Page 6 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
It was intolerable.
Darcy exhaled sharply, aware that his reaction was excessive. He had heard about the parson’s marriage from his aunt, and he had known Miss Elizabeth was friendly with the new Mrs. Collins; it was only natural that she might visit. It was not as though she had followed him here, if anything, he had unwittingly followed her. And yet, he had spent months persuading himself that his interest in her was of no consequence, that his admiration—if it could be called such—was nothing more than passing curiosity.
He had been deceiving himself.
With a muttered curse, he turned on his heel and strode toward the opposite end of the hall. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he walked, as though he could physically shake off the anticipation that now sparked in his chest.
“Escaping already?”
Darcy stopped and turned. Fitz leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing about his mouth.
“I am not escaping,” Darcy said stiffly.
“No, of course not. You simply had an urgent need to inspect the stairs,” Fitz’s gaze sharpened. “I did warn you not to engage on the matter of the folly. And yet, here you are, pacing the halls within a quarter hour of arriving.”
Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. “She is here.”
Fitz blinked. “Who?”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
A slow grin spread across his cousin’s face. “Ah. May I assume that Longbourn is located in Hertfordshire? Perhaps near Bingley’s leased home?”
Darcy closed his eyes. “It is.”
“Then this is the lady you would never name, perhaps the one you kept from Bingley? Now that is very interesting.”
“It is nothing of the kind,” Darcy snapped. “Bingley was interested in her eldest sister. Miss Elizabeth’s presence is merely unexpected.”
“And troubling,” Fitz added, unrepentant. “To you.”
Darcy ignored him. His aunt would expect his return any moment, and allowing Fitz the satisfaction of prolonged amusement at his expense was more than he could bear at the moment. He straightened his coat.
“I am going back in.”
“Good man,” Fitz said cheerfully. “Do try to prevent Lady Catherine from setting the date for your wedding to Anne before dinner.”
Darcy scowled, but his cousin only laughed, falling into step beside him as they returned to the drawing room.
Lady Catherine barely glanced at him as he entered, already deep in a lecture about Mr. Collins’s latest sermon, which she had taken a hand in writing. Anne was not listening, but Mrs. Jenkinson gave every outward sign of attention. Darcy took his seat, schooling his expression into indifference. But his mind remained elsewhere—on the modest parsonage a short distance away, and the woman within it, whose eyes challenged him, whose sharp wit and sweet laughter unsettled the foundations of everything he thought he knew. She was here, and no matter how he fought against it, he was going to see her again.
An hour later, Darcy was ready to do anything for an opportunity to leave the room and find some quiet place to ponder his situation. But his aunt was still speaking.
Did sheeverstop? The only thing that saved him was that she so rarely required a response.
“Really, Darcy, what were you doing in such a backwater?” she asked suddenly.
He held back a sigh. At least she had offered him a clue about her subject. “May I remind you that Hertford House is located in Hertfordshire?” he inquired coolly. “It is half a day from London, Aunt, hardly a backwater.”
“Were youvisitingHertford House?” his aunt responded glibly. “No?”
Darcy cast a despairing look at Fitz, who merely shrugged, his expression caught between sympathy and amusement.
It was clear that, for today at least, the battle over the folly was lost. The surprise of Miss Elizabeth’s presence so close to Rosings had too thoroughly discomposed him. But he knew, with the same certainty that told him the folly would eventually fail, that he would try again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.
After all, he reflected grimly, Fitz was right. If there was one trait he shared with Lady Catherine, it was stubbornness.
Chapter Three
