Chapter 14

Elizabeth strode around her chamber, occasionally stopping to take a steadying deep breath or look out of the window at the busy street below, her hands pressed to her burning cheeks. Seeing Mr Darcy had made her feel as though a carriage had fallen on top of her. Or perhaps a house, one the size of Pemberley. She had been surprised by how compelled she had been to flee the room. They had not been together since the morning of Jane’s wedding; her last sight of him had been one of bitterness, and she had walked away feeling deceived and foolish for having entrusted him with her heart. As soon as she saw him, it all came rushing back to her, a flood of emotions that was overwhelming. She wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged herself tightly, as though this might contain her sorrow.

By the time Jane came to her, she had composed herself. A cool cloth pressed to her face had helped, as had half a cup of tea, to which she had added a liberal amount of honey. She still held the cup between her hands and continued to sip from it.

“Are you well?” Jane asked.

“I am. Knowing Mr Darcy’s opinion of me, I decided he and his sister would be more comfortable in my absence. It was kind of them to call on you.”

“Lizzy.” Jane’s tone was full of reprimand.

Their eyes met, and after a brief pause, Elizabeth shrugged. “It was the shock of seeing them. I had expected we might simply encounter Mr Darcy on the street or at a party. I did not expect him to enter your drawing room. By the bye, you should talk to your housekeeper about guests being announced. Mama would be astonished you allowed such a lapse in proper behaviour.”

Jane shook her head as though saying she would not allow Elizabeth to change the subject. “I wish you had not been so affected.”

Elizabeth used the excuse of finishing her tea to avert her eyes. “It will not happen again. In the future, I shall be better prepared.” For the onslaught of emotions, for how dearly I wish to yell at him and then enquire if he is well and satisfied with the choice he made.

“Do you not think you and Mr Darcy might reconcile? He was very distracted the whole time they were here, and it was not until Bingley joined us that he could do more than stare at the door you fled through.”

Elizabeth began to shake her head. “I told you what he said after your wedding. His family convinced him I am not the sort of lady he should marry. Even if he changed his mind—and I doubt he would—they will not. I do not want him to have second thoughts. Too much has happened, and my feelings for him are not what they were last summer.”

Jane’s shoulders slumped. “I only want you to be happy.”

“And so I shall be. If I am exceedingly fortunate, I shall meet a gentleman worthy of my affection and one who will tolerate not only what my mother routinely assures me is an obstinate nature but also my family, with all its imperfections. It is up to you and Bingley to ensure I meet many such gentlemen while I am with you so that I can select the one most amenable to indulging my love of books and long walks in the countryside.”

“I shall do my best.” Jane managed a light laugh. “When you met her last summer, did you notice anything remarkable about Miss Darcy’s comportment?”

Elizabeth wished that the subject of the Darcys would end. “She is very shy, and it was always difficult to make her say more than three or four words at a time.”

“I think it is more than that. She is not just shy but…timid and nervous.”

“Is that not part of being excessively shy? I know Mr Darcy is very careful with her. At Pemberley I often saw him encouraging her or looking at her as though he wanted to ensure she was well. Do not forget she is still young, only sixteen I believe. Not all young ladies are as lively and comfortable in society as Kitty and Lydia.”

“I suppose.” Jane stood and suggested they seek out Bingley and insist he find a reason to take them out. “I told him you had a headache to excuse your absence earlier. I hated lying to him.”

Elizabeth clasped her sister’s hand. “I am sorry to put you in such a position, but I genuinely believe it would hurt him more to lose his friendship with Mr Darcy. I shall do better from now on, and you will not have to make excuses for me to Bingley or anyone else. As for your notion of leaving the house, it is an excellent one. The distraction will help us forget they were here.”

The next time Elizabeth saw Mr Darcy was at a dinner party later the same week. They greeted each other but said no more than was commonplace, as though they hardly knew each other. She remained stoic, imagining she had a core of thick ice inside her, rather than her usual warm blood. It encased her sentiments, locking them away so they did not show, especially to him. It would give him too much power if he knew how affected she was, despite the months that had passed since there was any friendliness—let alone more—between them.

Nothing of significance happened until after dinner. In the drawing room, Jane remained close, and both she and Elizabeth enjoyed the company of the ladies while the men were absent. When the gentlemen began to join them, Elizabeth stole glimpses at the newcomers. It is only so I know whether he is in the room. I do not want to be surprised and inadvertently draw attention by showing discomfort. He is nothing more than an acquaintance. The friend of my sister’s husband.

Their eyes met very briefly when he and Bingley made their appearance, but she quickly averted her gaze. Bingley walked towards Jane, with whom Elizabeth sat; when she saw that his friend followed him, she stood. Knowing Bingley would wonder if she always avoided Mr Darcy, she decided to remain long enough to exchange greetings. She politely curtseyed.

“How do you do this evening?” he said.

“Very well, thank you.” She was on the point of excusing herself when he again spoke. The hint of eagerness in his voice astonished her; did he not share her sense that it was better for them to avoid each other as much as possible? He must not find it as awkward as I do!

“Bingley tells me your family are well. I am glad to hear it. I am sure your parents and sisters are missing you, yet Mrs Bingley would greatly regret not having you with her.”

“That is very true,” Jane said.

“We both would! I am fortunate in having her as my sister,” Bingley added.

The look Mr Darcy gave her seemed to say that he also valued her company. It was too much; Elizabeth did not know how to act, and so she mentioned a desire to speak to another guest, gave her sister’s arm a gentle squeeze to indicate she was well, and went to join a group of several ladies. They were discussing spring clothing fashions, which was not a subject to truly engage Elizabeth’s attention, but she did her best to participate. She wanted these women to like her, and especially to like Jane. They were part of her sister’s new society; Elizabeth was merely a visitor. Had Mr Darcy and she married, she would currently be taking her place as an equal amongst these ladies, but she remained simply Miss Bennet.

There was music after tea, and when their hostess asked who would like to perform, Bingley suggested Elizabeth.

“My sister-in-law is a delightful pianoforte player, and she has a lovely voice. Lizzy, you would not object to giving us a song, would you?”

“You are the kindest of brothers, but I am afraid you give a false impression of my skills,” she said. “I doubt anyone here would find my humble offering especially remarkable, but I shall gladly make the attempt.”

Elizabeth took her place at the pianoforte and, after a moment of consideration, decided on a Scotch air she was confident she could play without making any noticeable errors. She was some way through the song when, whether inadvertently or not, her eyes were caught by Mr Darcy’s appearance. He leant against the wall near the fireplace, perhaps a dozen feet away, and watched her. His countenance—the softness around his eyes and his smile, oh, that smile—threw her back in time to Derbyshire. She had seen him look at her with just such an expression before, dating at least to when they were in Kent. The first evening she and the Gardiners had dined at Pemberley, she had finally understood what it meant: it told her he loved her. Whenever she saw it, her heart answered in kind, filling her with warmth and a sense of contentment and completeness as deep as an ocean. But at present, what could it mean?

Not that surely, and dear Lord, please do not let me feel?—

But it was too late. A torrent of sentiment flowed through her, like water filling an empty riverbed when an obstruction is removed. All the affection and admiration she had for him when they were together the previous summer and early autumn came rushing back. There was no preventing the flood.