27. The Road Home
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE ROAD HOME
Elizabeth’s fingers danced restlessly upon the window frame as she watched the ostlers at the White Hart Inn coax the weary horses from their traces.
Jane, ever practical, was engaged in a thorough inspection of the mattresses, while Mary had claimed the neighboring chamber for herself—a luxury she would have denounced as sinful, had not the Consols rendered such scruples obsolete.
Outside, Mr. Darcy relinquished his horse to a groom and exchanged a few words with the driver of a London-bound carriage.
He had chosen the saddle over the company of sisters and upholstery, preferring to ride alongside.
Elizabeth’s gaze lingered as he retrieved Nettle from her nest of pillows and gathered the little terrier into his arms, his hand gentle on her scruffy head.
The sight caught at Elizabeth’s throat, recalling the first time Nettle had greeted him—with a growl and a nip, as if she alone could sense the danger of pride.
“Lizzy, shall we ask the landlady to bring trays?” Jane asked. “I am developing a headache and the noise downstairs…”
“Mr. Darcy has already ordered the trays, although I wish he had asked what we would like to dine on.”
“I am sure he will procure the best they have.”
“Which, at the White Hart, translates to mutton with the texture of boot-leather, ale that aspires to water, and bread best approached with a chisel,” Elizabeth sighed, turning to Jane. “Do you think Papa has received the express in time to prevent Wickham from?—”
Jane took her hand, squeezing it. “Papa will not allow Kitty to come to harm. Without Mamma around, he would not receive calls. We shall be there on the morrow.”
“If only Mamma and Lydia had not waged such a campaign to accompany us.” Elizabeth pressed a hand to her brow.
Three hours had been spent persuading her mother that Lady Sophia’s invitation to sort embroidery and play piquet was not, in fact, a sentence of imprisonment.
And even then, Lydia had spent the entire time pouting that they would languish in London without a single officer to flirt with.
Jane’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Imagine traveling all the way to London only to be told that one cannot purchase a ticket to Almack’s with a seventeen-pound lottery winning.”
And then there had been the haranguing of Mr. Darcy, who had firmly and solemnly informed Mrs. Bennet that the modiste shops and drapers of London had been warned against extending credit on the name of a “Bennet.”
He had not so much as blinked. Not when Mrs. Bennet pronounced him a proud, disagreeable monument, nor when Lydia bewailed London’s tragic shortage of redcoats and wit. He merely poured the tea, sliced the seedcake, and wished Mrs. Bennet robust health.
And now he was downstairs, in the public parlor, settling the bill for the post-horses that would carry them into Hertfordshire at dawn.
A knock at the door heralded the landlady, a stout woman dusted with flour. She set down a tray laden with surprisingly decent fare—roast beef, aged cheese, and a pot of tea that smelled of actual leaves.
“With compliments from the gentleman, miss,” the woman said, bobbing a curtsy. “He says to tell you departure is at ten, after breakfast. Another express has been sent to Longbourn to ensure your father is prepared. And he’s taken the dog out for exercise—says she’ll be returned before you retire.”
“Thank you.” Elizabeth slipped an extra coin onto the table, which the landlady accepted with a grateful curtsy. When the door closed, Elizabeth turned to Jane, her smile wry. “He has anticipated every possible need.”
“He’s doing it for you.” Jane smiled as she settled at the table, eyeing the steaming food. “Do you remember the linens he chose for us? The softest pillowcases.”
“Yes, and the carriages he arranged, complete with two outriders.” Elizabeth eyed the roast beef with anticipation. “And how rigid he was at the first trustee meeting.”
“Almost as if he had to be dragged over hot coals.”
“Lady Sophia is formidable,” Elizabeth reminded her sister. “Darcy admitted he did not wish for the role.”
At this, Jane raised her eyebrows. “Indeed? But he seemed to enjoy your company in the garden. I was upstairs, and I saw you two.”
A rosy blush tinted her face, and Elizabeth felt her own cheeks heating. “It was entirely Nettle’s doing. Her teeth were sharper than her manners, and she wounded his pride most grievously.”
Jane, with her usual grace, refrained from mentioning that Elizabeth’s tongue had drawn more blood than Nettle’s teeth. They set to their beef and potatoes, washing it down with ale. “I do wish for an ice. Do you remember the pistachio at Gunter’s?”
“I thought you had the vanilla.”
“That was the second trip. I remember Allegra’s expression when Lord Leycester mistook her for a matron and asked if her daughters were ‘out’ yet.”
Elizabeth laughed, the sound brittle but sincere.
“She refused him her conversation for the remainder of the afternoon. The insult was complete.” Her smile faltered as she glanced at Jane.
“I shall miss Gunter’s, the Vauxhall, and Allegra’s running commentary.
But not the ridiculous, wearying parade of calling cards. ”
“You make it sound as though we are leaving London forever.”
“I am not certain I shall remain in London, though I have promised Lady Sophia a home. I find myself withdrawing, Jane. I never cared for the endless maneuvering. Mamma insists on comparing us to the Lucases, but they are neighbors, not friends—rivals in a contest I never volunteered to enter.”
Jane carefully spread cheese on a piece of bread, her gaze searching. “Are you withdrawing because of Lady Matlock? Because of the scene at the supper table?”
“I do not enjoy the artifice,” Elizabeth said, her voice sharpening.
“And the gossip is poison. It devours everything. Allegra is worried for my reputation. She believes I have ruined Darcy’s chances for a seat in Parliament, that by choosing me, he has signaled a disregard for the very station that makes his ambition possible. ”
Jane looked up, her expression pained. “But certainly, Darcy does not agree with her.”
“He claims it does not signify, but Jane—” Elizabeth set down her fork.
“Anne told me he practiced Parliamentary speeches as a child. And Lady Matlock’s look—she sees me as the wildfire that has reduced his family name, his legacy, and his parents’ hopes to ash.
I do not know if I can exist in a world where I must be managed to be tolerated, nor can I bear to destroy Darcy’s oldest dreams.”
“But certainly, if he’s told you he does not care for Parliament…”
Elizabeth blinked, her vision swimming. “How can I be certain he will not regret it? How do I know that, twenty years hence, when he sits alone in his silent library, he will not look at me and see only the seat he never held, the speeches left unspoken, the influence lost?” She rose, restless, and crossed to the window, staring into the oppressive darkness of the inn yard.
“A man like Darcy would not propose if he weren’t sure, Lizzy,” Jane said softly, coming to stand by her side. She didn’t touch her, but her presence was a warmth Elizabeth felt in her very bones. “Has he renewed his address? Given you another offer?”
“He promised not to.”
“But he’s going to Longbourn personally,” Jane countered, her voice thoughtful. “He could have hired outriders to guard our carriage. He could have simply handed us the solicitor’s investigation and remained in London. Yet he is coming to the front lines.”
“He wishes to ensure Wickham is stopped.”
“Bingley wished to accompany us,” Jane said, changing the subject with that deceptive lightness she wore so well. “But Darcy strongly recommended he wait in London until we send word.”
Elizabeth turned, a frown creasing her brow. “Why? Surely Bingley’s presence would be a comfort to you.”
“Darcy told him it would be a strategic error,” Jane explained, her gaze fixed on the dark, reflective glass of the window.
“He believes Papa is currently in no state to receive ‘suitors.’ He warned Bingley that if he appeared at Longbourn now—while your father is so deeply distressed by Mamma and Lydia’s sudden departure and so terrified for Kitty—Papa would view him not as a suitor, but as just another opportunist.”
Elizabeth let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Darcy thinks of everything.”
“Perhaps,” Jane murmured, a soft, rosy flush blooming across her cheeks.
“But the thought that Bingley wanted to come… that he wished to ask Papa for my hand… Lizzy, he told me he never stopped admiring me. He confessed he had doubted himself only because his sisters convinced him I was a fortune hunter. Well, now that the Consols have secured my independence, he told me Caroline can never again claim my affections are mercenary—especially since I danced with the highest ranking men in London and still chose him for the supper dance.”
“Oh, Jane,” Elizabeth said, her throat tightening. She reached out to touch her sister’s arm. “I am so happy for you. I knew Aunt Gardiner’s advice would prove wise.”
“She told me not to hide my feelings,” Jane admitted, smiling. “That if I showed indifference, it would only give Caroline and Louisa ammunition. I was being modest, Lizzy, like a proper woman.”
“And I,” Elizabeth huffed, returning to the table to tear into a piece of bread, “am surely the most improper woman of the season. Let me eat, drink, and be merry, for I have quite upended Mr. Darcy’s carefully ordered existence.”
“In a good way, I am certain.” Jane’s smile was too serene for Elizabeth’s inner turmoil. “If he proposes again, Lizzy… will you accept?”