Page 24 of Darcy’s Guarded Heart

They parted ways then, and Thomas went inside while she hurried after the carriage.

She lifted the hem of her gown just enough to keep it from dragging on the ground and made her way around to the side of the house.

In the distance, she saw the stable yard where all the carriages were being lined up.

She was surprised by how quickly their carriage had been taken away.

By the time she reached the stable yard, she regretted not having accepted Thomas’s offer to fetch her reticule, for she was quite out of breath.

“Miss Bennet!” called Mr Martin, one of the stable hands who sometimes served as a coachman, when he saw her. “Do you wish to return to Longbourn?”

“Oh no,” she replied with a laugh. “I’ve merely left my reticule behind—most foolish of me. Would you mind if I…”

“Of course not,” he said, opening the door for her. There, lying on the seat near the window, was her green reticule. She took it and thanked Mr Martin before making her way back.

“Escaping the festivities already, Miss Bennet?” a familiar voice came, and she stopped.

Stepping out from the shadows of the stable yard was Mr Darcy.

Like Thomas and her father, he was dressed in the most splendid attire.

His tails looked freshly pressed, and the white shirt and waistcoat beneath brought out the dark colouring of his hair, which she could see even in the dim light.

Perched atop his head was a top hat that made him appear more regal than usual, and the moonlight shimmered in the sheen of his leather shoes.

He was—she could not deny it—exceedingly handsome. Not that she hadn’t noticed it before; one would have to be blind not to see that Mr Darcy was an exceptionally handsome gentleman.

“Mr Darcy,” she said, “I had not expected to see you here! And no, I am not escaping the festivities. I merely came to fetch my reticule. But what excuse do you have for seeking refuge? I would have thought there would be enough accomplished ladies of your acquaintance at the ball to inspire you to dance.”

He offered a small smile, revealing his perfectly white teeth. “Indeed, Bingley has gathered quite a number of acquaintances. I would not be averse to dancing tonight—perhaps even with you, if your ankle permits.”

She was taken aback; she had not expected Mr Darcy to ask her to dance.

“My ankle is much improved this very evening, though my mother takes credit for it as she insisted on wrapping it to excess in an assortment of poultices,” she replied.

He wrinkled his nose. “My governess was particularly fond of them. It seemed there was a poultice for everything—a sprained ankle, colds, a cut on one’s finger, a bee sting.”

Elizabeth laughed. “A poultice for an upset stomach indeed, there was a remedy for everything. And it seems that the more severe the malady, the more unpleasant the treatment.”

“Indeed,” he said, laughing. “I recall suffering an ailment in my youth—though I cannot even remember what it was, as the cure seemed far worse. I was forced to endure a poultice made of vinegar and other unmentionable ingredients. The scent made me quite ill, which, of course, inspired my governess to concoct another remedy.”

Elizabeth chuckled heartily, one hand covering her mouth and the other resting upon her stomach. “Goodness, Mr Darcy! And there I was thinking that a gentleman of your standing was immune to such troubles.”

His smile faded, and she immediately realised how thoughtless her remark had been.

“I did not mean it, Mr Darcy. I do understand that the wealthy and powerful are not immune to tragedy. Really, I was—”

He raised his hand. “Please do not trouble yourself. I appreciate your quick wit and sharp replies, although perhaps this night is less than amusing.”

“This night?” she asked, tilting her head. “Pray, why is this night different?”

She mused whether he was in a high dungeon due to the ball and the proximity it afforded to her family, but that did not seem to be the case.

“This night is troublesome for me, regardless of my company. It is the anniversary of my father’s death.”

“Oh,” she said, placing her hand over her mouth. “How tragic! I did not know.”

“Of course not. Hardly anyone knows. This morning, Georgiana and I took a walk and shared stories about him. Then we fed a few ducks and geese—an activity my father always enjoyed. We followed that with a luncheon of cucumber sandwiches, one of his favourites.” He smiled briefly but then shook his head.

“I am uncertain why I confided this to you; it does not concern you.”

“I see nothing wrong with it. In fact, it is not unlike how my family and I mark the passing of our grandfather. He passed away five years ago, and every year on his birthday, we embark on a fishing expedition and cook whatever we catch on a campfire, for that was one of his favourite pastimes.”

His smile returned. “Well, it seems we have more in common than I initially thought.”

“That is quite so, Mr Darcy. I do hope you can see that we are not that different—my family and yours.”

She wanted to broach the subject of what she had overheard at the Meryton assembly—his and Miss Bingley’s poor opinion of herself and her family—but somehow it did not seem the right moment.

There was an ease between them, a comfort she had first felt in the library and then again when he aided her after her ankle injury.

She did not wish to ruin that. In fact, she yearned to continue conversing with him.

There was something about him that seemed changed this evening; perhaps it was the softening influence of his father’s memory.

Whatever it was, she did not wish to spoil it.

“Were you close to him, then, your grandfather?” he asked suddenly, drawing her from her reverie. It seemed he wished to continue the conversation.

“I was. We all were. He was a kind-hearted, loving man, though he struggled somewhat after my grandmother’s death. He lived with us for a time, but I think a house filled with six children was too much for him to manage, and so he took up residence in a cottage nearby.”

“It must have been a very lively household,” Mr Darcy remarked.

“Quite different from a household of two children, I assure you.”

He smiled. “I wish mine had been a household of only two for longer stretches.”

“Oh,” she said, recalling Mr Wickham. “Did Mr Wickham live with you at Pemberley?”

He shook his head. “When his father was alive, they lived in a cottage on the estate, and I did not see much of him. After his father died, my father appointed a guardian for him—a distant cousin called Miss Younge, who had served as my mother’s lady’s maid when she was living.

I have mentioned her before. She lived with him in the cottage then, and after that, he frequently visited Pemberley.

My father arranged for a private tutor for him, although we did not take lessons together. I saw far too much of him.”

Elizabeth detected the apprehension—and even disdain—in his voice as he spoke. It was clear that there was no love lost between him and Mr Wickham.

“It must have been difficult to spend so much time with someone you once held dear,” she said.

“I did not loathe him to begin with,” Mr Darcy clarified. “I learned to loathe him over time, it is true. I sometimes wonder if, had we spent less time together, I might have been more cordial towards him, but that was not our fate. Forced proximity can sometimes breed acrimony.”

“Yes, and at other times, it can bring about something quite different,” she replied.

“Are we not often thrown together, and yet I find our conversations now much more pleasant than they were at the outset?” They regarded one another for a moment, and she wondered if she had overstepped, but he nodded.

“You are quite right. Now, it is becoming rather chilly, and I am sure your family will miss you. Shall I escort you back to the ballroom, and perhaps we might decide upon a dance we’d like to share on the way?”

She dipped her head, took his proffered arm, and together they made their way back to the ballroom. Elizabeth could not help but feel that perhaps this evening would turn out to be quite splendid indeed.