Chapter 57

57

E lizabeth walked down the lane arm in arm with Charlotte. Stephens followed behind, carrying a tightly-wrapped package for her. Finally, finally, she had finished all the outstanding music to send to Uncle Gardiner. Perhaps Charlotte would now permit her to enjoy more time with the new music that was haunting her. Why did it take so long to write out all she played? Certainly it was the least enjoyable part of this business. However, she had amassed a tolerable fortune from it, and Charlotte was beginning to save, too. Elizabeth could not regret that for her friend.

"You will have to tell him soon, Lizzy." Charlotte had taken the news of the courtship as pragmatically as she always did, but Elizabeth was certain her friend was grieving the future loss of their association almost as much as she was.

"I know." She kicked a small rock on the path gloomily. "I have no idea how he will react."

"He will say that you are even more talented than he ever realised and that he is happy you have trusted him enough to tell him." Charlotte rolled her eyes.

"Then you don't know him at all well." Elizabeth shook her head. "He will be angry that I have hidden it from him. Even if he does not say it, he will be angry. I just know it."

"Then tell him you will not marry him and go to London," her friend said tartly. "You know he has to know, and you must also know he will not let it come between you for long."

"I hope you are right." Elizabeth shivered. "I cannot imagine him being angry with me."

"I cannot, either." Charlotte squeezed her arm. "He is far too enamoured of you for that. I can see it with my own eyes." She smiled mischievously. "And you are as in love with him just as much. I cannot remember a time when you wished to leave the cottage before I did, and you are hurrying home in the hope that he is there!"

Elizabeth knew she failed in her attempt not to blush. "Well, I had finished everything ready to send to Uncle Gardiner, so there was no point in starting something new."

"That has never induced you not to even play something ," Charlotte shook her head. "Deny it all you wish, Eliza, if it will make you feel better."

Elizabeth stopped. "It is not so much that, my dearest friend. I am lost at the thought that I will be so far away from you. Perhaps I am not doing the right thing."

The sorrow in Charlotte's eyes was quickly masked, and Elizabeth wondered if she had even seen it. "That you had even thought of it, Eliza. No, I knew you had met the one man for you — the one man who loves you for you, not your talent — and you must take your happiness when you can, whatever changes in your life that result."

She took Elizabeth's hands. "Marry him, my dear. Marry him and be deliriously happy. Then when your life settles down a little, you may want to invite me for a visit, and we can catch up then." She turned and they started walking slowly down the path. "And you know I spoke quietly to Mr. Gardiner at the wedding breakfast. He is impressed with my little books and will help me to publish them, and has also asked if I might consider writing a weekly column of suitable stories with a moral for mamas to read to their little ones. So you see, I will be busy while you are gone."

"Charlotte, you are too good to me. You knew I was worrying about you."

"Worry for yourself alone, Eliza." Her friend's voice was affectionate. "And think how to break the topic to Mr. Darcy. The sooner it is done, the better you will feel."

Elizabeth had changed into her indoor slippers and patted her hair into a better semblance of order. Sarah had brought up her parcel of music from the kitchen door where Stephens had taken it, as was usual to hide her secret from the rest of the household. Now she waited outside Papa's book room while Hill knocked on the door. She heard Papa calling him to enter and the butler's words. "Miss Bennet is wondering if you are still speaking of confidential matters or, if you are playing chess, may she enter and observe?"

There was a burst of laughter. "No; bid her enter, Hill. She will no doubt be ready for tea if you may arrange it."

Elizabeth waited for the butler to indicate she could enter and then slipped into the room and curtsied, her gaze on Mr. Darcy, who had risen politely, his heart in his eyes.

She blushed and looked down, and his amused voice wound more tightly around her heart. "Are you here to observe my utter humiliation at the game, Miss Bennet?"

She laughed lightly, her heart lighter, as always when in his presence. "I am sure you are learning Papa's strategies and will be able to beat him in your turn."

"Ah, the change of loyalty cuts to the quick, Lizzy." Papa's wry tone caught her attention. "But you are not wrong. Your suitor is close to defeating me in the next game or two. We have had an enjoyable battle, have we not?" He was watching as Mr. Darcy bowed over her hand, and, as his lips brushed her fingers, Elizabeth was happy that neither of them were wearing gloves. She fought to maintain her equilibrium in front of Papa, although she did not think he was deceived in the slightest.

She smiled up at Mr. Darcy as he held a chair for her, and spoke. "When I have finished the game, perhaps your feet might be recovered enough from your walk to take a turn in the garden with me."

She smiled and nodded. It had definitely been worth cutting short her time in the cottage.

That night, lying in bed, she reviewed the day. She still had not told Mr. Darcy her final secret. It was as if she might shatter the fragile hopes she had — and shatter her happiness and what freedom she still had.

It was not that she didn't trust him; of course she did. It was not even that she thought he might stop her pursuing what she wished to; he was too respectful of her for that.

But she had grown up with her secret, had drawn it more tightly around her year by year as she grew older.

She had become more and more secretive with it as the local men clustered ever more closely around her, and realised that even just her voice was a treasure beyond price to them. Santorio becoming known must mean even more danger to her freedom.

And Mr. Darcy had not once asked her to play or sing over the last weeks; he had not even heard her except with his sister. Did he really not mind if she did not exhibit? Or was he just biding his time until he could order her?

She shivered and rolled over. She must tell him; it was not fair to him that he did not know. Perhaps she could speak to Papa in the morning. Not that she wanted him to tell Mr. Darcy, but he could perhaps advise her how to disclose it.

She rolled back, tucked her hands behind her head and stared as the shaft of moonlight shone across the bed drapes. William , he had asked her. Will you call me William, as my sister does ?

She had said his name, her lips pulsing as she shaped the word, and he had drawn his thumb across her bottom lip, his gaze warm and passionate. I like hearing you say my name .

She felt warmth pooling within her, glad she was lying down as her her legs had turned to water. Then she shook herself. She would take her package to the post stop after breakfast, and then, when she got home, she would ask Papa how to tell Mr. Darcy — William. He would call in the morning; he had said he would.