Chapter Six #2
Mr. Darcy took his leave a few moments later. His eyes found hers one last time. After he had gone, Elizabeth remained standing by the fire, staring into the glowing coals. She could still see the look in his eyes, could still hear the reverence in his voice when he had spoken her name.
Elizabeth could breathe more easily knowing he would soon be gone forever.
On Thursday afternoon, Miss Darcy came to call.
She arrived in the Darcy carriage with her brother, looking lovely in a pale green walking dress, though her manner was still shy and uncertain. Mrs. Gardiner greeted them warmly and ushered them into the drawing room where Elizabeth and Lydia waited.
“Miss Darcy, how delightful to see you again,” Elizabeth said, rising to curtsy. “May I present my sister, Miss Lydia Bennet? Lydia, this is Miss Georgiana Darcy.”
The two girls, so close in age and yet so different in circumstance, regarded each other with mutual curiosity. Georgiana offered a sweet smile. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Lydia.”
Lydia, subdued and still pale, managed a proper curtsy. “And I yours, Miss Darcy.”
The Gardiner children were brought down from the nursery, and the visit took on a lighter character. Georgiana proved surprisingly easy with the little ones, kneeling to admire a toy soldier one of the boys presented and admiring with genuine interest as the eldest girl displayed her sampler.
Throughout it all, Mr. Darcy stood near the window, as though observing the street but in truth watching Elizabeth.
His gaze fell on her often—when she laughed at something one of the children said, when she helped Georgiana with her tea, when she spoke gently to Lydia, encouraging her to join the conversation.
Each time she glanced his way, he was observing her with an earnest expression which caused her composure to flee.
When the Darcys took their leave, Georgiana embraced Elizabeth warmly. “I do hope we shall see each other again soon, Miss Bennet.”
“As do I,” Elizabeth replied, and meant it sincerely.
Mr. Darcy bowed over her hand, his touch lingering a moment longer than strictly necessary. “Miss Bennet.”
“Mr. Darcy.”
Their eyes met, and a question, perhaps, or a promise, passed between them.
After they had gone, Mrs. Gardiner stepped beside Elizabeth as she watched the carriage pull away.
“He is deeply attached to you, my dear,” she said gently.
Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed. “I—I cannot presume—”
“You need not presume. It is written plainly on his countenance for anyone with eyes to see.”
That evening, a letter arrived from Jane. Elizabeth broke the seal with unsteady fingers and read:
Dearest Lizzy,
I hardly know how to tell you this, but Mr. Bingley has returned to Netherfield.
He called upon us yesterday and was everything amiable and kind.
He asked permission to continue calling, and I—oh Lizzy, I scarcely knew what to say.
I was so hurt when he left last year, so convinced he did not care for me as I cared for him.
But he assures me his feelings have never changed, that he was persuaded away but has regretted it ever since.
I have given him leave to call until such time as I feel confident in his sincerity. Mama is beside herself with joy, of course, but I am more cautious. I must be certain this time. I could not bear to have my heart broken again.
How I wish you were here to advise me! Write soon and tell me what you think I should do.
Your affectionate sister, Jane
Elizabeth folded the letter carefully, with mingled hope and apprehension. Mr. Bingley had returned. And Mr. Darcy—
She checked the thought before it fully formed. But it was there nonetheless, growing stronger with each passing day.
The following week passed quietly. Lydia had grown more subdued with each passing day, speaking little and often staring into the middle distance as though lost in troubling thoughts.
That afternoon, as they took tea in the drawing room, Mrs. Gardiner was mending one of the children’s shirts. Lydia watched her aunt’s careful stitches for a long moment, then set down her own teacup with a soft clink.
“You are always mending something,” she said abruptly, gesturing to the shirt.
“Last week it was Frances Rose’s pinafore, the week before Jenny’s chemise.
” She looked down at her hands. “But I have broken something that cannot be mended, have I not? I have brought such shame on us all, and there is no way to repair it.”
Mrs. Gardiner paused in her work, needle suspended. She regarded Lydia with calm, steady eyes.
“You cannot undo the past, my dear,” she said gently. “But you can conduct yourself with sense and propriety from this day forward. You can learn from your mistakes and become a wiser, better person. That is how you make amends—by living differently.”
Lydia’s hands twisted in her lap. “But will it be enough?”
“It will have to be,” Mrs. Gardiner said, not unkindly. “It is all any of us can do when we have erred—choose a better path forward.”
Lydia nodded slowly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I should like to try.”
“Then you shall,” Mrs. Gardiner said, returning to her mending with a small, encouraging smile.