Chapter 4 #2
At any moment, the carriage should appear.
Richard’s note had promised arrival by late afternoon since they would take the journey in slow stages for Atlas’s sake.
The sun was already sinking toward the horizon.
Ominous clouds gathered. Early November in Hertfordshire meant rain, often for days at a stretch.
If the weather turned foul, Miss Elizabeth’s lessons would have to wait.
The thought brought an unforeseen stab of disappointment—not his own, but hers.
He could too easily imagine her face if the weather turned, hope dimming to resignation.
“I trust Miss Bennet continues to improve,” Bingley said from his position near the fire.
“Though not too quickly, of course. That is—I mean to say—she should be well enough to join us, naturally, but perhaps not so well that she must return to Longbourn immediately. Does that sound terribly selfish?”
“Terribly,” Mrs. Hurst said without looking up from her needlework.
“You are ridiculous, Charles,” Miss Bingley added, her tone sharp.
“Miss Bennet will leave when it suits her, regardless of your wishes. I am far more interested in Miss Darcy’s arrival.
Such an accomplished young lady! Her proficiency on the pianoforte is spoken of in the best circles.
And her watercolors—I have heard they rival those of the masters. ”
Darcy suppressed a sigh. Georgiana’s skills were considerable, yet Miss Bingley’s fawning always felt less like genuine praise and more obsequious, as if to draw favorable comparisons to her own abilities.
“She is also remarkably well-read,” Miss Bingley continued. “Fluent in French and Italian, I understand. And so elegant, so refined. The product of the finest masters, of course. Not at all like these country—”
“Miss Darcy is a young lady still coming into her own,” Darcy said, his voice cool. “I would ask that you not place undue expectations upon her.”
Miss Bingley’s smile faltered. “Of course, Mr. Darcy. I meant only to express my admiration.”
Darcy returned his attention to the window, effectively ending the conversation. Miss Bingley’s voice continued behind him, discussing the superiority of London masters to country instruction, but he stopped listening.
Instead, his thoughts drifted to Miss Elizabeth. Would she be watching for the arrival as well? He gripped his hands together.
Elizabeth stood at the window in Jane’s chambers, her attention drawn to movement on the drive below. Two riders raced hell-for-leather toward the house, their horses flinging divots of earth.
“Lizzy, what do you see?” Jane’s voice came from the bed, still hoarse but stronger than yesterday.
“Riders. Racing toward the house.” Elizabeth leant closer to the glass. “I think—Jane, I believe it is Mr. Darcy’s sister and his cousin.”
The rustle of bedclothes told her Jane was rising. In a breath, her sister joined her at the window, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. They watched in silence as the riders approached.
The lady rode side-saddle, her dark riding habit flowing behind her, her posture confident and controlled despite the precarious position. She pulled ahead of her companion by a length, then two, her laughter carrying across the distance even through the closed window.
“Oh, she is lovely,” Jane said, her exhalation fogging the glass. They both hurriedly swiped at the condensation, not wanting to miss a moment.
“And an excellent rider,” Elizabeth added, unable to keep the admiration from her voice. “Look at her seat. Riding at that speed must take remarkable skill.”
The gentleman—Colonel Fitzwilliam, she assumed—grinned as he reined in, clearly conceding defeat. Miss Darcy’s face flushed from exertion and victory.
Darcy stepped out into the forecourt as the riders thundered into the courtyard, unable to suppress his smile at the sight of his sister so free of the weight she had carried since Ramsgate. Georgiana reined in first, her face flushed with exertion and joy, her riding habit splattered with mud.
“I won!” she called to Richard, who chuckled as he dismounted.
“You had a two-length advantage at the start,” Richard protested. “Hardly fair.”
“All is fair in racing, Cousin. You taught me that yourself.”
“Georgiana, Richard. At last.”
Georgiana turned in her saddle, her smile widening. “Brother! We made excellent time. Richard said we could not possibly arrive before sunset, but I told him…” She stopped, seeming suddenly aware of her disheveled state. “Oh. I suppose I should have arrived in the carriage.”
“You should have,” Darcy said, though his tone held no censure. “Though I am pleased you did not.” Before Darcy could help Georgiana to dismount, she had already slid to the ground with practiced ease.
Richard grinned broadly. “Your sister, Darcy, has become an absolute menace on horseback. I fear for my dignity.”
“Your dignity has been in question for years.” Darcy embraced his sister and then tucked her arm in his. “Come. Let us get you inside before you become ill. The weather looks to turn.”
“Is she here?” Georgiana asked. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet? The lady you wrote of?”
“She is.”
“And shall I like her?”
Darcy looked lovingly at his sister, hearing the anxiety beneath the question. Georgiana had so few friends and trusted so few people after Wickham’s betrayal. “I have no doubt.”
“Then I am glad we came.” She squeezed his arm. “And Brother? Thank you. For bringing Atlas.”
As they entered the house, Darcy’s first thought was to find Miss Elizabeth, to tell her they had arrived. That Atlas was here, and in the morning—if the rain held off—she could begin.
The anticipation that coursed through him had everything to do with her happiness. And if that realization should have concerned him, he found he could not bring himself to care.