Chapter 2
Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam departed Rosings as planned. Yet Elizabeth, who only days before had longed for both gentlemen—one of them in particular—to be gone from the area, was surprised to find she rather missed him once he had left.
Their separation, however, proved brief.
When she returned to London a little more than a fortnight later, she was astonished to find him again—at her aunt and uncle’s house on Gracechurch Street, no less, within a day of her arrival.
From what she gathered, Mr. Darcy had been quite industrious since leaving Kent.
He had written to Mr. Bingley soon after reaching London, and that letter had prompted his friend’s sudden return from the country.
Since then, both gentlemen had called at Gracechurch Street twice.
Jane, ever gentle and forgiving, had received Mr. Bingley with kindness—though Elizabeth noted a new caution in her manner.
While much of her sister’s sorrow had faded, Jane was determined that any renewal of affection must be accompanied by evidence of sincerity.
Their aunt, Mrs. Gardiner, had advised her to be a little less forgiving than was her habit, and Elizabeth wholeheartedly approved.
If Mr. Bingley meant to win Jane again, he must show firmness and resolve—particularly after the unkind interference of his sisters, whose behaviour Mrs. Gardiner had not soon forgotten.
Elizabeth encouraged Jane’s new resolve whenever she could.
The following morning, when the Gardiner carriage set out for Meryton, it carried only Maria Lucas and a footman—a man discreetly engaged for the purpose of ensuring her safety.
Maria had been told merely that she was to deliver a letter to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, explaining that Mr. Bingley had recently come to town and that Jane intended to remain with her aunt and uncle for a further fortnight before returning home.
Elizabeth would, of course, stay as well.
By addressing the letter to both parents, they hoped to secure their continued absence without provoking their mother’s curiosity.
Sending Maria home alone was also a precaution, one that Elizabeth privately suspected might owe something to Mr. Darcy’s influence—though she could not be certain.
He had shown himself to be both thoughtful and discreet; it would not surprise her if he had quietly arranged such a thing.
Rumours soon reached London that George Wickham had at last been forced to quit Meryton.
The story came to them piecemeal through letters sent from various members of the Bennet family to London, but the account was not flattering.
His debts had been called in, his reputation destroyed, and his so-called friends disillusioned.
Elizabeth could not help but think that justice, though delayed, had finally been served.
She wondered whether Mr. Darcy might have had some hand in bringing about the reckoning, though he had never hinted as much.
Elizabeth, for her part, had shared with Jane and her aunt only a portion of what had passed between herself and Mr. Darcy at Hunsford.
She did not confess that he had proposed, nor that she had refused him.
Instead, she merely said that they had come to a better understanding, and that her opinion of him had altered considerably.
“I misjudged him,” she admitted one evening, after the ladies had withdrawn from the dining room after a meal at the Gardiner home. “He is not the man I once believed him to be. There is pride in him, yes, but it is not unkind. I think I understand him better now.”
Jane smiled gently and patted her hand. “I am pleased to hear it. I should hate to think you were still at odds with him, for I expect we shall see more of him now that Mr. Bingley means to return to Netherfield. Mr. Darcy is to accompany him, at least for a time.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved, though her gaze strayed toward the door through which the gentlemen would soon reappear. “We have agreed to begin anew,” she said softly. “We are… friends now, I think.”
She would admit only friendship aloud, yet in the privacy of her thoughts she sensed something deeper—something fragile and uncertain, but undeniably real.
Still, a quiet fear lingered within her: that she had ruined any chance of more, that her rejection had wounded him beyond repair.
At times, she wondered if he could ever be persuaded to care for her again.
The thought unsettled her more than she wished to acknowledge, and so she thrust it aside, unwilling even to confess it to herself.
When at last she and Jane returned to Longbourn, they did so in company with both Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy—though only one gentleman could yet be considered an acknowledged suitor.
Mr. Bingley’s cheerful devotion to Jane was plain to all, while Mr. Darcy’s manner toward Elizabeth was marked by quiet deference and a reserve that hinted at deeper feeling.
His time in Hertfordshire passed far too quickly—at least to Elizabeth’s mind.
After only a few days (although it could have been a month for all Elizabeth was conscious of it) at Netherfield, he was obliged to return to Pemberley.
Though he said little of his departure, she thought she saw regret in the faint hesitation of his bow and in the warmth that lingered in his gaze when they parted.
That look, so full of meaning and restraint, lingered with her long after he was gone.
It was not until the day before his departure that her unspoken fear escaped her lips.
They had been walking near the shrubbery, their conversation light but their silences weighted with more than either dared to say.
At last, she gathered her courage and said softly, “I hope you will not stay away too long. I should be sorry to think Hertfordshire held no reason for your return.”
He looked at her then, truly looked, and what she saw in his eyes sent her heart into an unsteady rhythm. There was something there—something hopeful and tender that made her breath catch. His voice, when he answered, was low and certain.
“You may be certain, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “that I shall always have a reason to return to Longbourn so long as you call it home.”
Those words echoed in her mind long after he was gone, a quiet promise that both comforted and unsettled her.
Yet before he could return, the Gardiners arrived to take her on their summer tour.
They had planned to go as far as the Lake District, but upon her arrival, her aunt greeted her with an apologetic smile.
“Your uncle’s business makes it necessary that he return to town sooner than we had planned, my dear. We shall go only as far as the Peak District.”
Elizabeth was only slightly disappointed.
In truth, she was relieved to have something—anything—to distract her from the thoughts of Mr. Darcy that seemed to haunt her every idle moment.
Jane and Bingley had become engaged less than a fortnight before, and Mrs. Bennet’s declaration that the wedding would take place in the autumn had left the household in a constant flutter.
The quiet of a journey away from Longbourn was a welcome reprieve.
To her astonishment, a little more than a se’nnight after leaving home, they arrived at their destination, where they were to spend a fortnight of their visit.
It was only upon their arrival that she discovered the true nature of her uncle’s arrangements.
Since meeting in London, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Gardiner had been corresponding, and between them, they had contrived to bring her to Pemberley.
It became immediately clear that her uncle knew far more of what had passed between her and Mr. Darcy than Elizabeth had revealed to her aunt, for both Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner watched her closely, their expressions betraying an almost mischievous curiosity as they awaited her reaction.
A part of her wanted to be angry at their quiet deception—but she could not. Pemberley was everything she might have imagined and more, its beauty commanding and serene. Yet it was not the house, nor the grounds, that held her gaze or captured her thoughts so completely.
It was its master.
Darcy was astonished to find that everything had unfolded far more smoothly than he had dared to hope.
He had anticipated some slight discomfort on her part, and had been prepared for even a measure of resentment, when Elizabeth discovered their deception—but what he saw instead had filled him with cautious relief.
Her surprise to learn that they would not only visit, but be hosted at Pemberley had been evident, yet it was not the sharp-edged astonishment of displeasure he had once provoked.
No, she had been pleased—he was certain of it.
There had been warmth in her eyes, the faintest curve of a smile that he could not mistake.
He had heard her anger before, felt the full force of her scorn at Hunsford, and there had been nothing of that in her manner now.
If she was aware that he and Mr. Gardiner had contrived to bring her to Pemberley without her knowledge, she gave no sign of anger or displeasure.
Instead, she had greeted him with grace and composure, and that alone was more than he had ever hoped for.
For the first time in many months, he allowed himself to feel something dangerously close to hope.
He had only a fortnight—two short weeks—to prove himself worthy of her regard, and he prayed that their time apart had softened her feelings toward him, maybe even helped her feel even a measure of what he felt for her.
He had missed her more than he cared to admit, her absence haunting every quiet corner of his days.
If she had felt even a fraction of that same longing, then perhaps all was not lost.