Page 65 of Lizzie’s Spirit

Conversation ceased when they were called to dinner.

Miss Bingley positioned herself to take Darcy’s arm, leading the party in.

By rights, that honour belonged to Mrs. Hurst, the hostess, but she allowed her sister to precede her.

Nevertheless, Mrs. Hurst sat at the head of the table, Miss Bingley next to Mr. Hurst at the foot, opposite Darcy.

Mrs. Gardiner was seated adjacent to Darcy, with Mr. Gardiner beside Miss Bingley.

Clearly, the Gardiners possessed significant status in the world of trade.

These were the people, Darcy realised, who managed the wealth of the Empire—neither the ton nor the peers of the realm together aggregated as much wealth as passed through the warehouses and manufactories represented by those who sat at this table.

Perhaps Sydney was not so upside-down after all.

The meal was excellent. Certainly, Mrs. Hurst set a good table.

Discourse with Mrs. Gardiner flowed as it would have with Elizabeth: informed, intelligent, humorous, and, if he were to close his eyes, Darcy could almost imagine her sitting next to him—the perfect hostess, sharing her laughter and good cheer with all those around.

Tears threatened to cloud his eyes, and he was grateful, for once, when Miss Bingley, tired of being excluded from a conversation of which she had no part, asked him of Lady Matlock, her fashion and comportment.

This brought him back to the reality of London, his need to continue to act as though he regretted nothing about leaving New South Wales.

Again, Mrs. Gardiner was looking intently at him, a faint smile on her lips. Why are women so perspicacious? Well, he had called Australia home. And she had noticed the warmth in his voice, the pride when he told of Elizabeth’s fluency in language.

***

It was an awkward three days. Lord Matlock lost no opportunity to thrust Felicity and Darcy together and suggested the Fitzwilliams and Darcys travel together from London to their estates in Derbyshire.

It was quite a procession: the earl’s travelling coach and six, the viscount’s landau and four, the Darcy coach and four, three carriages for servants, and two carts for baggage.

The accommodations for each of the three nights on the road and fresh teams sent in advance of their journey were all arranged for the earl’s ease and, particularly, for the comfort of his wife, the countess, and Milton’s wife, the viscountess.

Without a crest on the door, Darcy and his father felt quite the poor relations—though, more likely than not, they paid for the refreshments at each posting inn.

At the first such inn, the merry-go-round began.

“Mr. Darcy,” said Milton, as he stepped into the coach, “may I journey with you this stage? Susan wishes to speak with Mother, so I thought to enjoy some company rather than sitting alone in my box.”

Immediately after, the opposite door was opened by a footman, who assisted Felicity onto the step.

“Mother and Susan wished to talk about lace and patterns; it’s all so boring, as they must be at least ten years behind the fashion.

I saw Milton come here and thought to join him.

” She flashed her eyes becomingly at Darcy.

At the next stage, Milton was replaced by Lady Matlock, though Felicity remained in the Darcy carriage.

She kept up a lively conversation with her mother.

Occasionally, having drawn Darcy into the conversation, she would lean across and tap him on the knee if she made a particularly engaging comment.

He could not help but smile, for she was so earnest in her address.

As Georgiana had said, those four years ago, prior to his departure to New South Wales, Felicity really was a delight.

And then it came to him. This was not a game; she was serious in her regard and sincere in trying to engage his affections.

He felt ashamed, caught between a rock and a hard place.

Until Elizabeth came, little could he do to dampen Felicity’s expectations.

Felicity deserved better. If it were not for Lady Catherine’s foolish intransigence and the pride of her brother, the earl, then he could speak freely of Elizabeth—her consequence, her intelligence and beauty, and, most importantly, of their love match .

For the remainder of the journey, Darcy smiled and engaged in polite conversation.

Often, during breaks for refreshment, he observed Lady Matlock stare at him, her brow furrowed, her face tightening, then looking away as he turned towards her.

Did she doubt his sincerity? Of course. In a courtroom, he would display confidence and dissemble—without actually lying—as a good advocate must for the benefit of his client.

But for himself, disguise of every sort was an abhorrence. His aunt knew him too well.

At Matlock, they parted ways; the earl and his family went to his estate at Masson Hill, and Darcy and his father headed a further twelve miles north to Lambton and Pemberley.

“Well, that journey’s done,” said George Darcy, once they had made their not-so-sad farewells. “You’ve certainly changed, Fitzwilliam. How you kept your equanimity for the past three days, with Lady Matlock, Milton, and Lady Susan assailing you. Do I perceive the influence of your Elizabeth?”

“She and I had an agreement: that her ease and liveliness would compensate for my solemnity and reserve. Indeed, she is now so much a part of me that when I act, when I engage with others—outside of the courtroom—I hardly know whether it is me speaking or her through me.”

Darcy senior looked at his son, not with amusement, but with compassion. If he lost his Elizabeth, it would be like cutting his heart out. No, they would never allow Matlock to have his pound of Pemberley flesh.

***

The coach gradually ascended the eminence from which Pemberley House could be viewed in its glorious entirety. So familiar, yet so strange—surrounded by woody hills, the stream and lake in front. So different from the modest house at St. Andrews, which overlooked the Bunbury Curran Creek.

They descended the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to the door.

All his apprehensions fled when he saw, standing on the steps, his sister Georgiana—tall, her figure formed, her appearance womanly and graceful.

How could one leave a child of twelve and return, but four years later, to find a young woman ?

Good humour adorned her face as she waited patiently for Darcy to descend from the carriage.

But her decorum fled when she ran down the steps and threw herself into his arms.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you, William.”

He hugged her tightly. “And I, you, Georgie. And I, you.”