Having secured Mr. Fowler’s word to give the errant pup more time, Darcy now felt at liberty to stomp back to Rosings to lick his wounded pride.

He had panicked. At a puppy.

Now that he knew that Ruby posed no danger to him, his fear had yielded to embarrassment and, finally, to frustration. It was harder for him to remain angry at the excitable miscreant now that Elizabeth had given her a name, but Darcy gave it his best effort.

He found the housekeeper in the kitchen. Elizabeth’s tonic secured, he tread softly upstairs to avoid his aunt’s notice, ruing the day gawky Ruby had taken it upon herself to ruin his proposal… and his breeches.

Chalmers poked the fire in the bedchamber to life. “I had the cook set aside a tray. Shall I send for it?” He faced Darcy and, with the improved light, saw the ruination of the fabric he had painstakingly brushed and pressed minutes before. His eyes pinched slightly and the corners of his lips spasmed, but Chalmers was too discreet to voice his thoughts.

An explanation was in order. He owed Chambers that. “I had an incident with a boisterous escapee from the kennels.”

“I shall see to them immediately.” He pulled another more comfortable pair of breeches from the top of the dressing screen. Darcy donned them, glad to be rid of all signs of Ruby’s intrusion.

He sat beside the fire and tended to his dinner tray, feeling his muscles uncoil and relax as he assessed the damage. He had decided to propose to Elizabeth and would not allow a rambunctious dog to spoil his plan.

Elizabeth had taken an immediate liking to Ruby and, upon reflection, Darcy determined that he had not uttered any unfavorable epithets aloud. In fact, his manners toward the dog, especially under the circumstances, could only recommend him to the lady. It would be easier for him to strike up a conversation with her at their next meeting. Perhaps she would tease him about the interloper, and he could say something charming about the playful pup. Really, that was all Ruby was. She was too young to be of any harm. This knowledge and the fact that Darcy had no reason to ever see Ruby again made him more forgiving.

Feeling more hopeful for the morrow—his last full day and night at Rosings before returning to London—Darcy sipped tea and read from a book not likely to keep him up past his usual time to retire. One could only dwell on irrigation methods for so long before the eyelids became heavy.

Hours later, he was jarred awake by a kick at the door. He groggily arose and opened it to find Richard clutching a decanter in one hand and two glasses in the other.

“Uncle Lewis kept a fine cellar in his day.” His cousin entered without invitation and sank into the chair opposite Darcy. Pouring brandy into the glasses, he handed one over. “Aunt Catherine was most displeased with your absence. You shall hear of nothing else on the morrow.”

Darcy regretted provoking her over what amounted to nothing. However, he had never been one to be swayed by the opinion of his imperious aunt, and he was not about to begin now. “It shall be a welcome reprieve from her usual complaint.”

“You and Anne?”

“What else?” Darcy groaned. One innocent comment from his mother about how well he and Anne played together as infants, and his aunt had taken it upon herself to assume an attachment. Her expectation had grown with each passing year until she was convinced that such an arrangement had been made at their birth. Unfortunately, Aunt did not take kindly to change, or Darcy would have succeeded in disabusing her of such a disagreeable engagement years ago.

Richard leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Have you seen how Anne looks at her physician? It is no wonder she is so often ill.”

Darcy had not, although he was not surprised his cousin had. There were few things that slipped past Richard’s notice. “I wish her well with whomever she chooses.”

“So long as she does not choose you!” Richard cackled. Darcy raised his drink, and they drank to the frustration of their aunt’s plans. Richard topped off their glasses. “Has Miss Bennet’s headache improved?”

Darcy nearly spilled his brandy in his haste to set it down on the table.

Richard chuckled. “You forget how often we have called at the parsonage since her arrival. You fancy her.”

“Am I so obvious?”

“Hardly! An onlooker would never suspect. In fact, given your reticence, I doubt that the lady herself suspects your regard.”

“Surely not!” Darcy shifted his weight, Richard’s claim as uncomfortable as his chair. 

Richard snorted. “The day I see you flirt with a young lady is the day you shall see me flouncing down the lane with an ostrich feather stuffed in my hat.”

Darcy scowled, contemplating all the conversations he had enjoyed with Elizabeth at Netherfield Park, their snappy exchanges, the times their paths had crossed during her walks over the park, the set they had danced at Bingley’s ball. Too many times, their eyes met over the table in his aunt’s parlor. “Miss Elizabeth can be in no doubt of my regard.”

“Really? How is that? Because you condescend to speak to her at all?”

Darcy did not dignify Richard’s sarcasm with a reply.

“Because you sit stiffly on the parsonage settee and drink Mrs. Collins’ tea while you listen to us converse for the appropriate fifteen minutes allotted to general acquaintances? It is a wonder Miss Elizabeth does not swoon at your mere presence!”

Darcy had allowed Richard quite enough fun at his expense. Flipping the tables, he commented, “At least my conversation does not leave her with a pounding headache.”

Richard’s smile melted. “Yes, I had opportunity between Aunt Catherine’s counsel and Mr. Collins’ supercilious praise to consider if perhaps it was something I said which might have provoked her discomfort. Miss Bennet is one to jest, and I understood her conversation as such, but I might have misread her reaction.”

Elizabeth was always ready with a smile and a witty retort. It was one of the qualities Darcy most admired about her. He could not count on his fingers all the times she had teased him. She had even poked fun at him for not dancing at the assembly in her comments to Richard. “You have sketched her character well in so short a time.”

“Still, as my father always counsels us, it is not for a man to understand the heart of a woman. It would be the height of pride for me to presume insight when I have no basis for such a claim.”

How Uncle could utter that nonsense after over thirty years of marriage astounded Darcy. Did he not know his own wife? Darcy had determined that he would do better. Nestling against the back of his chair, he reached for his brandy. “What did you discuss? Perhaps I might help you discern whether you have cause for concern.”

“We only spoke of Bingley.”

Darcy sat forward. “Bingley? What could you possibly have to say about him?”

“Do not tell me you were not congratulating yourself on having lately saved—and I quote—‘a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage.’ Who other than Bingley would get himself into a scrape of that sort? And after you had spent the whole of last summer with him at Netherfield.”

Darcy grimaced. He had never intended for Elizabeth to learn of his interference, but a union to a family such as the Bennets would be the ruin of gullible, easily swayed Bingley. His friend did not have the strength of character to withstand the overbearing family, and for what? A tepid love from an indifferent wife? Bingley had asked for his opinion, and Darcy had replied honestly. He refused to regret his interference when it had been sought. “What else did you say?” He braced himself.

“Miss Bennet asked for your reasons for this interference. I merely told her my understanding.” Richard shrugged.

“Which was?”

“That there were some very strong objections against the lady.”

Darcy pressed his fingers against his temples, which had begun to throb. “And you did not notice any change in Miss Elizabeth’s manners at this?”

Another shrug. “She enjoys a good jest. When she asked what arts you used to separate them, I initially assumed she was teasing. She prompted me to continue.”

“I imagine she did.” Darcy scoffed, his confidence in her regard wavering. Elizabeth was clever to extract all the information she wished, smiling prettily while his oafish cousin revealed every damning morsel. “How did you reply?”

“I said that you did not talk to me of your own arts, and that she now knew everything I did. Surely you can take no offense at that.” Richard frowned and sipped from his glass. “However, I have to wonder… She did say that your conduct did not suit her feelings. She asked why you were to be the judge, what right you had to decide on the propriety of Bingley’s inclination, and why, upon your judgment alone, you determined and directed in what manner Bingley was to be happy.”

Darcy clenched his jaw. He thought his head might explode. “And you did not sense her pique?”

“I might have sooner had she not expressed her consideration, saying it was inappropriate to condemn you without knowing the particulars. I commiserated, adding—in jest, mind you—that it lessened the honor of your triumph very sadly.”

Ignorant dunderhead! Of all the things he could have said to Elizabeth, the fool had stumbled upon the one subject certain to foment her ire.

Richard downed the last of his brandy. “I suppose you had to be there. I praised you most effectively, holding you up as a model of exemplary friendship.”

Darcy stopped his cousin before he could congratulate himself further. “The young lady I separated from Bingley was her sister.”

Richard coughed, spraying Darcy as he gagged and stuttered. “H-her sis-ter?”

With the aim of increasing his cousin’s guilt, Darcy added, “I had every intention of making an offer of marriage to Miss Elizabeth this evening.”

Richard poured another glass, spilling over the edge in his haste, and downed it in one gulp. Darcy held his peace while Richard cleared his throat, no doubt preparing to utter an apology. Instead, he slammed his glass on the table and exclaimed, “Darcy! How could you?”

Darcy sucked in his breath, too stunned to reply.

“How is one Bennet unsuitable for Bingley when you would attach yourself to a family you deem objectionable? I have never known you to be such a hypocrite.”

Darcy jerked back as though he had been struck. “Miss Bennet demonstrated no particular regard for him.”

“An observation anyone might make about your regard for Miss Elizabeth!”

“Would you have Bingley marry without love?” He had to make Richard understand that he had acted as a good friend should, with Bingley’s best interests at heart.

“And you determined Miss Bennet’s motives by what means?”

Darcy folded his arms over his chest, certain that he was on firmer ground. He prided himself on being an excellent judge of character. “Through months of observation.”

Richard rolled his eyes. “Since when were you granted the ability to read a lady’s heart? Is not Bingley’s happiness his own choice? Who made you the judge?”

“Bingley sought me out himself and asked for my opinion.”

“Which you gladly gave, knowing how easily persuaded he is by you. He trusts you!” Richard shook his head. “I never thought I would see the day you abused that trust.”

Darcy reeled as Richard continued mercilessly, “Tell me, has your counsel brought Bingley happiness, or has he been miserable since leaving Hertfordshire?”

Sucking in a deep breath, Darcy suddenly felt sick. He had spoken the truth and answered honestly when Bingley had asked his opinion. This should not be happening.

“And the young lady. Darcy, what if you were wrong about Miss Bennet? From the little I know of her family, you have dealt them a harsh blow, depriving Miss Bennet of a beneficial match to a gentleman who would graciously care for her and her family.” Richard scrubbed his hand over his face. “It was fortuitous you did not propose to Miss Elizabeth tonight, I can promise you that. She would certainly have refused you.”

Over a matter that could so easily be resolved? He would simply tell her the truth–that he had spoken at Bingley’s request. He had told the truth as he knew it. He had been honest, for heaven’s sake!

To Darcy’s chagrin, Richard had more to say on the subject. “I am appalled by your lack of consideration toward a worthy lady you claim to love. Did you not think how Aunt Catherine would react if she found out you made an offer to someone other than Anne while residing as her guest? How she would punish the Collinses for inviting Miss Elizabeth here? Our aunt is capable of introducing more misery than they have ever known in their lives, and for what? So you can congratulate yourself on your condescension? Create more mayhem in Miss Elizabeth’s family, as though you have not caused enough? It is unconscionable!”

Richard’s face twisted in disgust—a look he had never before directed at Darcy, who felt his cousin’s censure like a kick in the ribs.

Darcy continued to sit by the fire in numb silence, only stirring long after Richard left the room and when Chalmers returned to assist him out of his coat and into his nightclothes. He struggled to understand his error, but he could not deny the truth of Richard’s accusations.

All that mattered right now was what Elizabeth thought. If she considered him the destroyer of her sister’s happiness, then there was only one thing to do. Somehow he must improve her opinion of him.

Angry at himself, angry at Richard, and angry at the circumstances which had upset Elizabeth, Darcy stayed awake several hours longer committing his thoughts to paper.

He thanked Heavens for Ruby, or he would never have had the opportunity to explain himself to the woman he loved.

Darcy needs a reliable wingman. Will Colonel Fitzwilliam be tempted to rally behind his cousin?

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