Chapter 3
Elizabeth did not so much step back as lose the whole command of her limbs at once.
Her heel caught upon the edge of her gown, the polished floor shifted treacherously beneath her, and for one horrible instant she felt herself falling, with nothing before her but the prospect of striking the boards at Mr. Darcy’s feet.
But instead, he caught her.
His hands closed around her with swift, certain strength, one at her arm and the other near her waist, steadying her before she had more than gasped.
The shock of it went through her like heat through cold water.
She was aware of the firmness of his grasp, the clean scent of linen and summer air about him, the warmth of his body too near her own, and the dreadful, mortifying fact that her heart had leapt not only from fright.
For the smallest part of a second he held her still, longer than mere necessity required, or so her startled senses insisted; then he released her as if propriety itself had burned him.
“Forgive me,” he said, bowing at once, his voice strained and low, “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet. I was careless beyond excuse.”
Elizabeth’s face flamed. Her cheeks, her throat, even the delicate skin beneath her ears seemed alive with heat, and she could feel every eye upon them: her aunt’s concern, her uncle’s surprise, Mrs. Reynolds’s astonishment, and, worst of all, Mr. Darcy’s own look, fixed on her with an intensity that made breathing feel like an accomplishment.
“Not at all,” she said, though the words were thin and unsteady. “I was not attending. I am quite well.”
“Sir!” Mrs. Reynolds cried, recovering herself with a flutter of pleasure and alarm, and looking between Elizabeth and Darcy in shock and awe. “Mr. Darcy! We did not expect you today. The rooms—nothing is prepared as it ought to be, and the party from London is not to arrive until—”
“There is no occasion for concern, Mrs. Reynolds,” he said, though his eyes flickered once more to Elizabeth, and the glance was enough to send a fresh warmth moving beneath her stays.
“I am alone, and earlier than I intended. Pray do not let my arrival disturb your duties—I merely wanted to greet Miss Bennet, as she is an acquaintance of mine.”
Elizabeth's heart pounded, and after raised eyebrows from her aunt and uncle, and another surprised look from the housekeeper, she smiled in a subdued way.
Mrs. Reynolds looked relieved, though still flustered. “Yes, sir, of course, sir. I was showing the house to...to—”
“I must apologize for interrupting your tour,” Darcy said quickly to Mrs. Reynolds, and turning toward Elizabeth, he said, “Will you do me the honour of naming your companions, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth wished herself a hundred miles away, but she somehow did as she was bid.
Her aunt and uncle, introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner of Gracechurch Street, received his bow with a mixture of gratification and modesty, and Elizabeth saw that he made no sign of disdain.
He spoke to them as if their comfort mattered.
“We are very sensible of your kindness in allowing the house to be seen,” Mr. Gardiner said. “It is a noble place, sir.”
“You are very welcome,” Mr. Darcy replied. “I am happy Pemberley has afforded you any pleasure.”
Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes shone with the pleased curiosity of one who had discovered a gentleman where she had been prepared, perhaps, for pride.
She glanced at Elizabeth, nudged her lightly with the edge of her elbow, and said with disarming ease, “We had heard something of Mr. Darcy before, from his time in Hertfordshire.”
Mrs. Reynolds, having seemed to recover from the shock of it all, turned. “Why, Miss Bennet, you did not say you were acquainted with the master.”
Elizabeth’s mortification deepened until it seemed to have weight.
Her gloves felt tight, her mouth dry, and the little place at her waist where Mr. Darcy’s hand had steadied her seemed possessed of its own memory.
She could not meet his eye without feeling the whole history of Hunsford, Wickham, and her own error press upon her at once.
“Our acquaintance was slight,” she said, then hated the coldness of it the moment it was spoken. “That is—Mr. Darcy was known to my family and neighborhood while he was in Hertfordshire.”
A small silence followed, not long enough to be noticed by anyone but herself, yet long enough for regret to take shape. Mr. Darcy bowed his head with perfect civility, though something in his expression closed.
“And I hope they are all well at Longbourn.”
“They are, thank you,” she replied, and her voice, though polite, sounded to her ears like a door being shut.
Panic rose suddenly in her chest, sharp and foolish.
“But my aunt and uncle have been delayed already. I am sure we ought not trespass longer upon Mrs. Reynolds’s time, nor Mr. Darcy's, anymore than we already have.”
The words escaped too quickly, and her aunt looked at her in mild surprise; Mr. Gardiner shifted his hat; Mrs. Reynolds seemed uncertain whether to proceed or protest.
Mr. Darcy, however, only bowed again.
“Then I shall not detain you. I wish you all a pleasant continuation of your journey.”
He took his leave with that grave elegance which had once provoked her and now pierced her. As his footsteps retreated along the gallery, Elizabeth stood very still, her pulse unsteady and her skin still warm where he had touched her.
She knew, with a sinking heart, that she had driven him away the moment she had most wished him to remain.