Chapter 2 #2
He moved to the window. The gardens were lit by the full moon.
In a few hours, his life would change irrevocably.
He would be fleeing with a woman society would see as beneath him, defying her father’s wishes, and potentially creating a scandal that could affect not only himself but his sister as well.
And yet he felt no hesitation. No regret.
Elizabeth was worth any scandal, any consequence. She was worth everything.
Darcy remained by the window momentarily, then straightened his coat and returned to his bedchamber.
Once he had arranged what must be done before dawn, he entered the ballroom. The dancing continued, the guests laughed, drank, and gossiped, and no one seemed to notice that anything had changed.
But everything had changed.
Darcy found his position along the wall and accepted a fresh glass of wine from a passing servant.
Across the room, Elizabeth smiled and conversed as though her world had not just been upended.
Only someone watching very closely—as Darcy was—might notice the slight tremor in her hands, the too-bright glitter in her eyes.
Mr. Collins approached her again, and Darcy had to forcibly restrain himself from crossing the room and removing the man bodily. Instead, he remained where he stood as Elizabeth tolerated the parson’s attention with a grace that was nothing short of heroic.
Not for much longer, Darcy thought. In a few hours, she will be free.
The ball wore on interminably. Miss Bingley’s false smiles and pointed comments grated on Darcy’s nerves more than usual.
Bingley danced with Miss Bennet, then with each of her younger sisters in turn.
Mrs. Bennet’s voice carried across the room, proclaiming her satisfaction in the evening’s festivities to anyone who would listen.
Mr. Bennet remained sequestered in the card room, avoiding his wife and daughters with the dedication of long practice.
At supper, Darcy forced himself to eat, to make conversation, to behave as though this were any other ball. But his attention returned to Elizabeth, tracking her movements, ensuring she was well.
Finally, finally, the musicians played their last set.
Guests collected their wraps and called for their carriages.
But the Bennets, as was apparently their custom, showed no signs of leaving.
Mrs. Bennet continued to hold court, regaling anyone within with commentary on the evening’s successes.
The younger Bennet girls giggled and whispered.
Miss Mary appeared to be asleep where she sat.
Miss Bennet and Elizabeth stood together, speaking quietly.
A full moon hung low on the horizon, casting the frost-touched grounds in pale silver light. One by one, the other guests departed. The Lucases. The Gouldings. The Longs. Until only the Bennets remained.
Her eldest persuaded her mother to make her way to their carriage. Through the window, Darcy saw Elizabeth climb inside, her face pale in the lantern’s light, but her bearing straight and proud.
Be strong, he willed her silently. Just a few more hours.
When the Bennet carriage had disappeared down the drive, Darcy sought out Bingley, who stood with his sister. “Enjoy the commendation from your neighbors over the next several days, my friend. You earned it.”
Bingley blushed modestly. Beside him, Miss Bingley’s smile sharpened, her shoulders drawing back as though Darcy’s praise of her brother reflected solely upon her own superior taste and management.
“I thank you, Darcy.”
“Bingley, might I have a word?”
“Of course. What is it?” Bingley’s face was flushed with the success of the evening, his smile broad.
Miss Bingley stifled a yawn. “Mr. Darcy, Brother, I will bid you good night. Or rather, good morning.”
Once she departed, Darcy said, “I am afraid I must depart for London as soon as may be. Urgent business has arisen that requires my attention.”
“This morning?” Bingley’s face fell. “I suppose business must be attended to. I shall be following you to Town myself on the morrow. Perhaps we might meet at the club?”
“Send a note around once you arrive.” Darcy bowed. “I apologize for the abruptness of my departure.”
“Think nothing of it.” Bingley clapped him on the shoulder. “Though Caroline will be disappointed. She has been planning a shooting party for next week.”
“Please convey my regrets to your sister,” Darcy said. “And my thanks for her hospitality.”
“I shall, I shall.” Bingley yawned. “Lord, what a night! I shall bid you farewell now, as I doubt I shall be awake to see you off.” Bingley extended his hand, which Darcy shook. “Safe travels, my friend.”
Darcy retired to his chambers. “When we leave for London, Thornton,” Darcy said, “we will be carrying a passenger to Matlock House.”
“Sir?” Thornton paused in his work.
“We will collect her on our way.”
Thornton nodded, asking no further questions, only easing Darcy from his black tailcoat to pack.
After changing into his traveling clothes, Darcy stood at the window, waiting impatiently for the sun to rise over the horizon. Once he departed this place, there would be no going back.
He thought of Elizabeth, returning to Longbourn, facing her family with the knowledge of what she was about to do. He thought of the courage it must take to leave everything familiar behind, to trust a man she knew little of with her future.
He would not fail her. He would not let her regret this choice.
The Bennet family returned from Netherfield in their customary noisy fashion.
Kitty complained the instant she descended from the crowded carriage that her feet ached, and she was exhausted, and nobody had any consideration for her whatsoever.
Lydia spoke over her sister to announce that Lieutenant Carter had been most particular in his attentions, and that Kitty’s feet would not ache so badly if she learned to dance properly.
Mrs. Bennet, still flushed with excitement, wanted to review every moment of the evening with Mr. Bennet, who murmured something about the lateness of the hour and retreated to the master’s chambers before she had finished her first sentence.
Jane said only that she was tired and kissed Elizabeth’s temple before ascending the stairs.
Mary said the same and went to her room.
Mr. Collins trudged up to his chambers after telling Elizabeth that he expected to meet with her privately once he awoke.
Never!
Soon after, the house subsided into silence.
Elizabeth lit a single candle and opened her trunk.
She worked quickly, by instinct rather than plan.
Her two best gowns, her best slippers. The warm pelisse.
Stockings, a shift, gloves, the ivory shawl Jane had pressed upon her last winter.
Pausing over her books, she ran her fingers along their spines in the thin light.
She could not take them all. She chose two, gifts from her favorite aunt, and left the rest with a pang that surprised her.
She wrapped the small miniature of Jane in her chemise.
From below, she heard her mother murmuring to Hill about Mr. Collins: “What a triumph! When Lizzy accepts Mr. Collins…”
Dear, foolish Mama, who wanted nothing for her daughters except security. She would never understand that Elizabeth had just secured herself rather more thoroughly than Mr. Collins ever would.
She thought of her father. That he could throw her away was a wound she had not yet examined and did not intend to think on this day. She would write to him. Eventually. When she could do so without anger.
The door opened without a sound. Mary appeared in the frame, still dressed, her candle shielded by her palm. Neither spoke. Everything that mattered passed between them without words.
Mary set her candle down, crossed the room, and folded Elizabeth into a brief, fierce embrace.
Elizabeth breathed in her sister’s familiar scent of soap and lavender, thinking momentarily how she never appreciated Mary as she ought.
Then Mary stepped back, straightened her spectacles, and nodded once before gathering Elizabeth’s pelisse, bonnet, and her walking gown into a bundle.
She left the room as silently as she had entered.
Elizabeth closed the trunk, then left the note on her pillow. Her heart raced with dread, excitement, fear of the unknown… What if Mr. Darcy changed his mind? What then? Quite a dizzying sensation.
She reached into her reticule and touched the folded linen of Darcy’s handkerchief. Somehow, such a simple item gave her strength.
Thornton supervised the loading of the trunks, and soon Darcy’s carriage stood ready in the drive. The house was quiet—Bingley and the Hursts had retired, and even the servants moved about their morning duties with the quelled air of people who had been awake all night.
Darcy climbed into his carriage and signaled the driver. “To the lane near Longbourn.”
The countryside passed by in the gray light before daybreak, fields and hedgerows shrouded in mist. They stopped a quarter mile from Longbourn, tucked into a small copse where the carriage might not be visible from the road.
Thornton climbed down and disappeared into the morning gloom, making his way toward the house on foot.
Darcy followed behind, though he stopped before he was visible from the house.
He waited, his heart pounding. What if someone had woken? What if her father had discovered the plan? What if Elizabeth had changed her mind?
But then he saw Thornton returning, carrying a small trunk on his shoulder. The valet loaded it into the carriage without a word, then climbed up beside the driver.
More waiting. Darcy checked his watch.
Then he saw her. A slender silhouette moving through the morning shadows, her cloak pulled tight around her shoulders, walking quickly. Elizabeth.
Stepping away from the trees, he extended his hand. She took it without hesitation, and he felt the slight tremor in her fingers. Fear and relief mingled together, but beneath, determination and trust.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“I am.” She stepped into the carriage.
Darcy gave the signal, and they were off, the carriage gathering speed away from Longbourn, away from Hertfordshire, toward London and safety.
Elizabeth sat upright, staring out the window as her childhood home receded into the distance. She clutched her reticule in her lap.
“Are you well?” he asked, wondering if he should take her hand.
“I do not know,” she admitted. “Ask me again when we reach London.”
They rode in silence for some time, the only sound the clatter of hooves and the creaking of the wheels. Then Elizabeth spoke again. “Mary knows what to do. By the time they discover I am gone, we will be...”
“Far away. Beyond their reach.”
“Do you think your aunt and uncle will agree to shelter me?”
“I sent an express to them during the supper dance, explaining the situation.” Darcy leant forward.
“Miss Bennet—Elizabeth—I need you to understand. Once we reach London, you will be under the protection of the Fitzwilliam family. No one will force you to do anything against your will. If, when you reach your majority, you decide you do not wish to marry me after all, I will help you establish yourself in whatever life you choose. You are not trapped.”
Her brow arched. “That is kind of you, Mr. Darcy. But I have made my decision. I intend to honor our agreement.”
“Even so, I would have you know that you have the power of choice. Always.”
Elizabeth smiled, and in that smile, Darcy saw a glimpse of the woman she might become once freed from the constraints that had bound her.
“I believe you may be a better man than you give yourself credit for, Mr. Darcy.”
“I am trying to be the man you deserve.”
They fell silent again, but this time the silence was more restful, almost companionable. Elizabeth eventually leant her head against the side of the carriage, and her eyes closed.
Darcy watched her sleep, this woman who had turned his life upside down with nothing more than her wit, her spirit, and her fine eyes. In three weeks, he would have the right to protect her, to cherish her, to spend every day of his life trying to make her happy. He had never wanted anything more.
When the wheels hit a rut in the road, Elizabeth was jolted against the side of the carriage. Before she could be thrown again, Darcy moved to sit beside her and drew her gently against him.
Momentarily, she stiffened. Then, still half-asleep, she softened against him with a small sigh. Her head dropped naturally onto his shoulder. She fit perfectly.
“Thank you,” she murmured, the words barely audible.
Darcy allowed himself a smile. “Sleep, Elizabeth. I have you.”
She did not answer—already yielding once more to slumber—but her hand found his coat and curled into the fabric, holding on.
The carriage rolled on through the morning. And for the first time in longer than he could remember, Fitzwilliam Darcy felt blessedly, completely content.