Chapter 27

Four days after Bingley’s announcement, they went to Pemberley. Bingley spent what felt like every minute from when they stepped out of the inn until they pulled to a stop outside Pemberley chattering about their forthcoming interlude with Mr and Miss Darcy. He was particularly animated, seeming almost to bounce in his seat and showing uncommon signs of impatience.

“It will be very good to see Darcy again. Being at Pemberley is always agreeable. It really is the most wonderful estate, as you will soon see, my dear Jane.” He laughed. “Perhaps we ought not to go. Nothing we see will satisfy you afterwards. Caroline has compared every place we ever were to Darcy’s estate.” He rolled his eyes. “But then, she always hoped to interest him, if you know what I mean. Darcy never showed any particular affection for her, which is just as well. I do not think they would have been a good match. I suppose he will want to marry soon though. He is eight- or nine-and-twenty now.”

Nine-and-twenty,Elizabeth thought. It had been his birthday at the beginning of the month. She knew because they had once spoken of how they celebrated birthdays and other special occasions. She remembered telling him an anecdote of one particularly disastrous birthday dinner that had resulted in a ruined cake, many broken plates and glasses, and Kitty and Lydia screaming—Kitty in confusion and Lydia, then an adorable two-year-old, because she had been desperate to eat the dessert. Elizabeth felt a pang thinking of her youngest sister, but it was Mr Darcy who truly occupied her thoughts. He had laughed. It had been the first time she had witnessed him unabashedly express his amusement, and the moment had made her fall more deeply in love with him. That was when she had truly begun to dream of being his wife and the joy they would share in the years ahead. She would teach him to be livelier and share his happiness with those he most cared for and trusted.

Perhaps that is why it hurt so greatly when I realised he would not return for me. Surely, if he had felt the same connexion, he could not have simply discarded me.

The hole left by the severing of the bond was almost unbearable, and all these months later, she was still attempting to fill it.

But I shall. I was not formed for unhappiness, and I refuse to let anyone rob me of what I want for myself, including to find pleasure in every day and to surround myself with people whom I love and who love me in return.

She met Jane’s eye and smiled, hoping it communicated how greatly she loved and appreciated her. If they were alone, she would tell her sister; but Bingley was present, and he continued to express how glad he was that they would soon see his friend.

Darcy was more agitated than he recalled being in months. In truth, he could only remember feeling thus on three other occasions in his life—as he awaited the doctor’s opinion on what had been his father’s final illness, after Georgiana’s misadventure in Ramsgate, and as he walked from Rosings to the parsonage to make his ill-fated, poorly thought-out proposal to Elizabeth. Again and again, he consulted his pocket watch or the nearest clock and cursed how slowly time was passing. He should not anticipate seeing Elizabeth as much as he did, but it was proving impossible not to. He had loved her for so long, and he knew to the core of his being that they were meant to be man and wife.

I suppose I should say I know she is the only woman with whom I could be happy. As matters currently stand, she is free to seek the comfort and security I would have given her with another. I, who have often remarked what a wonderful mother she would be, should want her to find a good man who would care for her and give her the children God surely intends her to have.

As best he could, he attended to various pieces of estate business his steward presented to him, including a contract to sell wool produced on the estate to a local mill, but it gave him a headache. He sat with Georgiana and Mrs Annesley at breakfast and told them of the news he had lately read. Later in the morning, he listened to his sister perform a new piece on the pianoforte.

“Your playing was delightful, my dear. Your skill is growing by the day, and I commend you for practising as much as you do.”

She lowered her chin and shook her head. “I am glad you are pleased, but if the music sounded especially good, it is because of the instrument. It was such a generous gift.” He had surprised her with the pianoforte the previous summer.

She turned around in her seat to face him before speaking again. Although her chin was lifted, her gaze was directed to the side, not at Darcy. “They will arrive soon.”

Darcy rubbed the back of his neck. “They will. I hope you are not nervous. Nothing ill will come of their presence, I promise you. You know Bingley well, and the ladies are good people.”

She glanced at him, her eyes seeming to ask if he was a fool; they both knew why she was anxious.

“Some days they will only be here for dinner, and I am sure they want to begin the drive to Yorkshire as soon as possible. They will not linger in the neighbourhood. Should you wish it, Mrs Bingley would be pleasant company.”

He expected that Elizabeth would avoid them both as much as possible, Georgiana especially, in an effort to spare her discomfort. As for him, Elizabeth believed it best if the two of them did not spend time together. Nothing about their situation had changed—unless it was even more hopeless because she was forming an attachment to Mr Grey—and while either one of them still loved the other, attempting to act as though they were friends was painful. For his part, he would never stop loving her. He was certain he would know in an instant if her sentiments for him had altered.

Georgiana remained silent, and thus he added, “If you find it difficult to be with them, do not hesitate to excuse yourself and return to your apartment. They will not expect you to act as their hostess, given your age. Consider them my guests, not ours. Now, what do you say we ask Mrs Reynolds to send us tea?”

Elizabeth’s heart raced and her legs felt weak as she stepped down from the carriage. She let her eyes take in the smooth white stone of the manor, noted the sweetness in the air as the breeze carried the scent from the nearby flower beds, and savoured the warmth of the sun on her face. What she avoided seeing was the couple standing by the door awaiting them.

“Darcy! Miss Darcy, how do you do?” Bingley cried. “I cannot thank you enough for accommodating us.”

“Georgiana and I are pleased to see you.”

Elizabeth felt Mr Darcy’s gaze on her, and his deep voice resonated within her.

“It is very kind of you. I own I was worried it would be an imposition, though Bingley insisted it was not,” Jane said.

“Not at all,” Mr Darcy assured her. “Please, will you come in? We have refreshments waiting.”

Bingley stepped to Miss Darcy’s side and, as they began walking towards the entry, said something too quiet for Elizabeth to hear. Jane began to remark on their drive, her voice trembling subtly, but stopped when her husband looked over his shoulder and beckoned to her to join them.

“Come and tell Miss Darcy the name of that pretty village we saw the other day, the one you liked so much,” he said.

With a regretful look at Elizabeth, Jane did as he had asked, leaving her alone with Mr Darcy.

Glancing up, Elizabeth’s eyes met his, and a surge of energy coursed through her, beginning in her toes and travelling up until it seemed to burst from her.

“Elizabeth.” He seemed to whisper the word, making it sound like a sigh of relief. “I am glad to see you.”

She could not look away. She should do so, but she did not have the necessary strength. “I…” The backs of her eyes began to burn, and she hoped she managed to avoid crying in front of him.

“Please do not say that I should not rejoice that you are at Pemberley again. I know it, just as I know that it is right that you are.” He shrugged.

She nodded, wondering if that was what she was feeling also. It was difficult to make sense of her confused emotions, but she had to admit it was most credible. “Are you well, and your sister? I was certain she would object and you would write to Bingley to put him off.”

“I would not like to do that, and Georgiana is improving.”

There was something in his tone that told her he was overstating the matter, and she knew it was because he had wanted to see her. Had she not also wanted to see him? She might not like to admit it, but was that not why she had refused to explain enough of the situation to Bingley to make him understand? Before she could speak, he suggested they enter the house; they would not wish their delay to be noted. She agreed, and as they began to walk, she was reminded of her dreams of returning to Pemberley as his wife, of him escorting her indoors for the first time as Mrs Darcy. Instead of that exquisite happiness, there was the crushing pain of loss.

Coming to Pemberley had been a terrible idea. How am I to survive three or four days of this?