Page 42 of Count the Cost (The Secrets of Elizabeth Bennet #2)

E lizabeth knew she was not formed for long coach rides, especially in company. She wanted to read; to make notes, to build on ideas for her business. Already she was impatient to put this house party behind her and go back to her real life, where every moment was filled with busy work or thoughts.

She had exhausted her drifting mind as she gazed out at the passing scenery.

She had considered Longbourn; her family would be unchanged, she had not been gone long.

She hoped Mr. Bingley was still attentive to Jane and that Mama had not driven him away with her loud comments on when he would marry Jane.

It was certain that his sisters would do all they could to prevent his betrothal to Jane.

But she had almost convinced herself that they would marry and her sister would be radiantly happy.

She smiled wryly; what would her own future be like? Would she be lonely and regret not marrying when it was too late?

Her thoughts went back to the morning she had walked out with Mr. Darcy.

He had been happy to adjust his pace to hers; had been content to discuss the scenery and places she wished to visit and answered her questions about whether this house party was typical of those in the first circles.

He was exceedingly handsome when he forgot to be stern, she thought, and she allowed her lips to turn upwards.

A chuckle from the seat beside her, and she was acutely chagrined that she had allowed herself to smile.

“You look as if you’re deep in contemplation, my dear. I’m surprised you seem to be having cheerful thoughts, I thought you’d been glad to escape.”

Elizabeth nodded wryly. “I am both, my lady. In fact I do not know what to think.”

“I know you did not enjoy the house party, Elizabeth. But were there any aspects you are glad to have experienced?”

Elizabeth sighed deeply. “I have been thinking about what you said yesterday, and adding it to what I have seen. I have come to the conclusion that I still do not want to be a wife — I want to be independent; but I also do not want to be alone, or have to live with relations all my life.”

The old lady raised an eyebrow. “What is it you fear most? Marriage itself, or the loss of control?”

“It is hard to admit, but I do not know.” She swallowed, forcing herself to say it.

“I am afraid.”

Dunstable. Elizabeth was happy that the inn had quiet gardens on the other side from the stable yard. She borrowed Clarke and one of the grooms, and walked out in the gathering gloom. The words had been echoing in her head since they had been spoken. Loss of control. I am afraid.

She turned the corner of the path, and continued in the faint light from the windows.

Loss of control. I am afraid.

She clenched her jaw. Mr. Darcy. The memory of him was all tied up in this, too.

He had seemed thoughtful, and he had watched her often.

Once she had even thought he looked as if he might hurry toward her — that was when Mr. Talbot was glaring at her after she had refused him. Was Mr. Darcy feeling protective?

But she had been disturbed by his gaze often being upon her. And she wondered why it was she was so uneasy, unless she feared he might see the real Elizabeth, the self she had carefully hidden behind a veneer of lower gentry and a hidden business fronted by her uncle.

What would Mr. Darcy think if he saw her as she really was? Would he be disgusted by the taint of trade — more than merely a taint, if she were honest with herself — and the fact that she had embraced it since she was a child, despite it being not at all suitable for a gentlewoman.

She gave a wordless exclamation. This was what left women so vulnerable; they had no training, no acceptable way to make their living other than in service for the lowest payment an employer deemed possible; no chance of building their own fortune, and no chance of living free and independent.

Would that give her the most satisfaction?

That no one knew what she had achieved? It would be nice to have her ability noticed and admired.

But it was far too dangerous. There were as many fortune-hunting men as there were scheming mamas.

Lady Palmer was right, she was very vulnerable, and she glanced round instinctively to check that Clarke and the groom were still behind her.

She wanted her business, her own enterprise, to be celebrated, but how could she? If she ever trusted a gentleman, she would have to tell him her secret, and then — risk and danger.

Of course, she had taken risks before with her capital and some investments, but never more than she could afford to lose.

If she wished to marry, she would have to take a leap of faith that a man could be trusted.

Her very independence would be at risk, and then — if she was proven wrong, it would be gone forever.

She shivered as she turned back towards the inn. She would have to know a gentleman very well indeed before she could take that risk.

She smiled slightly; any man who would be patient with her for that long would be worth getting to know. And her mind’s eye took her instantly to Mr. Darcy.

It was the final day of travel. This evening, Elizabeth would embrace her Aunt Gardiner, who knew her better than anyone else, because no other lady knew all her secrets, everything about her, and had watched her grow and mature since she was ten years old. She could barely contain her impatience.

She watched the countryside gradually giving way to towns and villages strung along the Great North Road, and as they approached St Albans, she craned her neck to see if she could see the Meryton Road running alongside to the east.

Lady Palmer had been dozing comfortably, but Elizabeth noticed the lady had woken and was gazing steadily at her. When she saw she had Elizabeth’s attention, she smiled.

“What will you do next?”

Elizabeth sighed. “I will stay at Gracechurch Street until Christmas and go with them to Longbourn. But I do not think I wish to live there again.” She gave the lady a level look.

“I have wondered whether to take a small estate in the country, live as a widow under a different name. There I could be myself and live quietly for a time. But I do not think I am ready to vanish; I am not yet that afraid of society. But I will ensure I have a plan for that.”

Lady Palmer nodded. “You have already shown great courage, and you are doing something most women are never imaginative enough to do. But I must ask you — what about Mr. Darcy?”

“I do not know; not yet. It remains to be seen if he will seek me out.” She felt her face warm, and looked down.

“I think I would like to know him better, but I will not yet allow myself to risk my heart.” Of course I would like to know him better; when I see him, I find my feelings are no longer what I expected.

At long last, the familiar sights and noisy bustle of Gracechurch Street surrounded them, and Elizabeth found herself breathing more deeply in relief. This place was more home to her than Longbourn, familiar and comforting.

She jumped out of the coach, almost before the footman could finish lowering the step, and embraced Aunt Gardiner, then turned back to the coach.

“Would you care to come in, my lady, and partake of refreshments? I am sure my aunt is eager to hear your news and opinions on the event.”

“No, thank you, my dear. I am sure Mrs. Gardiner will excuse an old woman who just wants to get home so that she does not have to enter a carriage again for several days. And I am sure you are perfectly able to describe the event in exhaustive detail.” She laughed lightly.

“I will see you again very soon, Elizabeth. It has been a joy to have you accompany me.”

Elizabeth curtsied. “You are too kind, my lady. I am very grateful for everything you have done for me.”

Inside the house, everything was as it always was, and Elizabeth enjoyed fitting right back into the usual routines of the house, a long conversation with her aunt; talk over the dinner table with her uncle; stories to the children, until finally, she was in her own familiar bedchamber with the desk under the window, the place where many of her best ideas had been studied and developed.

She poured herself a glass of water from the carafe, and sat down with a sigh, her commonplace book in front of her.

That book had stayed here when she went to the house party.

There was far too much information in here to risk it being found by strange servants or people who didn’t know her secret.

But she had written notes about her harp ideas in the small journal she had taken with her.

Now she could expand on the ideas, using the notes already made as a basis.

But first, there was the idea she had had in the coach this morning. She shook her head, smiling. Poor Lady Palmer; she must have known Elizabeth was miles away in thought. She was very fortunate the lady was so understanding.

She began to write — gift collections by season, and several of them, depending on the recipient her customers were seeking gifts for. Unique to one season alone.

Another idea came to her. In my section of the warehouse, in a display corner, a gentleman’s desk, heavy; the sort that would look at home in the study of a large estate.

On the desk, items that a gentleman needs, all matching.

Silver. Engraved. A letter opener, inkwell and pen stand.

A letter tray. A tray for the gentleman’s fob watch, and perhaps a small clock.

She had so many ideas, she could hardly scribble them down fast enough. A stand for a miniature portrait or two. Perhaps a corner where quality artists may display some work — though the artists who were very good had little time for ad hoc work that was not commissioned.

Again she laughed softly to herself. Poor Mr. Reed was going to have to employ a small army to seek out so much artisan work.

She looked out of the window in thought. She must have a word with Uncle. Perhaps he knew how to find such men in India and the oriental countries. What about native work from Africa? The Levant? These items would certainly be original if general sales merchants were avoided.

She had seen an intricate carved wooden puzzle once where one had to attempt to separate the pieces.

It was supposedly very difficult. Could something like that be made in silver, for a gentleman to have on his desk as an ornament, and perhaps when bemused in some way when needing to make a business decision, he could twist the puzzle while he thought.

She might like one of those, if they were not too easy for her.

Gentlemen’s desks from the first circles would have space for the items she was thinking about. Not like Papa’s, which was always strewn with books. She shook her head, amused, then she became more serious.

It was time to stop thinking of new ideas. She must build on those she had already considered. Harps. Dark grey doeskin items. Fans.

Elizabeth didn’t want too much going around in her head. She must make time to think of other things. She stared out into the darkened night, her chin on her hand.

Then she picked up her pen once more. If I am to see him again, I need to be ready. I must know who I am first, be entirely myself.

I am not ready to go into hiding. She shivered, and wrote on the next line.

But I must be prepared. In case of need.