Chapter 50
Elizabeth almost wished she had asked Mr Darcy to take the room at the inn on her behalf. Appearing at the desk without even a head covering, and no luggage would cause the landlord to look at her askance, despite recognising her.
Instead, she just nodded at him and entered the tea parlour, the only main room of the inn where women could respectably go. Sitting in a quiet corner, she unobtrusively opened the small, plain purse handed to her by Mr Darcy.
Her heart skipped a few beats as she saw a mixture of coins and banknotes — why, there was more money here than she had ever seen at one time. And there were two folded pieces of paper. One had a sentence on the outside.
I pray you read this first.
She smiled slightly, it seemed Mr Darcy was being very careful not to offend her.
Thank you for accepting this purse. The money within is yours. It is but a small part of what you are entitled to by the settlement. The other sheet of paper is authority to draw on your account at Pemberley. I am sorry that it must mention the name which you no longer wish to bear.
If you have any difficulty at all, I beg you to permit me to assist you. I will make no demands in return.
The other note bore an authorisation to the bank that Mrs Darcy could draw on her account at Pemberley as she wished.
Now she could hold her head high and demand a room and a chaperone from the landlord.
Mr Wilmot still looked at her oddly, but he gave her a good room and sent a maid with her.
“Molly here will show you to your room, Miss Price.” He hesitated.
“I am sorry you are not able to be with your Nan any longer.” A lump rose in her throat, and she could only nod. News travelled fast, it seemed.
She dined from a tray in her room — if pushing a few forkfuls around her plate could be said to be dining, but it seemed Mr Wilmot was inclined to be sympathetic now that he had been paid in advance.
Afterwards she went down to the tea room and asked Molly to arrange tea and writing materials.
If Mr Darcy was not going to abide by the seven-year rule, then she ought to write to Papa, and her aunt and uncle.
But she sat staring at the paper in front of her. How to even begin?
Elizabeth looked up as the landlord came into the room. “There is a gentleman asking to see you, Miss Price. A Mr Darcy. Do you wish to see him?”
“Thank you for asking me, Mr Wilmot. Yes, if Mr Darcy may come in here, then I would like to see him. Might you arrange a refreshment tray for us, please? I would like Molly to stay in the room.” She must act with decorum, she knew.
She rose to her feet as her husband entered the room and bowed to her. She was glad the parlour was otherwise empty, and Molly sat at the other side of the room.
She indicated a chair on the other side of the table, and he smiled gravely, placed his hat and cane on another chair and took his seat after she had resumed hers.
“I thank you for permitting my visit.”
She nodded at him, but did not know quite what to say. Neither, it appeared, did he. She must say something.
“I thank you for the purse.” That stung, having to be dependent on him. But she had been dependent on Mr Price for more than a year, and this Mr Darcy seemed the better man.
He shook his head and his gaze met hers. “It is yours by right.”
She smiled very slightly. “It made a difference. Even though the landlord knows me; a woman without chaperone, luggage or even her head covered, needs to pay in advance.”
He dipped his head again. “And, with that in mind, if you will accept, I have a valise and a hat box in my carriage from my sister. You are of a similar size and the loan from her will enable you to go to the modiste and obtain what you need.”
“I thank you. It is well thought of.”
Mr Darcy glanced down at the blank sheets of paper on the table. “Are you writing to your father?”
Elizabeth huffed a laugh. “I was intending to, but I do not know what to say.”
Mr Darcy looked uncertain. “Last year, when we had been searching for you for two weeks or so, I went to see your father, and afterwards, he also sent me to your aunt and uncle. They have been very good to me, considering the pain I caused you, and I have since written to them each week.” His expression softened.
“They have also written regularly to me with news for you when you were found. Now I know you are alive and relatively well, I would like them to know it as soon as possible. Your absence has caused them much grief, of course. But it is your choice entirely as to what and how I say it.” He reached into his pocket and drew out folded sheets of paper.
“Here are the rough drafts I considered this afternoon. I wondered if you might like to advise me while I write to them and then you might add a few sentences at the bottom for them. Perhaps it would be easier this first time?”
Elizabeth dropped her gaze to the papers. His own look was gentle and impossibly tender. “I … I would like that.” Then she drew a breath. “But first, you said you have news for me? Of the family?” The longing within her rose and she could hardly breathe.
His hand twitched on the papers as if he wanted to grasp her hand to comfort her. But he did not. She knew he was different now. He would not wish to impose on her.
“I do have news.” His voice was gentle. “Perhaps only a little at a time.” He sat back.
“You have a new little cousin in Gracechurch Street. A bonny little boy, who was named Eli as the best boy’s name that would honour yours.
He was born in February of this year.” He stopped, and drew his handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to her. “I am sorry.”
Elizabeth mopped her eyes, and gave him a watery look. “Do not be. I knew any news from home would do this to me, but I am so, so glad to hear.”
He smiled back. “Bingley remained at Netherfield, to his sisters’ disgust. He has been very helpful to your father in helping him to deal with both your family and the dreadful rumours that were left behind.
” His hand twitched again. “Your sister Jane took much persuading; she was determined not to marry until you were found, but your father prevailed in his view that you would not wish her to wait, but seek her own happiness. They married in March and are comfortable at Netherfield, since your mother is not permitted to visit them. Your father is very happy they are there.”
“So Papa has taken Mama in hand after she fuelled those rumours?”
He nodded. “He has. There is more news, but those are the main events. We could perhaps, over refreshments, write my letters together with you adding a sentence or two? Then I might send them before leaving here.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “That would be wonderful.”
“Then let us finish them tonight, and I will send them express.” There was a smile in his voice, and Elizabeth glanced up and bit her lip.
“I do not think I can stay here very long. What return direction could I give?”
“We will use Tealing Park. Your father and uncle already know I was coming to visit my sister.” His voice broke slightly.
“I hope very much you will agree to remain in contact with the promise that I will honour your decisions and choices and never force you to do anything you have decided against.”
Elizabeth glanced over at him. Could she believe him? Would he really do this? “Why?”
His shoulders slumped. “My behaviour and attitude were dreadful. My injury cannot excuse what I did, how I treated you. I owe you the most abject of apologies.” He smiled wryly.
“You know not how the words of your letter have tortured me, compounded with concern for you, a lady alone, who had nothing, and would take nothing from me.”
Elizabeth didn’t think. She placed her hand on his arm.
“I, too, must apologise. I have long thought I was too angry and ought not to have written it. I wrote in bitterness and gave you no quarter for the time you needed to recover from such a dreadful attack.” She hesitated.
“Did your cousin ever run that man to ground and give you justice?”
Mr Darcy was gazing at her hand on his arm. His voice was thick. “Yes. Thanks to your identification of him, Wickham is now a pressed seaman on a warship. Hard work and danger are his life now.”
“So you are safe.” Her voice was soft. “I am glad for it.”