Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

E lizabeth was waiting on the portico with her trunk when the gleaming carriage, pulled by four perfectly matched horses, arrived at her uncle’s property. Beside her waited Betty, the older maid who had—with not very hidden reluctance—agreed to accompany her.

A robust-looking coachman with a kindly smile refused the help of her uncle’s footman, hefting her trunk himself; it was not until she and Betty had followed him nearly to the vehicle that Mr Darcy emerged from the coach, stopping her in her tracks.

Without waiting for his servant, he pulled down the steps, turned to her, and bowed. “Would you prefer I ride on the box with Frost?” he asked politely, as if he regularly gave up his comfortable seat in his fine coach.

“Oh—oh, no, of course not,” she replied, stupefied by the sight of him. She had not expected it in the slightest—had, in fact, wondered if he would honour his sister’s impulsive invitation, perhaps sending a hired carriage instead. He was immaculate, as usual, and far more handsome than any man had the right to be. “I-I thank you for this favour. It is beyond anything I could ever have expected.”

He gave her a sober nod, opening the coach door more widely. “My sister insisted upon coming along,” he said quietly. “Unless you object.”

Within the carriage, Elizabeth saw Miss Darcy’s eager expression, her obvious desire to do something—anything—to fix what was irretrievably broken. Sighing, she turned to Betty; at least it would save the maid a return journey on the post. “It appears we shall not need you to accompany us. I thank you for being willing to go. Please ensure my aunt sees the note I left for her immediately upon her return.”

The relieved-looking maid agreed happily and hurried back into the house. With a mixture of dread, a despair she could not prevent, and an anticipation she could not help, Elizabeth took Mr Darcy’s proffered hand and slipped into the carriage beside Miss Darcy.

Darcy had believed he knew exactly how beautiful was his Elizabeth, but now, her lovely dark eyes swollen with tears she kept from falling by some act of strong will, her soft skin pale with a vulnerability he had never before seen, he realised how weak was his memory. The pictures he had preserved in his mind were of eyes flashing with temper, chin stubborn, or the dreamy look she wore after being thoroughly kissed. But she had a thousand looks, and it would take a lifetime to catalogue them all.

She would not meet his gaze now; he could not stand for her to be embarrassed.

“I am sorry to hear of your sister,” he said, feeling that only by broaching the subject directly, could he mitigate any awkwardness.

Her cheeks turned pink.

“I do hope you are not mortified by us knowing,” Georgiana said boldly. “In fact, if you would like to know all of the stupidest reasons in the world for why she might have chosen to elope, please, just ask me to name them.”

Elizabeth looked up, perceptibly disconcerted. Then her eyes closed briefly before she opened them again and turned to Georgiana. Darcy bit his tongue, wanting to tell his sister to keep her mouth shut, that she was embarrassing Elizabeth—that they both were. But Elizabeth spoke before he could find the right words.

“I fear your advice would not help much with Lydia. You are repentant, while Jane said that my sister’s note treated the whole thing as a great joke. It does not concern Lydia at all, that her unmarried sisters are now ruined—she probably did not think of it, nor would she care if she did. When Lydia gets an idea in her head, nothing will do but that she follows where it leads. She is spoilt and selfish and…” She paused, taking a hiccupping sort of breath. “And she is fearless and self-assured, and would defend me to the death, if it was in her power to do it. You, Mr Darcy, have had a narrow escape.”

The tears she had been trying to prevent overflowed, he saw, as a single tear tracked its way down her cheek. She swiped at it, as if annoyed. He handed her his handkerchief, trying to think of how to protest her words without further embarrassing her.

“Your cousin, Mr Collins, will break your engagement?” Georgiana asked.

Darcy flushed at the brash question but said nothing; he wanted to know the answer to it more than anything.

“I am not engaged to my cousin,” she shot back, sounding incredulous, looking at him in disbelief. “I never said I was engaged to him!”

He opened his mouth to reply, but she did not wait.

“Do you really think that I would fall in love with you and then agree to marry another man within a few weeks? Oh, of course you do. You believe I wish to be the ‘heroine of Longbourn’ or some such nonsense. Thank you for your opinion of me.”

Both ladies stared at him with identical expressions of outrage.

“He also thinks that you hate me for making a laughingstock of you on your wedding day,” Georgiana said helpfully.

“What? That is most untrue, Miss Darcy!” She turned back to face him. “How could you tell her that?”

He sighed. “I never said that, Georgiana. I told you Miss Bennet could neither like nor respect my family, and after the way she has been treated, I could not blame her.”

“I did not mean your sister ! Not at all! I could not assume that she would be happy to have me in her familial circle, however, with Colonel Fitzwilliam to influence her. I expect the rest of your family supports his actions. Can you tell me they do not? ”

“What did the colonel do?” Georgiana wondered aloud.

“He received your brother’s message that he would be unable to marry me on the date we had designed—and why. There was also a letter for me included, that he was asked to deliver. He did not give it to me. He did not explain a thing. He simply left Netherfield, left ugly remarks about me to the neighbours, and left me to my humiliation.”

“The beast! Why did you not tell me what he had done, Brother?”

Darcy scrubbed his hands across his face. “You are correct. I should never have been so careful of him,” he said, feeling another thick wave of resentment towards his cousin. “In retrospect, I see I ought to have chosen my words to you much more carefully—I never meant for you to take those words to mean Miss Bennet referred to you. I did not want to utterly ruin Fitzwilliam in your eyes, Georgiana, although he is ruined utterly in mine.”

“Oh, he ruined himself in my eyes long before this—when he told me I was no lady and never would be, that I had spoilt my whole life, that I must be naturally bad and would be lucky if any of my family would agree to see me again, and that you would have to use half your fortune to find a man who would take me.”

“He said what?” Darcy choked.

“I am completely unsurprised,” Elizabeth said, taking Georgiana’s hand. “I hope you told him that his words plus a shilling are worth a dish of beef.”

“No,” the younger girl sighed. “I just sobbed and begged him for forgiveness. ”

Darcy looked at her, aggrieved. “You have never begged me for forgiveness.”

“Well I did not mean it. I just wanted him to stop talking.”

He saw it then, a tiny sparkle in Elizabeth’s eyes of warmth, of humour. The foibles of human nature did not upset her, they amused her. She did not expect perfection; in truth, a life of it, for her, would be very dull indeed.

He felt his lips curve upwards, smiling at her—the feeling strange for its complete lack of familiarity. He did not believe he had smiled, truly, since he had left her at Longbourn, what seemed so very long ago.