6. Six

Six

D arcy settled into his seat as their carriage rattled over the icy road, a bright December breeze keeping the windows clear of frost. Bingley, beside him, had barely contained his restlessness from the first mile since they left The Angel, glancing out the window at every bend in the road with that barely-hidden eagerness Darcy knew too well. And every time the horses needed to be changed, somehow Bingley found an excuse to pop out of the carriage.

“Another inn?” Darcy asked as their carriage began to slow again. “Surely you do not need ‘refreshment’ so frequently, Bingley. At this rate, we will not reach Netherfield until Easter.”

Bingley smirked. “I am merely a considerate traveling companion, Darcy. I would not wish for the ladies to suffer from… neglect, shall we say? What if they need new hot bricks for their feet or their gloves suffered some dampness from moisture in the carriage?”

Darcy rolled his eyes. “Yes, quite selfless of you. I commend your devotion.”

As they stepped down from the carriage, Bingley darted immediately to Miss Bennet, offering his arm even as the lady’s foot had scarcely met the paving stones. Darcy’s gaze drifted, almost of its own accord, to Miss Elizabeth, who was adjusting her cloak against the cold before she stepped out. She caught his eye and raised an eyebrow.

“Mr. Darcy, do you approve of such frequent interruptions? I was under the impression that gentlemen preferred a more straightforward journey.”

He allowed himself a small smile. “I prefer efficiency, yes. But I am amenable to the alteration. At least, within reason.”

“Yes, but is getting out of the carriage every five miles ‘within reason’? This is our third stop, and somehow, our drivers and fellow passengers have contrived to find some reason for us to warm ourselves in the coaching inn for at least half an hour each time. It will be dark by the time we reach Meryton.”

“I think you underestimate Bingley’s powers of diversion.”

“Or Jane’s,” she sighed. “She may look sweet and innocent, Mr. Darcy, but I am beginning to fear that under that modest pelisse beats a heart that is pure conspiracy.”

“It seems we have met our match, then, for we are about to be waylaid again.” He nodded, turning her attention to the driver who was approaching them.

“Pardon, miss, but it’ll be a few more moments than expected. Horses are a touch fussy today, what with the ice. I’d like to get this fresh team settled in to be sure they are not surprised by the slick road.”

Her brows lifted, but she merely smiled. “Well, that is only to be expected, I suppose. Mr. Darcy, shall we wait inside?”

He offered her his arm. “Better than staring at the driver as he pretends to fuss over the animals, I suppose.”

Inside, the inn was modest but warm, with a fire crackling away in the large hearth at the back. The smell of freshly baked bread mingled with the warmth of the place, and Darcy found himself strangely pleased to settle into the quiet corner table Elizabeth had chosen by the window. He sat across from her, their proximity allowing him a close view of her expression as she glanced out over the frosty countryside.

“Are you familiar with this part of the country, Mr. Darcy?” she asked.

“Not particularly,” he admitted, his gaze following hers out the window, where snowflakes began to drift lazily down. “I never stopped any more than necessary when I was traveling to Pemberley.”

“And when was the last time you were there?”

He toyed with a funny little ridge on the table. It stuck up and caught the edge of his thumb as he passed his hand over the surface, and it gave him something to look at besides those eyes of hers. “I assume what you mean by that is ‘the last time I was there for more than a day.’”

“As you please,” she replied. “But why go all the way to Derbyshire for only a day?”

He swallowed and shifted his feet under the table. “Five years ago, my father died, leaving me the estate, my family name, and a young sister who was, at the time, only ten years of age and could not reasonably travel to London alone.”

Her brows arched. “So, you are avoiding painful memories?”

“You might say…” His brow pinched, and he dug into that ridge of the wood with his fingernail, as if the effort and mild destruction of prying it loose would distract his mind from the sting of memory. “Father disapproved of my ventures with Bingley.”

“Hardly surprising,” she mused. “I confess to wondering at it myself, after everything my aunt told me about the Darcy family and Pemberley. Why did you do it?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Because I gave my word. I owed a debt—a debt that money alone could not repay. And so…”

He trailed off, clamping his teeth shut as Bingley arrived beside him, helping Miss Bennet into the seat nearest her sister and plopping into another himself.

“I say, Darcy, this is indeed capital! Fresh air, the trees along the way laden with snow, the jingle of harness bells—I always did fancy harness bells. Why do we not use them in summer?”

“Would you like them half as well if you heard them constantly?”

Bingley’s brow puckered. “Do you know, I’ve not the least idea, but I would not mind finding out.”

Jane Bennet laughed. “I imagine you will have your fill of them in Meryton, for by now, everyone will have them out, along with their sleighs. The main streets in town do not see so much traffic as those in London, so the snow tends to build faster and linger longer.”

“Just as I hoped!” he declared. “Something so fresh and clean about snow, is there not? Far better than slushy paths and gray streets. Tell me, Miss Bennet, what else have we to look forward to in Hertfordshire?”

“Oh, if you are looking for lavish entertainments, I am afraid you may be disappointed. We are a simple town.”

“Just so!” Bingley enthused. “That will suit Darcy admirably, eh, chap?”

Elizabeth Bennet slanted a sly smile at him. “Are you saying, Mr. Darcy, that you would not miss the stifling ballrooms and endless parlor games you would face in London?”

“Not at all. In fact, I believe I would much prefer frostbite.”

“Then, why do you never leave London?”

Darcy’s face fell. Why, indeed … He darted a quick glance to Bingley, whose expression had also sobered. But in an instant, Bingley had shifted back to his eager charm as he gestured toward Miss Bennet.

“Darcy here is putting you on a bit. Why, he is just as dapper in a ballroom as he is in a drawing room or a study.”

“Oh!” Miss Elizabeth surveyed him with teasing approval. “Adaptable, are you, Mr. Darcy?”

“More so than he will admit,” Bingley declared. “Why, you should have seen him in France at Madame De Courcy’s—”

Darcy cut him off with a sharp clearing of his throat, and Bingley colored and fell silent.

Miss Elizabeth raised a brow, her eyes dancing with intrigue. “I imagine that must be quite a story.”

Darcy shot Bingley a warning look, but it was already too late.

“Oh, quite! He had this new waistcoat, do you see, and it happened to be the same color as—”

“I am sure Miss Elizabeth would not be interested,” Darcy interrupted.

Bingley wilted, but what did Darcy in was the disappointment in Elizabeth Bennet’s… rather astonishing… eyes… He swallowed and almost recanted his objection. After all, the story was not that inappropriate. Just embarrassing. But he was saved when the driver appeared at the door just then, calling out that the horses were ready.

Darcy took the opportunity to stand, feeling as though he had narrowly escaped a rather humiliating exposure before the first woman whose good opinion he had ever cared about. As he glanced over, however, he saw Elizabeth watching him. He thinned his lips and offered to help her rise, but he said no more.

They returned to the carriages, but as he climbed into his seat across from Bingley, Darcy found himself glancing back out the window, catching a last glimpse of Elizabeth Bennet before the door closed.

Bingley stretched his feet out as far as the carriage would allow, sighing in satisfaction. “Well, Darcy, I must say, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth have made this journey far more enjoyable than I could have anticipated.”

“You anticipated much, then?” Darcy replied, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh, come now! You cannot deny it has been a welcome distraction.” Bingley’s grin was far too knowing. “And for you as well, I think. I have seen you conversing more today than in all our outings last month.”

“Politeness demands it.” Darcy looked away, feigning interest in the passing scenery. “Miss Elizabeth has… an engaging wit.”

“An engaging wit, yes. And a smile that could thaw the River Thames, no doubt?”

Darcy shot him a glare. “Do you ever cease, Bingley?”

“Not when I am on the scent of a good story.” Bingley laughed. “And I think there is one here. Tell me, Darcy—when was the last time you spent so much time in conversation with a lady without a single obligatory dance or card game to sustain you?”

Darcy turned sharply. “Is this your new occupation then? Chronicling my interactions?”

Bingley merely grinned, unrepentant. “I find it endlessly fascinating. And I suspect the young ladies do, as well. Miss Elizabeth seems quite… well, I think you know what I mean.”

“If you’re referring to your habit of being absolutely transparent, I think everyone knows what you mean, Bingley.”

“Admit it, Darcy,” Bingley said, crossing his arms with smug satisfaction. “This journey has been entirely worthwhile.”

Darcy gave him a warning look. “I have never denied the advantages of a rural setting, but if you insist on reading more into a polite conversation—”

“Oh, I insist on nothing,” Bingley interrupted with a grin. “It’s you, Darcy, who seems determined to read nothing at all.”

Darcy said nothing, but his gaze flickered once more out the window, watching the landscape change as they neared Meryton. He had no idea what lay in store for him at Netherfield, or how often he might see Miss Elizabeth. But he could not deny a strange, heady anticipation settling in his chest, making him almost eager to reach their destination.

T he carriage slowed as it drove through Meryton. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy’s coach rolled to a stop outside the inn, where they meant to pass the night, while Jane and Elizabeth’s rumbled on toward Longbourn. Elizabeth glanced at her sister just in time to catch Jane’s hand drifting up toward the window, her fingertips brushing the glass as she gave the faintest wave to Mr. Bingley. She blushed deeply, lowering her hand with a bashful smile, but Elizabeth said nothing.

As they neared Longbourn, the house came into view, its windows ablaze with warm candlelight against the growing dusk. A soft flurry had begun, dusting the fields and trees in white, making the familiar sight of home look almost magical. But before the carriage had even come to a full stop, the front door flew open, and Mrs. Bennet, with her bonnet askew and shawl hastily tied, bustled out, wringing her hands as she squinted through the twilight.

“Jane! Lizzy! Oh, where have you been? I thought you’d fallen into a ditch, or else that the coachman had run away with my girls!” she fretted, waving wildly for them to hurry out of the carriage.

“Oh, Mama,” Jane soothed, stepping down and greeting her mother with a warm embrace. “The journey was longer than usual owing to the roads, but we are perfectly well.”

Roads, indeed. Elizabeth followed, laughing as her younger sisters Lydia and Kitty came rushing out of the house, their skirts flapping and faces aglow with excitement.

“What took you so long? I thought you’d be here hours ago!” Kitty exclaimed.

“Did you bring anything back for us?” Lydia demanded, her eyes bright with anticipation.

“I daresay, we have been spoiled thoroughly by Aunt and Uncle Gardiner,” Elizabeth replied, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “Yes, there are gifts for each of you, but you will have to wait until my trunk is taken up before I can dig them out.”

“Oh, then hurry!” Lydia pleaded, tugging at Elizabeth’s cloak as if to hurry her along.

Before Elizabeth could respond, Mr. Bennet appeared in the doorway, one eyebrow arched in his usual sardonic amusement.

“Welcome back, my dear girls,” he greeted. “Tell me, should I be bracing myself for any heartbroken suitors chasing you back from London, or have you both been so ruthless as to leave all your conquests thoroughly crushed and are nowlooking to wreak fresh havoc on Hertfordshire?”

Jane’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink, and Elizabeth gave her father an arch look. “Papa, I can assure you that we have not left any gentleman in ruin. As for the gentlemen of Hertfordshire…” She gestured around them at the merry chaos. “I think they shall have to brace themselves once again.”

Mr. Bennet chuckled, waving them inside. “Well, be gentle with them, at least for my sake. Now come, both of you, before your mother’s fretting shakes the rafters loose.”

As the girls made their way inside, their mother peppered them with questions, asking for every last detail of their stay, though Jane excused herself to go upstairs and change for dinner. Elizabeth reassured her younger sisters once again about their gifts, laughing at their excitement as she pried their hands from hers to start for the hall.

Finally, as Mr. Bennet turned to head toward his library, Elizabeth made good her efforts at escape, glancing over her shoulder before following and quietly slipping in after him.

Elizabeth waited until the door had clicked quietly shut behind her, then crossed to her father’s desk, folding her hands in front of her. Mr. Bennet had already settled back into his chair, spectacles perched on his nose, a hefty volume open on his lap. He glanced up, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise at her hesitation.

“Yes? What secret is trembling upon your lips, my dear, that you could not speak before your mother and sisters?”

“Papa, Jane and I heard… well, there is a rumor that Netherfield Park is to be let.”

Mr. Bennet’s brow furrowed as he slipped off his spectacles, tapping them thoughtfully against his book. “Let, you say?” He seemed to weigh the notion, glancing toward the window as though the news had drifted in from the grounds outside. “It is news to me, though I cannot say it is entirely unexpected. There has been gossip for some time, but I had heard nothing certain. Things may not be as rosy for the baronet as they once were.”

Elizabeth hesitated, her fingers curling together. “Do you suppose it could have anything to do with… his activities?”

A grim smile tugged at the corner of her father’s mouth. “That would be a fair assumption. When one chooses to shoulder such burdens, there is always a cost.” He let out a long breath, his gaze distant. “He had ample resources, or he did at one time, but perhaps he has encountered more setbacks than he anticipated.”

Elizabeth sank into the chair opposite him, her stomach suddenly twisting into a sick emptiness. “It would be a terrible loss if he is forced to shutter Netherfield,” she murmured. “To… everyone.”

“Yes,” Mr. Bennet agreed, his tone softening. He watched her for a moment, then leaned forward, his voice taking on a gentler edge. “But let us not dwell on such morose matters, Lizzy. You’ve only just returned from London. I expect some sort of tale to entertain me, as long as it does not involve dancing or lace or any description of the endless gowns and bonnets.”

Elizabeth managed a small smile, clasping her hands in her lap. “Very well, I shall do my best to spare you tales of ribbons and feathers, though you will miss hearing about the most extravagant hats on Bond Street. Aunt Gardiner and I agreed one in particular could serve as a garden trellis.”

Mr. Bennet chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Indeed, I am most grateful to be spared. What else occupied your time? Surely, not all of it was spent gawking at outlandish headgear.”

Elizabeth leaned back, glancing at the fire. “Not at all. Uncle Gardiner took us to the British Museum, where Jane and I saw a curious collection of Egyptian artifacts, including a very stern-looking statue that Aunt said resembled a distant cousin of ours. And I had the pleasure of introducing Jane to an unexpected admirer.”

Mr. Bennet’s brow arched. “Oh?”

She smiled, suppressing a laugh. “A young poet—one who recited a verse for her on the spot. Aunt Gardiner quite feared he would follow us all the way back to Cheapside.”

He shook his head with a wry smile. “I see it was a most eventful journey, indeed.”

“Very much so.” Elizabeth was suddenly beset by a yawn and found her eyelids growing heavy as the long journey finally seemed to be catching up with her. “Papa, I fear I am far more fatigued than I realized. Perhaps I should tell you more of London in the morning.”

He patted her hand in a gentle dismissal, his eyes crinkling with affection. “Yes, yes, off with you, Lizzy. Go rest your weary head—you have given me enough amusement for one night.”

Elizabeth rose, turning toward the door, but just as her fingers brushed the handle, her father called after her, his tone sly.

“Oh, Lizzy. You missed quite the spectacle while you were away. I suppose you are sorry to have missed my cousin Collins’s visit. Believe me, my dear, you would have found him vastly amusing.”

She stopped, glancing back at him, a slow grin creeping over her face. “Such a pity,” she said, her eyes gleaming with mirth, “that Aunt and Uncle invited Jane and me to London just as Mr. Collins was expected.”

Mr. Bennet chuckled dryly, his smile widening. “Yes, a pity indeed.”