Page 54 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
Aunt Gardiner arched a brow. “Do you? I confess I am uncertain.”
Elizabeth smiled smugly. “Well, we shall have to wait and see if Mr. Darcy is clever enough to solve it.”
Miss de Bourgh asked to hear it twice more, then gave a measured nod. “I shall repeat it to Richard exactly as you have said it to me.”
Aunt Gardiner exhaled deeply, giving Elizabeth a pointed look. “And you have faith that he will repeat it exactly to Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth hesitated for precisely two seconds, then laughed outright. “No,” she admitted, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Not in the least.”
Miss de Bourgh looked at her, and this time, she laughed too.
Darcy had spent the morning contemplating his own misery.
It was not physical discomfort—the headache was mostly gone, though his back and ribs still pained him if he shifted too quickly. Rather, it was a general state of restlessness. He had never been a man of leisure. He needed something todo.
It was particularly vexing to be in the same house as Elizabeth and yet entirely unable to see her. He cursed himself for having spent all that time in the same house with her last autumn and spending his time avoiding her rather than speaking with her. Though as his insult had still been fresh in her memory then, perhaps it would not have ended well.
The house was too quiet, save for the occasional sounds of movement beyond his door. Servants passed in and out of his chamber with excruciating efficiency, never lingering long enough to provide any meaningful diversion.
Even Lady Catherine, who had spent the first few days of his recovery issuing highly unnecessary decrees about his care, had found a new target: the drawing room, where she had apparently spent the morning giving instructions to a maid on how to reposition a set of cherubs on the mantelpiece.
Darcy had considered pretending to be asleep when Fitz entered, but there was something too triumphant in his cousin’s step, too much eagerness in his movements.
His interest was piqued. “You have something for me?”
Fitzwilliam clasped his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels with an air of great importance.
“A message from—well, you know.”
Darcy’s boredom disappeared instantly.
He rolled over and lifted himself into a reclining position against the pillows. Fitz stepped over to help. When Darcy was propped up, he said, “Go on, then.”
Fitz cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and took a measured breath, as though about to deliver a great pronouncement. Then, with utmost confidence, he declared: “What begins eternity and ends in time and in space, but also begins—no, wait—what is the end of—” He frowned.
Darcy tilted his head slightly, his expression frozen in blank disbelief.
Fitz looked at the ceiling as though searching for inspiration. “It was something about the beginning and the end . . .”
Darcy closed his eyes briefly, willing himself to patience. “Fitz.”
Fitz ignored him, stroking his chin in thought. “I am much better with military orders. They are always direct and only wrong about half the time. Let me see . . . I believe it had something about time ending—or perhaps something beginning?”
Darcy dragged a hand down his face. “You are mocking me.”
“I would never!”
This protestation made it nearly certain that Fitz was enjoying himself, and Darcy’s patience was rapidly unravelling. “Fitz, what exactly did Miss Elizabeth say?”
Fitz’s expression turned unreasonably serious. “She did not speak to me, of course. Anne must have made an error. Something about eternity. And time. And endings. And beginnings. Possibly also mortality? Or was it geography?”
Darcy inhaled deeply. “So, in summary, you have absolutely no idea.”
Fitz rolled his eyes. “Oh, very well. It was something about the beginning of eternity and the end of time—or was it the other way around? In any case, it was quite philosophical.”
Darcy sighed through his nose. “Then . . . oblivion. Or death. Or some cosmic calamity that you have concocted just to irritate me.”
Fitz beamed. “Splendid! I shall take that as your answer.”
