Chapter Text
“You could not have made me the proposal of your hand in any way that would have tempted me.”
Those words rang in Darcy’s ears as rode back from Hunsford, taking a roundabout jaunt through sundry meadows to avoid meeting the Collins party in the lane.
When he returned to Rosings, he immediately went to his room and began drafting his defense.
At dinnertime, Colonel Fitzwilliam knocked on his door, only to be ignored.
The Colonel opens the door and peeks in to see Darcy at his desk, surrounded by crumpled papers, writing furiously.
Are you coming down for supper, man? He asks.
No, I’m in the middle of something, Darcy responds tersely.
What do you want me to tell Lady Catherine? The Colonel asks.
That I must stay with the fruit, and will brook no interruptions, Darcy responds impatiently. Good day, sir, he adds with finality.
What are you about, Darcy? The colonel queries, coming into the room unbidden.
Darcy sets down his quill and leans back in his chair and steeples his hands and looks lost in thought.
Colonel, what is your theory of what happened to Raleigh’s lost colony on Roanoke?
The natives massacred the men, then sold the women and children as slaves to the neighboring tribes, the Colonel postulates.
But what if Virginia Dare survived? Darcy speculates slowly, tapping his fingers together, while still looking off in the distance.
On my ride today, over by the abandoned grange, I caught a glimpse of the legendary white doe of Rosings Park, he admits, turning his head to glance briefly over at his cousin.
I see where you are going with this, the Colonel enthuses. You are writing a romance! Scantily clad, wearing the skin of a white doe, she forages for sassafras roots in the new world…
Go and be hanged, Darcy mutters.
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughs heartily and leaves, closing the door on his way out.
Darcy smirks and chuckles dryly at the success of his misdirection and goes back to the task at hand.
Hours later, he finishes the nth draft of his defense by candlelight, and readies himself for bed.
I’ll review it with fresh eyes in the morning, is his last waking thought.
***
Darcy woke and stretched, and looked over at his desk. All his papers were gone, and the desk in complete order.
What is this!?! He seethed as he quickly dressed and headed downstairs to the breakfast room.
Who entered my room while I was resting? Where is the correspondence that I have been working on? He roared to his aunt.
Lady Catherine professed her shock and ignorance and immediately set about arranging an inquisition of the household staff.
His cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, when he came downstairs, seemed much amused at these proceedings.
Really, Darcy – what was in this correspondence? State secrets?
Do you remember our talk about Virginia Dare? Darcy asks with a stony face.
Who? Lady Catherine inquires.
The lone survivor of Raleigh’s lost colony at Roanoke, Darcy answers. She alone escaped when the Spanish attacked, he adds.
The Spanish got them? Colonel Fitzwilliam rejoins. Is that what you think happened? Who is your source?
So you admit that you have gone through my papers! Darcy says triumphantly.
I assure you, sir. I have not, and would not. The colonel says solemnly. Upon my honour, he adds.
I left them piled on my desk last night, only to find everything tidied up this morning when I awoke, Darcy says sheepishly.
It sounds simple enough. One of the servants may have been overzealous in his or her duties, the Colonel comments. I'm sure that they will turn up in due course.
Enough of this! I'm off to Pemberley at once, Darcy announces with disgust. I cannot abide in a house where my belongings are not sacrosanct and my privacy is disregarded, he adds, ignoring his aunt's profusions of innocence.
He rode away from Rosings with a pounding headache, and to make matters worse, his horse soon threw a shoe. He ended up staying at an inn some miles away, and consuming copious amounts of ale, before dragging himself off to bed in his rented room,
“your selfish disregard for the feelings of others” ringing his ears.