Chapter Nine #2
“Our own carriage cannot carry us north or south.
If we attempt to go north in this weather, we may end up stranded upon the road, as your coachman says.
If we remain here, we may not depart for some time, for there are no other carriages to be hired.
You do not owe me any allegiance, Mr. Darcy, of that I am aware.
But you are a gentleman." She waited, her breath making pale clouds in the air.
His expression grew grim.
She must not falter now. “Would you be so very inconvenienced if you were to allow Mrs. Hobart and me to ride with you as far as London? We would endeavour to give you as little trouble as possible.”
“We do not wish to travel to London,” Mrs. Hobart told her firmly.
“I do not wish to travel north and become a permanent fixture of the landscape,” Elizabeth replied, voice pitched low.
“But Sir Reginald . . ."
“Will be stranded for some time yet, and does not know where to find us. He will return to London to seek further instructions. We shall meet him there.” She hoped to be back at Longbourn by then, but they would meet again eventually.
Mr. Darcy observed their exchange silently.
He was likely weighing which would be worse, leaving them behind or allowing them to accompany him.
It showed in the tightening at the corners of his eyes, in the way his gaze flicked from her to Mrs. Hobart and then once around the yard, as if measuring every watching face and weighing every potential rumour.
When he spoke, his voice had lost its earlier harshness. It was not any warmer, but it carried the steadiness of a man who had resigned himself to an unwelcome duty.
“You wish to go south to London,” he said.
Mrs. Hobart stiffened, “No.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth inclined her head in Mr. Darcy’s direction. The Gardiners would certainly take her into their home in London and she would write to Papa to collect her from there. She waited for his response.
“I will not convey you north,” he said at last. “It is not safe. However, as a gentleman, I cannot deny you transportation to London when it offers no great alteration to my own plans.” He eyed her sceptically. “You understand that my obligation ends at London.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “I understand perfectly.”
Mrs. Hobart made a sound of outraged protest.
“Sir, this is most irregular. Sir Reginald—”
“Sir Reginald is not here,” Darcy said. “I am. My coach is leaving this inn in a quarter of an hour. It will travel south to London. Miss Bennet and you may be in it, or you may remain here. Those are the only choices I offer.”
There was a certain cruel clarity in the choice.
Elizabeth’s fingers curled inside her muff.
She could take offence at his tone, refuse, and remain at the Lion until some miracle wheelwright descended from heaven.
She could trust to Mrs. Hobart’s determination to drag her north through snow and uncertainty.
Or she could accept the one safe road that had presented itself and put herself under Mr. Darcy’s protection.
Elizabeth imagined what Papa would wish for her to do. He would want her to be safe. He would also be amused to learn she had met her match in obstinacy while the king’s servants made such a muddle of conveying one young lady to the palace.
She wanted to go home. “I am very much obliged to you, sir,” she said. “We shall accompany you to London.”
Mrs. Hobart hissed her name under her breath, but Elizabeth did not look at her.
Mr. Darcy inclined his head in the barest of bows, as if they had agreed to nothing more than the time of breakfast. His gaze travelled to Mrs. Hobart and back to Elizabeth.
“There is room for three trunks along with my own luggage. The rest must follow when your own carriage is mended.”
Mrs. Hobart looked as though she would like to argue, but she did not. Perhaps even she saw that to protest further when Elizabeth had agreed would do more harm than good.
“We shall be ready,” she said, her voice clipped.
Darcy turned back to his men. At once there was movement: straps checked, trunks shifted, instructions passed. The yard returned to its business.
Elizabeth stood very still. The cold had crept through her shoes and into her toes. Her breath came sharp in her chest, as if she had been running.
Beside her, Mrs. Hobart muttered furiously. “Impertinent man, speaking of you as if you were a governess. ‘Not an English princess’—he will answer for that.”
“Please do not,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Mr. Darcy is doing us a kindness.”
Mrs. Hobart’s expression was severe. “You are much too ready to excuse insolence. You do not yet know what it is to be royal.”
No, Elizabeth thought, I do not. And I am not certain I wish to.
By the time a half hour had passed, Elizabeth felt her patience had been packed and repacked as often as the luggage.
Mrs. Hobart flew about the room like a small, irate bird, complaining that they should have hired a maid. In between grumbling about that, she was also insisting that this gown was essential and that one impossible to leave behind.
“If we must abandon anything, it must not be the blue silk,” Mrs Hobart declared. ”His Majesty favours blue. We have it upon the best authority.”
“Whose?” Elizabeth inquired, truly curious. She tightened the strap on her trunk and rang for a footman to carry it to Mr. Darcy’s carriage.
“Why, mine, of course.”
She recalled that Mrs. Hobart had been living in London for the past two years. Well, if the king had altered his taste since then, she was sure she could manage. She said as much to Mrs. Hobart.
The woman paused to look at her. Mrs. Hobart’s smile did not reach her eyes; they sharpened, as though she were taking Elizabeth’s measure and found her wanting. “The king’s preferences must always take precedence.”
“Even in the colour of my gowns? I think not.”
“You speak as if you have a choice, my dear.”
Elizabeth closed the valise. She had been invited to the palace, not commanded. “I always have a choice, Mrs. Hobart.”
It was with this frosty state of affairs that they descended again to the yard.
Anders and Johnson were directing the loading of the remaining trunks.
Mr. Darcy himself stood aside from the bustle, glancing over a list he held.
His expression was faintly displeased, but then, she had yet to see any expression upon his face that was not some variation of displeasure.
She had made a poor first impression upon the man, and he had given her no chance to amend it.
Elizabeth could not deny a fondness for quick judgements herself; but she hoped she was not so implacable as to refuse anyone the opportunity to reveal more of their character and improve her opinion. First impressions were a fragile foundation on which to rest so much certainty.
He looked up as they approached. The wind lifted a strand of hair from beneath Elizabeth’s bonnet and blew it across her cheek. She tucked it back without thinking. It felt suddenly too intimate, doing such a small domestic thing under his gaze.
“Miss Bennet,” he said. “Mrs. Hobart.”
“Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth dipped a shallow curtsy that was properly respectful and not, she told herself, in any way resentful. The fact that her knees felt as if they belonged to someone else was neither here nor there.
Mrs. Hobart gave a curt nod, as if he were a footman who had performed his duties.
Mr. Darcy gestured towards the coach. “I will sit facing forward. You may share the seat with me or sit opposite.” His face was as motionless as granite and just as cold. “You will forgive me if I do not surrender my corner entirely.”
Elizabeth almost said she would prefer to ride upon the roof with the luggage, but good sense prevailed. “We are excessively obliged for your gracious solicitude, sir.”
He raised his brows at her sarcasm. “It seemed preferable to having you ride upon the steps.”
One of the grooms, hearing this, stifled a grin. Elizabeth’s mouth twitched but she suppressed the impulse ruthlessly. She would not, she told herself, be charmed by a droll man who had insulted her and was bending to his duty as a gentleman in only the most reluctant way.
She could not resist one more small thrust. “As long as Mrs. Hobart and I do not inconvenience you,” she said.
“I am already inconvenienced,” he replied, without heat. “There is little more that can be done to me upon that score.”
It was so baldly honest that she did not know whether to thank him or slap him. She would not huff as Kitty and Lydia would. No, she would be a lady despite his provocations.
Johnson opened the coach door. Two facing benches, upholstered in dark leather. A leather strap overhead, for steadiness. Two small foot warmers already in place. The faint scent of cedar and wool.
It was altogether a more comfortable equipage than the coach Sir Reginald had hired for them.
Mrs. Hobart clucked, peered in, and then climbed aboard with all the haughtiness she could muster, which was, Elizabeth admitted, considerable.
Once the older woman had settled upon the backward-facing bench with a wounded expression, Elizabeth followed, gathering her skirts carefully to keep them clear of the step.
Mrs. Hobart waved at the forward-facing bench.
As Elizabeth sat at the far end, she became acutely aware of every inch of her person.
Her pelisse was warm but hardly new; her boots bore the marks of country lanes; her gloves had been slightly mended at the thumb.
Mrs. Hobart’s insistence upon addressing her as a princess had not magically refashioned her wardrobe.
The space that had seemed adequate moments before shrank considerably when Mr. Darcy sat beside her.
She was acutely conscious of him; even seated, he filled the carriage.
She caught a faint scent of cedar as he arranged his greatcoat.
Her awareness of him prickled along her skin, uncomfortable and impossible to ignore.
Mr. Darcy rapped upon the roof with his cane. The coach lurched, then rolled forward.
Elizabeth’s stomach rolled with it. She fixed her gaze upon the small window beside her, where the inn yard began to slide away.
She imagined the servants and innkeepers watching now, nodding to one another. Of course Mr. Darcy had done the proper thing in the end. It was what gentlemen did. But he was clearly displeased to do so. Elizabeth was both grateful and wary.
It was a very confusing way to begin a journey.
Mrs. Hobart leaned forward and began to fuss with the lap rug. “Your Highness, you must tuck this more securely about your knees. Mr. Darcy, I trust the route you have chosen will favour your passengers’ comfort. Excessive jolting is most unsuitable for ladies of delicate—”
“Mrs. Hobart,” Elizabeth said, unable to bear being called delicate, “I am certain Mr. Darcy does not require instruction upon the management of his own coach.”
“I assure you,” Mr. Darcy said after a heartbeat, “that I shall do my utmost to protect all my passengers from excessive jolting, broken wheels, and any other hazards of the road.”
Elizabeth folded her hands upon her lap, keeping her shoulders straight. Cold politeness would be her armour. She had placed herself in this carriage by her own request; she must now politely endure whatever came of it.
Beyond the window, the inn fell away behind them.
The road to the north was covered in large snowdrifts.
Mrs. Hobart looked very much as though she would like to insist they turn north, but even she could not deny that travelling that road would be folly.
In the end, she leaned back against the squabs and was silent.
Mr. Darcy’s carriage took a turn to the right and headed south.