a man full grown.”
“He is barely past his majority, Fitz.” Darcy shook his head. “And I know exactly what he is going through, losing his father so young with an inheritance thrust upon him before he is ready.”
“I would not mind having an inheritance thrust upon me,” his cousin muttered.
Everyone always said that, but they were thinking of the luxuries they could purchase and not the responsibility it required. “Say that you do—what do you do next?”
His cousin tipped his head to one side. “I invest it in the funds and live off the interest.”
“Ah, but prices go up over time, and the amount of interest your money produces remains the same.”
“I invest it in some other project, then.” Fitz did not appear to be enjoying this game, but Darcy pushed through.
“Higher rewards require higher risks. What if you lose everything?”
