Chapter Twenty-Four
The hours following the final challenge passed in a whirl of celebration.
Luncheon was served upon the terrace, where every account of Harriet's victory made the distance between herself and James Blackwood a little greater.
By the third telling, she had outrun him by several yards.
By the fifth, she had overcome an obstacle involving a fallen branch which nobody else remembered seeing.
The gentlemen bore their defeat with tolerable grace.
Thomas Hadley proposed a toast to the ladies, while Colonel Fitzwilliam insisted that the final score proved the general superiority of the fairer sex.
Even Sir Geoffrey managed to congratulate Harriet without suggesting that the result required investigation.
Mr Ashcombe had withdrawn from the first burst of celebration, but his ill humour did not survive the afternoon.
Elizabeth later saw him beside the drawing-room windows in conversation with Lady Frances.
Whatever had passed between them appeared unusually civil.
Lady Frances was listening with an expression of grave attention, while Ashcombe, for once, seemed more interested in amusing a lady than displaying his own attributes.
The Challenge Cup was carried into the drawing room and placed upon a table adorned by purple flowers. Lady Hortensia presented it with great dignity to Elizabeth, while whispering to her, "Hold it tightly, my dear. The gentlemen are bearing defeat very well, but I should not trust them entirely."
Elizabeth watched Colonel Fitzwilliam draw Mr Bennet into conversation beside the library doors, with Jane seated nearby pretending to attend to Amelia's happy chatter.
Henry Blackwood had been introduced formally to Mrs Harrington and was surviving the interview rather better than Elizabeth had expected.
Mrs Cartwright had allowed Thomas Hadley to fetch her a second glass of lemonade.
Across the room, Lady Frances said something which made Mr Ashcombe laugh at himself, a sight Elizabeth would not have believed possible at the beginning of the week.
There was laughter everywhere, yet Elizabeth found herself unable to enter fully into it.
Fitzwilliam had not returned. At first she had thought little of his departure.
He had said there was something he must attend to, and she had assumed he would reappear before luncheon.
When his place remained empty, she told herself he had been delayed by some business matter.
By the middle of the afternoon she had begun looking towards the doors whenever they opened.
At last she found Colonel Fitzwilliam alone near the terrace steps and crossed to him before she could think better of it.
"Colonel, do you know where your cousin has gone?"
Richard looked at her with mild surprise, then glanced towards the house. "Not precisely, no. He was perfectly well when he left, if that is what concerns you."
"It does not entirely answer the question."
"No, I suppose it does not." His expression softened. "He gave me no explanation, but I expect him back before the ball."
Elizabeth looked towards the drive. "You sound very certain."
"I know Darcy. He would not leave today without a good reason, and he would not stay away longer than he must."
"And you truly have no idea what that reason might be?"
Richard hesitated just long enough to betray himself. "I have an idea, but I think he would prefer to tell you himself."
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "That is remarkably unhelpful." She gave him what she hoped was a suitably severe look.
Richard relented enough to add, "He will return." He then patted her arm genially and moved off into the crowd.
It was not quite the reassurance she had wanted, but his composure made it difficult to imagine any genuine misfortune. Elizabeth returned to Jane, who listened to the exchange with an expression of suspicious serenity.
"You are not worried," Elizabeth said.
"I think Colonel Fitzwilliam would tell us if we ought to be."
Elizabeth looked at her sister. "You know something."
Jane's eyes widened with unconvincing innocence. "I know only that Mr Darcy has been very attentive to you."
Elizabeth could not decide whether to be hopeful or offended.
She had no wish to behave like a foolish girl who imagined every look concealed a declaration, yet neither could she dismiss the warmth of his manner or the intimacy of that final moment between them.
If he had gone because he regretted it, she would rather know at once.
If he intended to return, she could not understand why he had left her to spend the afternoon wondering.
By the time Elizabeth went upstairs to dress, the happiness of the morning had become tangled with unease. Every sensible explanation she offered herself lasted only until she remembered the expression on his face when he had held her hands.