Page 52 of Undone

"I owe both you and our hosts an apology for disturbing the peace of the evening."

"I am only a guest myself, sir." She smiled kindly. "Families have disagreed since the beginning of time. Yours will hardly be the last."

"I am nevertheless obliged to you for your intervention." Darcy inclined his head. "I do not believe we have been introduced."

"I am Mrs. Vane."

"Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Pemberley."

"Pemberley?" A flicker of interest crossed her features. "Is that not the estate everyone speaks so highly of in Derbyshire?"

"The very same."

"It is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of its master."

"And yours, Mrs. Vane. Allow me once more to thank you for stepping between my aunt and me."

"It required very little courage," she replied with an easy smile. "Good evening, Mr. Darcy."

She inclined her head and quietly withdrew into the crowd.

Darcy watched her depart before his thoughts returned immediately to the conversation he had just endured.

Lady Catherine's renewed insistence upon his marriage to Anne, coming at the very moment his reputation stood at its lowest, could scarcely be ignored. Whether she had engineered his difficulties, or merely sought to profit from them, remained beyond his power to prove. Yet every clue now seemed to point toward her, and his suspicions strengthened accordingly.

If Lady Catherine truly lay behind what had befallen him, she had grown bold indeed, to seek him out and press her design upon him so openly, all but daring him to see it for what it was.

Darcy had no intention of allowing suspicion alone to condemn a member of his own family. Nor, however, would he stand idle whilst his life was quietly dismantled around him.

Upon his return to Pemberley, he would write again to Colonel Fitzwilliam.

There had to be a means of discovering the truth.

Twenty-One

Pemberley

30th November, 1811

Darcy

“Had I known you were not in London, I should not have written to you four days ago,” Darcy said as he handed his cousin a glass of whisky. “The post is likely sitting on your desk now.”

“My travels were a matter of urgency.” Colonel Fitzwilliam accepted the glass before lowering himself onto the settee with a weary sigh. He stretched one leg before the fire, the stiffness of several days' hard travelling evident in the movement. “What I discovered could not wait. We halted only when the horses could go no farther, else I should have been here yesterday.”

“Had you arrived earlier,” Darcy replied, taking the chair opposite, “I should not have needed to write at all.”

Fitzwilliam glanced up. “You have discovered something?”

“Yes.” Darcy rested his elbows upon his knees, his own glass forgotten in his hand. “I believe I know who has been behind all my misfortunes these past years, and why.”

The colonel's glass paused midway to his lips. “Who?”

“Our aunt. Lady Catherine.”

His cousin stared at him in disbelief.

“You hinted as much in your letter,” Fitzwilliam said slowly, “but you speak now with certainty. What has convinced you?”