Chapter 11
Elizabeth Bennet
The journey began in near silence.
Elizabeth sat opposite Edith Smith in Mr Darcy’s carriage, her gloved hands folded tightly together in her lap while the countryside rolled steadily past beyond the windows. Across from her, Edith occupied herself with visible determination in appearing not to observe anything unusual whatsoever.
Unfortunately, Edith’s idea of discretion involved observing everything with extraordinary concentration while pretending otherwise. Elizabeth knew the expression well.
Mr Darcy sat beside the opposite window, one hand resting lightly against the carriage door while his attention appeared fixed entirely upon the passing landscape. At intervals, however, Elizabeth became aware that he was not reading at all, despite the open book resting untouched upon his knee.
The silence was not precisely awkward, only strange.
When she had made her plans the night before, she had expected to be fleeing to London alone on a public stagecoach.
Now she found herself travelling in Mr Darcy’s private carriage with a Netherfield servant acting as her chaperone while an increasingly elaborate fiction regarding Mrs Gardiner’s children developed between them.
The absurdity of it all remained difficult to fully comprehend.
Edith cleared her throat delicately. “It will be a comfort to your aunt, miss,” she remarked conversationally, “having another pair of hands with the little ones.”
Elizabeth caught Mr Darcy’s brief glance almost despite herself. “Our youngest injured herself a week ago,” Elizabeth said smoothly. “We were all quite shocked to receive her letter requesting assistance.”
Edith nodded with the grave sympathy of a woman receiving information she fully intends to repeat later in impressive detail. “Oh dear, that is unfortunate.”
“Nothing serious, I hope,” Mr Darcy said politely.
Elizabeth nearly looked at him in surprise. The concern sounded entirely convincing.
“So my aunt assures me,” she replied. “Only a sprained ankle, I believe. But with my uncle frequently occupied by business, she thought additional company might prove useful.”
“A very sensible arrangement,” Mr Darcy said.
Edith appeared deeply satisfied by this confirmation. “And fortunate too,” she added, “that Mr Darcy was already travelling to Town.”
“Very fortunate,” Elizabeth agreed.
Mr Darcy inclined his head slightly. “I could hardly leave Miss Elizabeth to suffer the discomfort of public travel unnecessarily.”
Elizabeth felt the faintest impulse to laugh. The man who had looked prepared to physically remove her from the stagecoach an hour earlier now sounded like the very image of deferential chivalry.
Edith must have thought so as well, for she sighed approvingly. “There’s real kindness in that, sir.”
Mr Darcy looked momentarily alarmed by the compliment. Elizabeth turned quickly toward the window before Edith could notice the dangerous movement at the corner of her mouth.
Outside, the pale fields of Hertfordshire stretched beneath the weak winter sun. Frost still lingered silver-white across portions of the ground, though the roads had begun softening into mud beneath the constant passage of wheels and horses.
For several minutes, no one spoke again. Then Edith, apparently deciding silence served no useful social purpose whatsoever, resumed cheerfully. “And how long do you expect to remain in London, Miss?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “Until my father returns home.” The answer slipped out before she could soften or alter it.
Across from her, Darcy’s gaze lifted from the untouched book in his lap.
Edith, fortunately, noticed nothing at all. “Oh! Then perhaps through Christmas?”
“Possibly,” Elizabeth said quickly.
Mr Darcy closed his book at last. “My sister will also remain in town through the Season,” he remarked with careful casualness. “There will be many concerts, which perhaps Miss Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner may also enjoy.”
Elizabeth looked at him then, recognising the deliberate rescue at once. He had redirected the conversation smoothly enough that Edith merely nodded with renewed interest.
“I have always heard London at Christmastime is magnificent.”
“It is magnificently crowded,” Mr Darcy replied dryly.
Elizabeth failed entirely to suppress her smile this time.
Edith glanced eagerly between them. “I suppose gentlemen of fortune grow tired of such things.”
“On the contrary,” Mr Darcy said. “I have found society capable of exhausting a man equally well in every location.”
The remark escaped him with such unexpected dryness that Elizabeth gave a brief laugh before she could stop herself. Mr Darcy looked startled by the sound, as though he had not entirely intended to amuse her.
Which, Elizabeth suspected, he had not.
Elizabeth settled back against the carriage seat, studying Mr Darcy with new curiosity.
She had never considered him a man inclined toward humour.
Severity, certainly. Intelligence without question.
Pride in abundance. But humour? The discovery felt unexpectedly disorienting, as surprising as rescuing her from travelling alone on the public stage.
The Mr Darcy Elizabeth had thought she knew would not have cared that she was fleeing her home, would not have troubled to involve himself, and certainly would not have made her laugh while he did.
Mr Darcy, meanwhile, appeared to regret having spoken at all. He reopened his book with excessive attention, though Elizabeth noticed he still did not turn a single page.
Edith glanced between them with unmistakable interest. Elizabeth could almost hear the conclusions forming in the woman’s mind.
She cleared her throat lightly. “You mentioned your sister, Mr Darcy. Is Miss Darcy well?”
If he recognised the attempt to redirect Edith’s attention toward safer territory, he gave no sign of it. “Very well, thank you.”
“You are fond of London at Christmas for her sake, then?”
Something in Mr Darcy’s expression softened. “My sister enjoys nothing so much as music,” he said. “While we are in London, it is possible to attend performances of a quality far beyond anything one could expect outside the capital.”
Elizabeth listened with interest despite herself. There was no performance in the answer. Simply quiet affection plainly spoken. For reasons she could not entirely explain, that affected her more than grander sentiment might have done.
Edith smiled warmly. “It must be a comfort to have family close, sir.”
Mr Darcy inclined his head. “It is.”
The carriage rolled onward in a steady rhythm.
Gradually, Elizabeth became aware that some portion of the strain coiled tightly inside her since dawn had begun, little by little, to loosen.
The reality of what she had done still hovered just beyond every calmer moment, waiting to reassert itself.
But she was no longer alone. That unsettled her almost as much as it comforted her.
She glanced again toward Mr Darcy. He had returned to his book.
Yet there remained an unusual alertness about him still, as though some part of his attention stayed fixed on her regardless of where he directed his eyes.
Oddly, the attention did not feel intrusive so much as protective, even strangely reassuring.
Edith shifted comfortably against the opposite seat cushions. “My cousin Sarah will be relieved to hear you arrived safely, miss,” she said. “The servants at Longbourn are very attached to your family.”
Elizabeth smiled. “That is good to hear. Sarah has always been kind.”
“You are very kind to help your aunt, but your family will miss you dreadfully, Miss Elizabeth, to be sure.”
The words landed harder than Edith intended. Elizabeth looked down at her folded gloves.
By now Mrs Bennet would certainly have discovered her absence. Jane would be attempting to calm the household while Mr Collins likely interpreted the entire situation as temporary feminine agitation. A sharp mixture of guilt and exhaustion moved through her again.
Before she could answer, Darcy spoke. “Naturally, they will,” he said mildly. “But of course they will be glad to hear that Mrs Gardiner will receive the assistance she requires. It was necessary for Miss Elizabeth to go.”
Elizabeth looked up quickly. He met her gaze evenly, but she understood the intention. That piece of reassurance was not meant for Edith, but for her. That he would understand her feelings so clearly made something tighten unexpectedly in her chest.
Edith nodded approvingly. “Yes, quite proper and necessary.”
Mr Darcy inclined his head slightly and returned his attention to his poor, unread book once more.
Elizabeth turned toward the carriage window before anyone could observe the sudden warmth rising unexpectedly into her face.
By midday, the roads had grown busier. Twice the carriage slowed to allow heavily loaded carts passage along narrower stretches of road, and once they stopped entirely near a posting inn while the horses were changed.
With a speed that made her blink, Mr Darcy had arranged for a private dining room and a quick repast, and they were soon dining on a cold collation of impressive quality.
After eating and refreshing herself, Elizabeth took the opportunity to stretch her legs, though she knew she must not go far.
The cold air cleared her thoughts somewhat.
Until now, the entire morning had possessed the strange unreality of events moving too quickly to fully comprehend.
But standing beside the roadside inn while ordinary travellers passed in and out around her, she began at last to understand the true scale of what she had done.
“You are regretting it.” Mr Darcy’s voice came from beside her.
Elizabeth turned slightly. She had not heard him approach. “I did not say so.”
“No,” he replied. “You did not.”
The quiet certainty of the answer irritated her, mostly because it was not entirely inaccurate.
Elizabeth looked away toward the road. “I am not regretting leaving,” she said after a moment. “Only the manner of it.”