“While I shall not trifle with your intelligence and suggest those comments were all in jest, wealth and its trappings are not the most important consideration. I do not wish to spend my life with a supercilious, vain, or haughty woman—I want felicity in marriage, and Miss Bennet is the most genuine woman I have met in years.”
Darcy considered this. “Then you have decided in her favor?”
“No, I have not,” replied Fitzwilliam. “My convalescence will consume the next two or three months at least—I intend to use that time to come to know her better and learn my feelings.
“What Icansay is this—Miss Bennet is the best woman of my acquaintance. If I reject her for her position, dowry, or anything else, it will be a disservice to us both.”
This was a side of his cousin Darcy had never seen. Fitzwilliam was no proud noble; he had always been more than a little careless about the “distinction of rank” as Lady Catherine termed it. The earl himself was a good man with not a supercilious bone in his body—he was well aware of his position in society, but he never flaunted it, never looked down on others for their less fortunate circumstances. Yet Darcy knew the habits of men born to privilege—Fitzwilliam was the sort of man to put such things aside if it suited his purpose, but his jests over the years had never hinted at it.
“You will do what you wish, of course,” said Darcy. “The question I have is whether you can afford to marry Miss Bennet.”
Fitzwilliam nodded, considering. “As you know, my father has provided for me. It is not a stupendous fortune, but it is enough for me to take a wife, even a woman who does not possess much dowryherself. When the war ends, I shall have half pay, and there may be other inheritances about which I know nothing.”
With a shrug, Fitzwilliam added: “Miss Bennet will be content with little if I win her heart. Though I cannot know the future, I can provide her more than the basics of food and shelter. For anything more than that, we shall need to wait and see.”
Darcy nodded. “If you apply to your mother, she might even convince your father to purchase an estate for you.”
“Pride may go before the fall, Darcy, but I would not accept it if she did. An inheritance is one thing, but I prefer to make my way in the world rather than begging my father for an estate.”
“You could not live in the style you do now.”
“I would have Miss Bennet as a wife. That should suffice for anyone.”
A pause ensued, and Darcy regarded his cousin. “To own the truth, I had no notion you were so sentimental.”
This time, Fitzwilliam responded with a warm smile. “Nor did I—not until I met Miss Bennet. Now I understand that a life lived well includes an excellent woman to share the burden. I could search from now until my dying day and never find one better.”
“So long as you understand the challenges you will face,” said Darcy, knowing there was nothing he could do to alter his cousin’s course.
“There is one thing that makes me curious,” said Fitzwilliam, his eyes searching Darcy. “This business of Bingley and Miss Bennet and his failure to return.”
Darcy shifted, uncomfortable at the comment, though he had done nothing wrong. “What do you mean?”
For a long moment, Fitzwilliam continued to study him, then he offered a shrug. “I suppose it does not signify, for Bingley’s loss is my gain. Yet from all Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet have told me, Bingley presented the very picture of a man besotted with a woman, yet he went away and did not return. Do you care to illuminate my understanding about the reason for this lapse?”
After considering what he might say for several moments, Darcy ventured a response. “Bingley’s sisters did not agree with his interest in Miss Bennet.”
“Oh?” asked Fitzwilliam, a wealth of meaning in that one syllable. “Did they offer a reason?”
“Come, Cousin,” replied Darcy, shaking his head in exasperation, “you are acquainted with MissBingley.”
“To my regret.”
Darcy offered a slight smile. “Trust me, Fitzwilliam—you regret the acquaintance much less than I do.”
“Then I must suppose that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst wish their brother to marry a duchess.”
“No, indeed, for even Miss Bingley is notthatdelusional.”
Darcy paused, wondering if he should reveal the extent of the woman’s ambitions. Though he knew it would anger Fitzwilliam, there was no reason for him to blame Darcy—they were nothisambitions.
“Miss Bingley does not push her brother toward such a match because even she knows it is unlikely. Instead, she has a target closer to home.”
The fire in Fitzwilliam’s eyes informed Darcy that his cousin understood his reference at once. “And did you agree with him, plot to offer Georgiana on the altar of her ambition?”
“Of course not!”
Fitzwilliam nodded, but he appeared no less angry.
