"A plain and open avowal of his difficulties would have been more to his honour."
Mr. Dashwood did not come to dinner that night. Or the following.
Or any night that week.
He sent his regrets, explaining only that urgent business would prevent him from enjoying the pleasure of Miss Bennet’s company for at least a se’nnight, perhaps longer.
Elizabeth often caught her sister looking out the window down to the street, as if willing Harry’s carriage to appear. Kitty maintained her belief in Mr. Dashwood’s character, but with each passing day, uncertainty pressed more heavily upon her. Her confidence, which had blossomed in the warmth of his regard, now withered in his absence. Determined not to doubt him until he could defend himself, she began to doubt her own ability to hold his interest.
It did not help that each day brought more accounts of inexplicable conduct on his part. Whatever "urgent business" kept Mr. Dashwood from Kitty apparently did not prevent him from being sighted by everyone else all over town. Lucy’s reports were echoed by others of a similar nature, and while none of them accused Harry of any real harm, they combined to create an increasingly unbecoming portrait and a most perplexing puzzle. Lucy herself figured in some of the tales, apparently having been observed in deep conversation with Harry on several occasions after her call at the Darcys’. News of the tete-a-tetes confirmed Elizabeth’s conviction that Mrs. Robert Ferrars schemed to alter Mr. Dashwood’s marriage plans in her daughter’s favor.
The story Darcy had heard at the fencing club constituted more worrisome intelligence. Not only did it reflect poorly on Mr. Dashwood’s integrity, but as the week wore on it also seemed that Longcliffe’s encounter had not been an isolated incident. Rumor said that Harry visited different clubs and gaming hells each night, and had begun to amass an odd assortment of new companions. Some were young men like himself, some were old, and a few bordered on ancient. But all of them were rakehells with devil-may-care attitudes and reputations Darcy only delicately hinted at to Elizabeth. She suspected that much of what he heard, he left unsaid to her, and to Kitty he said nothing at all.
Though Kitty’s faith in Mr. Dash wood remained steadfast, Elizabeth’s and Darcy’s began to falter. Their greater knowledge of his alleged activities rendered them even more impatient than his fiancee for him to explain himself, and his reluctance to face them — for what else could be keeping him away? — only added to their misgivings.
"I declare, Kitty spent the better part of the day at that window," Elizabeth said. She and Darcy were alone in the drawing room, she halfheartedly working a satin stitch upon a handkerchief, he writing a letter at the comer secretary. Kitty had retired to her chamber immediately after dinner, and Georgiana had gone to a concert with the Gardiners.
"It is a shame you could not persuade her to join Georgiana and your aunt and uncle."
"She did not want to leave the house. It seems to me, however, that she stands a better chance of seeing Mr. Dashwood about town than by staying at home waiting for him to arrive at our door."
"If he does not present himself here on the morrow, I am going to call upon him again," Darcy said. He had gone to Harry’s townhouse on Tuesday but had been forced to settle for leaving his card when Dashwood’s butler told him the master was not at home. As Darcy retreated from the door, he’d spotted Mr. Dashwood in an upstairs window. While he understood the servant’s statement had meant Dashwood was not receiving visitors — the ton drew a distinction between being physically at home and being socially "at home" — Dashwood’s avoidance had not raised him in Darcy s esteem. Nor had the fact that four days later, Dashwood still had not returned the call. "Perhaps this time he will receive me."
Elizabeth struggled to loosen a knot in her thread. "I simply cannot reconcile these unfavorable accounts of Mr. Dashwood with the man we know. But the longer he stays away, the more I wonder if we ever really knew him at all." The whole matter had created dissonance within her. She had liked Harry, trusted him, but the facts surrounding his recent conduct cast him in an increasingly unflattering light. Had her instincts been that far off the mark?
The knot refused to unravel, and she set aside the needlework in frustration. She hadn’t really felt like working on it; she’d taken it up this evening just to have some occupation beyond contemplating Mr. Dashwood’s movements. As the handkerchief, however, was intended for Kitty to carry on her wedding day, the project only vexed her by reminding her of the doubts plaguing them all.
The sound of a visitor at the door drew curiosity from them both. "Who calls at this hour?" she asked.
Before Darcy could reply, Kitty rushed into the room. "Mr. Dash wood is here! I saw his carriage arrive."
Harry entered a moment later. The housekeeper trailed behind, belatedly announcing him. He immediately fixed his attention on Kitty.
"Miss Bennet." An air of weariness enveloped him. His eyes were red, with puffy circles beneath them that made them appear smaller. Faint stubble lined his cheek. His posture, though not stooped, failed to exhibit its usual erectness. As he beheld Kitty, however, his shoulders lost their slump.
"Mr. Dashwood." Darcy greeted him stiffly. "How good of you to call."
Harry wrested his gaze from Kitty to acknowledge Darcy and Elizabeth. "Forgive the lateness of my visit. I have been out of town and just now returned. I could not wait until morning to see Miss Bennet again."
"You are indeed tardy in presenting yourself here."
Mr. Dashwood glanced nervously from Darcy to Elizabeth. Darcy was using his most formidable tone, one that had intimidated older and more worldly individuals than Harry. When Darcy adopted that demeanor, even Elizabeth hesitated to cross him. She almost felt sorry for Mr. Dashwood. Almost. He still owed Kitty — owed them all — an explanation.
"I have missed you, Harry," Kitty said. "Where have you been?"
"In Devonshire. I visited my Dashwood relations."
"Mr. and Mrs. Edward Ferrars?"
"Yes. Also my aunt Marianne Brandon, and their mother."
Elizabeth regarded him skeptically, disliking the mistrust growing within her. "Mrs. Edward Ferrars told me she lives three days’ journey from London. When did you leave for Delaford?"
"Friday last."
"And you returned today?"
"This moment," Harry said. "I did not even stop at my own residence, but came here straightaway."
The cool cast of Darcy’s countenance revealed his displeasure. "We are to understand that you have not been in town these past nine days?"
"Just so."
The room fell silent. But in three minds at least, the falsehood echoed. Too many people, including Darcy himself, had seen Harry in the past nine days. He could not possibly be telling the truth.
Disappointment — in Harry, for Kitty — settled in Elizabeth’s heart.
Harry regarded them all in confusion. "Miss Bennet, if I — " He broke off as if suddenly understanding. "I should have told you in my letter where I went. Forgive me. I did not mean to keep you in suspense for so long. My plan to travel to Devonshire was formed very quickly. I departed in haste, at too early an hour to take proper leave of you. When I wrote, I thought only to get a letter to you as soon as it could be delivered. I should have considered better what it contained."
"It’s not that, Mr. Dashwood," Kitty said.
"Then what?"
Kitty looked deflated. A glance at Elizabeth implored her older sister to continue.
"A great many people have seen you in London during the time you claim to have been gone from town," Elizabeth said.
Mr. Dashwood shook his head. "I assure you, I have been in Devonshire. Or on the road in between. These people, whoever they are, must be mistaken."
"I am one of them," said Darcy.
Harry stepped toward him. "Upon my soul, Mr. Darcy, you must have seen someone else."
"In your own house?"
Harry opened his mouth, but no words came out. He stared at Darcy as if trying to comprehend him. "You saw me in my townhouse?"
"On Tuesday."
He pondered that a moment. "What was I doing?"
"Observing me from your window as I returned to my carriage. After you refused to receive me."
"I would never ref — " He stopped, seeming to remember something. "Which window?"
"The one in your bedchamber, I believe. Two stories up, overlooking the street."
Mr. Dashwood’s bluff had been called. He looked bewildered at first, as if he couldn’t believe his deceit had been discovered. Then agitation seized him.
"Forgive me, Miss Bennet," he said, putting on his hat. "I will call again in the morning, if I may. I–I have to go."
Darcy followed Mr. Dashwood down the stairs. He had words for Kitty’s fiance that ought not be spoken in the ladies’ hearing. He stopped Harry in the front hall before he reached the door.
"Mr. Dashwood, have you anything further to say for yourself?"
"Upon my honor, Mr. Darcy, you quite mistake me."
"Your honor is in serious question at present. Perhaps you ought to swear on something more dependable."
"You doubt my honor because you think you saw me at a window?"
"No — because of some of the other places you have been sighted of late. Mr. Dashwood, do you honestly believe I would allow my wife’s sister to marry a man who frequents gaming hells? Who surrounds himself with drunkards and rakehells?" He dropped his voice. "A man who visits nunneries?"
Harry turned white. "You accuse me of spending my time with prostitutes?" He looked as appalled by the idea as Darcy.
"I do not. But hearsay does." He glanced up to the drawing room, relieved to see that the door remained closed. "Mr. Dash-wood, I do not, as a rule, give credence to public gossip. I have witnessed too many reputations unfairly destroyed by rumor-mongers to believe every on-dit that circulates. But when my own firsthand knowledge catches a gentleman in one lie, I find it hard to trust his word on other matters, or the principles by which he governs himself. I want to believe that the tales reaching my ears are not true, because I want to believe you are a better man than the one they describe. But you cannot restore my faith in your character without first revealing what you have actually been doing this week."
"I have been in Devonshire."
Darcy turned away in disgust.
"Mr. Darcy — " Harry moved round until he stood before him. He looked weary, and nervous, and more than a little desperate. He ran a hand through his hair, gripping the roots before letting go. "Something has happened — rather, may have happened — may be happening — " He broke off, distraught. "I cannot explain it just now."
Darcy studied Harry. He was obviously in some sort of distress. "Mr. Dashwood, are you in trouble?"
He shrugged vaguely. "No." He stared at some distant point. "Perhaps. I do not know."
What kind of mess had he gotten himself into? Was he in debt? Had he compromised a young lady? Darcy’s mind raced with all the possible fixes in which an imprudent young gentleman could find himself. Despite recent events, Darcy still felt a strong interest in Mr. Dashwood’s welfare. He wanted to assist Harry if he could.
"Mr. Dashwood, if you would but confide in me, perhaps I can help you out of this scrape."
Harry sighed and shook his head. "No. I–It may all prove to be naught."
"I wish you would reconsider."
"There is nothing to tell. At least, not presently." He crossed to the door. "Please excuse me, sir. I have to go home. There’s something to which I must attend without delay."