Twenty-Seven
Longbourn
Elizabeth
Every day since Jane had told her of Mr. Darcy's return, Elizabeth had walked to Oakham Mount, save on those mornings when the weather rendered the attempt impossible.
That morning had been one of them. The first snow of the season had fallen during the night, leaving the fields sodden beneath a thin crust of frost and the air sharp enough to sting wherever it found uncovered skin, yet she had gone nevertheless, unwilling to surrender even a single morning to uncertainty.
She climbed the familiar path with her boots sinking into half-frozen earth at every step, and stood for some time upon the summit, her breath hanging white before her as she watched the empty road below.
No rider appeared. It was the same quiet disappointment she had carried home severally, no easier for repetition, only more familiar, until she scarcely knew whether she continued to climb the hill because she expected him still, or because she could not yet bring herself to relinquish the expectation altogether.
At length she turned for home, chilled through despite the exertion of the walk.
She had scarcely reached the drive at Longbourn before an unfamiliar carriage caught her eye, standing before the house with its horses still steaming faintly in the cold.
It was a handsome equipage, plainly belonging to a gentleman of consequence, and before reason had any opportunity to interfere, her heart gave one violent leap.
She hastened forward with rather less composure than she would willingly have acknowledged, paying little attention to the state of her muddied skirts as she entered the house.
The drawing room was already full. Her sisters were seated about the room, their animated conversation betraying no small excitement at the unexpected callers.
Mrs. Bennet's voice carried above every other, pitched in that particular manner reserved for visitors of consequence, and almost at once Elizabeth's eyes found the gentleman seated nearest the window, his hat still in his hand, as though he had only lately been persuaded to sit.
Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Bingley sat beside him, cheerful as ever, while another gentleman, somewhat older than Darcy, broad-shouldered but less handsome that the two men, occupied the closest seat beside the fire. Elizabeth did not recognise him.
"Ah, Lizzy." Mr. Bennet looked up from his chair. "You have chosen an unfortunate time to return. Mr. Darcy has already asked after you twice, and I had just begun assuring him you had not run away."
Elizabeth felt warmth rise to her face despite the cold she had carried indoors. She occupied herself with removing her gloves, not trusting herself to meet Mr. Darcy's eye immediately.
"Papa," she said, striving for composure she did not wholly possess. "You will embarrass our guests before I have even had the opportunity to welcome them."
"I merely repeat what has passed, my dear. Should you object to the account, I advise you to direct your complaint elsewhere."
She heard rather than saw Mr. Bennet return his attention to Mr. Bingley, who, after acknowledging her with a polite inclination of his head, resumed the conversation they had been engaged in before her arrival.
"Miss Elizabeth."
Darcy inclined his head in greeting. It was only then, when Elizabeth at last raised her eyes to meet his, that she became aware how greatly she had missed the sight of him.
He appeared thinner than before; the journey and whatever business had detained him having left their mark upon him. Yet, there was something quieter in his countenance than when they had last parted, as though a burden long carried had at last begun, however slightly, to ease.
"I hope I find you well,” he said with a smile.
"Very well, sir. Thank you." Her voice sounded steadier than she had expected. "I had not imagined you would honour Longbourn with a visit again."
"Nor had I imagined it myself until this morning." A faint smile touched his mouth before disappearing almost at once. "The decision was made rather suddenly."
His glance moved toward the gentleman by the fire.
"May I present my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam."
Elizabeth curtseyed to the Colonel. Darcy had spoken of his cousin often enough that she felt she knew something of the gentleman already, though she gave no indication of it. Such familiarity would require an explanation she had no wish to offer before she had first spoken with Mr. Darcy.
"Colonel."
"Miss Elizabeth." The Colonel bowed with an ease that seemed perfectly natural to him.
His expression carried an openness she found immediately engaging, though there was also something quietly observant in the manner with which he regarded first her, and then Darcy, before returning his attention to her once more.
"I am exceedingly pleased to make your acquaintance at last."
Elizabeth looked at him with mild surprise.
"At last, sir?"
He smiled, his gaze flicking briefly to Darcy before returning to Elizabeth, as though a great many things had become clear in the space of a heartbeat.
"A careless expression, perhaps. My cousin has spoken so frequently of Hertfordshire these past weeks that I almost feel I have visited it already."
For the briefest instant Darcy closed his eyes, as though resigning himself to something long expected, while the Colonel's smile broadened in unmistakable satisfaction.
Elizabeth could not entirely suppress one of her own.
Mrs. Bennet, whose attentions had hitherto been devoted almost exclusively to persuading Mr. Bingley that he had taken far too little hot tea, suddenly remembered the existence of Colonel Fitzwilliam and began that they stay for breakfast. Seeing the conversation about to disappear beneath her mother's hospitality, Elizabeth scarcely knew whether to be relieved or disappointed when Mr. Darcy turned to her and spoke with studied clarity.
"Miss Elizabeth," he said, "I wonder whether you might do me the honour of showing me your father's gardens, whatever the season has chosen to leave of them."
Elizabeth started at the pointedness of the request. It was still early in the morning, and with her parents and sisters gathered about them, she had imagined Mr. Darcy would preserve their pretence a little longer.
She turned instinctively towards her father, half expecting some objection. Instead, Mr. Bennet merely regarded her, the faintest hint of amusement touching his features before he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Relief, mingled with no small measure of astonishment, warmed her.
"Certainly, sir," Elizabeth replied, meeting Mr. Darcy's eyes once more. "Though I fear you will find my father's gardens a very humble rival to those at Netherfield."