Gatley waited impatiently for the footman to let down the stairs so he could leave the carriage. He was just about to take the stairs into the Manor when the distinct sound of Miss Darcy's laughter 391
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reached him, coming from the garden. Drawn by an invisible string to that laughter, he began to move in that direction.
As she came into view, he came to an abrupt halt. She looked happy. Of all the things he had expected, it had not been that. She looked so happy that he could not bring himself to talk to her.
Whatever pangs of anxiety he was suffering, it was more than clear that she was experiencing nothing like that. She was laughing.
He backed out of the garden to return to the main entrance and almost ran into Mrs Moffet, who was leaving. She looked ecstatic.
"I see by now you have heard of the engagement," she said, looking towards the young ladies. "I am the happiest mother alive."
He followed the direction of her eyes.
His world fell apart.
When a person is uncertain in love, there is nothing easier than for him to put one and one together and to make three out of them. Which is precisely what Mr Gatley did, looking into Mrs Moffet's smiling face.
It was not Mrs Moffet's fault that his life was ruined. He should not glare at her as he did. He struggled to say something, because it was expected, but he could not.
There was a stone in his throat. How it came to be lodged there he could not imagine, but he had lost the ability to swallow. And to speak. He tried again to utter the necessary words.
"Congratulations," he croaked.
"Oh, Mr Gatley," said Mrs Moffet. "You are coming down with a cold. You should go to your room and rest at once. Rest is the only cure for a cold, if you manage it in the early stages. I fear I must go. I have several visits to make, you know. I can't wait to spread the news."
The stone lodged in his throat seemed to have grown larger. He 392
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bowed to Mrs Moffet, hoping he would never have to exchange another word with her in his life.
No wonder Miss Darcy had looked so happy.
Not that he thought Mr Moffet was right for her. Not by any means. But he was honest and decent, and he would make a good--though probably agonisingly dull--husband.
It was all too late now. There was no point anymore in apologising to her. She had never even given him a chance.
The only thing he could do now was congratulate her. Though how he could do so without seeming like a bull ready to vent its rage at a red rag, he had no idea. He had seen a bull fight once, when he was in the Peninsula. The bull had been preparing for an attack. Right at this moment, he knew exactly how that bull had felt.
She looked so happy.
There was nothing else he could say to her. It was all over.
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Chapter 30
Gatley stalked into the house. His first impulse was to call Oskins and ask him to prepare to travel back to London. In fact, it was the only thing he could do. He should escape before anyone else set eyes on him.
But he could not do it to Oskins. Not again.
He would go upstairs to his room, wash, change his clothing, and have something to eat. Then he would be able to deal with this whole issue in a far more logical manner.
He requested some warm water to be brought up, then he climbed the stairs to his chamber, where he found his valet beginning to unpack his trunk.
"I need some time alone, Reid."
Reid threw him a questioning look as he left. He had never noticed before, but his servants were an impertinent lot, all of them. Why did they think they were entitled to know everything about him? As if he was obliged to account for all his actions. Could not a man rest in his own chamber without having to give an explanation?
He pulled off his boots with great difficulty--he should have asked Reid to do it before he left--and went in stockinged feet to look out of the window.
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The young ladies were still there, sitting in the garden on a stone bench.
He stared down at Miss Darcy, or at least, at her bonnet, which was a sensible one, for once. He looked down at that neat, quiet form which had become so familiar to him, and his heart began to tear. There was no denying it to himself anymore. He was in love with her. Oskins was quite right--besotted. Not that it would do him any good now, when she was engaged to someone else.
Moffet, of all people! Was she so desperate that she had to marry someone like Moffet? Anyone could tell he was not right for her.
He needed a wife that would be obedient, and she--she was too independent spirited for him.
The thought struck him like lightning. When had he come to that conclusion about her? When had he decided that Miss Darcy was too independent? He did not know. But it made no sense at all. All those accusations at the inn--they had been about her following in the footsteps of her cousin.
They were all wrong. She was right. He had jumped to the wrong conclusion. He had judged her without knowing the truth.
It was very obvious, now that he knew it. Miss Darcy had always stood up to him, right from the beginning, and she had never backed down in one of their arguments. She was too obstinate to be a follower.
Other things fell into place, now that he was willing to see them.
There had been no engagement. Clarissa had not been married to Channing. That could only mean one thing. Something else had happened that day, and Darcy knew that Clarissa had not been planning an assignation with Channing.
He was an utter and complete fool. He had stayed away all this time for no reason at all. And in the meanwhile, Moffet must have 396
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insinuated himself into Miss Darcy's good graces and convinced her to accept him.
The young ladies were rising and were beginning to move towards the house.
A sense of urgency gripped him. He had to say something to her now, before it was really too late. Perhaps something could be done. Perhaps he could convince her...
He opened the window.
"Wait!" he said. "Do not go inside. I will be down shortly."
The young ladies turned astonished faces towards him. He could not tell from here, but it seemed to him there was a stubborn lilt to Miss Darcy's chin.
It was not a good beginning. Shouting commands to her from the window was not the right way to gain her attention. Very likely, Miss Darcy would deliberately decide to ignore him and would return to the house.
"Please?" he added a little hoarsely, that pebble threatening to block his voice again.
He darted down the stairs as quickly as possible. He would intercept her if she tried to return. Everything suddenly seemed to depend on her not coming back inside. If she did, he knew he would never be able to convince her of anything at all.
There was a grating sound, the sound of a man with a very sore throat trying to clear it.
Georgiana looked towards the door of the Manor. There was Gatley, looking exactly as she had seen him yesterday but without a cravat and in stockinged feet. She stared at him, unable to look anywhere else.
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"May I--" There was that throat clearing sound again. "Miss Darcy--" The throat clearing again, then a grinding sound that came from between his teeth "--to you."
"Elizabeth is waving to me from the window," said Clarissa, walking with very quick steps towards the house. "I will be back very soon."
"Yes," said Georgiana not paying attention at all. She was too busy wondering what in heaven's name Mr Gatley was trying to say.
He sounded so strange, so unlike himself. But perhaps it was simply that the very sight of him--leaning out of the window and shouting out to her to stay--had brought back that relentless iron fist again, and she could hardly breathe.
And then there was that thudding sound in her ears--the sound of her heart clamouring to get out.
She stood immobile. She could not have moved if a stampede of horses had come her way.
Gatley watched Clarissa leave, wondering how she could possibly have heard him. He was sure that his request to see Georgiana alone had been too garbled for anyone to understand.
Perhaps he was making more sense than he thought. Perhaps, in that case, he did not have a stone in his throat after all.
"Miss Darcy," he said, trying it out. The words came out more clearly, though his voice still rasped. "I owe you...I have wanted to apologise since that terrible episode at The King's Arms...my behaviour on that occasion..." He drew himself up. This was going nowhere.
"I can only account for my contemptible behaviour by recalling that I had suffered a blow on the head after falling from a carriage, and I had been unconscious for some considerable time. Perhaps that will go some way towards explaining why I was not thinking clearly."
It was really quite pathetic of him to use his accident as an excuse.
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It was quite despicable. He was trying to ring every ounce of sympathy he could from her. He was disgusted with himself for doing it, but he could not help it. He needed every advantage he could think of.
His words had some of the desired effect, for Miss Darcy put a hand to her mouth and turned quite pale.
"Oh--why did I never think--I cannot believe that I forgot--but of course!" she cried, staring at him in dismay "No--it is I who should apologise. To think that, after what happened--I did not even consider that you were experiencing shock--after the blood loss--and that your head was--how are you feeling now?"
He was completely taken aback by this very mundane question.
"I am perfectly well, thank you."
She smiled. Oh, how he loved this particular smile of hers.
It was so genuine, so simple, and yet it had the power to wrench his heart.
"I am very glad you are fully recovered," she said in a very polite tone.
He could bear it no longer. He had to hear it, from her own lips, so that his fate would be sealed, and he would walk away from there and put it all behind him. Even if it would wrench him apart.
"This engagement..." he said, leaving it open, unable to speak the words and make them true.
"Oh, you already saw Mrs Moffet," she said, grinning broadly, grinning, for heaven's sake, just because she was going to marry Moffet. He half turned away.
"I suppose I should express my good wishes."
"I suppose so," said Georgiana, looking faintly puzzled "It is not urgent, surely? You can stay for a while, can you not?"
He must be imagining things because he thought he had heard the tiniest hint of pleading in her voice. So tiny that he must have 399
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made it up, just because he wanted it to be there. He had thought his injury completely healed. But now his head was beginning to throb, just where the cut had been when he was injured.
"If you meant, am I going to ride straight over to offer Moffet my felicitations, then, no, of course not."
Not over his dead body.
"Moffet?" she asked. "Is Moffet engaged too? Goodness! Who is he going to marry?"
It took him a long moment to translate her words into some semblance of meaning. Then, as the meaning sank in, the oppression in his head and the throbbing, all slid away as if by magic.
In a few long strides, he was in front of her.
"You are not engaged to Moffet?" he said, standing very, very close to her.
"No, though he did propose--"
A fierce sense of triumph swept through him. She would not be able to wriggle out of it this time. He would make sure she did not slip through his hands.
"Then you will marry me," he said, making it very clear that it was not open to discussion.
She took a step backwards, then another.
"Mr Gatley," she said, in a tone that made it very clear that she did mean to argue. "I would like to know by what right you come barging in here and ordering me--commanding me--to marry you. Just because I accepted your apology--"
His heart sank. Why had he thought that just by apologising, everything that had happened between them would conveniently melt away?
He should have known that matters with Miss Georgiana Darcy could never be simple. He looked into hazel eyes speckled 400
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with anger and understood that nothing but the absolute truth would do.
"I said earlier that my injuries partly account for my behaviour that day. But it was not true. They were just a convenient excuse.
The fact was, I was taken by surprise. I overheard Darcy's accusations, and I--I was bitterly disappointed. I believed at the time, you see, that I had finally found someone I would like to spend my life with. That you were--and then suddenly the carpet was pulled from under my feet. It never occurred to me to doubt Darcy, not for a moment."
He shut his eyes, partly because he did not want to see her expression, partly because he wanted to hide the pain that sprung up whenever he even thought of that afternoon. "And I believed you then to be under your cousin's power."
He opened his eyes and shook his head but carefully avoided glancing at her face.
"I can scarcely believe myself capable of such folly. Perhaps I wilfully allowed myself to be misled because I did not want to face the reality--which was that my feelings were threatening to overcome my reason. I believed you then to be too easily influenced, and I have always promised myself never to marry a woman who was not as strong as I, for that is the road to unhappiness. I have seen it only too well in the case of my aunt. Darcy's words only confirmed to me what I feared, and I did not stop long enough to question them.
"When I look back at it, it seems ludicrous. Why would you have me drive you all the way to Richmond for an assignation, when you could easily arrange one somewhere in London? It is not as if London lacks establishments where this could be accomplished. And then to think that Miss Clarissa--" He paused, a tinge 401
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of colour darkening his cheekbone. "It is really quite embarrassing to recollect what I believed at that moment."