Page 95 of The Slipper Scandal
“Would you prefer we drink it somewhere less comfortable?” Milton asked, raising his glass in toast. “The cellars were cold and disorganised.”
“You have been gone for hours,” Fitzwilliam added. “We feared you had eloped with Miss Bennet.”
“I was in a conversation of some gravity with her father,” Darcy replied, shutting the door behind him. “One I would have preferred to finish uninterrupted.”
"Her father is here?" Fitzwilliam asked, having at least the grace to appear apologetic.
“Blame the wine labels,” Milton said. “They were a cry for help. You had three ports labelled ‘Mature.’ That tells a man nothing of their emotional state.”
“There is nothing wrong with the labels.” Darcy moved to pour himself a glass. “Is this the 1805 claret?”
“I rescued it,” Milton said. “It was languishing beside a suspiciously moody Madeira.”
“I assume you summoned me here for something other than vandalising my cellar? What precisely was the urgency?”
“Fitzwilliam had a note from Miss Abernathy about the events of the day. I thought we might drink your wine while composing a stirring letter of rescue,” Milton added. “Two birds, one cellar.”
“I only meant the note as a precaution, to give you an excuse to leave if you required one.” Fitzwilliam shot Darcy a sympathetic look. “You do not always navigate such emotional scenes well. Is her father causing trouble?”
Darcy sighed, the weariness of the day pressing against his shoulders. “He approves of the match, but Elizabeth fears repeating her parents’ unhappy history. And she has good reason. I witnessed the Bennets quarrel bitterly in front of the entire room. It shook her rather badly.”
“That is unfortunate,” Fitzwilliam said.
“More than unfortunate,” Darcy replied. “It confirmed her worst fears, that marriages beginning in scandal bring misery.”
Milton leaned back, swirling the wine in his glass. “So, we have circled back to your decision to betroth yourself to an intelligent, principled woman who knows her own mind. It really is most inconvenient of you, Darcy.”
“And how did you leave things with Mr. Bennet?” Fitzwilliam inquired.
“He has the marriage articles. But Miss Bennet fled the room in tears after her parents’ display.” Darcy’s voice softened. “If I am to win her, it must be without coercion of any kind. I have done all I can to show her that our marriage would be one of choice.”
Fitzwilliam said nothing at first, his gaze fixed on the fire. The silence lingered, broken only by the soft crackle of the logs. Then, with a sigh, he shifted in his chair. “You have doneeverything in your power, Darcy,” he said quietly. “You have given her certainty where she had none.” He turned the wine glass in his hand. “I wonder if I have it in me to do the same.”
Darcy studied his cousin. “Miss Abernathy?”
“Her father wants her safe. And I live a life of risk.” He let out a dry laugh. “What parent would look upon an officer’s pay and prospects and rejoice?”
Darcy did not smile. “No father rejoices at the idea of his daughter mired in grief. You cannot fault the man for wishing her security. But you must ask yourself whether you can offer her peace of mind in any form.”
Milton shifted with a sigh. “You are both dreadfully in love, and I do meandreadfully.It is exhausting.”
Darcy ignored him. “You may not have the means to promise her safety,” he said to Fitzwilliam, “but you can offer her certainty. You must decide whether the life you have built is worth more to you than the life you might build together.”
Fitzwilliam’s expression darkened. The firelight glinted off the rim of his glass as he stared into it. “You have laid out Miss Bennet’s path and left her to choose it. That is what I must do, is it not?”
Darcy gave a slow nod. “I believe it is. Sell your commission.”
“That is not a thing one does lightly.” Fitzwilliam shook his head.
“You say you love her,” Darcy replied. “Do you love her enough?”
Fitzwilliam stood and walked to the fire. He was silent a long while before turning back to Darcy. “Yes.”
Milton stretched, languid as a cat. “Well, if you are both quite done being tragic, might I offer a morsel of advice?”
Darcy and Fitzwilliam turned towards him warily.
Milton smiled. “Love is not always rational, or practical, or even dignified. But if the lady has tears in her eyes and yourname on her lips, you would do well to stop worrying about what she fears and pay attention to what shefeels.”
