Page 8

A FRUITLESS SEARCH

“ O ut? Again?” Elizabeth stared indignantly at Mrs Randall’s maid. “Where is she this time?”

“Rotten Row.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hyde Park.”

“I—sorry, I know where it is. I was just wondering at her purpose in going there at this hour. Or at all!”

The maid shrugged. “They said they wanted to see the gentlemen exercising their horses.”

“Mrs Randall has gone with her?”

“Aye.”

Elizabeth let out an incredulous huff of laughter. “She was having a good day today, was she?”

The maid wrinkled her nose in confusion. “She weren’t having a bad day, as far as I know.”

“No. I imagine she rarely does.”

“If that’s all, ma’am?” The maid barely waited to be dismissed before retreating into the house.

Elizabeth turned to her uncle’s coachman. “Well, Benjamin. How do you feel about a diversion to Hyde Park?”

He was too kind to refuse, though she could see he disliked the idea—and no wonder, for when they arrived, he was faced with an unpleasant choice between leaving either his master’s carriage and horses or his master’s niece unattended.

“Pray, do not concern yourself,” Elizabeth said. “I shall not wander far. I only wish to linger for a little while in case my mother should walk this way. It is probably a futile endeavour, but pray, humour me.”

Elizabeth knew not how large Hyde Park was, nor the length of Rotten Row, nor in which direction the pair might have walked—if they were even here.

She regretted her impetuous decision to come, but she had been so incensed to discover her mother out and about, enjoying herself, while Jane was yet again sitting by the window at Gracechurch Street with her heart slowly breaking, that she had resolved to find her long before good sense interposed.

And she was too stubborn to relent now that she was here.

She stepped away from the carriage, looking left and right between the handful of people riding or strolling by, for any sign of two women walking together.

Thoughts of what might have really detained her mother the night before left her seething.

Another visit from one of Mrs Randall’s fashionable theatre friends no doubt.

Or perhaps a performance at Covent Garden.

Lord only knew. One thing was certain: Mrs Bennet had not been attending Mrs Randall’s sickbed.

“Miss Bennet! We meet again.”

Elizabeth shrank inwardly at the sound of Mr Darcy’s voice.

A small world indeed—of all the unlucky accidents!

She turned slowly to face him. He was seated atop a huge chestnut horse and accompanied by a young lady whose fine, dappled mount was not much shorter than his.

The pair of them, peering down at her from their lofty perches, only amplified her mortification.

“Mr Darcy,” she said tightly, then curtseyed and stepped back off the path, fully expecting him to ride on.

To her consternation, he stopped his horse and dismounted.

She had the absurd impression of him being not much less towering on the ground than in his saddle—a reflection she blamed entirely on her cousin.

Stephanie’s unsolicited opinion of Mr Darcy had been that he was very tall and had a very nice voice.

And now that Elizabeth had been reminded of one virtue, the other lodged vexingly in the forefront of her mind as he began to speak.

“Can I be of any assistance? It looked as though you were searching for somebody. I hope you have not been separated from your friends.”

“Oh…no. Thank you. I was just admiring the park.” She gave no further explanation. She had no intention of revealing her true purpose of searching for her wayward mother merely so that he could despise her family even more.

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “It is a fine place to walk. I am not surprised to discover you like it.” He hesitated for a second or two and looked at his companion before saying, “Might I introduce my sister to you?”

“Your sister?” Elizabeth’s eyes flew to the young lady, her curiosity instantly piqued. “Why, yes, by all means.”

Miss Darcy slid elegantly to the ground but thereafter stood rather awkwardly beside her horse.

She was less handsome than her brother, though not unattractive.

Her cheeks, however, were overcome with the deepest blush, and she was almost too nervous to lift her eyes from the ground.

Mr Wickham had said she was proud, but Elizabeth decided it must have been some time since he last saw her, for if there had ever been any pride in her, it was not in evidence this morning.

“I am delighted to meet you,” Elizabeth said once the introduction had been made.

“Particularly since it allows me to thank you for your contribution to my cousin’s present joy.

” In answer to Miss Darcy’s evident bewilderment, she added, “Your brother revealed the whereabouts of your secret haberdasher. Mrs Arneaux furnished Stephanie with the perfect ribbon for her new doll. She has been in raptures over it ever since.”

“I am very pleased Mrs Arneaux was able to help.” Turning to her brother, Miss Darcy said, “I am surprised you remember her.”

“Why?”

Elizabeth was diverted by the injury in Mr Darcy’s tone.

She, too, had been astonished to discover that the forbidding Master of Pemberley was in possession of such frivolous intelligence as the best ribbon merchant in Mayfair and did not blame his sister for being similarly amazed.

Miss Darcy looked dismayed to have offended him, but she was saved from having to reply when a passing rider called good day to her brother.

Mr Darcy turned and touched his hat. “Atkins.”

Elizabeth wondered whether there was anybody in the capital who did not know Mr Darcy well enough to greet him upon sight.

It had been the same when they met on St James’s Street, where their conversation had been interrupted several times by passersby.

When Mr Atkins reined in his horse to exchange a few words with him, Elizabeth said quietly to his sister, “Your brother and I talked once of the variety and extent of the society in town compared to that in the country. I did not realise that he meant he was acquainted with everybody in London.”

Miss Darcy frowned anxiously. “I do not think that can have been his meaning. He has a wide circle, but he certainly does not know everybody, and he would not have lied about it.”

“Forgive me, I was teasing—and only because he did not seem as disposed to talk to people when he was in Hertfordshire.”

“I suppose he did not know many people there.”

Elizabeth would have liked to dismiss that excuse out of hand, but Mr Darcy having stopped to speak to her today rather undermined her complaint. She smiled ruefully.

“I see you are the very best sort of sister and will make a virtue of everything your brother does. I envy him. With four sisters, all in possession of lively opinions, I am more used to having my imperfections pointed out and exaggerated.”

Mr Atkins called a farewell and urged his horse onwards, and Mr Darcy turned back to them.

“My apologies. Of what were you two speaking?”

Miss Darcy looked as though she did not want to say, and with a grin, Elizabeth admitted, “The shocking want of loyalty between my sisters and me.”

“You cannot mean your eldest sister,” Mr Darcy replied. “There was no want of loyalty in your affectionate behaviour towards her when she was ill at Netherfield.”

“Dearest Jane,” she said with some surprise at this answer. “Who could have done less for her?”

“It must have been disagreeable to be indisposed somewhere that was not her own home,” Miss Darcy said.

“Indeed, it was, but Mr Bingley was generosity itself in not making her feel the imposition.”

Elizabeth was still regarding Mr Darcy searchingly after his unprecedented compliment. It therefore did not escape her notice that a look of displeasure passed across his countenance at the mention of Mr Bingley.

“Have you happened to see him since we last spoke?” she asked.

“I have not had that pleasure.”

“Still? It is a good thing your friendship is so steady. Had you less conviction in his esteem, you might be forgiven for thinking he is avoiding you.”

“Or I him.”

Elizabeth could not help but laugh; her teasing was rarely parried so efficiently. “True, though that would lessen the honour of your promise to pass on my message very sadly.”

“I do not see that it should,” he replied with a smile. “My promise was not bound by any parameters of time. I might avoid him for another decade and still keep my word when our paths do eventually cross.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue but decided against it upon noticing that Miss Darcy was looking between them with undisguised alarm. “And you would be very generous to do so, sir. But I ought to be going. I have kept my uncle’s coachman standing about for too long in this freezing weather.”

Mr Darcy looked rather disappointed, which she attributed to the dissatisfaction he must feel at not having the last word in their argument. She wished them both farewell and reiterated her pleasure in making Miss Darcy’s acquaintance, then returned to her uncle’s carriage.

She realised as she climbed in quite how chilled she had become.

Her toes were like icicles and the collar and cuffs of her pelisse crisp with cold.

And it had all been for nothing, for she had not encountered her mother—only the most disagreeable man she had ever known.

Although, she had to admit, he had been significantly less disagreeable on this occasion.

Perhaps it was the presence of his sister that had softened his manners.

She twisted around to look at them out of the window, curious to see how they acted without her in their midst. They were leading their horses away, both still on foot and walking side by side, but they were not speaking to each other.

Elizabeth could easily tell this, because Mr Darcy was looking back over his shoulder at her departing carriage.

She returned to facing forwards, assured it meant nothing but not quite able to account for his expression of complacency—or her sense of satisfaction.