Darcy stared at him, saying: “I have no notion what you mean.”
The scrutiny to which his cousin subjected him raised Darcy’s hackles.
“Are you truly unaware, Darcy?”
The words sat between them like a judgment, and for the first time, Darcy realized his cousin was displeased with him, and not just because of the mess with Wickham. What kept him from responding was the inability to know what to say—if he did not know what had displeased Fitzwilliam, there was no way to refute it. Thus, Darcy waited for his cousin to speak again.
Contrary to his expectations, Fitzwilliam sighed in the end, shaking his head. “I have heard much since I came to Hertfordshire, Darcy. That Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst are as poorly regarded as Bingley is admired was no surprise to learn. Whatwasa surprise is that your reputation in Meryton is the same as Miss Bingley’s. To almost everyone I have spoken to, you are aloof, above your company, and disdainful.”
“You know of my discomfort among strangers,” said Darcy, though that sounded inadequate to his own ears.
“I do,” replied Fitzwilliam. “Georgiana’s difficulties this summer inform me that you may not have understood the impression you gave. Until I heard of your actions toward Miss Elizabeth, I might have thought that was all it was.”
“My actions toward Miss Elizabeth?” demanded Darcy. “Now I have no notion of what you are saying.”
“Do the words ‘not handsome enough to tempt me’ mean anything to you?”
Darcy felt the rush of blood away from his face. “She heard me?” His question came out like the screech of a strangled cat.
“By her account, she was only a short distance away and had been sitting there long before you wandered near.”
There was nothing he could say in his defense, so Darcy said nothing.
“As I know you,” said Fitzwilliam, “I suspect your comment was not meant as a slight against Miss Elizabeth, and if it was, I would think you blind. She, not handsome enough for you? What folly, for she is one of the finest ladies I have ever laid eyes upon!”
Darcy swallowed and attempted a response. “With that, I must agree. I mean no slight against her, Fitzwilliam—Bingley often abuses me for being unsociable, and I spoke without thinking. I should have found another way to put him off or just ignored him altogether.”
“Yes, I dare say you should have. I am pleased that you do not appear to have lost your eyesight—I know your tastes, Darcy, and I suspect Miss Elizabeth is the sort of woman who would attract your attention without effort.”
“That is the problem,” said Darcy. “She tempts me far too much.”
“Why it is a problem, I do not know,” replied Fitzwilliam. “You have the power of choice, Darcy. As you have a fine fortune and no title, you are free to choose whoever you want—if society does not approve of her, why should you concern yourself? You have never cared for society anyway.”
It was a point Darcy had never considered. What Fitzwilliam said was not mere idle talk—part of Darcy’s reticence was the inability to tolerate poor behavior, and such was ripe in the circles he frequented in London. In five years, he had not met a woman for whom he possessed anything more than superficial interest, yet Miss Elizabeth had captured and held his attention without effort, apparently with no intention. Denying himself this happiness was not only irrational butwould condemn him to a loveless marriage.
“I see you are reconsidering.”
Interrupted from his thoughts, Darcy returned his cousin’s look. Fitzwilliam nodded at what he saw in Darcy’s eyes.
“The problem is that the lady in question does not look on you with favor, and your unthinking comment at her expense is not the only reason for her opinion. Though I know you have made no decisions at this point, if you wish to make the attempt with her, then you must rehabilitate your reputation first.”
Fitzwilliam shrugged. “I have done what I can to mitigate her poor impression, but there is only so much I can do. If you wish her opinion to change, you must do that yourself.”
“Yes, I can see that,” murmured Darcy.
A wry amusement settled over Fitzwilliam’s features. “At least you will have the opportunity should you wish it. Had she accepted our aunt’s parson, that avenue would be closed.”
Darcy’s heart stopped beating. “Mr. Collinsproposed?”
Finding that strangled question amusing, Fitzwilliam nodded. “He did. Though the Bennets have made no explicit comments in my hearing, I suspect, given what I know of Aunt Catherine’s preferences, what sort of man Collins is.”
“You have no idea, Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy, shaking his head, wondering how he had not seen how Collins favored Miss Elizabeth. “At Bingley’s ball, he not only approached me to speak of Lady Catherine’s continued health without the benefit of an introduction, but he took several opportunities thereafter to regale me with tales of Lady Catherine’s ‘succor,’ her wise edicts, and the hydrangeas she instructed him to plant just so in his garden.”
“A sycophant from his head to his toes, then,” murmured Fitzwilliam, amused at the picture Darcy painted.
“Far more than even I saw, I suspect,” agreed Darcy.
“Collins proposed to her, but she had the good sense to reject him. From what I understand, he engaged himself to Miss Lucas before he even returned to Kent.”
