Expectations

An excerpt from Julie Cooper's new book, coming July 21

The years had been kind to Mr Darcy; it was Elizabeth’s first thought upon seeing him again.

She had heard of him in the interim, of course. Her sister, Mrs Mary Collins, spoke very well of him—evidently nobody in Kent had ever endured the immoderate excesses poor Charlotte had suffered. She also knew that he had never married, for the Collinses’ patroness, Lady Catherine, had been quite vocal about this failure until her death last year; and had he done so in the interim, doubtless Elizabeth would have heard. She would not wish such a man upon any female; with his fortune, family, good looks, and lack of conscience, it would be a hellish match for anyone.

He will take Tommy over my dead body.

“Mr Darcy,” she began once Cassandra was well away, in what she hoped was a rational tone, “you cannot have been pleased with such a shock as you have received at the hands of my brother-in-law. Thomas is well cared for, and there is no reason to disrupt either his life or yours. If you wished, for that old friendship’s sake, to contribute some annual remembrance or gift as-as a godfather might, I am certain this whole situation can be resolved at very little trouble to yourself.”

“Charles Bingley was no friend of mine,” Mr Darcy said coldly.

This announcement was like a slap of frigid water in her face. Even though Mr Darcy had dropped the acquaintance after Bingley’s marriage, Bingley had never blamed his former friend, speaking of him with the deepest terms of respect. It had always disgusted Elizabeth to hear it; she had been certain that Mr Darcy had cut him due to his contempt for the Bennets.

“Well then, please do not give his wishes another thought. It is nothing to you, and we certainly do not require any assistance. I bid you good day.”

“That, unfortunately, is not possible. I will evaluate the boy’s situation, and make such arrangements as are in his best interests.”

“I have already done so. You need not concern yourself.”

He glanced around at the cottage’s exterior, and Elizabeth saw it through his eyes—the peeling paint, the unkempt, overgrown grounds, their lack of prosperity obvious.

“Nevertheless, I will do my duty by him.”

“You have no ‘duty’ to perform. Bingley was no friend to you, as you have just admitted. He did not, plainly, seek your permission before jotting down his wishes upon a scrap of paper. Should such an act be worthy of engaging your honour? Perhaps Mr Collins shall likewise assign you responsibility for his sons? Why not the entire population of London? Let us be practical, Mr Darcy. Tommy is nothing to you, and you are nothing to him. You have no business here.”

“Do you believe that if you repeat your opinions often enough, I shall concede? I will be the one to decide what my duties entail, and your views on the subject mean little, no matter how frequently expressed.”

Fury filled her, and hated tears tried to escape; she would not allow them to fall. “You will not touch him. You will not take him from me. I would not allow a man such as you to influence his dinner menu, much less his entire life! You will not!”

“A man such as me,” he repeated, his stare brooding. “That is rich, considering what we both know of you. Be very careful, Miss Bennet. Very careful indeed.”

“Careful?” She could hardly speak, she was so angry. “Careful? Me? From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others. Thus, when I learnt—”

At that moment, the sergeant opened the back gate leading to the garden and shut it again with a loud snap, reminding her that their conversation was not so private as she had treated it. The older man leant against the wall at the corner of the cottage and folded his arms, staring at Mr Darcy. Mr Darcy glared back at him, but as Elizabeth well knew, glares had absolutely no effect on the sergeant.

It was a godsend. What she needed was time, to think, to plan some kind of defence, or to convince Mr Darcy that he had no interest in doing what he had, evidently, come here to do. Her current approach was only going to lead to the villain trying to abscond with both her children. Fear and panic would not help; she must think. She must be pleasant.

“Mr Darcy,” she began again, trying to force an even tone. “Forgive me any hasty words. It is only that I am shocked. I am certain that you are a reasonable man.”

He lifted a brow in cynical astonishment. She made herself continue. “I had no idea—none whatsoever—that Bingley made such an arrangement for Tommy. I have been with him all his life, and feel, almost, as if he is my own child. If I was uncivil, you must own that the surprise of your arrival today with such astonishing news was some excuse.”

She took heart when he nodded.

“I have no companion here at present, which is why we discuss this in the chilly out of doors, but if you would be so kind as to return tomorrow, I will promise to make such arrangements as are necessary so that you and I might have a more comfortable conversation and discuss this matter amicably.”

He frowned. “Unfortunately, that is impossible. I must be in town tomorrow for an appointment. I do not see what there is to discuss that requires chaperonage, but I will return in a few days—Friday, let us say. Perhaps, by that time, you will be able to summon an appropriate degree of courtesy for this comfortable conversation you intend to have.”

She gritted her teeth at his sardonic tone. “Thank you,” she made herself say politely, and even forced a curtsey for good measure. Turning away from him, she felt the panic beginning to swell again as she made for the safety of the house. She had almost reached the door when he called her name.

“Miss Bennet.”

She turned to face him.

“I failed, at the outset, to extend my sympathies upon the loss of your sister. I have heard, from those who knew her well, that she was always very gracious, kindly, and refined, and that she will be much missed. This report of her amiable temper is supported by my own recollections of her. I am sorry, very sorry indeed.”

Numbly, Elizabeth nodded, astonished all over again.

He turned on his heel and walked away.

Lies and misunderstandings about each other’s character and honour have kept Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy apart for years. But when he returns to Meryton to take custody of the Bingley children, can they see their way to a truce and perhaps the future they were always meant to share?