Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Darcy made his way north on horseback. It was far less comfortable than travelling by carriage, but it allowed him to reach Pemberley by the afternoon of the third day.
He did not regret the discomfort; the long hours largely on his own gave him ample time—more than he wished—to think, and the steady rhythm of the ride left him no refuge from his own thoughts.
It was early November, and the cold was sharp, particularly in the mornings, biting enough to keep his senses alert and his reflections uncomfortably clear.
He was returning to Pemberley only long enough to collect Georgiana before accompanying her to Millwood Cottage.
They would remain there as guests as of Lord Granfield—and of Elizabeth.
Upon his arrival, Richard would be presented to Elizabeth as a potential husband, and Darcy could not doubt that they would suit exceedingly well.
He could already foresee the outcome with a clarity that left him quietly unsettled.
Like his friend Bingley, the colonel was open and genial.
Unlike his friend, Richard possessed a strength of character and a ready wit that would meet Elizabeth’s without overwhelming it, tempered by the authority and confidence earned through years with the Regulars.
Darcy could imagine them in conversation without effort—could imagine Elizabeth’s animation, her quick intelligence warmly engaged.
How easy it was to imagine such a scene was its own quiet cruelty.
They would suit each other exceedingly well.
Elizabeth was lovely and engaging, capable and intelligent—qualities he had long admired in the abstract, but which now seemed inseparable from the woman herself.
He had first admired her as the daughter of a gentleman; now, as the granddaughter of an earl, she was his equal in every respect.
That she owned Netherfield and likely possessed a considerable fortune only confirmed what reason had already dictated: she was an ideal bride for his cousin.
The truth pressed upon him with increasing weight as the miles passed.
Richard was intended for the very woman Darcy had come to love.
He had guarded his admiration too carefully, restrained it too well, and allowed his foolish pride to prevent him from apologising when he knew he ought to have done so.
In so doing, had he lost her entirely—given her up irrevocably to another?
She would remain in his life, woven into his family, yet forever beyond his reach: his cousin’s wife, never his own.
Elizabeth’s wit, her warmth, her keen and lively intelligence—she lingered in his thoughts no matter how determinedly he tried to banish her from them.
There was no longer any uncertainty to soften the knowledge.
As painful as it was to acknowledge, he loved her, and that understanding brought him no solace.
The earl had made his expectations plain. Darcy must stand aside. He must support his cousin. He must conduct himself with the honour demanded of his name and his principles, even when doing so required a sacrifice no one would ever ask of him aloud.
As Pemberley’s familiar outline came into view, Darcy tightened his hold on the reins, steadying himself against a surge of feeling he could not afford to indulge. He would greet Georgiana cheerfully, prepare for their journey south, and school his features into perfect composure.
He would keep hidden the one thing he could not allow her—or anyone else—to suspect: how very difficult it would be to watch another pursue Elizabeth Bennet.
A se’nnight later, Darcy and Miss Darcy arrived at Millwood Cottage.
Elizabeth was not there to greet them; she had received word that morning that a tenant had fallen ill and the family was in need of assistance.
She had gone at once, carrying a basket of broth, linens, and whatever small comforts she could gather, taking them with her as she drove the short distance to Netherfield in her gig.
Of course, a footman accompanied her as her grandfather insisted.
Thus it was her grandfather who welcomed the Darcys.
By the time Elizabeth returned over an hour later, her boots damp and her thoughts lingering on the troubled family, she could not help wondering how the Darcys’ meeting with Lord Granfield had gone, and what she herself might find awaiting her inside.
Oh, she did not expect him to embarrass her as she would have expected the Bennets to, but knowing what little she did about Miss Darcy, she wondered if her gregarious grandfather would have overwhelmed the shy girl.
She changed quickly into a fresh gown—her grandfather having insisted that several new gowns be made upon her removal to Millwood, the first of which had arrived only the day before—then hurried to the first-floor parlour where favoured guests were usually received.
Mrs Harding, the housekeeper, had assured her that their visitors had been shown to the rooms prepared for them and had requested refreshments after a few moments to change out of their travelling clothes.
Expecting the parlour to be occupied, she was therefore surprised to find herself entirely alone.
Elizabeth lingered at the edge of the room, uncertain whether she was truly meant to remain.
After a brief, self-conscious glance about her, she chose a chair near the window and reached for a book abandoned upon the nearby table, more for occupation than interest. She had scarcely read a full paragraph before the sound of footsteps reached her ears.
“Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth.”
The voice startled her into motion. She straightened at once, the book forgotten in her hands, and rose quickly to her feet, colour rising as she turned to face Mr Darcy, who had just entered the room.
It had been more than a se’nnight since she had last seen him, and the interval had not lessened the effect of his presence.
He appeared well—better than she remembered—and there was an openness in his expression that made her glad, in spite of herself, to see him again.
The recollection of their earlier conversations returned unbidden, and with it the quiet pleasure she had once taken in his company.
She did not allow the feeling to carry her too far.
His sincere apology had not answered every question she yet possessed, and she was still uncertain how much trust she ought to place in altered manners.
Nevertheless, she could not persuade herself to regret his presence nor to wish the meeting undone.
In every other instance, he had been an interesting companion, but his words at the assembly were not entirely forgotten.
Mr Darcy advanced a few steps into the room and then stopped, as though unsure whether to proceed further.
His bow was proper, but there was a reserve in it she had not observed before, a carefulness in his manner that suggested he was measuring his conduct with more than usual attention.
He stood very straight, his hands clasped behind him, his expression composed, if a little grave.
“Good afternoon,” he said again, with a faint hesitation that did not escape her notice.
Elizabeth returned his greeting with a small, steady smile, meeting his gaze without embarrassment.
She sensed his uncertainty, and though she could not guess at its cause, she felt no inclination to retreat from it.
If he was cautious, she would not be; confidence had ever been more natural to her than suspicion.
For a moment, neither spoke, and yet the silence was not uncomfortable. Elizabeth was the first to speak, unwilling to allow the moment to grow more awkward than it need be.
“I had not expected to find the room quite so deserted when I returned from visiting a tenant,” she said lightly.
“For a moment, I feared I had mistaken the correct hour for tea. It is a pity I missed being introduced to your sister upon her arrival, and I hope you will both forgive me for my absence.”
Mr Darcy smiled faintly. “You are very kind to say so, but no apology is necessary. We arrived a little earlier than we were expected, and I did not wish to remain longer in my room. Georgiana was much fatigued by the journey and would have felt equal regret at missing you. I am certain you will meet her very soon—and she will be glad of it. Your grandfather did not specify a time for us to speak again; I suppose he meant to leave that to you.”
She smiled at that, and the familiar pleasure of engaging his attention returned. “It seems the risk of arriving early attends nearly everything,” she said. “I have always disliked being late, and the practice of being ‘fashionably’ so has never suited my temperament, unlike others I have seen.”
His lips curved, almost despite himself. “You have expressed my opinion on the matter perfectly.”
The exchange, modest as it was, settled something between them.
He moved a little nearer—not close enough to presume, but no longer holding himself at such careful distance—and his manner grew easier, less studied.
Elizabeth found herself at her ease as well, the earlier uncertainty giving way to a quieter, more familiar comfort.
“I trust your journey was not overly fatiguing,” she said.
“Not at all,” he replied. “I find travel far less tiresome when it is accompanied by a pleasant prospect at the end of it. That, and I travelled with Georgiana and her companion on this occasion. At least we could speak to each other, and I have a travel chess board that we bring out to pass the time when we have nothing left to speak about.”