Page 33 of Look on the Heart (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #10)

“Miss Bennet told me about…well, you know.” He shifted uncomfortably.

“I cannot account for his behavior. ’Tis very unlike Darcy to vanish without a word.

I have written him twice and received no reply.

It troubles me exceedingly, for Darcy is a diligent correspondent.

Perhaps we can make sense of this together.

Did anything untoward occur at the ball? ”

“No, not that I recall. Let me see…we danced and parted on good terms. I had other partners—”

“You left the ballroom to assist me—do you recall, Lizzy?” Mary interjected. Perhaps that was when he received word and departed.”

Mary’s words stirred a memory. Elizabeth had comforted her sister before returning to the festivities.

“Yes, and then I spoke with Charlotte. Mary had grown distressed by Mr. Collins’s persistent attentions.

I complained to Charlotte…” Elizabeth paused.

“I spoke more freely than I ought. Indeed, I said some rather harsh things of Mr. Collins.” She stared at Jane in sudden comprehension, her eyes wide.

“Could he have overheard and believed I referred to him?

She shook her head. “No—I did not see him. And his manner has never suggested he would act rashly, without confronting me.”

“I am afraid it might have been exactly that. Darcy is very sensitive about his appearance. He conceals his feelings well, but the wounds he bears have never truly healed.” Mr. Bingley furrowed his brow in thought.

“If he heard your words—particularly if they were intemperate—he might have made assumptions.”

“I suppose we shall never know.” Elizabeth shrugged, masking her true feelings.

“I intend to enjoy the season in town. Mary and I shall visit the shops and the museum. There will be all manner of entertainments and delights. I am certain I shall forget Mr. Darcy very quickly.” She turned an apologetic smile on Mr. Bingley.

“Forgive me, sir, for my rambling. You have given me much to consider—thank you.”

Her words effectively ended the discussion, and though Jane and Mr. Bingley exchanged glances filled with meaning, Elizabeth ignored them.

If Mr. Darcy had fled without clarifying an overheard conversation, then clearly, he did not trust her as he ought.

I made my preference for him clear, she thought firmly.

I am not required to temper my speech at every moment, for fear I might hurt his feelings.

And if he is unwilling to engage in conflict now—when we are not attached—then how would it be with a more intimate connection?

These musings offered little comfort, but she did not care.

She had always met trials with the intent of overcoming them.

This would be no different. On the morrow, she and Mary would go to town.

There, she would immerse herself in social engagements and in entertaining her little cousins.

In time, her heart would mend, and she would meet another.

He will not be Mr. Darcy, a contrary voice in her mind whispered.

No, she replied inwardly. He will not. But perhaps that is a good thing.

The two sisters spent the afternoon packing trunks and preparing for an early departure.

Elizabeth selected her best gowns for travel.

Her aunt had promised a visit to the modiste, and they would choose fabric for new gowns from her uncle’s warehouse.

She wanted something in a spring shade—perhaps blue, or maybe pink.

Her favorite walking gown went into the trunk, along with a pair of sturdy boots.

She added books, writing materials, and other necessities before closing the lid with a soft thud and fastening it shut.

“Are you finished with your packing?” Mary stepped into the room. “I am as well. I have never stayed in London for any length of time. What if I have forgotten something?”

Elizabeth chuckled and rose from where she had knelt by her trunk.

“I am certain you have all you require,” she promised Mary.

“And if you do not, then our aunt will know the best shops where we can purchase whatever we lack. That is the lovely thing about London—one can find nearly anything there.”

Mary smiled. It softened her features and made her pleasant to behold. “I am very excited,” she said. “You and Jane always go everywhere, and I cannot wait to take my turn.”

“Kitty and Lydia have protested,” Elizabeth observed. “Goodness, did you hear Mama tell Papa that the younger girls ought to be allowed to go, too? I am pleased he stood his ground.”

“They will have entertainment enough with the officers.” Mary frowned. “I worry they will do something foolish.” She crossed the room and sat upon the coverlet. “Do you ever feel the same?”

Elizabeth nodded and joined her. “’Tis a constant worry,” she confessed.

“Papa does not check them, and Mama encourages their wild behavior. It is good that Jane will marry Mr. Bingley. Then, if one of the younger girls ruins us, we will at least have somewhere to go when Papa dies from the shock.” They both laughed.

“All jests aside, they are full young to be out—let alone in London society. I believe our father knows it, hence his refusal. Perhaps this show of firmness will lead into tempering some of their excesses.”

“One can only hope.” Mary wrapped her arm around Elizabeth and rested her head against her sister’s shoulder. “I like to think I have grown from the girl I was at fifteen—and even from seventeen. Perhaps our sisters will, too.”

Elizabeth nudged Mary lightly with her elbow. “Yes, I believe you are right.” Mary rose soon after and left the room. Elizabeth sighed deeply and flopped back onto the bed. Hertfordshire held too many memories of Mr. Darcy, and she longed to be gone.

Tomorrow cannot come soon enough.