Chapter XIV
Never had Elizabeth experienced a more exhausting ordeal than the breakneck journey from Derbyshire to London.
As Mr. Darcy had promised—or warned—there were few stops, and then only to change the team or allow the travelers a brief respite.
More than once, when faced with the necessity of returning to the carriage after a brief rest, her companions noted her looking at it with distaste.
“Tell me, Mr. Darcy,” said she on the third such occasion, on the last such occasion before they stopped for the night, “can you not move to an estate closer to town? Or perhaps you could move Pemberley itself?”
“But then it would not be in Derbyshire,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “That would ruin it, for Derbyshire is part of Pemberley’s charm.”
“With your aunt’s opinion I must agree,” added Mr. Darcy.
“And you should recall that when we make the journey in the future, we shall not travel at such speed, Miss Bennet. Usually, I stay two nights on the road and travel at a much more reasonable pace, stopping more frequently and for longer periods.”
“And what of making the journey with an entire family?” asked Elizabeth, though she did not hesitate to climb inside.
“As I have never been married and do not have children,” said Mr. Darcy, “I cannot say for certain. But I imagine we shall weather the storm.”
“And remember this, Lizzy,” said Mr. Gardiner, his shoulders shaking from suppressed laughter, “when you return to Derbyshire, Pemberley will be your destination. I cannot imagine you will regret the travel when the inducement is to lose yourself on Pemberley’s pathways.”
“Perhaps you are correct,” replied Elizabeth. “Or perhaps I shall simply insist we do not go to London at all.”
“Trust me, Miss Bennet—that would be no hardship for me.”
“This is all quite curious,” interrupted Mrs. Gardiner. “It is time that you told us all, Lizzy—there is much that you have not yet revealed. I, for one, wish to know what you have held back.”
“I believe you have the salient points, Aunt,” said Elizabeth, frowning.
“An abbreviated version of Mr. Darcy’s proposal in Kent,” said Uncle Gardiner, disagreeing with Elizabeth’s protest. “That was only a brief explanation, understandable as we were pressed for time. Unless I am mistaken, we have plenty of time now.”
“You had better let them have it,” advised Mr. Darcy, not bothering to hide his amusement.
“Very well,” said Elizabeth, not eager as she knew her aunt would tease her about it for years.
Before long, they were both engaged in the telling, each contributing their perspective of the events since their meeting in Meryton’s assembly hall almost ten months earlier, continuing until they reached the day Mr. Darcy had departed from Kent, after meeting Elizabeth in the grove with his letter in hand.
The Gardiners, of course, dissected everything they heard, finding especial amusement in the exchanges at Netherfield, and their testy dance at the ball, then dwelling on Lady Catherine’s plans for Mr. Darcy that the gentleman was now rebelling against.
“If you will pardon me,” said Uncle Gardiner, “it seems to me that your aunt is not the sort of woman who will allow this matter to rest.”
“You have no notion of how correct you are, Mr. Gardiner,” replied Mr. Darcy, irony lacing his tone. “When Lady Catherine learns of it, she will erupt into fury.”
“I hope you have the fortitude to withstand her.”
Mr. Darcy grinned, not bothered in the slightest. “I am not a man to cower before my aunt’s ire, Mr. Gardiner. As I have never intended to oblige her ladyship, I have had many years to accustom myself to the inevitability.”
“It will be worse because you are marrying Lizzy,” said Aunt Gardiner. “Given your position in society, I expect you counted on a marriage to a woman of standing to blunt your aunt’s fury.”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes found Elizabeth, though the last rays of daylight were fading, leaving his form indistinct in the deepening night. Elizabeth had never considered it that way, but she supposed her aunt was correct. Mr. Darcy did not address that point directly.
“It matters little who I choose, for Lady Catherine will be furious if it is not Anne. Once the matter with Wickham is resolved, I shall journey to Kent to inform her ladyship. I cannot allow her to learn of it through any other means.”
Mr. Gardiner offered a slow nod. “That is prudent.”
“Well, this has been most diverting,” said Aunt Gardiner, turning her attention back to the tale they had just shared. “Perhaps you could not see it when you were in the middle of events, but it has played out almost like a farce.”
“It is something we can tell our children,” said Mr. Darcy, laughing softly.
“Perhaps you can,” agreed Mrs. Gardiner. “I do not blame you, Mr. Darcy, for I have always said that Lizzy has a talent for making everything difficult—even her courtship!”
“What courtship do you call it?” demanded Elizabeth, though she was not at all displeased. “Why, by my account, there has been nothing so grandiose. For that lack, I must ensure Mr. Darcy pays until I deem the debt is settled.”
Though Elizabeth had made it into a jest—and her aunt and uncle had understood—Mr. Darcy’s attempt at humor was forced at best. By now twilight had descended completely, leaving the carriage in darkness; even the waning moon offered too little light for Elizabeth to make out his expression.
Though Elizabeth had been slow to recognize that she had touched a sensitive subject, she was not about to allow the matter to persist. The carriage continued into the night, Elizabeth looking out the window, seeing the driver had enough moonlight to guide the carriage, though he had slowed.
Before long, she saw the lights of a town in the distance and knew they were approaching their stop.
There, Elizabeth determined to find a moment alone with Mr. Darcy and discover what troubled him.
She was already entering this marriage under circumstances that were not ideal—she did not wish to allow misunderstandings to fester.
LATER, DARCY WOULD marvel that Miss Bennet understood him as well as she did, astonishing after the months they had spent misjudging each other.
Her comment about not having a courtship bothered Darcy so much that he said little for the remainder of the journey, and not much more as they sat for dinner in the private dining-room at the inn.
That last was not unusual, for they were all drooping in their seats from fatigue.
When they finished their light supper, they sought their rooms at once to prepare for the following day, which promised to be even more tiring.
At least another day’s hard travel would see them in London, where soft beds and meals taken at their homes awaited them, rather than another night at a coaching inn along the road.
The following morning, Darcy arose early, determined to see to a few items regarding the day’s journey.
The driver and footmen were already in the main dining-room with their breakfasts, and Darcy sat with them briefly, discussing the arrangements for the day.
When the Gardiners and Miss Bennet descended, they sat with Darcy and partook of a light breakfast. Not long before they were to depart for the day, Miss Bennet addressed him.
“Shall we not take a quick turn about the yard, Mr. Darcy?” She offered him that lovely smile Darcy had promised himself that he would see every day for the rest of his life. “Before long, necessity will confine us to the carriage. I cannot face it if I do not stretch my legs a little.”
“Of course, Miss Bennet,” said Darcy.
The Gardiners smiled as the couple rose to leave, offering no objection to Miss Bennet’s request. Their support was not in question—they had taken no trouble to hide their delight.
Darcy had seen Miss Bennet walk a few times, once when he had come on her outside Netherfield the morning she walked there to tend her sister, and several times during their mutual stay in Kent.
Though he was uncertain even now if she understood those encounters were not so accidental as she might have supposed, it was not the time to raise such subjects.
This morning, her gait was different. Miss Bennet was a woman who walked for pleasure, but she also did so for exercise—it had done her good, as her lithe figure and seemingly inexhaustible energy testified to the habit.
That morning, however, she strolled beside him, her pace one of leisure rather than purpose.
Having no notion of what she wanted, Darcy kept pace with her, enjoying her presence beside him.
“Mr. Darcy,” said she when they had walked for a few moments, “there is a matter of which we must speak before we depart this morning.”
“Oh?” asked Darcy, bemused by her boldness. “And what is that?”
“The conversation in the carriage yesterday,” said she. “When I jested about the lack of a courtship, I had the distinct impression that it made you uneasy.”
Darcy felt the smile leave his lips. For several moments, he wondered if he should try to push the subject away with a joke, but seeing her serious expression, he knew it would not work.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not a woman who would allow anyone to turn her attention away when she did not wish it.
She was both intelligent enough to see any such attempt for what it was, and stubborn enough to pursue the matter regardless.
“I must take note,” said Darcy, injecting a little light humor. “My aunt maintains that others should not attempt to trifle with her, but I can see she is nothing compared to you.”
“That is for the best, Mr. Darcy,” said she, betraying a hint of diversion. “Lady Catherine will not be your wife—I will be. Thus, it behooves you to pay attention.”
“I shall,” murmured Darcy, enjoying the sight of her.
“Now,” said she, “I would not have you misunderstand me, Mr. Darcy. What I said last night was a jest.”