21. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
Darcy reached Pemberley in rain.
It had begun as a few scattered drops along the eastern wood and strengthened during the final mile, tapping steadily against the carriage roof and streaking the glass with rain.
The roads, churned to mud by the weather, forced the carriage onward at a miserable pace, and each mile seemed to take twice as long as the last. By the time they turned into the stable yard, the stones gleamed beneath the lanterns, slick from the downpour.
The lamps in the windows burned gold through the wet dusk.
He had never known the house to look more welcome.
For the space of a breath, before the groom came running and the side door opened, Darcy permitted himself the foolish expectation that he would enter and find everything as he had imagined it on the road.
Elizabeth in the drawing room.
Georgiana and Miss Lydia conspiring over some absurdity.
Bingley restless by the fire.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner in their accustomed places.
A normal evening.
A full house.
He swung down before the groom could reach him.
“Mr. Darcy, sir!” the man exclaimed, taking the reins. “We did not expect you tonight.”
“No,” Darcy said, removing his gloves as he crossed the yard. “Nor did I this morning.”
The footman at the side door bowed and stepped back. Darcy entered with rain still clinging to his coat and the road upon his boots. He handed over his hat, already listening for voices.
“Is the family in the drawing room?”
The footman hesitated.
It was no more than a fraction of a moment, but Darcy’s hand stilled upon the glove he was pulling free.
“Sir,” the man answered, “Miss Darcy is there. Mr. Bingley and the Hursts, as well.”
Darcy’s fingers closed around the gloves.
“And Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner?”
The footman looked regretful. “They departed this afternoon, sir.”
“Departed?”
“Yes, sir. An express arrived from London.”
The rain struck the windows behind him with sudden force.
Darcy did not ask the next question. There was no need. The answer had already passed through him, cold and unmistakable.
Still, the words had to be spoken.
“Miss Bennet went with them?”
“Yes, sir.”
For one absurd instant, the whole length of road he had just crossed seemed to stand behind him in accusation.
He had spent the day trapped in a carriage, delayed by mud and rain, refusing every opportunity to stop for longer than necessary.
He had laughed at geese in a lane because Elizabeth would have laughed at him, and he had hurried home because one night away from her had already proved too long.
He had still come too late.
From the drawing room, Georgiana’s voice carried faintly.
Then Mrs. Annesley’s, lower and strangely subdued. She must have returned while he was away.
Darcy turned toward the sound.
He reached the drawing room before anyone within it had arranged themselves into the appearance of ordinary comfort.
Georgiana stood near the pianoforte with one hand gripping its edge. Her companion occupied the chair nearby. Bingley was there, and the Hursts, but Miss Bingley was noticeably absent.
Darcy’s attention focused on Georgiana. “What happened?”
Mrs. Annesley spoke before his sister could. “Your sister’s guests are gone.”
“Yes,” Darcy said. The word came out too sharp. “I have been told.” The footman had so informed him moments ago.
Georgiana crossed to him, then stopped just short of taking his arm, perhaps because of his wet coat.
“Fitzwilliam, Mr. Gardiner received an express from London. There was an accident involving one of his clerks, and some business matter that could not be delayed. They waited as long as they dared.”
He absorbed the explanation with no sense of improvement. An accident. A clerk. Business. London. All reasonable. All beyond anyone’s control. None of it sufficient.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he began.
Georgiana’s chin began to tremble. “She did not want to go,” she said quickly, as if she could not bear him thinking otherwise for even a moment. “Do not think she did. She wrote to you.”
Darcy curled his fingers around his gloves.
Georgiana slipped her fingers into the pocket of her gown and withdrew a folded letter.
The sight of Elizabeth’s hand upon the direction struck harder than the news of her departure.
He took the letter, but for several seconds did not break the seal.
The paper held faint warmth from Georgiana’s keeping.
His name stood across the front, restrained and elegant, with one small blur near the final letter.
“Mr. Gardiner also left a note,” Bingley said, moving toward the table beside him. “He asked that I give it you if Georgiana did not intercept you first.”
Darcy accepted the second folded paper because it was easier to open Mr. Gardiner’s letter than Elizabeth’s.
The note was brief and written with the hurried clarity of a practical man forced into inconvenience.
My dear Mr. Darcy,
I regret more than I can express that we must quit Pemberley before your return. An express from London has made my presence necessary, and though I would gladly have delayed even a few hours, the matter will not permit it.
You and I appear to have been granted disasters in equal measure: you with boundaries and tenants, I with ledgers, clerks, and whatever fresh ruin awaits me in Gracechurch Street.
I hope mine proves no more lasting than yours, though I confess I would rather face ten disputed hedgerows than one injured clerk and a warehouse account in confusion.
My wife joins me in gratitude for your hospitality. I need not tell you that my nieces leave Pemberley with reluctance. I suspect you know that better than I could write it.
Yours sincerely,
Edward Gardiner
Darcy read the note twice. It contained nothing that needed reading twice. He did so because opening Elizabeth’s letter before so many witnesses required more courage than he cared to display.
Bingley, to his credit, went toward the fire.
Georgiana touched his sleeve. “You should read hers.”
“Yes.”
The seal broke beneath his thumb.
The room fell away while he unfolded the pages.
Darcy remained motionless as he read.
Somewhere behind him, Georgiana sniffed loudly and muttered, “Wretched woman,” though whether she meant Miss Bingley, fate, or the rain, he could not tell.
Elizabeth’s letter stayed open in his hands.
You have more than hope.
Joy struck first, fierce enough to blur the words for one unguarded instant. She had written it. She had trusted him with it. Elizabeth, who had every reason to guard herself against his pride, had laid her heart before him in ink and sent him not a polite farewell, not a retreat, but a summons.
Then came the rest.
Miss Bingley had spoken with her.
Elizabeth had dismissed much of it. He saw that.
He knew her well enough now to hear the defiance beneath the restraint.
But she had still been forced to sit alone with old fears stirred by a woman whose resentment should never have reached her.
She had been made to measure herself against objections he had once been arrogant enough to speak aloud.
She had spent the hours before her departure writing to release him from a future he had wanted more with every day.
Because he had not been there.
He had left for one day.
Less than one day.
It had been long enough.
“Fitzwilliam?” Georgiana said.
Darcy folded the letter with hands that obeyed because years of discipline compelled them. He placed it inside his coat, against his chest.
“When did Miss Bingley speak to her?”
“This afternoon,” Georgiana answered. “After you left. She asked Lizzy to speak privately, and when Lizzy came back, she was strange.”
“Strange how?”
“Too still.” Georgiana’s brow furrowed as she struggled for precision. “Lydia said Elizabeth is better when she is angry. This was worse. She was painfully polite, and Lydia says a polite Lizzy is a bad sign when no one has died.”
Bingley made a rough sound that might have been a laugh under better circumstances.
Darcy shot a questioning look at Georgiana.
“Elizabeth did not confide in me,” Georgiana said.
“She told Mrs. Gardiner more, I suspect. But Lydia overheard and she said Miss Bingley had spoken of society and consequences. She tried to dismiss it. Truly, she did. Then the express came, and there was such confusion, and she had no time to speak to you. She had to leave the letter instead.”
“And Miss Bingley?” Darcy asked.
Mrs. Hurst shifted near the fire but did not speak.
Bingley answered, his voice grim. “In her room. She has remained there since the Gardiners left.”
Georgiana gave a scornful little sound. “Because she is a coward.”
“Dearest!” Darcy frowned at his sister. When had she become so bold?
“She is.”
Darcy did not correct her.
Bingley dragged one hand over his mouth, then dropped it. “Darcy, I am sorry.”
“You did not speak to Elizabeth.”
“No. But Caroline is my sister.”
“Then you must decide what that requires of you.”
Bingley absorbed the words with a wince.
Darcy had no wish to wound him, but neither had he patience for softening plain truth.
They had both permitted Miss Bingley too much latitude, each for his own reasons.
Darcy had mistaken civility for harmlessness.
Bingley had mistaken affection for blindness.
Enough.
Georgiana moved nearer. “There is more.”
Darcy braced himself.
“I do not wish Miss Bingley to remain at Pemberley,” Georgiana reminded him.
The sentence was simple, but his sister stood straighter after saying it, pale and nervous and determined not to retreat. She had said it before, but there was force behind her words now.
He put one hand over Georgiana’s clasped fingers. “Then she shall not,” Darcy agreed once more. “I had already determined this must be Miss Bingley’s final visit, but I am glad you told me plainly.”
Georgiana released a breath that seemed to have been held for days.
Mrs. Hurst rose with more agitation than grace. “Mr. Darcy, Caroline has behaved badly. I cannot deny it. But surely tonight—”