Page 73 of Attempted Compromises
The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of Lord Matlock’s London townhouse, illuminating the elegant furnishings and casting long shadows across the patternedcarpet. Darcy stood in the center of the drawing room, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture rigid with tension.
Lord Matlock, the Earl of ---shire, sat in a high-backed chair, his eyebrows raised as he regarded his nephew. “A common license, Darcy?” His voice rose in disbelief. “And in such haste? Surely, you must see how this appears.”
Darcy’s expression did not waver. “The haste is necessary, Uncle. The situation demands it.”
“And why is that?” Lord Matlock’s asked in a chilly tone.
Darcy hesitated, his gaze dropping momentarily to the carpet. “There were… unforeseen circumstances. An incident involving George Wickham and Miss Elizabeth has necessitated a swift union.”
The earl’s eyes narrowed, his keen mind piecing together the unspoken details. “Another compromise,” he said flatly. “First Anne, and now this? Fitzwilliam, must you always marry under duress, especially when caused by Wickham? For all you know, this girl was part of the situation.”
Darcy stiffened. “This is not like before. Anne was a marriage of duty, an arrangement between families. Elizabeth is—” He faltered, his throat tightening. “She is entirely different.”
Lord Matlock raised a brow, unconvinced. “Different or not, have you considered your options? A family of their standing would be easily satisfied with a financial arrangement. It would preserve their reputation without entangling the Darcys in such a union. What is reputation when you have wealth?”
Darcy rose abruptly, pacing the room with restless energy. “You do not understand,” he said sharply. “Elizabeth is not someone to be bought off. She is principled, intelligent, courageous—far beyond any woman I have ever known.”
“Principled?” the earl drawled, his tone skeptical. “And yet it is her family embroiled in scandal.”
“It is not her fault!” Darcy snapped, his voice echoing in the room. “Elizabeth is unlike anyone I have ever known. She has faced more in the last few days than many men could endure in a lifetime, and she did so with dignity and grace.”
Lord Matlock arched a skeptical brow. “Grace, you say? A country miss, raised in Cheapside with merchants for relations?”
“She was the one who risked herself to stop Wickham, to protect those she loves!” Darcy bellowed. “I was drugged, unconscious on the floor, in a ridiculous scheme by Miss Bingley and Wickham, in order to force a compromise. Elizabeth risked her life to stop them. She has shown strength and fortitude that would shame most men.”
The door opened suddenly, and Colonel Fitzwilliam strode in, his brows raised in curiosity. “I heard shouting,” he said casually, his gaze darting between his father and cousin. “What’s this? Fitzy is losing his temper? I must hear more.”
Darcy turned to his cousin, his eyes blazing. “Richard, this is no time for levity.”
“Your cousin,” Lord Matlock interjected dryly, “has decided to marry a country miss of questionable connections and bring scandal upon our heads.”
Fitzwilliam leaned against the mantel, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, well. I’ve never seen you so passionate about anything, Cousin. Tell me, who is this remarkable woman who has managed to upend your famed stoicism?”
“Some low-born chit who got caught up in another of Wickham’s messes,” said Lord Matlock.
Darcy’s voice turned steely. “She is the daughter of a gentleman, and her compassion and wit would put many women of the ton to shame. I will not have her dismissed because of her connections.”
The earl frowned but said nothing, watching his nephew intently. Darcy’s face was flushed with passion, his usual composure stripped away.
“I have seen her kindness in the way she treats her sisters, her courage when she faced dangers most would have fled from, and her loyalty to those she loves,” Darcy continued, his voice firm. “She is not just the woman I amforcedto marry; she is the woman Iwantto marry.”
The two men stared as Darcy began to pace. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet is clever and kind, with a quick wit that leaves me in awe. She challenges me in ways no one ever has. She has brought light to a life I did not realize was so dark.”
Fitzwilliam’s grin widened, and he crossed his arms. “A paragon indeed. I must meet her. Anyone who can inspire such sentiment from you must be extraordinary.”
Darcy shrugged. “She is no paragon, Richard. She is… simply Elizabeth.”
The colonel crossed his arms with a boyish grin. “And there it is. You’ve fallen in love, haven’t you?”
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Darcy said nothing. Then he nodded, his voice quiet but resolute. “I have.”
Lord Matlock remained unconvinced. “Love,” he said, his voice tinged with skepticism. “A noble sentiment, but marriage is not built on love alone. Are you certain this young woman feels the same?”
Darcy’s breath caught, the question striking a nerve he had not yet dared confront. “She has agreed to marry me,” he said carefully. “Her circumstances are… difficult.”
The earl’s gaze sharpened. “And yet, accepting a proposal is not the same as love, as many Englishmen can attest.”
Darcy said nothing, his jaw tightening.
