Page 67 of Till Death Us Do Part: Book 2
Darcy continued, “The date of departure was also set by external events. My cousin, the present Earl, was a Colonel at the time, and a prisoner in France. I went to ransom him but got typhus before I arrived. My memories are—less than perfect,” he admitted sheepishly, adding, “typhus does that.”
“Yes, I believe so, but of course, you will know better than I. Well then, I suppose that explains it, but I assure you it is a practice you cannot continue. Accosting every English woman who looks vaguely like your wife seems counter-productive.”
“It was a shock, but I am unlikely to repeat the error.”
“See that you do not,” she said, just before the waiter arrived with their coffee and some pastries.
Mrs Thorne said, “They have a French pastry chef, and he is wonderful,” which Darcy took to be a sign of at least a temporary truce, so they spent a few minutes enjoying the pastries while talking inconsequentially about Old Town.
Darcy finally said, “I must offer my strongest apologies, Mrs Thorne. Whatever I may have been thinking, there is no excuse for accosting you like that.”
She stared at him over the rim of her coffee cup until he started to squirm. “Need I explain it?”
He shook his head. “No, madam. I know my faults. I have been working on them for years, but my progress appears to be—uneven.”
“What do you mean?”
Darcy sighed. “Let us face facts. Many men are brutes, and I acted like one. Your character is shown in what you do when you face something unexpected, and I fear mine failed me. I have been improving it for some years, and ordinarily think I have progressed very well, but I sometimes fail.”
Mrs Thorne leaned forward and placed her hands face down on the table and examined him carefully. “I suppose you found the similarities in appearance shocking?”
“Yes, you are her mirror image. You look more like her than her four sisters do, but that is no excuse.”
“No, it is not, but,” then she paused pensively; “I am made of sterner stuff than some women, and weaker than others,” then she thought for some time, and finally added, “that said, I was frightened, but I am willing to forgive you for that transgression if you forgive yourself.”
Confused, Darcy asked, “Explain?”
Amanda sighed. “Forgive me if I read too much into what you said, but it sounds like you will feel guilty about the encounter for months, whether I forgive you or not.”
“Probably, but why do you think that?”
“Your apology makes you sound like a man accustomed to such, perhaps for offences long past and better forgotten. I could easily be wrong as well, since I make my own assumptions.”
“Perhaps, but my previous offences were grievous.”
She fidgeted a bit. “Most of us have something like that in our past. Some are greater, some lesser. Sometimes in life we make the best of a situation, sometimes we can only choose the least bad possibility, and sometimes we make mistakes. In all cases, we either get past it, or drag it around like an anchor around our necks until we do.”
She took the last sip of her coffee, and asked, “Do you think you had mostly left your wife in the past, where I dare say, she belongs?”
“Yes, I mostly had,” he admitted ruefully.
“Are you prepared to call the encounter an unfortunate lapse, best forgiven and forgotten?”
“I believe so.”
“I insist, sir. If you continue to flog this horse, I will feel your pain, so therefore I make my pardon conditional. You may take it or leave it, but you must forgive yourself the transgression before I will.”
“I will accede to your terms, madam,” he said with a respectful nod.
“See that you do,” she laughed.
Amanda reached for her reticule, but Darcy said, “Pray, allow me.”
She nodded and put the book about the English gentry back into her bag while he put coins on the table.
She stood with the bag in hand.
Darcy stood along with her but had no idea whether to offer his arm as a gentleman usually should. She saw his dilemma and looked at him for a moment.
