Page 30 of Darcy’s Guarded Heart

Elizabeth

N ight had already fallen, and Elizabeth sat outside, her shawl drawn tightly around her shoulders to shield against the creeping chill.

Dinner had been an awkward affair. Her mother, whose fiery disdain for Mr Darcy had only deepened with his conduct that very day, had been in a state of great agitation.

Lydia and Kitty, ever exuberant, were now inconsolable at the sudden removal of their friend from their midst. The events had transpired with such alarming rapidity.

The dining room had been quiet in a way that was far from peaceful.

It had been the kind of silence that filled every corner and sat heavily upon one’s chest. Mrs Bennet had made several sharp comments about ‘arrogant men with no regard for proper civility’, while Kitty had blinked back tears with each mouthful.

Lydia, who typically laughed everything off, had been uncharacteristically silent, stabbing her potatoes with the fury of a general betrayed.

Thomas had not joined them for their meal at all, preferring instead to remain in his temporary quarters beneath their roof. No one had questioned it; his absence only compounded the weight pressing down on the evening.

The family had taken their meal swiftly, in silence, seeking to avoid unnecessary discourse. Elizabeth had then excused herself.

But the quiet had not calmed her mind. Between her vexation at Mr Darcy, concern for Thomas, and a growing unease over Georgiana, Elizabeth had yet another anxiety to contend with, Mr Collins.

Ever since he had declared his intention to find a wife upon this very visit, she had steeled herself against his awkward attempts at conversation.

It was, regrettably, clear to her that she was the object of his matrimonial designs.

Kitty and Lydia were far too youthful and flighty for the tastes of a man such as Mr Collins, and while Mary might have made a most suitable choice—pious, quiet, and unassuming as she was—Mr Collins had scarcely exchanged two words with her since his arrival.

No, Elizabeth was almost certain she was the target of his affections, much to her dismay.

And just as she settled into the welcome quiet of the evening, Mr Collins appeared to disturb it.

“Cousin Elizabeth! Here you are,” he announced, emerging from around the corner with the self-satisfied air of one who believed himself charming. “I was just on a brisk evening walk. Do you not simply adore the evening air? You must, since you’re sitting here.”

“I was enjoying the quiet,” she replied, hoping the subtle hint would not be lost on him. Alas, it was.

“There is nothing more refreshing than a bit of peace and quiet,” he continued. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Before she could object, he seated himself beside her.

“Well, this is splendid, is it not? What do you do out here on your own? I see no book, no embroidery,” he said, looking about with a perplexed expression.

“It is too dark to read or embroider,” Elizabeth said, striving for civility. “So I simply enjoy the stars.”

“Yes, yes, the stars. I do that as well. Sometimes I count them until I grow sleepy.”

Elizabeth wet her lips, barely concealing a sigh. “I don’t count them. I look for constellations—the Big Dipper, Orion’s Belt, and so on.”

“Oh, that is hardly a suitable pastime for a young lady. Leave the sciences to the scholars, I say.”

“I have always had an interest in science,” she replied evenly. “Medicine too. The advancements are fascinating.”

“Ah, but that is where you are mistaken, Cousin Elizabeth,” he said, turning to her with a self-important nod. “A young lady should not burden her mind with such matters. A woman’s place is by her husband’s side.”

Her temper flared. “So a wife of yours ought not be too intelligent, nor too curious about the world?”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You misunderstand me. A wife of mine should possess a keen mind, indeed—but directed towards the domestic arts. I should like her to be well-read, of course. There are many fine texts—cookery books, for instance, and naturally the Holy Scripture. She need not preach, but she should be able to advise me appropriately after hearing my sermons.”

“Then I hope you find such a woman, for I fear I am not she,” Elizabeth said coolly. “I have no passion for cookery, and it has been many years since I even opened a cookbook.”

“Surely you are familiar with the Bible? You attend church.”

“Of course. But more for the social engagement. I enjoy seeing my friends after service. And Sunday is always agreeable for tea and conversation.”

“Coffee, you mean?” he said, aghast.

She nearly smiled. She had tried coffee once—at her aunt and uncle’s home in London—and found it dreadful. But she suspected Mr Collins would find it scandalous, and she was not disappointed.

“One must indulge in such things now and again, Mr Collins. I daresay any husband of mine would do the same. Life ought to contain a little adventure—culinary or otherwise.”

He tugged at his cravat as if her words made his skin crawl.

“Well, I suppose you have not yet been properly exposed to the beauty of scripture or the blessed simplicity of a vicar’s wife’s life,” he said with some condescension. “You are young. Mouldable. I am sure that any husband would teach you these virtues.”

She opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort, but before she could speak, the sound of hooves on gravel drew her attention. A rider approached, turning into the drive and dismounting with haste. A cloak concealed their figure, but as they landed on the ground, the hood slipped.

“Georgiana!” Elizabeth exclaimed, rushing towards her. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, this is most irregular,” Mr Collins huffed. “Most irregular indeed. What would your aunt say, seeing you riding like a gentleman at this hour? And where is your companion?”

“At Netherfield,” Georgiana said shortly. “And I haven’t time to argue with you, Mr Collins. Report what you will to my aunt. I must see Thomas immediately. It is urgent. My brother is making us leave Netherfield in the morning.”

Elizabeth took her by the hand, ignoring Mr Collins’s sputtering, and ushered her inside.

“Wait here,” she said, then hastened up the stairs to Thomas’s room. When he answered, his eyes were heavy with sleep.

“What is it?”

“Georgiana is downstairs. She’s come alone.”

He blinked. “Georgiana? What is she doing here?”

“She’s come to say goodbye. Mr Darcy is taking her away tomorrow.”

“No,” he muttered. “He can’t. Not now… Not when she and I—”

“Thomas, go to her. She’s upset.”

He nodded and squeezed her shoulder before hurrying down the stairs.

“This is most irregular!” Mr Collins cried.

Elizabeth followed quickly and found Collins attempting to block Thomas’s path to Georgiana.

“Please,” Georgiana said, her voice tight, “I wish to speak to Thomas. I do not need a chaperone.”

“You most certainly do. Your aunt would be outraged. I cannot allow this.”

“Collins,” Thomas said, his tone low, “step aside. Or we shall both regret it.”

“Such a threat!” Mr Collins cried.

“A man of the cloth should know a warning when he hears one,” Thomas replied.

Elizabeth pushed herself between them.

“Mr Collins, I shall be their chaperone. This conversation does not require your supervision or interference. Kindly leave us.”

“I cannot.”

“You must. Now.”

He finally relented, muttering about impropriety.

“He is correct about one thing,” Elizabeth said, turning to Thomas and Georgiana. “If you’re alone, it could damage Georgiana’s reputation.”

“I do not mind if you hear what I have to say,” Georgiana whispered.

“Nor I,” Thomas added.

Elizabeth sat in a corner near the fire, letting the darkness envelop them.

Their words became a soft murmur—sweet, private, aching.

She gazed into the flames, the firelight flickering over her features, as her thoughts wandered to her own place in this tangled web of affections and departures.

Every warm glow from the hearth was a stark contrast to the cold edges of change encroaching from all sides.

She heard quiet sobs, then Thomas’s gentle voice soothing them. A faint creak of the chair, a rustle of fabric. The intimacy of heartbreak. She could not bear to look.

Their silhouettes shifted. He held her. Perhaps more. Elizabeth did not wish to know. It was heartbreaking—and somehow, she felt responsible. She had encouraged Thomas to speak with Georgiana. But no—this was Mr Darcy’s doing. He was taking Georgiana away, just when she had begun to blossom.

After a while, the two approached. Georgiana’s cheeks were wet with tears.

“I must say goodbye. If my brother discovers this, he’ll be livid.”

“So you are truly leaving?”

“For London. For how long, I do not know. If my brother hears of this, I fear he would lock me away until I am one and twenty.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened.

“Perhaps, I exaggerate. But my brother would be most displeased,” Georgiana added.

“We shall deal with Mr Collins,” Elizabeth promised.

Georgiana embraced her. “You have been a true friend. Tell your sisters goodbye for me. I shall miss you all. One more thing, I’ve heard rumours. The Bingleys may be leaving too. I know not why. If it is so, I am sorry for your sister.”

Elizabeth gasped. Darcy’s departure she had expected. But Bingley?

“Surely he would call to say farewell?”

“I imagine he will,” Georgiana said gently.

Elizabeth was briefly comforted. Mr Bingley must care for Jane—he would not leave without a word. Perhaps he would even propose. And yet she worried.

Her thoughts drifted back to the assembly weeks ago. The whispers between Caroline and Mr Darcy. Had they conspired at last to separate them?

If Mr Bingley left Jane behind, there would be two broken hearts at Longbourn.