Chapter Forty
Longbourn
Elizabeth
By Christmas morning, Elizabeth had begun to suspect that directing an important letter to a house its intended recipient had quitted months ago might not have been quite so clever as it had seemed when she wrote it.
She had written her reply two days after receiving Darcy’s letters, by which time she had managed to separate the accident which first placed her correspondence in his hands from everything he had chosen to do afterwards.
That the letters had come into his possession was not his fault, nor, she had finally conceded, had he opened the first with any intention of invading her privacy.
It was his decision to continue reading them, and later to meet her without admitting what he had done, which had caused the injury between them.
Elizabeth had sent her reply the following morning and had been rather pleased with herself at the time.
Willowbrook had seemed the perfect direction, and there was something irresistibly amusing in trusting the same peculiar circumstance which had once placed her letters into Mr. Darcy’s hands to do so again.
She had expected whoever remained at the cottage to forward it to him, just as her letters had once followed him from Somerset to Hertfordshire.
Several days without any acknowledgement had made the joke considerably less entertaining.
Not that she expected an answer. Elizabeth reminded herself of this as she sat beside Julia in the drawing room, listening with only half an ear while her friend attempted to settle an argument between Kitty and Lydia concerning a ribbon, even as she wrapped a small box of her own.
Elizabeth had not asked Mr. Darcy to write, nor had she directly asked him to return.
She had merely informed him that her wishes had changed and hinted, quite clearly in her opinion, that she would be glad to see him again.
If the gentleman required a more explicit invitation than that, he did not deserve one.
“You have not heard a word I said.” Julia nudged her lightly with one elbow.
Elizabeth turned towards her. “I heard you perfectly.”
“What did I say?”
“That is an unreasonable test of whether I was listening.”
Julia laughed and returned to the small parcel she had been wrapping for her father.
She had been staying at Longbourn for several days now, Mr. Harding having gone to spend Christmas with his wife and infant son, and was to remain with the Bennets until he returned for her.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had called that morning to pay his Christmas respects and had lingered considerably longer than such a call required, though Elizabeth had wisely refrained from remarking upon it.
His enquiries after Julia had become remarkably frequent of late, and Julia’s colour whenever his name was mentioned made it increasingly unnecessary to wonder why.
Christmas had made Longbourn more disorderly than usual.
Mr. Bingley was expected before dinner, Mary had been at the pianoforte for much of the morning, and Mrs. Bennet had already gone twice to inspect preparations which she had declared perfect the previous evening.
Even Mr. Bennet had surrendered his library for part of the morning, though Elizabeth suspected his generosity would not survive Lydia’s next noisy passage through the hall.
It ought to have been impossible to think excessively of one gentleman amid so much commotion. Elizabeth had managed it remarkably well.
She had wondered whether her letter had reached Willowbrook and whether whoever received it there would know where to forward it.
Perhaps Darcy had already left London for Pemberley, and the unfortunate letter was presently pursuing him across half of England.
More troubling still was the question of what he would think when he finally read it.
Elizabeth had written quickly because she knew that if she permitted herself too much reflection, pride might prevent her from writing at all.
Afterwards, however, every incautious sentence had returned to her with increasing clarity, particularly the one she now suspected she might have phrased with rather more restraint.
Indeed, I think I should be very glad to see you.
At the time, it had seemed merely honest. Several days later, Elizabeth could admit that it had been considerably more than that.
She wanted to see him. She wanted to know whether the ease they had once shared could survive everything that had passed between them, and she wanted, with an eagerness she no longer cared to deny, to hear his voice and see him standing before her again.
The only difficulty was that Mr. Darcy appeared determined to make her wait.
“Lizzy.”
Elizabeth blinked and looked at Julia. “What?”
“You are doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Going somewhere while remaining perfectly still.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to deny the accusation, but the drawing-room door opened before she could manage it, and Hill appeared.
“Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy, ma’am. They have just arrived.”
For one moment Elizabeth thought she had imagined the names, merely because she had spent so much of the morning wishing to hear the first. Then her heart gave a sudden leap, and she was on her feet before she had quite decided to move.
He had come. After days of wondering whether her letter had reached Willowbrook, whether it had been forwarded to London and whether Darcy would understand the invitation hidden rather poorly within it, he was at Longbourn.
“Where are they, Hill?”
“In the drawing room, miss. Mr. Bennet is with them.”
Elizabeth nodded and smoothed both hands over her gown, though there was nothing whatever wrong with it.
She had wanted Darcy to come and had ceased pretending otherwise even to herself, yet knowing that only a few rooms separated them sent a nervousness through her which all her eagerness had somehow failed to anticipate.
Julia rose beside her, rescuing the half-wrapped box Elizabeth had nearly displaced in her haste. “Mr. Darcy is here, surely we should go see him”
Elizabeth caught the amusement in her expression. “You may wipe that smile from your face.”
“I have said nothing.”
“You have not needed to.” Elizabeth nevertheless took the arm Julia offered, and they followed Kitty and Lydia, whose excitement at the announcement was loud enough to earn a warning from Mrs. Bennet somewhere down the hall.
As they approached the larger drawing room, Elizabeth heard her father’s voice, followed by the lower tones of Mr. Darcy, and her steps faltered for the smallest moment.
One month had passed since she had last heard Darcy speak, yet she recognised his voice at once, and the warmth that swept through her made her grip Julia’s arm a little more tightly.
He was truly here.
Elizabeth drew a breath and continued towards the drawing room, no longer attempting to temper the eagerness which had occupied her all morning. She had wanted to see him, had written to tell him as much, and now there was only a door between them.
Julia squeezed her arm without comment, for which Elizabeth was grateful, and they entered together.
Darcy, still dressed for travelling, stood near Mr. Bennet, with Jane seated nearby, while the young lady beside him could only be his sister.
He looked towards the door almost immediately, and whatever he had been saying to her father appeared forgotten.
His eyes met Elizabeth's, and she saw the uncertainty there before warmth gradually overcame it. Elizabeth had imagined this moment often enough to suppose she would know precisely how to behave when it came, but seeing him again made every carefully considered greeting seem absurdly inadequate.
“Miss Bennet.”
“Mr. Darcy.” Her smile came without effort. “My letter found you, then.”
The uncertainty in his expression disappeared. “It appears your letters remain remarkably skilled at finding me.”
Elizabeth laughed, and whatever lingering resentment remained over what Darcy had done loosened further at the sound of his answering laugh. “I had hoped they might retain the habit when it was finally useful.”
Darcy's smile deepened before Elizabeth turned towards his companion. Miss Darcy was taller than she had expected, elegant but visibly shy, and there was enough of her brother about her eyes to make the relationship unmistakable.
“You must be Miss Darcy. I am very pleased to meet you at last.”
“And I you, Miss Bennet.” Georgiana curtseyed, but her gaze moved almost immediately from Elizabeth to Julia and then back again. Her brows lifted before reserve could conceal her surprise. “Forgive me, but Fitzwilliam never told me you were twins.”
Elizabeth laughed. “We have been told so before, but we are not.”
“Georgiana, this is Miss Harding,” Darcy said. “You may remember my mentioning her. She is the young lady Richard and I visited so frequently in London, and Miss Bennet’s particular friend.”
Georgiana’s eyes widened with recognition.
“Oh! Miss Harding.” She looked from Julia to Elizabeth again, surprise returning to her face.
“Forgive me, but my brother told me very little about you beyond saying that you were recovering. I had no notion you were Miss Bennet’s friend. How are you faring now?”
“Thank you, I am considerably better.” Julia smiled. “Better every day, I think.”
“I am very glad to hear it.” Georgiana’s gaze moved between the two women once more, and her curiosity finally overcame her reserve. “I confess I had not expected the resemblance. Had I met you separately, I might easily have mistaken one for the other.”
“You would not be the first,” Elizabeth said, with a glance towards Darcy.
Darcy caught the meaning at once. “Nor, I suspect, the last.”
Georgiana looked between them, plainly aware that she had missed something.
Elizabeth only smiled.
“Do not give Lizzy ideas,” Julia said. “She required very little encouragement even before she discovered she possessed another face with which to cause mischief.”