Page 27 of A Most Unfortunate Gentleman
Longbourn
Elizabeth
Elizabeth had not danced another set after the first at the Netherfield ball, despite Mr. Lumley returning once more to inquire, and a respectful offer from Mr. Elliott, the librarian.
She declined both offers calmly, though not without effort.
The remainder of the evening had passed with her seated near a pillar, all but with her thoughts, save for Lydia’s repeated interruptions.
Her youngest sister, loud in voice and careless in manner, had approached her no fewer than four times, each time asking whether she had seen Mr. Wickham.
Elizabeth didn’t see the golden-haired officer for the rest of the night.
Even when Charlotte Lucas stopped by with a curious glint in her eye to report that Mr. Collins had requested her third set, Elizabeth merely shook her head.
When Charlotte, puzzled, asked why she seemed out of sorts, Elizabeth could give no reply.
What could she have said? She scarcely understood what she felt.
Her mind was adrift, unsettled by too many questions.
Only Jane was privy to her thoughts that evening.
Once they returned to Longbourn, Elizabeth recounted to her sister all she had seen and suspected—Mr. Darcy’s sudden appearance, the presence of Georgiana, the colonel’s words, and Wickham’s suspicious disappearance.
Jane had little explanation to offer. She confessed she had not seen Mr. Darcy enter, nor had she noticed whether Mr. Bingley was aware of his presence.
Still, she offered a quiet encouragement.
“It is more than you had before, Lizzy. You’ve often said he insists upon being unfortunate.
” Jane had remarked gently. “And since his departure, every incident seems to cloud whatever good opinion you had formed of him. It may be his ill luck, Lizzy, not his intention, that keeps you apart. So, if he seeks to explain himself, I think you should at least hear him out.”
Elizabeth had nodded, but with no true certainty in her heart. Sleep did not come easily that night. Her thoughts churned restlessly until morning.
At first light, before the rest of the household stirred, Elizabeth slipped quietly from Longbourn.
The morning was uncommonly cold, but her mind was in such turmoil that she welcomed the numbing chill.
The east walk, with its familiar turnings and quiet hedgerows, offered the only solace she could think to seek.
Questions flooded her thoughts, unanswered and relentless. Every one of them circled back to Mr. Darcy.
She thought again of the day she first met him, his slight, and the awkward compliment disguised as an apology.
Then to those small, surprising moments that had followed—his gaze softening, his words turning thoughtful, even kind.
And then to the previous evening, when she had seen him only for a moment before he disappeared once more.
Had she misread him? Every tender look, every quiet affirmation—had it all been nothing?
Was it merely her imagination that saw affection where there was none?
And Wickham… had he lied? Was this simply his ill fortune playing its part once more?
And why, of all people, did she feel as though she bore the burden of it?
Her mind drifted again to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words. He had spoken of misfortunes keeping Mr. Darcy away, though he clearly wished to return.
What had befallen him in London? Would he speak of it, if she gave him the chance?
Elizabeth turned a curve in the path and found herself smiling.
Beyond the hedge, she glimpsed the spot where Mr. Darcy had once struggled to keep control of his grey horse.
The memory surfaced with startling clarity: his brow furrowed, his grip firm, his voice struggling to command, until the stallion threw him to the ground.
That was the first time she had seen him as something other than the proud figure at the Meryton assembly.
In that instant, he had seemed almost vulnerable—real, and entirely human.
She walked past the spot and allowed her thoughts to return to their questions.
Three hours later, her feet weary and her thoughts no clearer, Elizabeth made her way back toward the house. Longbourn’s outline soon appeared between the trees. She quickened her pace, eager for warmth and perhaps tea. The distant neigh of horses turned her head, and her breath caught.
Two horses stood tethered near the stables. One black, familiar—the horse Mr. Bingley often rode. The other was grey, and though she had seen it only once, she knew it at once. It was the horse that had thrown Mr. Darcy into the dust just beyond the hedge.
He was here.
A rush of apprehension rose in her chest, mingled with something she couldn’t name. Her steps faltered. She steadied herself, then continued toward the house. Her pulse quickened as she entered through the front door and heard the murmur of voices from the drawing room.
She stepped inside and stopped short.
The entire family had gathered. Mr. Collins sat stiffly in a chair, his lips twisted in a barely concealed frown. Mr. Bingley sat beside Jane, who was glowing with pleasure, while Mrs. Bennet wore a self-satisfied grin that boded much. And there, beside Mr. Bennet, sat Mr. Darcy.
Her father met her eyes, his expression unreadable. If Elizabeth were to describe it, it would have been a mix of amusement, approval, and subtle inquiry. Every gaze in the room turned to her.
“Ah, there you are, my dear,” Mr. Bennet said, his voice touched with mischief.
“As you can see, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley have called. I have at last had the pleasure of meeting the Mr. Darcy of whom I have heard so much. And I must say, Sir William Lucas speaks most favourably of him from his London acquaintances.”
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said, rising and offering a respectful bow.
She returned the gesture with a modest curtsy, then turned to offer the same to Mr. Bingley, who bowed warmly in return. When she turned back, Mr. Darcy’s eyes were fixed on her.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet began again, his tone mild but touched with wry amusement, “has informed me that you and he became quite well acquainted during his stay in Hertfordshire, though he concedes he departed rather suddenly, and perhaps without making his intentions sufficiently plain.”
He cast a brief glance at Elizabeth before continuing, his voice lowering just enough to suggest the significance of his next words.
“Earlier today, he spoke to me on a matter of some consequence. And having considered all I have seen in recent weeks, I have given him leave to address it to you directly. I believe you are better situated than I to determine its worth.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught.
“If you would indulge him, Lizzy,” her father said with a meaningful look, “I suggest you take a turn about the garden. The air may do much to steady your nerves. Perhaps his as well.”