The Darcy Monologues Read online

  Though it had not been Darcy’s intent to call upon Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle once he had arrived in London four days prior, in the end, the temptation to renew his acquaintance with them proved too great. After meeting with his solicitor and various other business associates during the day, every evening found him dining with them in Cheapside. He sincerely enjoyed their society, Mrs. Gardiner’s intelligence and wit, and Mr. Gardiner’s easy, elegant manners. He had liked them well enough when Elizabeth had introduced them at Pemberley, but Darcy had come to know them so much better since, in part, because of Lydia Bennet’s patched-up marriage, but also because of his continued preference for her second-eldest sister.

  With an inclination of his head, he extended his glass to his host. “I thank you, yes. This wine is excellent, Gardiner. A Muscat, I believe. Wherever did you happen to acquire it? I would not mind adding a few bottles of this one to my own cellar.”

  “Thank you very much, sir,” said Mr. Gardiner with a gratified smile. “It is one of my wife’s favourites, and a gift from a very great friend of mine who is just returned from the Continent. His business took him to Italy, though I am to understand he may have ventured a little farther afield. The Alsace region, to be precise.”

  Darcy grinned knowingly. He had his suspicions as the wine did not taste the least bit Italian. Alsace made perfect sense. “So, this beautiful vintage is French then. I hope my curiosity will not result in any inconvenience for you.”

  “No. No trouble at all,” Mr. Gardiner assured him, “unless you intend to report me to the authorities for being in possession of something that not only ought to have been declared but paid for dearly many times over. Then I am afraid it would be a very great inconvenience indeed, not only for my pocketbook, but for my wife and friend as well.”

  “Fear not. Your secret, your friend, and your wine are all perfectly safe with me.”

  Mr. Gardiner chuckled as he proceeded to refill Darcy’s glass. “I did not doubt it for a moment. I will let Madeleine know she may rest easy, though, and that her Muscat is safe. May I assume by the smile upon your face that the wine’s origin is acceptable, despite your loyalty to the Crown?”

  “More than acceptable. Who am I to hold your excellent taste in wine against you?” Darcy swirled the contents of his glass as he admired the clarity. “I have long preferred French wine but confess to being curious. How did your friend manage to bring this vintage into England without having it confiscated the moment he set foot on English soil? All things considered, it would be in very high demand.”

  “Not without difficulty, I assure you. I consider myself extremely fortunate, not only to have such a clever, adventurous friend during a time of war, but to have nearly a dozen bottles of this fine vintage collecting dust in my cellar.”

  “I would say you are very fortunate indeed,” Darcy agreed as he raised his glass to his host. Mr Gardiner returned the gesture, and both men drank to good friends and good fortune.

  Conversation continued—news and politics, the economy and trade—until Mr. Gardiner paused and shifted his course. “I have long wanted to ask you a question, Darcy, if you do not mind.”

  “Of course. What would you like to know?”

  After placing his glass upon the table, Mr. Gardiner reclined in his chair, linked his hands over his stomach, and exhaled heavily. “I am afraid there is no delicate way of putting this, so I will simply come out with it.”

  Darcy’s forehead creased with concern. “This sounds serious.”

  “My question, I fear, is of a personal nature. Understand in the short time we have known you, my wife and I have both come to hold you in high regard.”

  Unease had settled in his breast. “The feeling is mutual, I assure you. What is on your mind, Gardiner?”

  “A great many things but foremost is my niece Elizabeth. I realise I am not her father, but as my brother-in-law has no knowledge of what you have done for Lydia, I feel it is within my right to enquire as to the particulars of your relationship with her.”

  Though the fire burning in the grate had provided a comfortable, easy atmosphere moments before, Darcy suddenly felt the air in the room grow oppressive and hot. In fact, it was only by sheer force of will that he was able to restrain himself from sliding his finger beneath his shirt collar to loosen his cravat.

  The last thing in the world he had expected on this night was to be blindsided by an inquisition. That the inquisition’s topic was not only extremely delicate in nature but achingly private as well made everything all the worse. While a fair amount of his interaction with Elizabeth had been pleasant, there were countless other moments that had yielded only mortification and pain, on both their parts. In fact, if Darcy was honest with himself, very few exchanges came to mind that would show the conduct of either to advantage. To bide his time, he raised his glass to his lips and took a slow, measured sip of wine as he considered his answer with utmost care.

  As a man of the world, Darcy had not been naïve enough to think Elizabeth’s uncle would not be curious about the more intimate details of their relationship, especially as time passed and it eventually became clear that no prior understanding did, in fact, exist between them; but neither had he thought his day of reckoning would come quite so soon.

  Since Bingley and Miss Bennet rekindled their courtship, Darcy had hoped perhaps Elizabeth and he would soon renew the connection they had shared at Pemberley. But if her recent, lukewarm reception of him the previous week was any indication of her feelings on the subject, Darcy knew he had been much mistaken. Elizabeth smiled little, said even less, and was barely able to meet his eyes, and though he had wanted very much to speak with her, Darcy found himself at a loss as to what to say. After several awkward attempts at civility, neither of them seemed capable of anything beyond silence.

  What then, remained for them besides more of what had already come to pass? Despite his enduring admiration for Elizabeth, he could not discern that she felt any differently than she had last April. Clearly, if that was the case, they had no future to speak of, at least not as husband and wife. Unless both were to make a concerted effort, even friendship seemed unlikely.

  Knowing he must eventually say something to Mr. Gardiner on the topic, Darcy decided that revealing the more innocuous parts of their history might be his safest bet. Perhaps Elizabeth’s uncle would consider that enough for now, and Darcy’s honour would remain intact, at least for a while longer.

  Setting his wine glass upon the table, he cleared his throat and said, “I first made Miss Elizabeth’s acquaintance last year in Hertfordshire, at an assembly in Meryton. It is also where my friend Bingley was introduced to Miss Bennet. Since then we have been in company together on countless occasions dinner parties, card parties, evening parties, and balls. Last April, we happened to meet in Kent, where my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, owns an estate. Miss Elizabeth was visiting her friend, Mrs. Collins, at the same time I happened to be paying a visit to Her Ladyship. We each of us passed several weeks there until Miss Elizabeth had to return to Longbourn. I did not have the pleasure of her company again until we saw one another in July, at Pemberley.”

  “I am much aware of those details,” Mr. Gardiner replied. “Perhaps I ought to rephrase my query, so I will be clearly understood. What interests me most, Darcy, are your intentions toward my niece.”

  Christ. His intentions.

  Darcy supposed his intentions were, in effect, exactly what they had always been; yet, at the same time they were entirely different. What he wanted was for Elizabeth to become his wife. Even after all that had happened, their history of consistently misunderstanding one another, her painful refusal of his deplorable proposal, her sister marrying Wickham, and all in between, he wanted her still. In fact, his longing for her was sometimes so powerful he feared it would burn a hole through his chest.

  But even more than that, Darcy wanted Elizabeth to be happy. He wanted her to be secure, and protected, and well; but most of all, he lo
nged to see her as she was when he first knew her: impertinent, teasing, and joyful. He had thought she seemed happy when they had met again at Pemberley that summer, but now he was uncertain. At Longbourn, Elizabeth’s countenance appeared so far from what it used to be that Darcy found himself wondering if he had not simply imagined her summertime contentment. The possibility of this truth not only disheartened him but confused him as well. Had he acted in her best interest by bringing about her sister’s marriage to Wickham or his own?

  “It is an easy question,” Mr. Gardiner remarked when Darcy failed to answer him. His voice was soft, but the warning in his tone was clear. “I trust you have an answer to give me.”

  Darcy hesitated. “I do, but I am afraid my answer is not so easy for me to give as your question was for you to ask.”

  Mr. Gardiner pressed the tips of his fingers together and steepled them beneath his chin. “And may I enquire as to why?”

  The word “no” was on the tip of Darcy’s tongue, but, by some miraculous feat of restraint, he managed to refrain from speaking it aloud. Instead, he expelled a rueful laugh and dragged his fingers through his hair, frustrated beyond words by the turn his evening had taken. With no other options before him, Darcy knew he had little choice in the matter but to divulge the true circumstances of his relationship with Elizabeth to her uncle, no matter how much he preferred to keep them to himself. A voice in the back of his head whispered that perhaps he had kept his heartache to himself long enough, but it did not make speaking the truth any easier to bear—rather Darcy found the task infinitely more difficult.

  “I am awaiting your explanation, Darcy.”

  “Honestly—” but the rest of Darcy’s words became caught in his throat.

  “I believe honesty is best in circumstances such as these,” Mr. Gardiner said dryly, tapping his fingertips together.

  One look at the elder man’s frowning countenance told Darcy his patience had waned. He drew a fortifying breath and, before he lost his nerve, admitted:

  “Honestly, I am in love with her.” That he found himself able to speak the words aloud nearly shocked him into silence.

  As he had expected, Mr. Gardiner appeared unsurprised by his revelation, and so, with a wry turn of his mouth, Darcy persevered. “No doubt you already deduced as much yourself. However, despite my role in Mrs. Wickham’s marriage, no understanding exists between Miss Elizabeth and myself, but know that I would ask for the honour of her hand tomorrow if I believed there was any chance she would say yes.”

  A full ten seconds passed before Mr. Gardiner found his voice. “You mean to tell me,” he said slowly and carefully, “not only are you not engaged to my niece, as my wife and I anticipated would eventually come to pass once the dust settled from Lydia’s union, but you believe Elizabeth would actually refuse you?”

  “My fears are not the least bit unfounded, I assure you.”

  Mr. Gardiner gaped at him. “You realise, of course, that you must do a hell of a lot better than that, Mr. Darcy.”

  Mortification and irritation caused a flush of heat to spread from beneath Darcy’s cravat to the tips of his ears. He reminded himself this was Elizabeth’s uncle, that he loved her as well, and was therefore entitled to be protective of her. Rather than lash out, Darcy swallowed his pride and admitted in a quiet, clipped tone:

  “I have already been once refused.”

  “By Elizabeth?” Mr. Gardiner cried incredulously.

  Pursing his lips into a thin, hard line, Darcy merely inclined his head.

  “Good Lord, when? Does her mother know?”

  Darcy could well imagine what Mrs. Bennet’s reaction would be upon learning her daughter had refused ten thousand a year. There was no doubt in his mind her disapprobation would be heard all the way to Northumberland, never mind so easy a distance as London. “No,” he said, confident in his supposition that Elizabeth had not, in fact, shared that news with her mother. “No one knows of it other than Miss Elizabeth, myself, and now you. I proposed to her at Easter, when we were together in Kent. Her reproofs”—and here Darcy could not help closing his eyes against the painfulness of the memory—“her reproofs I shall never forget.”

  “Let me rightly understand you,” said Mr. Gardiner sharply. “You proposed to my niece last April and she refused you, quite spectacularly I gather. No understanding of any kind currently exists between you, nor has it ever; yet, you took it upon yourself, not only to become intimately involved in her family’s most wretched affair, but you went so far as to bring about her sister’s marriage at your own expense! Do not think me unappreciative, Darcy, but what on God’s Earth made you think you had the right?”

  “It was not my place, I know, but I felt a responsibility. I told you then that it was owing to my mistaken pride that Miss Elizabeth’s youngest sister was preyed upon by Lieutenant Wickham. If I had exposed him before, there would have been no need to arrange their marriage then.

  “I want you to understand I am not the same man that I was when I first met Miss Elizabeth more than a year ago in Hertfordshire. Then, I had a different view of the world and everyone in it. I believed myself and my manners above reproach, but Miss Elizabeth taught me otherwise. Any improvements to my character are a credit to none but her.

  “I am not proud of myself by any means, especially as I have perpetrated so many wrongs against her over the course of our acquaintance. I believed if I could only find a way to right them. . . . If I could but bring her even a little happiness after all I had done to pain her, then do it I must. I was bound to act. I am bound to act still, for she is deserving of nothing less.”

  For a long while Mr. Gardiner sat silently in his chair while he traced the rim of his wine glass with his fingertip, a frown upon his face and his forehead creased in contemplation. When at last he spoke, it was composedly, but in his eyes Darcy recognised a flash of irritation and wilfulness that reminded him much of Gardiner’s niece.

  “You lied to me, Darcy. You may not have spoken the words aloud, but your actions implied you had reached an understanding with Elizabeth when in fact there was no understanding at all, not even a courtship. By allowing my wife and I to believe you had formed an attachment, a line was crossed. You were wrong for allowing such an intimation, and you were wrong for failing to correct it. You were quite wrong indeed!

  “But it does not follow that you are the only one who has acted wrongly in the matter, for my wife was certain there was something akin to love between you and Elizabeth. Madeleine and I made our own assumptions based upon your admiration of each other without first confirming every particular. We are to blame as well.

  “One fact remains, and it is this: my family and I are indebted to you, sir, and I have always paid my debts.”

  “No,” said Darcy. “You and your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect you and your relations, I thought only of Miss Elizabeth.”

  “Then you must marry.” Mr. Gardiner’s voice brooked no opposition. “There is nothing else to be done. As I said, my wife and I believed you had reached an understanding with our niece, otherwise I never would have accepted your assistance. If word of your involvement gets out, Elizabeth’s good name and those of all her sisters will be ruined. The reputation of the entire family is at risk. Lydia has never been known for her discretion. Lord knows what she is blathering about up there in Newcastle.”

  Darcy’s voice carried evidence of his own agitation. “While I would like nothing more than to oblige you, the situation of which you speak will not be so easily remedied by my simply asking Miss Elizabeth for her hand. Forcing her to agree to a union that is not to her liking would fill her heart with resentment, not only toward myself, but toward you and Mr. Bennet as well, should you choose to inform him of the matter.

  “Miss Elizabeth could hardly bring herself to look at me when we were last in company together. We barely even spoke. Her sentiments toward me have not altered, and I refuse to press her to accept an arrangement that will only succeed
in bringing her a lifetime of misery and regret.”

  Mr. Gardiner said nothing as he regarded Darcy with an expression the master of Pemberley could only describe as . . . odd. “How do you know?” the elder man suddenly asked.

  “How do I know what?” Darcy said, his frustration tested beyond the tediousness, nay, the absolute pointlessness of their conversation.

  “That Elizabeth does not care for you as you care for her. How do you know?”

  Darcy shook his head with a contemptuous snort. “It is simply not possible. Our entire acquaintance has been riddled with misunderstandings. If I had any idea how Miss Elizabeth honestly felt about me before I asked for her hand, I would not have made the request in the first place.”

  He was surprised when Mr. Gardiner not only covered his face with his hands but began to chuckle. “People change, Darcy,” he said, shaking his head. “You, of all people, ought to know that. What makes you so sure my niece has not changed as well? And, since you brought it up, if you were not adept at discerning Elizabeth’s preference for you or lack thereof before, why do you suddenly believe yourself so capable of correctly interpreting her feelings now?”

  Darcy propped his elbows upon the table and dropped his head into his hands with a groan. Every word Mr. Gardiner uttered made perfect sense, and yet Darcy remained doubtful. If he allowed himself to hope and acted on that hope, pursuing Elizabeth’s hand as her suitor, the torturous possibility that she might reject him a second time lingered.

  Of course, if he threw caution to the wind and not only pursued Elizabeth, but discovered she did return his regard, Darcy’s joy as well as her own would likely know no bounds.

  But what if he was wrong?

  What if he was right?

  What if she said no?

  What if she said yes?

  Darcy’s head throbbed from more than the extra glass of Muscat he had consumed over the course of the evening. With an exhalation, he raised his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes. “I have no idea what to do. I cannot afford to make another mistake where your niece is concerned.”