Carrie Bebris - Suspense & Sensibility

"No."

Although she detected a flash of humor in his eye as he made the declaration, she knew he only half jested. Any suitor of Georgiana’s would have to prove himself a man of flawless character, spotless reputation, and substantial fortune just to win permission to cross their threshold.

Darcy took his hat from the valet, who then disappeared as discreetly as he’d arrived. She handed the cards back to her husband, who pocketed them.

"Are you even going to show those cards to Georgiana?" she asked.

"Yes. She will want something to read after I lock her in the tower you seem to think I am building."

"So that is why you agreed to a London season for Kitty — so that you could dispatch masons to Pemberley in our absence."

"You have found me out. They are constructing a turret with a winding, rickety stair as we speak."

The repartee softened her mood, and she allowed a smile to reach her lips. "Will the moat be finished by the time we return?"

"It is under way. I am having difficulty, however, locating a troll to guard the entrance."

"I thought you would entrust that duty to no one but yourself."

"They must pass by me to reach the troll."

"Then he will soon become a very lazy troll, for he shall have nothing to do."

The sound of a carriage pulling up indicated that Darcy’s driver waited. Darcy bade her farewell and started to go, but turned round before he reached the door.

"Do you truly believe I am unreasonable concerning Georgiana?"

She paused a moment before replying. "I believe you will not allow her to settle for anything less than a man whose conduct and sense of honor equal your own, and I admire your determination to protect your sister from choosing poorly." She walked to him, to better hold his gaze. "I hope, however, that when the time comes, you will allow her to have a voice in the matter of her own marriage."

"Of course I shall."

She heard restless footsteps above — no doubt Kitty, crossing to the front window yet again only to discover that the carriage below belonged to the Darcys, not to Mr. Dashwood. In a way, Kitty kept watch from her own tower.

"Will you hold Kitty’s suitors to the same standards?" she asked.

"Your father’s authority supersedes mine in that matter, but I hope you know I will guard her interests as vigilantly as if she were my own sister."

"I do know." She looked toward the door, wishing a caller for Kitty would suddenly materialize on the opposite side of it. "I only hope she will have someone for you to be vigilant about."

"I thought you expected Mr. Dashwood to call?"

"Last night I was certain of it. He seemed so sincere in his attentions, even after he found out Kitty was not Georgiana. But each hour’s delay makes me fear that either his intentions were never as serious as he led Kitty to hope, or — "

"Or that in the bright light of morning, he more fully considered the implications oi marrying a young lady with no fortune."

"Any sensible man would. You did."

She knew Darcy had weighed his love for her against the financial and social benefits of marrying more advantageously. She had no fortune, no title, no connections; in fact, in wedding her he had allied himself with a family of compromised reputation following her sister’s elopement. The very notion of an engagement between them had brought the wrath of his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, down upon them both.

"Yet despite worldly considerations, I chose you."

That he, whose every action was dictated by reason, had done so remained a source of wonder to Elizabeth. "Not every man has the ability or the willingness to disregard all that you did."

"If Mr. Dashwood cannot, then his absence today is for the best. Better he lets reason cool his romantic impulses now than rue them later."

Had Darcy ever regretted his decision? She was not a vain, insecure girl, but neither was she insensible of the sacrifices he’d made on her behalf. She busied herself in straightening his lapels. "Marry in haste, repent in leisure?" She attempted to adopt a light tone, but her voice sounded unnaturally high to her ears.

"Mrs. Darcy, what I feel for you in my leisure hours strays far indeed from repentance."

After a parting kiss, Darcy left for his appointment. Elizabeth went to the drawing room, where she found Kitty hovering by the window. In constant anticipation of Mr. Dashwood’s arrival, she had turned down the opportunity to join Georgiana shopping in Bond Street, or do anything else that would take her out of the house. She had instead spent the day fluttering aimlessly from one room to the next, unable to focus on a single occupation for more than a few minutes. If Mr. Dashwood did not call soon, she would surely drive Elizabeth to distraction.

"Kitty, do sit down. Watching the street will not make him come."

Kitty reluctantly perched on the edge of the sofa, where she twisted a button on her skirt until Elizabeth thought it would fall off. "He said he would call. What can be keeping him?"

The sound of a hackney coach pulling up signaled the arrival of a visitor. Kitty rushed to the window.

"Oh! It is only that odd scholar fellow you know."

"Professor Randolph?"

"Yes, him. I needn’t stay, Lizzy, must I?"

Elizabeth dismissed her, as interested in a private conversation with Julian Randolph as Kitty was in granting one. She had not seen the archaeologist since just before Christmas, when he’d helped the Darcys rescue the Bingley family from a murderous houseguest. Randolph’s professional knowledge of mysterious antiquities had proven critical in apprehending the villain, who had been using a centuries-old artifact with unusual properties to enact his scheme.

From the safety of Pemberley, and now their London town-house, Elizabeth sometimes still could not quite believe that the eerie events they’d experienced at Netherfield had not been simply a midwinter night’s dream brought on by reading too many gothic novels. But she had only to pull out the protective amulet Randolph had given her to remind herself that not everything in this world — or the next — could be rationally explained. Darcy, on the other hand, had gone back to dismissing the professor’s supernatural studies as nonsense almost as soon as they’d been proven otherwise. There was little room in his world for things from beyond it. In logic he trusted.

She rose to greet her visitor. "Professor Randolph, what a lovely surprise!"

"I heard you and Mr. Darcy were in town." He looked the same as she remembered, from his slender build to the spectacles that had a habit of sliding down his nose. He wore a new suit, a consequence, she presumed, of the poor scholar having at last found steady employment. Like his other clothing, the suit exhibited an unusual number of pockets. She’d seen him pull everything from pocketknives to candles from his costume.

"How do you like your new post?" she asked. Under the patronage of Darcy’s friend Lord Chatfield, Professor Randolph had recently secured a position as the British Museum’s resident archaeologist.

"] could not be happier. I have just returned from-examining a formation of standing stones in the North Country, and there is talk of sending me to the Continent as soon as the war is over. I would love the opportunity to return to Athens and Rome."

"Return? I know you came here from America, but I did not realize you were so well traveled." Upon reflection, there was much she didn’t know about Professor Randolph.

"This would mark my third expedition to the sites of those ancient civilizations."

She rang for tea. As they waited for the refreshments, he enquired after her and Darcy. She reported that they’d enjoyed a quiet sojourn at Pemberley since the archaeologist had last seen them.